diff --git "a/test/gutenberg.txt" "b/test/gutenberg.txt" new file mode 100644--- /dev/null +++ "b/test/gutenberg.txt" @@ -0,0 +1,130000 @@ +of color. + +When the General Assembly in France decreed equality of rights to +all citizens, the mulattoes of Santo Domingo made a petition for the +enjoyment of the same political privileges as the white people--to the +unbounded consternation of the latter. They were rewarded with a +decree which was so ambiguously worded that it was open to different +interpretations and which simply heightened the animosity that for years +had been smoldering. A new petition to the Assembly in 1791 primarily +for an interpretation brought forth on May 15 the explicit decree that +the people of color were to have all the rights and privileges of +citizens, provided they had been born of free parents on both sides. The +white people were enraged by the decision, turned royalist, and trampled +the national cockade underfoot; and throughout the summer armed strife +and conflagration were the rule. To add to the confusion the black +slaves struck for freedom and on the night of August 23, 1791, drenched +the island in blood. In the face of these events the Conventional +Assembly rescinded its order, then announced that the original decree +must be obeyed, and it sent three commissioners with troops to Santo +Domingo, real authority being invested in Santhonax and Polverel. + +On June 20, 1793, at Cape François trouble was renewed by a quarrel +between a mulatto and a white officer in the marines. The seamen came +ashore and loaned their assistance to the white people, and the Negroes +now joined forces with the mulattoes. In the battle of two days that +followed the arsenal was taken and plundered, thousands were killed +in the streets, and more than half of the town was burned. The French +commissioners were the unhappy witnesses of the scene, but they were +practically helpless, having only about a thousand troops. Santhonax, +however, issued a proclamation offering freedom to all slaves who were +willing to range themselves under the banner of the Republic. This was +the first proclamation for the freeing of slaves in Santo Domingo, and +as a result of it many of the Negroes came in and were enfranchised. + +Soon after this proclamation Polverel left his colleague at the Cape and +went to Port au Prince, the capital of the West. Here things were quiet +and the cultivation of the crops was going forward as usual. The slaves +were soon unsettled, however, by the news of what was being done +elsewhere, and Polverel was convinced that emancipation could not be +delayed and that for the safety of the planters themselves it was +necessary to extend it to the whole island. In September (1793) he set +in circulation from Aux Cayes a proclamation to this effect, and at the +same time he exhorted all the planters in the vicinity who concurred in +his work to register their names. This almost all of them did, as they +were convinced of the need of measures for their personal safety; and on +February 4, 1794, the Conventional Assembly in Paris formally approved +all that had been done by decreeing the abolition of slavery in all the +colonies of France. + +All the while the Spanish and the English had been looking on with +interest and had even come to the French part of the island as if to aid +in the restoration of order. Among the former, at first in charge of +a little royalist band, was the Negro, Toussaint, later called +L'Ouverture. He was then a man in the prime of life, forty-eight years +old, and already his experience had given him the wisdom that was needed +to bring peace in Santo Domingo. In April, 1794, impressed by the decree +of the Assembly, he returned to the jurisdiction of France and took +service under the Republic. In 1796 he became a general of brigade; in +1797 general-in-chief, with the military command of the whole colony. + +He at once compelled the surrender of the English who had invaded his +country. With the aid of a commercial agreement with the United States, +he next starved out the garrison of his rival, the mulatto Rigaud, whom +he forced to consent to leave the country. He then imprisoned Roume, the +agent of the Directory, and assumed civil as well as military authority. +He also seized the Spanish part of the island, which had been ceded to +France some years before but had not been actually surrendered. He then, +in May, 1801, gave to Santo Domingo a constitution by which he not only +assumed power for life but gave to himself the right of naming his +successor; and all the while he was awakening the admiration of the +world by his bravery, his moderation, and his genuine instinct for +government. + +Across the ocean, however, a jealous man was watching with interest the +career of the "gilded African." None knew better than Napoleon that +it was because he did not trust France that Toussaint had sought the +friendship of the United States, and none read better than he the logic +of events. As Adams says, "Bonaparte's acts as well as his professions +showed that he was bent on crushing democratic ideas, and that he +regarded St. Domingo as an outpost of American republicanism, although +Toussaint had made a rule as arbitrary as that of Bonaparte himself.... +By a strange confusion of events, Toussaint L'Ouverture, because he was +a Negro, became the champion of republican principles, with which he +had nothing but the instinct of personal freedom in common. Toussaint's +government was less republican than that of Bonaparte; he was doing +by necessity in St. Domingo what Bonaparte was doing by choice in +France."[1] + +[Footnote 1: _History of the United States_, I, 391-392.] + +This was the man to whom the United States ultimately owes the purchase +of Louisiana. On October 1, 1801, Bonaparte gave orders to General Le +Clerc for a great expedition against Santo Domingo. In January, 1802, Le +Clerc appeared and war followed. In the course of this, Toussaint--who +was ordinarily so wise and who certainly knew that from Napoleon he had +most to fear--made the great mistake of his life and permitted himself +to be led into a conference on a French vessel. He was betrayed and +taken to France, where within the year he died of pneumonia in the +dungeon of Joux. Immediately there was a proclamation annulling the +decree of 1794 giving freedom to the slaves. Bonaparte, however, had not +estimated the force of Toussaint's work, and to assist the Negroes in +their struggle now came a stalwart ally, yellow fever. By the end of the +summer only one-seventh of Le Clerc's army remained, and he himself died +in November. At once Bonaparte planned a new expedition. While he was +arranging for the leadership of this, however, the European war broke +out again. Meanwhile the treaty for the retrocession of the territory +of Louisiana had not yet received the signature of the Spanish king, +because Godoy, the Spanish representative, would not permit the +signature to be affixed until all the conditions were fulfilled; and +toward the end of 1802 the civil officer at New Orleans closed the +Mississippi to the United States. Jefferson, at length moved by the plea +of the South, sent a special envoy, no less a man than James Monroe, to +France to negotiate the purchase; Bonaparte, disgusted by the failure +of his Egyptian expedition and his project for reaching India, and +especially by his failure in Santo Domingo, in need also of ready money, +listened to the offer; and the people of the United States--who within +the last few years have witnessed the spoliation of Hayti--have not yet +realized how much they owe to the courage of 500,000 Haytian Negroes who +refused to be slaves. + +The slavery question in the new territory was a critical one. It was +on account of it that the Federalists had opposed the acquisition; the +American Convention endeavored to secure a provision like that of the +Northwest Ordinance; and the Yearly Meeting of the Society of Friends in +Philadelphia in 1805 prayed "that effectual measures may be adopted +by Congress to prevent the introduction of slavery into any of the +territories of the United States." Nevertheless the whole territory +without regard to latitude was thrown open to the system March 2, 1805. + +In spite of this victory for slavery, however, the general force of the +events in Hayti was such as to make more certain the formal closing +of the slave-trade at the end of the twenty-year period for which the +Constitution had permitted it to run. The conscience of the North had +been profoundly stirred, and in the far South was the ever-present fear +of a reproduction of the events in Hayti. The agitation in England +moreover was at last about to bear fruit in the act of 1807 forbidding +the slave-trade. In America it seems from the first to have been an +understood thing, especially by the Southern representatives, that even +if such an act passed it would be only irregularly enforced, and the +debates were concerned rather with the disposal of illegally imported +Africans and with the punishment of those concerned in the importation +than with the proper limitation of the traffic by water.[1] On March 2, +1807, the act was passed forbidding the slave-trade after the close of +the year. In course of time it came very near to being a dead letter, +as may be seen from presidential messages, reports of cabinet officers, +letters of collectors of revenue, letters of district attorneys, reports +of committees of Congress, reports of naval commanders, statements +on the floor of Congress, the testimony of eye-witnesses, and the +complaints of home and foreign anti-slavery societies. Fernandina and +Galveston were only two of the most notorious ports for smuggling. A +regular chain of posts was established from the head of St. Mary's River +to the upper country, and through the Indian nation, by means of which +the Negroes were transferred to every part of the country.[2] If dealers +wished to form a caravan they would give an Indian alarm, so that the +woods might be less frequented, and if pursued in Georgia they would +escape into Florida. One small schooner contained one hundred and thirty +souls. "They were almost packed into a small space, between a floor laid +over the water-casks and the deck--not near three feet--insufficient for +them to sit upright--and so close that chafing against each other their +bones pierced the skin and became galled and ulcerated by the motion +of the vessel." Many American vessels were engaged in the trade under +Spanish colors, and the traffic to Africa was pursued with uncommon +vigor at Havana, the crews of vessels being made up of men of all +nations, who were tempted by the high wages to be earned. Evidently +officials were negligent in the discharge of their duty, but even if +offenders were apprehended it did not necessarily follow that they +would receive effective punishment. President Madison in his message +of December 5, 1810, said, "It appears that American citizens are +instrumental in carrying on a traffic in enslaved Africans, equally in +violation of the laws of humanity, and in defiance of those of their own +country"; and on January 7, 1819, the Register of the Treasury made +to the House the amazing report that "it doth not appear, from an +examination of the records of this office, and particularly of the +accounts (to the date of their last settlement) of the collectors of +the customs, and of the several marshals of the United States, that any +forfeitures had been incurred under the said act." A supplementary and +compromising and ineffective act of 1818 sought to concentrate efforts +against smuggling by encouraging informers; and one of the following +year that authorized the President to "make such regulations and +arrangements as he may deem expedient for the safe keeping, support, and +removal beyond the limits of the United States" of recaptured Africans, +and that bore somewhat more fruit, was in large measure due to the +colonization movement and of importance in connection with the founding +of Liberia. + +[Footnote 1: See DuBois, 95, ff.] + +[Footnote 2: Niles's _Register_, XIV, 176 (May 2, 1818).] + +Thus, while the formal closing of the slave-trade might seem to be a +great step forward, the laxness with which the decree was enforced +places it definitely in the period of reaction. + + +3. _Gabriel's Insurrection and the Rise of the Negro Problem_ + +Gabriel's insurrection of 1800 was by no means the most formidable +revolt that the Southern states witnessed. In design it certainly did +not surpass the scope of the plot of Denmark Vesey twenty-two years +later, and in actual achievement it was insignificant when compared not +only with Nat Turner's insurrection but even with the uprisings sixty +years before. At the last moment in fact a great storm that came up made +the attempt to execute the plan a miserable failure. Nevertheless coming +as it did so soon after the revolution in Hayti, and giving evidence +of young and unselfish leadership, the plot was regarded as of +extraordinary significance. + +Gabriel himself[1] was an intelligent slave only twenty-four years old, +and his chief assistant was Jack Bowler, aged twenty-eight. Throughout +the summer of 1800 he matured his plan, holding meetings at which a +brother named Martin interpreted various texts from Scripture as bearing +on the situation of the Negroes. His insurrection was finally set for +the first day of September. It was well planned. The rendezvous was to +be a brook six miles from Richmond. Under cover of night the force of +1,100 was to march in three columns on the city, then a town of 8,000 +inhabitants, the right wing to seize the penitentiary building which had +just been converted into an arsenal, while the left took possession of +the powder-house. These two columns were to be armed with clubs, and +while they were doing their work the central force, armed with muskets, +knives, and pikes, was to begin the carnage, none being spared except +the French, whom it is significant that the Negroes favored. In Richmond +at the time there were not more than four or five hundred men with about +thirty muskets; but in the arsenal were several thousand guns, and the +powder-house was well stocked. Seizure of the mills was to guarantee the +insurrectionists a food supply; and meanwhile in the country districts +were the new harvests of corn, and flocks and herds were fat in the +fields. + +[Footnote 1: His full name was Gabriel Prosser.] + +On the day appointed for the uprising Virginia witnessed such a storm +as she had not seen in years. Bridges were carried away, and roads and +plantations completely submerged. Brook Swamp, the strategic point for +the Negroes, was inundated; and the country Negroes could not get +into the city, nor could those in the city get out to the place of +rendezvous. The force of more than a thousand dwindled to three hundred, +and these, almost paralyzed by fear and superstition, were dismissed. +Meanwhile a slave who did not wish to see his master killed divulged the +plot, and all Richmond was soon in arms. + +A troop of United States cavalry was ordered to the city and arrests +followed quickly. Three hundred dollars was offered by Governor Monroe +for the arrest of Gabriel, and as much more for Jack Bowler. Bowler +surrendered, but it took weeks to find Gabriel. Six men were convicted +and condemned to be executed on September 12, and five more on September +18. Gabriel was finally captured on September 24 at Norfolk on a vessel +that had come from Richmond; he was convicted on October 3 and executed +on October 7. He showed no disposition to dissemble as to his own plan; +at the same time he said not one word that incriminated anybody else. +After him twenty-four more men were executed; then it began to appear +that some "mistakes" had been made and the killing ceased. About the +time of this uprising some Negroes were also assembled for an outbreak +in Suffolk County; there were alarms in Petersburg and in the country +near Edenton, N.C.; and as far away as Charleston the excitement was +intense. + +There were at least three other Negro insurrections of importance in the +period 1790-1820. When news came of the uprising of the slaves in Santo +Domingo in 1791, the Negroes in Louisiana planned a similar effort.[1] +They might have succeeded better if they had not disagreed as to the +hour of the outbreak, when one of them informed the commandant. As a +punishment twenty-three of the slaves were hanged along the banks of the +river and their corpses left dangling for days; but three white men who +assisted them and who were really the most guilty of all, were simply +sent out of the colony. In Camden, S. C, on July 4, 1816, some other +Negroes risked all for independence.[2] On various pretexts men from the +country districts were invited to the town on the appointed night, and +different commands were assigned, all except that of commander-in-chief, +which position was to be given to him who first forced the gates of the +arsenal. Again the plot was divulged by "a favorite and confidential +slave," of whom we are told that the state legislature purchased the +freedom, settling upon him a pension for life. About six of the leaders +were executed. On or about May 1, 1819, there was a plot to destroy the +city of Augusta, Ga.[3] The insurrectionists were to assemble at Beach +Island, proceed to Augusta, set fire to the place, and then destroy the +inhabitants. Guards were posted, and a white man who did not answer when +hailed was shot and fatally wounded. A Negro named Coot was tried as +being at the head of the conspiracy and sentenced to be executed a few +days later. Other trials followed his. Not a muscle moved when the +verdict was pronounced upon him. + +[Footnote 1: Gayarré: _History of Louisiana_, III, 355.] + +[Footnote 2: Holland: _Refutation of Calumnies_.] + +[Footnote 3: Niles's _Register_, XVI, 213 (May 22, 1819).] + +The deeper meaning of such events as these could not escape the +discerning. More than one patriot had to wonder just whither the +country was drifting. Already it was evident that the ultimate problem +transcended the mere question of slavery, and many knew that human +beings could not always be confined to an artificial status. Throughout +the period the slave-trade seemed to flourish without any real check, +and it was even accentuated by the return to power of the old royalist +houses of Europe after the fall of Napoleon. Meanwhile it was observed +that slave labor was driving out of the South the white man of small +means, and antagonism between the men of the "up-country" and the +seaboard capitalists was brewing. The ordinary social life of the Negro +in the South left much to be desired, and conditions were not improved +by the rapid increase. As for slavery itself, no one could tell when or +where or how the system would end; all only knew that it was developing +apace: and meanwhile there was the sinister possibility of the alliance +of the Negro and the Indian. Sincere plans of gradual abolition were +advanced in the South as well as the North, but in the lower section +they seldom got more than a respectful hearing. In his "Dissertation on +Slavery, with a Proposal for the Gradual Abolition of it in the State of +Virginia," St. George Tucker, a professor of law in the University +of William and Mary, and one of the judges of the General Court of +Virginia, in 1796 advanced a plan by which he figured that after sixty +years there would be only one-third as many slaves as at first. At +this distance his proposal seems extremely conservative; at the time, +however, it was laid on the table by the Virginia House of Delegates, +and from the Senate the author received merely "a civil acknowledgment." + +Two men of the period--widely different in temper and tone, but +both earnest seekers after truth--looked forward to the future with +foreboding, one with the eye of the scientist, the other with the vision +of the seer. Hezekiah Niles had full sympathy with the groping and +striving of the South; but he insisted that slavery must ultimately be +abolished throughout the country, that the minds of the slaves should +be exalted, and that reasonable encouragement should be given free +Negroes.[1] Said he: "_We are ashamed of the thing we practice_;... +there is no attribute of heaven that takes part with us, and _we know +it_. And in the contest that must come and _will come_, there will be a +heap of sorrows such as the world has rarely seen."[2] + +[Footnote 1: _Register_, XVI, 177 (May 8, 1819).] + +[Footnote 2: _Ibid_., XVI, 213 (May 22, 1819).] + +On the other hand rose Lorenzo Dow, the foremost itinerant preacher of +the time, the first Protestant who expounded the gospel in Alabama and +Mississippi, and a reformer who at the very moment that cotton was +beginning to be supreme, presumed to tell the South that slavery was +wrong.[1] Everywhere he arrested attention--with his long hair, his +harsh voice, and his wild gesticulation startling all conservative +hearers. But he was made in the mold of heroes. In his lifetime he +traveled not less than two hundred thousand miles, preaching to more +people than any other man of his time. Several times he went to Canada, +once to the West Indies, and three times to England, everywhere drawing +great crowds about him. In _A Cry from the Wilderness_ he more than +once clothed his thought in enigmatic garb, but the meaning was always +ultimately clear. At this distance, when slavery and the Civil War are +alike viewed in the perspective, the words of the oracle are almost +uncanny: "In the rest of the Southern states the influence of these +Foreigners will be known and felt in its time, and the seeds from the +HORY ALLIANCE and the DECAPIGANDI, who have a hand in those grades of +Generals, from the Inquisitor to the Vicar General and down...!!! The +STRUGGLE will be DREADFUL! the CUP will be BITTER! and when the agony is +over, those who survive may see better days! FAREWELL!" + +[Footnote 1: For full study see article "Lorenzo Dow," in _Methodist +Review_ and _Journal of Negro History_, July, 1916, the same being +included in _Africa and the War_, New York, 1918.] + + + + +CHAPTER V + +INDIAN AND NEGRO + + +It is not the purpose of the present chapter to give a history of the +Seminole Wars, or even to trace fully the connection of the Negro with +these contests. We do hope to show at least, however, that the Negro was +more important than anything else as an immediate cause of controversy, +though the general pressure of the white man upon the Indian would +in time of course have made trouble in any case. Strange parallels +constantly present themselves, and incidentally it may be seen that the +policy of the Government in force in other and even later years with +reference to the Negro was at this time also very largely applied in the +case of the Indian. + + +1. _Creek, Seminole, and Negro to 1817: The War of 1812_ + +On August 7, 1786, the Continental Congress by a definite and +far-reaching ordinance sought to regulate for the future the whole +conduct of Indian affairs. Two great districts were formed, one +including the territory north of the Ohio and west of the Hudson, and +the other including that south of the Ohio and east of the Mississippi; +and for anything pertaining to the Indian in each of these two great +tracts a superintendent was appointed. As affecting the Negro the +southern district was naturally of vastly more importance than the +northern. In the eastern portion of this, mainly in what are now +Georgia, eastern Tennessee, and eastern Alabama, were the Cherokees +and the great confederacy of the Creeks, while toward the west, in the +present Mississippi and western Alabama, were the Chickasaws and the +Choctaws. Of Muskhogean stock, and originally a part of the Creeks, were +the Seminoles ("runaways"), who about 1750, under the leadership of a +great chieftain, Secoffee, separated from the main confederacy, which +had its center in southwest Georgia just a little south of Columbus, and +overran the peninsula of Florida. In 1808 came another band under Micco +Hadjo to the present site of Tallahassee. The Mickasukie tribe was +already on the ground in the vicinity of this town, and at first its +members objected to the newcomers, who threatened to take their lands +from them; but at length all abode peaceably together under the general +name of Seminoles. About 1810 these people had twenty towns, the chief +ones being Mikasuki and Tallahassee. From the very first they had +received occasional additions from the Yemassee, who had been driven out +of South Carolina, and of fugitive Negroes. + +By the close of the eighteenth century all along the frontier the Indian +had begun to feel keenly the pressure of the white man, and in his +struggle with the invader he recognized in the oppressed Negro a natural +ally. Those Negroes who by any chance became free were welcomed by the +Indians, fugitives from bondage found refuge with them, and while +Indian chiefs commonly owned slaves, the variety of servitude was very +different from that under the white man. The Negroes were comparatively +free, and intermarriage was frequent; thus a mulatto woman who fled +from bondage married a chief and became the mother of a daughter who in +course of time became the wife of the famous Osceola. This very close +connection of the Negro with the family life of the Indian was the +determining factor in the resistance of the Seminoles to the demands of +the agents of the United States, and a reason, stronger even than his +love for his old hunting-ground, for his objection to removal to new +lands beyond the Mississippi. Very frequently the Indian could not give +up his Negroes without seeing his own wife and children led away into +bondage; and thus to native courage and pride was added the instinct of +a father for the preservation of his own. + +In the two wars between the Americans and the English it was but natural +that the Indian should side with the English, and it was in some measure +but a part of the game that he should receive little consideration at +the hands of the victor. In the politics played by the English and the +French, the English and the Spaniards, and finally between the Americans +and all Europeans, the Indian was ever the loser. In the very early +years of the Carolina colonies, some effort was made to enslave the +Indians; but such servants soon made their way to the Indian country, +and it was not long before they taught the Negroes to do likewise. This +constant escape of slaves, with its attendant difficulties, largely +accounted for the establishing of the free colony of Georgia between +South Carolina and the Spanish possession, Florida. It was soon evident, +however, that the problem had been aggravated rather than settled. When +Congress met in 1776 it received from Georgia a communication setting +forth the need of "preventing slaves from deserting their masters"; and +as soon as the Federal Government was organized in 1789 it received also +from Georgia an urgent request for protection from the Creeks, who were +charged with various ravages, and among other documents presented was +a list of one hundred and ten Negroes who were said to have left their +masters during the Revolution and to have found refuge among the Creeks. +Meanwhile by various treaties, written and unwritten, the Creeks were +being forced toward the western line of the state, and in any agreement +the outstanding stipulation was always for the return of fugitive +slaves. For a number of years the Creeks retreated without definitely +organized resistance. In the course of the War of 1812, however, moved +by the English and by a visit from Tecumseh, they suddenly rose, and on +August 30, 1813, under the leadership of Weathersford, they attacked +Fort Mims, a stockade thirty-five miles north of Mobile. The five +hundred and fifty-three men, women, and children in this place were +almost completely massacred. Only fifteen white persons escaped by +hiding in the woods, a number of Negroes being taken prisoner. This +occurrence spurred the whole Southwest to action. Volunteers were called +for, and the Tennessee legislature resolved to exterminate the whole +tribe. Andrew Jackson with Colonel Coffee administered decisive defeats +at Talladega and Tohopeka or Horseshoe Bend on the Tallapoosa River, and +the Creeks were forced to sue for peace. By the treaty of Fort Jackson +(August 9, 1814) the future president, now a major general in the +regular army and in command at Mobile, demanded that the unhappy nation +give up more than half of its land as indemnity for the cost of the war, +that it hold no communication with a Spanish garrison or town, that it +permit the necessary roads to be made or forts to be built in any part +of the territory, and that it surrender the prophets who had instigated +the war. This last demand was ridiculous, or only for moral effect, +for the so-called prophets had already been left dead on the field of +battle. The Creeks were quite broken, however, and Jackson passed on to +fame and destiny at the Battle of New Orleans, January 8, 1815. In April +of this year he was made commander-in-chief of the Southern Division.[1] +It soon developed that his chief task in this capacity was to reckon +with the Seminoles. + +[Footnote 1: In his official capacity Jackson issued two addresses which +have an important place in the history of the Negro soldier. From his +headquarters at Mobile, September 21, 1814, he issued an appeal "To the +Free Colored Inhabitants of Louisiana," offering them an honorable part +in the war, and this was later followed by a "Proclamation to the +Free People of Color" congratulating them on their achievement. Both +addresses are accessible in many books.] + +On the Appalachicola River the British had rebuilt an old fort, calling +it the British Post on the Appalachicola. Early in the summer of 1815 +the commander, Nicholls, had occasion to go to London, and he took with +him his troops, the chief Francis, and several Creeks, leaving in the +fort seven hundred and sixty-three barrels of cannon powder, twenty-five +hundred muskets, and numerous pistols and other weapons of war. The +Negroes from Georgia who had come to the vicinity, who numbered not less +than a thousand, and who had some well kept farms up and down the +banks of the river, now took charge of the fort and made it their +headquarters. They were joined by some Creeks, and the so-called Negro +Fort soon caused itself to be greatly feared by any white people +who happened to live near. Demands on the Spanish governor for its +suppression were followed by threats of the use of the soldiery of the +United States; and General Gaines, under orders in the section, wrote to +Jackson asking authority to build near the boundary another post that +might be used as the base for any movement that had as its aim to +overawe the Negroes. Jackson readily complied with the request, saying, +"I have no doubt that this fort has been established by some villains +for the purpose of murder, rapine, and plunder, and that it ought to be +blown up regardless of the ground it stands on. If you have come to the +same conclusion, destroy it, and restore the stolen Negroes and property +to their rightful owners." Gaines accordingly built Fort Scott not +far from where the Flint and the Chattahoochee join to form the +Appalachicola. It was necessary for Gaines to pass the Negro Fort in +bringing supplies to his own men; and on July 17, 1816, the boats of the +Americans were within range of the fort and opened fire. There was some +preliminary shooting, and then, since the walls were too stubborn to be +battered down by a light fire, "a ball made red-hot in the cook's +galley was put in the gun and sent screaming over the wall and into the +magazine. The roar, the shock, the scene that followed, may be imagined, +but not described. Seven hundred barrels of gunpowder tore the earth, +the fort, and all the wretched creatures in it to fragments. Two hundred +and seventy men, women, and children died on the spot. Of sixty-four +taken out alive, the greater number died soon after."[1] + +[Footnote 1: McMaster, IV, 431.] + +The Seminoles--in the West more and more identified with the +Creeks--were angered by their failure to recover the lands lost by the +treaty of Fort Jackson and also by the building of Fort Scott. One +settlement, Fowltown, fifteen miles east of Fort Scott, was especially +excited and in the fall of 1817 sent a warning to the Americans "not +to cross or cut a stick of timber on the east side of the Flint." The +warning was regarded as a challenge; Fowltown was taken on a morning in +November, and the Seminole Wars had begun. + + +2. _First Seminole War and the Treaties of Indian Spring and Fort +Moultrie_ + +In the course of the First Seminole War (1817-18) Jackson ruthlessly +laid waste the towns of the Indians; he also took Pensacola, and he +awakened international difficulties by his rather summary execution of +two British subjects, Arbuthnot and Ambrister, who were traders to the +Indians and sustained generally pleasant relations with them. For his +conduct, especially in this last instance, he was severely criticized in +Congress, but it is significant of his rising popularity that no formal +vote of censure could pass against him. On the cession of Florida to the +United States he was appointed territorial governor; but he served for a +brief term only. As early as 1822 he was nominated for the presidency +by the legislature of Tennessee, and in 1823 he was sent to the United +States Senate. + +Of special importance in the history of the Creeks about this time was +the treaty of Indian Spring, of January 8, 1821, an iniquitous agreement +in the signing of which bribery and firewater were more than usually +present. By this the Creeks ceded to the United States, for the benefit +of Georgia, five million acres of their most valuable land. In cash they +were to receive $200,000, in payments extending over fourteen years. The +United States Government moreover was to hold $250,000 as a fund from +which the citizens of Georgia were to be reimbursed for any "claims" +(for runaway slaves of course) that the citizens of the state had +against the Creeks prior to the year 1802.[1] In the actual execution of +this agreement a slave was frequently estimated at two or three times +his real value, and the Creeks were expected to pay whether the fugitive +was with them or not. All possible claims, however, amounted to +$101,000. This left $149,000 of the money in the hands of the +Government. This sum was not turned over to the Indians, as one might +have expected, but retained until 1834, when the Georgia citizens +interested petitioned for a division. The request was referred to the +Commission on Indian Affairs, and the chairman, Gilmer of Georgia, was +in favor of dividing the money among the petitioners as compensation for +"the offspring which the slaves would have borne had they remained in +bondage." This suggestion was rejected at the time, but afterwards the +division was made nevertheless; and history records few more flagrant +violations of all principles of honor and justice. + +[Footnote 1: See J.R. Giddings: _The Exiles of Florida_, 63-66; also +speech in House of Representatives February 9, 1841.] + +The First Seminole War, while in some ways disastrous to the Indians, +was in fact not much more than the preliminary skirmish of a conflict +that was not to cease until 1842. In general the Indians, mindful of the +ravages of the War of 1812, did not fully commit themselves and bided +their time. They were in fact so much under cover that they led the +Americans to underestimate their real numbers. When the cession of +Florida was formally completed, however (July 17, 1821), they were found +to be on the very best spots of land in the territory. On May 20, 1822, +Colonel Gad Humphreys was appointed agent to them, William P. Duval as +governor of the territory being ex-officio superintendent of Indian +affairs. Altogether the Indians at this time, according to the official +count, numbered 1,594 men, 1,357 women, and 993 children, a total of +3,944, with 150 Negro men and 650 Negro women and children.[1] In the +interest of these people Humphreys labored faithfully for eight years, +and not a little of the comparative quiet in his period of service is to +be credited to his own sympathy, good sense, and patience. + +[Footnote 1: Sprague, 19.] + +In the spring of 1823 the Indians were surprised by the suggestion of a +treaty that would definitely limit their boundaries and outline their +future relations with the white man. The representative chiefs had +no desire for a conference, were exceedingly reluctant to meet the +commissioners, and finally came to the meeting prompted only by the hope +that such terms might be arrived at as would permanently guarantee them +in the peaceable possession of their homes. Over the very strong protest +of some of them a treaty was signed at Fort Moultrie, on the coast five +miles below St. Augustine, September 18, 1823, William P. Duval, James +Gadsden, and Bernard Segui being the representatives of the United +States. By this treaty we learn that the Indians, in view of the fact +that they have "thrown themselves on, and have promised to continue +under, the protection of the United States, and of no other nation, +power, or sovereignty; and in consideration of the promises and +stipulations hereinafter made, do cede and relinquish all claim or title +which they have to the whole territory of Florida, with the exception of +such district of country as shall herein be allotted to them." They are +to have restricted boundaries, the extreme point of which is nowhere to +be nearer than fifteen miles to the Gulf of Mexico. The United States +promises to distribute, as soon as the Indians are settled on their new +land, under the direction of their agent, "implements of husbandry, and +stock of cattle and hogs to the amount of six thousand dollars, and an +annual sum of five thousand dollars a year for twenty successive years"; +and "to restrain and prevent all white persons from hunting, settling, +or otherwise intruding" upon the land set apart for the Indians, though +any American citizen, lawfully authorized, is to pass and repass +within the said district and navigate the waters thereof "without any +hindrance, toll or exactions from said tribes." For facilitating removal +and as compensation for any losses or inconvenience sustained, the +United States is to furnish rations of corn, meat, and salt for twelve +months, with a special appropriation of $4,500 for those who have made +improvements, and $2,000 more for the facilitating of transportation. +The agent, sub-agent, and interpreter are to reside within the Indian +boundary "to watch over the interests of said tribes"; and the United +States further undertake "as an evidence of their humane policy +towards said tribes" to allow $1,000 a year for twenty years for the +establishment of a school and $1,000 a year for the same period for the +support of a gun- and blacksmith. Of supreme importance is Article 7: +"The chiefs and warriors aforesaid, for themselves and tribes, stipulate +to be active and vigilant in the preventing the retreating to, or +passing through, the district of country assigned them, of any +absconding slaves, or fugitives from justice; and further agree to use +all necessary exertions to apprehend and deliver the same to the agent, +who shall receive orders to compensate them agreeably to the trouble and +expense incurred." We have dwelt at length upon the provisions of this +treaty because it contained all the seeds of future trouble between the +white man and the Indian. Six prominent chiefs--Nea Mathla, John Blunt, +Tuski Hajo, Mulatto King, Emathlochee, and Econchattimico--refused +absolutely to sign, and their marks were not won until each was given +a special reservation of from two to four square miles outside the +Seminole boundaries. Old Nea Mathla in fact never did accept the treaty +in good faith, and when the time came for the execution of the agreement +he summoned his warriors to resistance. Governor Duval broke in upon his +war council, deposed the war leaders, and elevated those who favored +peaceful removal. The Seminoles now retired to their new lands, but Nea +Mathla was driven into practical exile. He retired to the Creeks, by +whom he was raised to the dignity of a chief. It was soon realized by +the Seminoles that they had been restricted to some pine woods by no +means as fertile as their old lands, nor were matters made better by one +or two seasons of drought. To allay their discontent twenty square miles +more, to the north, was given them, but to offset this new cession their +rations were immediately reduced. + + +3. _From the Treaty of Fort Moultrie to the Treaty of Payne's Landing_ + +Now succeeded ten years of trespassing, of insult, and of increasing +enmity. Kidnapers constantly lurked near the Indian possessions, and +instances of injury unredressed increased the bitterness and rancor. +Under date May 20, 1825, Humphreys[1] wrote to the Indian Bureau that +the white settlers were already thronging to the vicinity of the Indian +reservation and were likely to become troublesome. As to some recent +disturbances, writing from St. Augustine February 9, 1825, he said: +"From all I can learn here there is little doubt that the disturbances +near Tallahassee, which have of late occasioned so much clamor, were +brought about by a course of unjustifiable conduct on the part of +the whites, similar to that which it appears to be the object of the +territorial legislature to legalize. In fact, it is stated that one +Indian had been so severely whipped by the head of the family which was +destroyed in these disturbances, as to cause his death; if such be the +fact, the subsequent act of the Indians, however lamentable, must be +considered as one of retaliation, and I can not but think it is to +be deplored that they were afterwards 'hunted' with so unrelenting a +revenge." The word _hunted_ was used advisedly by Humphreys, for, as +we shall see later, when war was renewed one of the common means of +fighting employed by the American officers was the use of bloodhounds. +Sometimes guns were taken from the Indians so that they had nothing with +which to pursue the chase. On one occasion, when some Indians were being +marched to headquarters, a woman far advanced in pregnancy was forced +onward with such precipitancy as to produce a premature delivery, which +almost terminated her life. More far-reaching than anything else, +however, was the constant denial of the rights of the Indian in court +in cases involving white men. As Humphreys said, the great disadvantage +under which the Seminoles labored as witnesses "destroyed everything +like equality of rights." Some of the Negroes that they had, had been +born among them, and some others had been purchased from white men +and duly paid for. No receipts were given, however, and efforts were +frequently made to recapture the Negroes by force. The Indian, conscious +of his rights, protested earnestly against such attempts and naturally +determined to resist all efforts to wrest from him his rightfully +acquired property. + +[Footnote 1: The correspondence is readily accessible in Sprague, +30-37.] + +By 1827, however, the territorial legislature had begun to memorialize +Congress and to ask for the complete removal of the Indians. Meanwhile +the Negro question was becoming more prominent, and orders from the +Department of War, increasingly peremptory, were made on Humphreys for +the return of definite Negroes. For Duval and Humphreys, however, who +had actually to execute the commissions, the task was not always so +easy. Under date March 20, 1827, the former wrote to the latter: "Many +of the slaves belonging to the whites are now in the possession of the +white people; these slaves can not be obtained for their Indian owners +without a lawsuit, and I see no reason why the Indians shall be +compelled to surrender all slaves claimed by our citizens when this +surrender is not mutual." Meanwhile the annuity began to be withheld +from the Indians in order to force them to return Negroes, and a +friendly chief, Hicks, constantly waited upon Humphreys only to find the +agent little more powerful than himself. Thus matters continued through +1829 and 1830. In violation of all legal procedure, the Indians were +constantly _required to relinquish beforehand property in their +possession to settle a question of claim_. On March 21, 1830, Humphreys +was informed that he was no longer agent for the Indians. He had been +honestly devoted to the interest of these people, but his efforts were +not in harmony with the policy of the new administration. + +Just what that policy was may be seen from Jackson's special message +on Indian affairs of February 22, 1831. The Senate had asked for +information as to the conduct of the Government in connection with the +act of March 30, 1802, "to regulate trade and intercourse with the +Indian tribes and to preserve peace on the frontiers." The Nullification +controversy was in everybody's mind, and already friction had arisen +between the new President and the abolitionists. In spite of Jackson's +attitude toward South Carolina, his message in the present instance was +a careful defense of the whole theory of state rights. Nothing in the +conduct of the Federal Government toward the Indian tribes, he insisted, +had ever been intended to attack or even to call in question the rights +of a sovereign state. In one way the Southern states had seemed to be an +exception. "As early as 1784 the settlements within the limits of North +Carolina were advanced farther to the west than the authority of the +state to enforce an obedience of its laws." After the Revolution the +tribes desolated the frontiers. "Under these circumstances the first +treaties, in 1785 and 1790, with the Cherokees, were concluded by the +Government of the United States." Nothing of all this, said Jackson, had +in any way affected the relation of any Indians to the state in which +they happened to reside, and he concluded as follows: "Toward this race +of people I entertain the kindest feelings, and am not sensible that the +views which I have taken of their true interests are less favorable to +them than those which oppose their emigration to the West. Years since I +stated to them my belief that if the States chose to extend their laws +over them it would not be in the power of the Federal Government to +prevent it. My opinion remains the same, and I can see no alternative +for them but that of their removal to the West or a quiet submission to +the state laws. If they prefer to remove, the United States agree to +defray their expenses, to supply them the means of transportation and a +year's support after they reach their new homes--a provision too liberal +and kind to bear the stamp of injustice. Either course promises them +peace and happiness, whilst an obstinate perseverance in the effort to +maintain their possessions independent of the state authority can not +fail to render their condition still more helpless and miserable. Such +an effort ought, therefore, to be discountenanced by all who sincerely +sympathize in the fortunes of this peculiar people, and especially by +the political bodies of the Union, as calculated to disturb the harmony +of the two Governments and to endanger the safety of the many blessings +which they enable us to enjoy." + +The policy thus formally enunciated was already in practical operation. +In the closing days of the administration of John Quincy Adams a +delegation came to Washington to present to the administration the +grievances of the Cherokee nation. The formal reception of the +delegation fell to the lot of Eaton, the new Secretary of War. The +Cherokees asserted that not only did they have no rights in the Georgia +courts in cases involving white men, but that they had been notified by +Georgia that all laws, usages, and agreements in force in the Indian +country would be null and void after June 1, 1830; and naturally they +wanted the interposition of the Federal Government. Eaton replied at +great length, reminding the Cherokees that they had taken sides with +England in the War of 1812, that they were now on American soil only by +sufferance, and that the central government could not violate the rights +of the state of Georgia; and he strongly advised immediate removal to +the West. The Cherokees, quite broken, acted in accord with this advice; +and so in 1832 did the Creeks, to whom Jackson had sent a special talk +urging removal as the only basis of Federal protection. + +To the Seminoles as early as 1827 overtures for removal had been made; +but before the treaty of Fort Moultrie had really become effective they +had been intruded upon and they in turn had become more slow about +returning runaway slaves. From some of the clauses in the treaty of +Fort Moultrie, as some of the chiefs were quick to point out, the +understanding was that the same was to be in force for twenty years; and +they felt that any slowness on their part about the return of Negroes +was fully nullified by the efforts of the professional Negro stealers +with whom they had to deal. + +Early in 1832, however, Colonel James Gadsden of Florida was directed +by Lewis Cass, the Secretary of War, to enter into negotiation for the +removal of the Indians of Florida. There was great opposition to a +conference, but the Indians were finally brought together at Payne's +Landing on the Ocklawaha River just seventeen miles from Fort King. +Here on May 9, 1832, was wrested from them a treaty which is of supreme +importance in the history of the Seminoles. The full text was as +follows: + + +TREATY OF PAYNE'S LANDING, + +MAY 9, 1832 + + Whereas, a treaty between the United States and the Seminole nation + of Indians was made and concluded at Payne's Landing, on the + Ocklawaha River, on the 9th of May, one thousand eight hundred and + thirty-two, by James Gadsden, commissioner on the part of the United + States, and the chiefs and headmen of said Seminole nation of + Indians, on the part of said nation; which treaty is in the words + following, to wit: + + The Seminole Indians, regarding with just respect the solicitude + manifested by the President of the United States for the improvement + of their condition, by recommending a removal to the country more + suitable to their habits and wants than the one they at present + occupy in the territory of Florida, are willing that their + confidential chiefs, Jumper, Fuch-a-lus-to-had-jo, Charley Emathla, + Coi-had-jo, Holati-Emathla, Ya-ha-had-jo, Sam Jones, accompanied + by their agent, Major John Phagan, and their faithful interpreter, + Abraham, should be sent, at the expense of the United States, as + early as convenient, to examine the country assigned to the Creeks, + west of the Mississippi River, and should they be satisfied with the + character of the country, and of the favorable disposition of the + Creeks to re-unite with the Seminoles as one people; the articles of + the compact and agreement herein stipulated, at Payne's Landing, + on the Ocklawaha River, this ninth day of May, one thousand eight + hundred and thirty-two, between James Gadsden, for and in behalf of + the government of the United States, and the undersigned chiefs and + headmen, for and in behalf of the Seminole Indians, shall be binding + on the respective parties. + + Article I. The Seminole Indians relinquish to the United States + all claim to the land they at present occupy in the territory of + Florida, and agree to emigrate to the country assigned to the + Creeks, west of the Mississippi River, it being understood that an + additional extent of country, proportioned to their numbers, will + be added to the Creek territory, and that the Seminoles will be + received as a constituent part of the Creek nation, and be + re-admitted to all the privileges as a member of the same. + + Article II. For and in consideration of the relinquishment of claim + in the first article of this agreement, and in full compensation for + all the improvements which may have been made on the lands thereby + ceded, the United States stipulate to pay to the Seminole Indians + fifteen thousand four hundred ($15,400) dollars, to be divided + among the chiefs and warriors of the several towns, in a ratio + proportioned to their population, the respective proportions of each + to be paid on their arrival in the country they consent to remove + to; it being understood that their faithful interpreters, Abraham + and Cudjo, shall receive two hundred dollars each, of the above sum, + in full remuneration of the improvements to be abandoned on the + lands now cultivated by them. + + Article III. The United States agree to distribute, as they arrive + at their new homes in the Creek territory, west of the Mississippi + River, a blanket and a homespun frock to each of the warriors, women + and children, of the Seminole tribe of Indians. + + Article IV. The United States agree to extend the annuity for the + support of a blacksmith, provided for in the sixth article of the + treaty at Camp Moultrie, for ten (10) years beyond the period + therein stipulated, and in addition to the other annuities secured + under that treaty, the United States agree to pay the sum of three + thousand ($3,000) dollars a year for fifteen (15) years, commencing + after the removal of the whole tribe; these sums to be added to the + Creek annuities, and the whole amount to be so divided that the + chiefs and warriors of the Seminole Indians may receive their + equitable proportion of the same, as members of the Creek + confederation. + + Article V. The United States will take the cattle belonging to the + Seminoles, at the valuation of some discreet person, to be appointed + by the President, and the same shall be paid for in money to the + respective owners, after their arrival at their new homes; or other + cattle, such as may be desired, will be furnished them; notice being + given through their agent, of their wishes upon this subject, before + their removal, that time may be afforded to supply the demand. + + Article VI. The Seminoles being anxious to be relieved from the + repeated vexatious demands for slaves, and other property, alleged + to have been stolen and destroyed by them, so that they may remove + unembarrassed to their new homes, the United States stipulate to + have the same property (properly) investigated, and to liquidate + such as may be satisfactorily established, provided the amount does + not exceed seven thousand ($7,000) dollars. + + Article VII. The Seminole Indians will remove within three (3) years + after the ratification of this agreement, and the expenses of their + removal shall be defrayed by the United States, and such subsistence + shall also be furnished them, for a term not exceeding twelve (12) + months after their arrival at their new residence, as in the opinion + of the President their numbers and circumstances may require; the + emigration to commence as early as practicable in the year eighteen + hundred and thirty-three (1833), and with those Indians at present + occupying the Big Swamp, and other parts of the country beyond the + limits, as defined in the second article of the treaty concluded at + Camp Moultrie Creek, so that the whole of that proportion of + the Seminoles may be removed within the year aforesaid, and the + remainder of the tribe, in about equal proportions, during the + subsequent years of eighteen hundred and thirty-four and five (1834 + and 1835). + + In testimony whereof, the commissioner, James Gadsden, and the + undersigned chiefs and head-men of the Seminole Indians, have + hereunto subscribed their names and affixed their seals. + + Done at camp, at Payne's Landing, on the Ocklawaha River, in the + territory of Florida, on this ninth day of May, one thousand eight + hundred and thirty-two, and of the independence of the United States + of America, the fifty-sixth. + + (Signed) James Gadsden. L.S. + Holati Emathlar, his X mark. + Jumper, his X mark. + Cudjo, Interpreter, his X mark. + Erastus Rodgers. + B. Joscan. + Holati Emathlar, his X mark. + Jumper, his X mark. + Fuch-ta-lus-ta-Hadjo, his X mark. + Charley Emathla, his X mark. + Coi Hadjo, his X mark. + Ar-pi-uck-i, or Sam + Jones, his X mark. + Ya-ha-Hadjo, his X mark. + Mico-Noha, his X mark. + Tokose Emathla, or + John Hicks, his X mark. + Cat-sha-Tustenuggee, his X mark. + Holat-a-Micco, his X mark. + Hitch-it-i-Micco, his X mark. + E-na-hah, his X mark. + Ya-ha-Emathla-Chopco, his X mark. + Moki-his-she-lar-ni, his X mark. + + Now, therefore, be it known that I, Andrew Jackson, President of the + United States of America, having seen and considered said treaty, + do, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate, as expressed + by their resolution of the eighth day of April, one thousand eight + hundred and thirty-four, accept, ratify, and confirm the same, and + every clause and article thereof. + + In witness whereof, I have caused the seal of the United States to + be hereunto affixed, having signed the same with my hand. Done at + the city of Washington, this twelfth day of April, in the year of + our Lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-four, and of the + independence of the United States of America, the fifty-eighth. + + (Signed) ANDREW JACKSON. By the President, + LOUIS MCLANE, Secretary of State. + +It will be seen that by the terms of this document seven chiefs were to +go and examine the country assigned to the Creeks, and that they were to +be accompanied by Major John Phagan, the successor of Humphreys, and the +Negro interpreter Abraham. The character of Phagan may be seen from the +facts that he was soon in debt to different ones of the Indians and to +Abraham, and that he was found to be short in his accounts. While the +Indian chiefs were in the West, three United States commissioners +conferred with them as to the suitability of the country for a future +home, and at Fort Gibson, Arkansas, March 28, 1833, they were beguiled +into signing an additional treaty in which occurred the following +sentence: "And the undersigned Seminole chiefs, delegated as aforesaid, +on behalf of their nation, hereby declare themselves well satisfied with +the location provided for them by the commissioners, and agree that +their nation shall commence the removal to their new home as soon as the +government will make arrangements for their emigration, satisfactory to +the Seminole nation." They of course had no authority to act on their +own initiative, and when all returned in April, 1833, and Phagan +explained what had happened, the Seminoles expressed themselves in no +uncertain terms. The chiefs who had gone West denied strenuously that +they had signed away any rights to land, but they were nevertheless +upbraided as the agents of deception. Some of the old chiefs, of whom +Micanopy was the highest authority, resolved to resist the efforts to +dispossess them; and John Hicks, who seems to have been substituted for +Sam Jones on the commission, was killed because he argued too strongly +for migration. Meanwhile the treaty of Payne's Landing was ratified by +the Senate of the United States and proclaimed as in force by President +Jackson April 12, 1834, and in connection with it the supplementary +treaty of Fort Gibson was also ratified. The Seminoles, however, were +not showing any haste about removing, and ninety of the white citizens +of Alachua County sent a protest to the President alleging that the +Indians were not returning their fugitive slaves. Jackson was made +angry, and without even waiting for the formal ratification of the +treaties, he sent the document to the Secretary of War, with an +endorsement on the back directing him "to inquire into the alleged +facts, and if found to be true, to direct the Seminoles to prepare to +remove West and join the Creeks." General Wiley Thompson was appointed +to succeed Phagan as agent, and General Duncan L. Clinch was placed in +command of the troops whose services it was thought might be needed. It +was at this juncture that Osceola stepped forward as the leading spirit +of his people. + + +4. _Osceola and the Second Seminole War_ + +Osceola (Asseola, or As-se-he-ho-lar, sometimes called Powell because +after his father's death his mother married a white man of that name[1]) +was not more than thirty years of age. He was slender, of only +average height, and slightly round-shouldered; but he was also well +proportioned, muscular, and capable of enduring great fatigue. He had +light, deep, restless eyes, and a shrill voice, and he was a great +admirer of order and technique. He excelled in athletic contests and in +his earlier years had taken delight in engaging in military practice +with the white men. As he was neither by descent nor formal election a +chief, he was not expected to have a voice in important deliberations; +but he was a natural leader and he did more than any other man to +organize the Seminoles to resistance. It is hardly too much to say +that to his single influence was due a contest that ultimately cost +$10,000,000 and the loss of thousands of lives. Never did a patriot +fight more valiantly for his own, and it stands to the eternal disgrace +of the American arms that he was captured under a flag of truce. + +[Footnote 1: Hodge's _Handbook of American Indians_, II, 159.] + +It is well to pause for a moment and reflect upon some of the deeper +motives that entered into the impending contest. A distinguished +congressman,[1] speaking in the House of Representatives a few years +later, touched eloquently upon some of the events of these troublous +years. Let us remember that this was the time of the formation of +anti-slavery societies, of pronounced activity on the part of the +abolitionists, and recall also that Nat Turner's insurrection was still +fresh in the public mind. Giddings stated clearly the issue as it +appeared to the people of the North when he said, "I hold that if the +slaves of Georgia or any other state leave their masters, the Federal +Government has no constitutional authority to employ our army or navy +for their recapture, or to apply the national treasure to repurchase +them." There could be no question of the fact that the war was very +largely one over fugitive slaves. Under date October 28, 1834, General +Thompson wrote to the Commissioner of Indian Affairs: "There are many +very likely Negroes in this nation [the Seminole]. Some of the whites in +the adjacent settlements manifest a restless desire to obtain them, and +I have no doubt that Indian raised Negroes are now in the possession +of the whites." In a letter dated January 20, 1834, Governor Duval had +already said to the same official: "The slaves belonging to the Indians +have a controlling influence over the minds of their masters, and are +entirely opposed to any change of residence." Six days later he wrote: +"The slaves belonging to the Indians must be made to fear for themselves +before they will cease to influence the minds of their masters.... The +first step towards the emigration of these Indians must be the breaking +up of the runaway slaves and the outlaw Indians." And the New Orleans +_Courier_ of July 27, 1839, revealed all the fears of the period when it +said, "Every day's delay in subduing the Seminoles increases the danger +of a rising among the serviles." + +[Footnote 1: Joshua R. Giddings, of Ohio. His exhaustive speech on the +Florida War was made February 9, 1841.] + +All the while injustice and injury to the Indians continued. +Econchattimico, well known as one of those chiefs to whom special +reservations had been given by the treaty of Fort Moultrie, was the +owner of twenty slaves valued at $15,000. Observing Negro stealers +hovering around his estate, he armed himself and his men. The kidnapers +then furthered their designs by circulating the report that the Indians +were arming themselves for union with the main body of Seminoles for the +general purpose of massacring the white people. Face to face with +this charge Econchattimico gave up his arms and threw himself on the +protection of the government; and his Negroes were at once taken and +sold into bondage. + +A similar case was that of John Walker, an Appalachicola chief, who +wrote to Thompson under date July 28, 1835: "I am induced to write you +in consequence of the depredations making and attempted to be made upon +my property, by a company of Negro stealers, some of whom are from +Columbus, Ga., and have connected themselves with Brown and Douglass.... +I should like your advice how I am to act. I dislike to make or to have +any difficulty with the white people. But if they trespass upon my +premises and my rights, I must defend myself the best way I can. If they +do make this attempt, and I have no doubt they will, they must bear the +consequences. _But is there no civil law to protect me_? Are the free +Negroes and the Negroes belonging to this town to be stolen away +publicly, and in the face of law and justice, carried off and sold to +fill the pockets of these worse than land pirates? Douglass and his +company hired a man who has two large trained dogs for the purpose to +come down and take Billy. He is from Mobile and follows for a livelihood +catching runaway Negroes." + +Such were the motives, fears and incidents in the years immediately +after the treaty of Payne's Landing. Beginning at the close of 1834 and +continuing through April, 1835, Thompson had a series of conferences +with the Seminole chiefs. At these meetings Micanopy, influenced by +Osceola and other young Seminoles, took a more definite stand than he +might otherwise have assumed. Especially did he insist with reference +to the treaty that he understood that the chiefs who went West were to +_examine_ the country, and for his part he knew that when they returned +they would report unfavorably. Thompson then, becoming angry, delivered +an ultimatum to the effect that if the treaty was not observed the +annuity from the great father in Washington would cease. To this, +Osceola, stepping forward, replied that he and his warriors did not care +if they never received another dollar from the great father, and drawing +his knife, he plunged it in the table and said, "The only treaty I will +execute is with this." Henceforward there was deadly enmity between the +young Seminole and Thompson. More and more Osceola made his personality +felt, constantly asserting to the men of his nation that whoever +recommended emigration was an enemy of the Seminoles, and he finally +arrived at an understanding with many of them that the treaty would be +resisted with their very lives. Thompson, however, on April 23, 1835, +had a sort of secret conference with sixteen of the chiefs who seemed +favorably disposed toward migration, and he persuaded them to sign a +document "freely and fully" assenting to the treaties of Payne's Landing +and Fort Gibson. The next day there was a formal meeting at which the +agent, backed up by Clinch and his soldiers, upbraided the Indians in a +very harsh manner. His words were met by groans, angry gesticulations, +and only half-muffled imprecations. Clinch endeavored to appeal to the +Indians and to advise them that resistance was both unwise and useless. +Thompson, however, with his usual lack of tact, rushed onward in his +course, and learning that five chiefs were unalterably opposed to the +treaty, he arbitrarily struck their names off the roll of chiefs, an +action the highhandedness of which was not lost on the Seminoles. +Immediately after the conference moreover he forbade the sale of +any more arms and powder to the Indians. To the friendly chiefs the +understanding had been given that the nation might have until January +1, 1836, to make preparation for removal, by which time all were to +assemble at Fort Brooke, Tampa Bay, for emigration. + +About the first of June Osceola was one day on a quiet errand of trading +at Fort King. With him was his wife, the daughter of a mulatto slave +woman who had run away years before and married an Indian chief. By +Southern law this woman followed the condition of her mother, and +when the mother's former owner appeared on the scene and claimed the +daughter, Thompson, who desired to teach Occeola a lesson, readily +agreed that she should be remanded into captivity.[1] Osceola was highly +enraged, and this time it was his turn to upbraid the agent. Thompson +now had him overpowered and put in irons, in which situation he remained +for the better part of two days. In this period of captivity his soul +plotted revenge and at length he too planned a "_ruse de guerre_." +Feigning assent to the treaty he told Thompson that if he was released +not only would he sign himself but he would also bring his people to +sign. The agent was completely deceived by Osceola's tactics. "True to +his professions," wrote Thompson on June 3, "he this day appeared with +seventy-nine of his people, men, women, and children, including some who +had joined him since his conversion, and redeemed his promise. He told +me many of his friends were out hunting, whom he could and would bring +over on their return. I have now no doubt of his sincerity, and as +little, that the greatest difficulty is surmounted." + +[Footnote 1: This highly important incident, which was really the spark +that started the war, is absolutely ignored even by such well informed +writers as Drake and Sprague. Drake simply gives the impression that +the quarrel between Osceola and Thompson was over the old matter of +emigration, saying (413), "Remonstrance soon grew into altercation, +which ended in a _ruse de guerre_, by which Osceola was made prisoner by +the agent, and put in irons, in which situation he was kept one night +and part of two days." The story is told by McMaster, however. Also note +M.M. Cohen as quoted in _Quarterly Anti-Slavery Magazine_, Vol. II, p. +419 (July, 1837).] + +Osceola now rapidly urged forward preparations for war, which, however, +he did not wish actually started until after the crops were gathered. +By the fall he was ready, and one day in October when he and some other +warriors met Charley Emathla, who had upon him the gold and silver that +he had received from the sale of his cattle preparatory to migration, +they killed this chief, and Osceola threw the money in every direction, +saying that no one was to touch it, as it was the price of the red man's +blood. The true drift of events became even more apparent to Thompson +and Clinch in November, when five chiefs friendly to migration with five +hundred of their people suddenly appeared at Fort Brooke to ask for +protection. When in December Thompson sent final word to the Seminoles +that they must bring in their horses and cattle, the Indians did not +come on the appointed day; on the contrary they sent their women and +children to the interior and girded themselves for battle. To Osceola +late in the month a runner brought word that some troops under the +command of Major Dade were to leave Fort Brooke on the 25th and on the +night of the 27th were to be attacked by some Seminoles in the Wahoo +Swamp. Osceola himself, with some of his men, was meanwhile lying in the +woods near Fort King, waiting for an opportunity to kill Thompson. On +the afternoon of the 28th the agent dined not far from the fort at the +home of the sutler, a man named Rogers, and after dinner he walked +with Lieutenant Smith to the crest of a neighboring hill. Here he was +surprised by the Indians, and both he and Smith fell pierced by numerous +bullets. The Indians then pressed on to the home of the sutler and +killed Rogers, his two clerks, and a little boy. On the same day the +command of Major Dade, including seven officers and one hundred and ten +men, was almost completely annihilated, only three men escaping. Dade +and his horse were killed at the first onset. These two attacks began +the actual fighting of the Second Seminole War. That the Negroes were +working shoulder to shoulder with the Indians in these encounters may +be seen from the report of Captain Belton,[1] who said, "Lieut. Keays, +third artillery, had both arms broken from the first shot; was unable +to act, and was tomahawked the latter part of the second attack, by a +Negro"; and further: "A Negro named Harry controls the Pea Band of about +a hundred warriors, forty miles southeast of us, who have done most +of the mischief, and keep this post constantly observed." Osceola now +joined forces with those Indians who had attacked Dade, and in the +early morning of the last day of the year occurred the Battle of +Ouithlecoochee, a desperate encounter in which both Osceola and Clinch +gave good accounts of themselves. Clinch had two hundred regulars and +five or six hundred volunteers. The latter fled early in the contest and +looked on from a distance; and Clinch had to work desperately to keep +from duplicating the experience of Dade. Osceola himself was conspicuous +in a red belt and three long feathers, but although twice wounded he +seemed to bear a charmed life. He posted himself behind a tree, from +which station he constantly sallied forth to kill or wound an enemy with +almost infallible aim. + +[Footnote 1: Accessible in Drake, 416-418.] + +After these early encounters the fighting became more and more bitter +and the contest more prolonged. Early in the war the disbursing agent +reported that there were only three thousand Indians, including Negroes, +to be considered; but this was clearly an understatement. Within the +next year and a half the Indians were hard pressed, and before the end +of this period the notorious Thomas S. Jessup had appeared on the scene +as commanding major general. This man seems to have determined never to +use honorable means of warfare if some ignoble instrument could serve +his purpose. In a letter sent to Colonel Harvey from Tampa Bay under +date May 25, 1837, he said: "If you see Powell (Osceola), tell him I +shall send out and take all the Negroes who belong to the white people. +And he must not allow the Indian Negroes to mix with them. Tell him I +am sending to Cuba for bloodhounds to trail them; and I intend to hang +every one of them who does not come in." And it might be remarked that +for his bloodhounds Jessup spent--or said he spent--as much as $5,000, a +fact which thoroughly aroused Giddings and other persons from the North, +who by no means cared to see such an investment of public funds. By +order No. 160, dated August 3, 1837, Jessup invited his soldiers to +plunder and rapine, saying, "All Indian property captured from this date +will belong to the corps or detachment making it." From St. Augustine, +under date October 20, 1837, in a "confidential" communication he said +to one of his lieutenants: "Should Powell and his warriors come within +the fort, seize him and the whole party. It is important that he, Wild +Cat, John Cowagee, and Tustenuggee, be secured. Hold them until you have +my orders in relation to them."[1] Two days later he was able to write +to the Secretary of War that Osceola was actually taken. Said he: "That +chief came into the vicinity of Fort Peyton on the 20th, and sent a +messenger to General Hernandez, desiring to see and converse with him. +The sickly season being over, and there being no further necessity to +temporize, I sent a party of mounted men, and seized the entire body, +and now have them securely lodged in the fort." Osceola, Wild Cat, +and others thus captured were marched to St. Augustine; but Wild Cat +escaped. Osceola was ultimately taken to Fort Moultrie, in the harbor of +Charleston, where in January (1838) he died. + +[Footnote 1: This correspondence, and much more bearing on the point, +may be found in House Document 327 of the Second Session of the +Twenty-fifth Congress.] + +Important in this general connection was the fate of the deputation that +the influential John Ross, chief of the Cherokees, was persuaded to +send from his nation to induce the Seminoles to think more favorably of +migration. Micanopy, twelve other chieftains, and a number of warriors +accompanied the Cherokee deputation to the headquarters of the United +States Army at Fort Mellon, where they were to discuss the matter. These +warriors also Jessup seized, and Ross wrote to the Secretary of War +a dignified but bitter letter protesting against this "unprecedented +violation of that sacred rule which has ever been recognized by every +nation, civilized and uncivilized, of treating with all due respect +those who had ever presented themselves under a flag of truce before the +enemy, for the purpose of proposing the termination of warfare." He had +indeed been most basely used as the agent of deception. + +This chapter, we trust, has shown something of the real nature of the +points at issue in the Seminole Wars. In the course of these contests +the rights of Indian and Negro alike were ruthlessly disregarded. There +was redress for neither before the courts, and at the end in dealing +with them every honorable principle of men and nations was violated. It +is interesting that the three representatives of colored peoples who +in the course of the nineteenth century it was most difficult to +capture--Toussaint L'Ouverture, the Negro, Osceola, the Indian, and +Aguinaldo, the Filipino--were all taken through treachery; and on two of +the three occasions this treachery was practiced by responsible officers +of the United States Army. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +EARLY APPROACH TO THE NEGRO PROBLEM + + +1. The Ultimate Problem and the Missouri Compromise + +In a previous chapter[1] we have already indicated the rise of the Negro +Problem in the last decade of the eighteenth and the first two decades +of the nineteenth century. And what was the Negro Problem? It was +certainly not merely a question of slavery; in the last analysis this +institution was hardly more than an incident. Slavery has ceased to +exist, but even to-day the Problem is with us. The question was rather +what was to be the final place in the American body politic of the +Negro population that was so rapidly increasing in the country. In the +answering of this question supreme importance attached to the Negro +himself; but the problem soon transcended the race. Ultimately it was +the destiny of the United States rather than of the Negro that was to be +considered, and all the ideals on which the country was based came to +the testing. If one studied those ideals he soon realized that they were +based on Teutonic or at least English foundations. By 1820, however, the +young American republic was already beginning to be the hope of all +of the oppressed people of Europe, and Greeks and Italians as well as +Germans and Swedes were turning their faces toward the Promised Land. +The whole background of Latin culture was different from the Teutonic, +and yet the people of Southern as well as of Northern Europe somehow +became a part of the life of the United States. In this life was it also +possible for the children of Africa to have a permanent and an honorable +place? With their special tradition and gifts, with their shortcomings, +above all with their distinctive color, could they, too, become genuine +American citizens? Some said No, but in taking this position they denied +not only the ideals on which the country was founded but also the +possibilities of human nature itself. In any case the answer to the +first question at once suggested another, What shall we do with the +Negro? About this there was very great difference of opinion, it not +always being supposed that the Negro himself had anything whatever to +say about the matter. Some said send the Negro away, get rid of him by +any means whatsoever; others said if he must stay, keep him in slavery; +still others said not to keep him permanently in slavery, but emancipate +him only gradually; and already there were beginning to be persons who +felt that the Negro should be emancipated everywhere immediately, and +that after this great event had taken place he and the nation together +should work out his salvation on the broadest possible plane. + +[Footnote 1: IV, Section 3.] + +Into the agitation was suddenly thrust the application of Missouri for +entrance into the Union as a slave state. The struggle that followed +for two years was primarily a political one, but in the course of the +discussion the evils of slavery were fully considered. Meanwhile, in +1819, Alabama and Maine also applied for admission. Alabama was allowed +to enter without much discussion, as she made equal the number of slave +and free states. Maine, however, brought forth more talk. The Southern +congressmen would have been perfectly willing to admit this as a free +state if Missouri had been admitted as a slave state; but the North felt +that this would have been to concede altogether too much, as Missouri +from the first gave promise of being unusually important. At length, +largely through the influence of Henry Clay, there was adopted a +compromise whose main provisions were (1) that Maine was to be admitted +as a free state; (2) that in Missouri there was to be no prohibition of +slavery; but (3) that slavery was to be prohibited in any other states +that might be formed out of the Louisiana Purchase north of the line of +36° 30'. + +By this agreement the strife was allayed for some years; but it is now +evident that the Missouri Compromise was only a postponement of the +ultimate contest and that the social questions involved were hardly +touched. Certainly the significance of the first clear drawing of the +line between the sections was not lost upon thoughtful men. Jefferson +wrote from Monticello in 1820: "This momentous question, like a +fire-bell in the night, awakened and filled me with terror. I considered +it at once as the knell of the Union. It is hushed, indeed, for the +moment. But this is a reprieve only, not a final sentence.... I can +say, with conscious truth, that there is not a man on earth who would +sacrifice more than I would to relieve us from this heavy reproach, in +any _practicable_ way. The cession of that kind of property, for so it +is misnamed, is a bagatelle that would not cost me a second thought, +if, in that way, a general emancipation and _expatriation_ could be +effected; and, gradually, and with due sacrifices, I think it might +be."[1] For the time being, however, the South was concerned mainly +about immediate dangers; nor was this section placed more at ease by +Denmark Vesey's attempted insurrection in 1822.[2] A representative +South Carolinian,[3] writing after this event, said, "We regard our +Negroes as the _Jacobins_ of the country, against whom we should always +be upon our guard, and who, although we fear no permanent effects from +any insurrectionary movements on their part, should be watched with an +eye of steady and unremitted observation." Meanwhile from a ratio of +43.72 to 56.28 in 1790 the total Negro population in South Carolina had +by 1820 come to outnumber the white 52.77 to 47.23, and the tendency +was increasingly in favor of the Negro. The South, the whole country in +fact, was more and more being forced to consider not only slavery but +the ultimate reaches of the problem. + +[Footnote 1: _Writings_, XV, 249.] + +[Footnote 2: See Chapter VII, Section 1.] + +[Footnote 3: Holland: _A Refutation of Calumnies_, 61.] + +Whatever one might think of the conclusion--and in this case the speaker +was pleading for colonization--no statement of the problem as it +impressed men about 1820 or 1830 was clearer than that of Rev. Dr. Nott, +President of Union College, at Albany in 1829.[1] The question, said he, +was by no means local. Slavery was once legalized in New England; and +New England built slave-ships and manned these with New England seamen. +In 1820 the slave population in the country amounted to 1,500,000. The +number doubled every twenty years, and it was easy to see how it would +progress from 1,500,000 to 3,000,000; to 6,000,000; to 12,000,000; to +24,000,000. "Twenty-four millions of slaves! What a drawback from our +strength; what a tax on our resources; what a hindrance to our growth; +what a stain on our character; and what an impediment to the fulfillment +of our destiny! Could our worst enemies or the worst enemies of +republics, wish us a severer judgment?" How could one know that wakeful +and sagacious enemies without would not discover the vulnerable point +and use it for the country's overthrow? Or was there not danger that +among a people goaded from age to age there might at length arise some +second Toussaint L'Ouverture, who, reckless of consequences, would array +a force and cause a movement throughout the zone of bondage, leaving +behind him plantations waste and mansions desolate? Who could believe +that such a tremendous physical force would remain forever spell-bound +and quiescent? After all, however, slavery was doomed; public opinion +had already pronounced upon it, and the moral energy of the nation would +sooner or later effect its overthrow. "But," continued Nott, "the solemn +question here arises--in what condition will this momentous change place +us? The freed men of other countries have long since disappeared, having +been amalgamated in the general mass. Here there can be no amalgamation. +Our manumitted bondmen have remained already to the third and fourth, as +they will to the thousandth generation--a distinct, a degraded, and a +wretched race." After this sweeping statement, which has certainly not +been justified by time, Nott proceeded to argue the expediency of his +organization. Gerrit Smith, who later drifted away from colonization, +said frankly on the same occasion that the ultimate solution was either +amalgamation or colonization, and that of the two courses he preferred +to choose the latter. Others felt as he did. We shall now accordingly +proceed to consider at somewhat greater length the two solutions that +about 1820 had the clearest advocates--Colonization and Slavery. + +[Footnote 1: See "African Colonization. Proceedings of the Formation of +the New York State Colonization Society." Albany, 1829.] + + +2. _Colonization_ + +Early in 1773, Rev. Samuel Hopkins, of Newport, called on his friend, +Rev. Ezra Stiles, afterwards President of Yale College, and suggested +the possibility of educating Negro students, perhaps two at first, who +would later go as missionaries to Africa. Stiles thought that for the +plan to be worth while there should be a colony on the coast of Africa, +that at least thirty or forty persons should go, and that the enterprise +should not be private but should have the formal backing of a society +organized for the purpose. In harmony with the original plan two young +Negro men sailed from New York for Africa, November 12, 1774; but the +Revolutionary War followed and nothing more was done at the time. In +1784, however, and again in 1787, Hopkins tried to induce different +merchants to fit out a vessel to convey a few emigrants, and in the +latter year he talked with a young man from the West Indies, Dr. William +Thornton, who expressed a willingness to take charge of the company. +The enterprise failed for lack of funds, though Thornton kept up his +interest and afterwards became a member of the first Board of Managers +of the American Colonization Society. Hopkins in 1791 spoke before the +Connecticut Emancipation Society, which he wished to see incorporated as +a colonization society, and in a sermon before the Providence society in +1793 he reverted to his favorite theme. Meanwhile, as a result of the +efforts of Wilberforce, Clarkson, and Granville Sharp in England, in +May, 1787, some four hundred Negroes and sixty white persons were landed +at Sierra Leone. Some of the Negroes in England had gained their freedom +in consequence of Lord Mansfield's decision in 1772, others had been +discharged from the British Army after the American Revolution, and all +were leading in England a more or less precarious existence. The sixty +white persons sent along were abandoned women, and why Sierra Leone +should have had this weight placed upon it at the start history has not +yet told. It is not surprising to learn that "disease and disorder were +rife, and by 1791 a mere handful survived."[1] As early as in his _Notes +on Virginia_, privately printed in 1781, Thomas Jefferson had suggested +a colony for Negroes, perhaps in the new territory of Ohio. The +suggestion was not acted upon, but it is evident that by 1800 several +persons had thought of the possibility of removing the Negroes in the +South to some other place either within or without the country. + +[Footnote 1: McPherson, 15. (See bibliography on Liberia.)] + +Gabriel's insurrection in 1800 again forced the idea concretely forward. +Virginia was visibly disturbed by this outbreak, and _in secret +session_, on December 21, the House of Delegates passed the following +resolution: "That the Governor[1] be requested to correspond with the +President of the United States,[2] on the subject of purchasing land +without the limits of this state, whither persons obnoxious to the laws, +or dangerous to the peace of society may be removed." The real purpose +of this resolution was to get rid of those Negroes who had had some part +in the insurrection and had not been executed; but not in 1800, or in +1802 or 1804, was the General Assembly thus able to banish those whom +it was afraid to hang. Monroe, however, acted in accordance with his +instructions, and Jefferson replied to him under date November 24, 1801. +He was not now favorable to deportation to some place within the United +States, and thought that the West Indies, probably Santo Domingo, might +be better. There was little real danger that the exiles would stimulate +vindictive or predatory descents on the American coasts, and in any case +such a possibility was "overweighed by the humanity of the measures +proposed." "Africa would offer a last and undoubted resort," thought +Jefferson, "if all others more desirable should fail."[3] Six months +later, on July 13, 1802, the President wrote about the matter to Rufus +King, then minister in London. The course of events in the West Indies, +he said, had given an impulse to the minds of Negroes in the United +States; there was a disposition to insurgency, and it now seemed that if +there was to be colonization, Africa was by all means the best place. An +African company might also engage in commercial operations, and if there +was coöperation with Sierra Leone, there was the possibility of "one +strong, rather than two weak colonies." Would King accordingly enter +into conference with the English officials with reference to disposing +of any Negroes who might be sent? "It is material to observe," remarked +Jefferson, "that they are not felons, or common malefactors, but persons +guilty of what the safety of society, under actual circumstances, +obliges us to treat as a crime, but which their feelings may represent +in a far different shape. They are such as will be a valuable +acquisition to the settlement already existing there, and well +calculated to coöperate in the plan of civilization."[4] King +accordingly opened correspondence with Thornton and Wedderbourne, the +secretaries of the company having charge of Sierra Leone, but was +informed that the colony was in a languishing condition and that funds +were likely to fail, and that in no event would they be willing to +receive more people from the United States, as these were the very ones +who had already made most trouble in the settlement.[5] On January 22, +1805, the General Assembly of Virginia passed a resolution that embodied +a request to the United States Government to set aside a portion of +territory in the new Louisiana Purchase "to be appropriated to +the residence of such people of color as have been, or shall be, +emancipated, or may hereafter become dangerous to the public safety." +Nothing came of this. By the close then of Jefferson's second +administration the Northwest, the Southwest, the West Indies, and Sierra +Leone had all been thought of as possible fields for colonization, but +from the consideration nothing visible had resulted. + +[Footnote 1: Monroe.] + +[Footnote 2: Jefferson.] + +[Footnote 3: _Writings_, X, 297.] + +[Footnote 4: _Writings_, X, 327-328.] + +[Footnote 5: _Ibid_., XIII, 11.] + +Now followed the period of Southern expansion and of increasing +materialism, and before long came the War of 1812. By 1811 a note of +doubt had crept into Jefferson's dealing with the subject. Said he: +"Nothing is more to be wished than that the United States would +themselves undertake to make such an establishment on the coast of +Africa ... But for this the national mind is not yet prepared. It may +perhaps be doubted whether many of these people would voluntarily +consent to such an exchange of situation, and very certain that few of +those advanced to a certain age in habits of slavery, would be capable +of self-government. This should not, however, discourage the experiment, +nor the early trial of it; and the proposition should be made with all +the prudent cautions and attentions requisite to reconcile it to the +interests, the safety, and the prejudices of all parties."[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Writings_, XIII, 11.] + +From an entirely different source, however, and prompted not by +expediency but the purest altruism, came an impulse that finally told in +the founding of Liberia. The heart of a young man reached out across +the sea. Samuel J. Mills, an undergraduate of Williams College, in 1808 +formed among his fellow-students a missionary society whose work later +told in the formation of the American Bible Society and the Board of +Foreign Missions. Mills continued his theological studies at Andover and +then at Princeton; and while at the latter place he established a school +for Negroes at Parsippany, thirty miles away. He also interested in +his work and hopes Rev. Robert Finley, of Basking Ridge, N.J., who +"succeeded in assembling at Princeton the first meeting ever called to +consider the project of sending Negro colonists to Africa,"[1] and who +in a letter to John P. Mumford, of New York, under date February 14, +1815, expressed his interest by saying, "We should send to Africa a +population partly civilized and christianized for its benefit; and our +blacks themselves would be put in a better condition." + +[Footnote 1: McPherson, 18.] + +In this same year, 1815, the country was startled by the unselfish +enterprise of a Negro who had long thought of the unfortunate situation +of his people in America and who himself shouldered the obligation to +do something definite in their behalf. Paul Cuffe had been born in May, +1759, on one of the Elizabeth Islands near New Bedford, Mass., the son +of a father who was once a slave from Africa and of an Indian mother.[1] +Interested in navigation, he made voyages to Russia, England, Africa, +the West Indies, and the South; and in time he commanded his own vessel, +became generally respected, and by his wisdom rose to a fair degree of +opulence. For twenty years he had thought especially about Africa, +and in 1815 he took to Sierra Leone a total of nine families and +thirty-eight persons at an expense to himself of nearly $4000. The +people that he brought were well received at Sierra Leone, and Cuffe +himself had greater and more far-reaching plans when he died September +7, 1817. He left an estate valued at $20,000. + +[Footnote 1: First Annual Report of American Colonization Society.] + +Dr. Finley's meeting at Princeton was not very well attended and hence +not a great success. Nevertheless he felt sufficiently encouraged to go +to Washington in December, 1816, to use his effort for the formation of +a national colonization society. It happened that in February of this +same year, 1816, General Charles Fenton Mercer, member of the House of +Delegates, came upon the secret journals of the legislature for the +period 1801-5 and saw the correspondence between Monroe and Jefferson. +Interested in the colonization project, on December 14 (Monroe +then being President-elect) he presented in the House of Delegates +resolutions embodying the previous enactments; and these passed 132 to +14. Finley was generally helped by the effort of Mercer, and on December +21, 1816, there was held in Washington a meeting of public men +and interested citizens, Henry Clay, then Speaker of the House of +Representatives, presiding. A constitution was adopted at an adjourned +meeting on December 28; and on January 1, 1817, were formally chosen +the officers of "The American Society for Colonizing the Free People +of Color of the United States." At this last meeting Henry Clay, again +presiding, spoke in glowing terms of the possibilities of the movement; +Elias B. Caldwell, a brother-in-law of Finley, made the leading +argument; and John Randolph, of Roanoke, Va., and Robert Wright, of +Maryland, spoke of the advantages to accrue from the removal of the free +Negroes from the country (which remarks were very soon to awaken +much discussion and criticism, especially on the part of the Negroes +themselves). It is interesting to note that Mercer had no part at all in +the meeting of January 1, not even being present; he did not feel that +any but Southern men should be enrolled in the organization. However, +Bushrod Washington, the president, was a Southern man; twelve of the +seventeen vice-presidents were Southern men, among them being Andrew +Jackson and William Crawford; and all of the twelve managers were +slaveholders. + +Membership in the American Colonization Society originally consisted, +first, of such as sincerely desired to afford the free Negroes an asylum +from oppression and who hoped through them to extend to Africa the +blessings of civilization and Christianity; second, of such as sought to +enhance the value of their own slaves by removing the free Negroes; and +third, of such as desired to be relieved of any responsibility whatever +for free Negroes. The movement was widely advertised as "an effort +for the benefit of the blacks in which all parts of the country could +unite," it being understood that it was "not to have the abolition of +slavery for its immediate object," nor was it to "aim directly at the +instruction of the great body of the blacks." Such points as the last +were to prove in course of time hardly less than a direct challenge to +the different abolitionist organizations in the North, and more and more +the Society was denounced as a movement on the part of slaveholders for +perpetuating their institutions by doing away with the free people of +color. It is not to be supposed, however, that the South, with its usual +religious fervor, did not put much genuine feeling into the colonization +scheme. One man in Georgia named Tubman freed his slaves, thirty in all, +and placed them in charge of the Society with a gift of $10,000; Thomas +Hunt, a young Virginian, afterwards a chaplain in the Union Army, sent +to Liberia the slaves he had inherited, paying the entire cost of the +journey; and others acted in a similar spirit of benevolence. It was +but natural, however, for the public to be somewhat uncertain as to the +tendencies of the organization when the utterances of representative +men were sometimes directly contradictory. On January 20, 1827, for +instance, Henry Clay, then Secretary of State, speaking in the hall of +the House of Representatives at the annual meeting of the Society, said: +"Of all classes of our population, the most vicious is that of the free +colored. It is the inevitable result of their moral, political, and +civil degradation. Contaminated themselves, they extend their vices to +all around them, to the slaves and to the whites." Just a moment later +he said: "Every emigrant to Africa is a missionary carrying with him +credentials in the holy cause of civilization, religion, and free +institutions." How persons contaminated and vicious could be +missionaries of civilization and religion was something possible only in +the logic of Henry Clay. In the course of the next month Robert Y. Hayne +gave a Southern criticism in two addresses on a memorial presented in +the United States Senate by the Colonization Society.[1] The first +of these speeches was a clever one characterized by much wit and +good-humored raillery; the second was a sober arraignment. Hayne +emphasized the tremendous cost involved and the physical impossibility +of the whole undertaking, estimating that at least sixty thousand +persons a year would have to be transported to accomplish anything like +the desired result. At the close of his brilliant attack, still making +a veiled plea for the continuance of slavery, he nevertheless rose to +genuine statesmanship in dealing with the problem of the Negro, saying, +"While this process is going on the colored classes are gradually +diffusing themselves throughout the country and are making steady +advances in intelligence and refinement, and if half the zeal were +displayed in bettering their condition that is now wasted in the vain +and fruitless effort of sending them abroad, their intellectual and +moral improvement would be steady and rapid." William Lloyd Garrison was +untiring and merciless in flaying the inconsistencies and selfishness of +the colonization organization. In an editorial in the _Liberator_, July +9, 1831, he charged the Society, first, with persecution in compelling +free people to emigrate against their will and in discouraging their +education at home; second, with falsehood in saying that the Negroes +were natives of Africa when they were no more so than white Americans +were natives of Great Britain; third, with cowardice in asserting that +the continuance of the Negro population in the country involved dangers; +and finally, with infidelity in denying that the Gospel has full power +to reach the hatred in the hearts of men. In _Thoughts on African +Colonisation_ (1832) he developed exhaustively ten points as follows: +That the American Colonization Society was pledged not to oppose the +system of slavery, that it apologized for slavery and slaveholders, that +it recognized slaves as property, that by deporting Negroes it increased +the value of slaves, that it was the enemy of immediate abolition, that +it was nourished by fear and selfishness, that it aimed at the utter +expulsion of the blacks, that it was the disparager of free Negroes, +that it denied the possibility of elevating the black people of the +country, and that it deceived and misled the nation. Other criticisms +were numerous. A broadside, "The Shields of American Slavery" ("Broad +enough to hide the wrongs of two millions of stolen men") placed side by +side conflicting utterances of members of the Society; and in August, +1830, Kendall, fourth auditor, in his report to the Secretary of the +Navy, wondered why the resources of the government should be used "to +colonize recaptured Africans, to build homes for them, to furnish them +with farming utensils, to pay instructors to teach them, to purchase +ships for their convenience, to build forts for their protection, to +supply them with arms and munitions of war, to enlist troops to guard +them, and to employ the army and navy in their defense."[2] Criticism of +the American Colonization Society was prompted by a variety of motives; +but the organization made itself vulnerable at many points. The movement +attracted extraordinary attention, but has had practically no effect +whatever on the position of the Negro in the United States. Its work +in connection with the founding of Liberia, however, is of the highest +importance, and must later receive detailed attention. + +[Footnote 1: See Jervey: _Robert Y. Hayne and His Times_, 207-8.] + +[Footnote 2: Cited by McPherson, 22.] + + +3. _Slavery_ + +We have seen that from the beginning there were liberal-minded men in +the South who opposed the system of slavery, and if we actually take +note of all the utterances of different men and of the proposals for +doing away with the system, we shall find that about the turn of the +century there was in this section considerable anti-slavery sentiment. +Between 1800 and 1820, however, the opening of new lands in the +Southwest, the increasing emphasis on cotton, and the rapidly growing +Negro population, gave force to the argument of expediency; and the +Missouri Compromise drew sharply the lines of the contest. The South now +came to regard slavery as its peculiar heritage; public men were forced +to defend the institution; and in general the best thought of the +section began to be obsessed and dominated by the Negro, just as it is +to-day in large measure. In taking this position the South deliberately +committed intellectual suicide. In such matters as freedom of speech and +literary achievement, and in genuine statesmanship if not for the time +being in political influence, this part of the country declined, and +before long the difference between it and New England was appalling. +Calhoun and Hayne were strong; but between 1820 and 1860 the South had +no names to compare with Longfellow and Emerson in literature, or with +Morse and Hoe in invention. The foremost college professor, Dew, of +William and Mary, and even the outstanding divines, Furman, the Baptist, +of South Carolina, in the twenties, and Palmer, the Presbyterian of New +Orleans, in the fifties, are all now remembered mainly because they +defended their section in keeping the Negro in bonds. William and Mary +College, and even the University of Virginia, as compared with Harvard +and Yale, became provincial institutions; and instead of the Washington +or Jefferson of an earlier day now began to be nourished such a leader +as "Bob" Toombs, who for all of his fire and eloquence was a demagogue. +In making its choice the South could not and did not blame the Negro +per se, for it was freely recognized that upon slave labor rested such +economic stability as the section possessed. The tragedy was simply that +thousands of intelligent Americans deliberately turned their faces to +the past, and preferred to read the novels of Walter Scott and live in +the Middle Ages rather than study the French Revolution and live in the +nineteenth century. One hundred years after we find that the chains are +still forged, that thought is not yet free. Thus the Negro Problem began +to be, and still is, very largely the problem of the white man of the +South. The era of capitalism had not yet dawned, and still far in the +future was the day when the poor white man and the Negro were slowly to +realize that their interests were largely identical. + +The argument with which the South came to support its position and to +defend slavery need not here detain us at length. It was formally stated +by Dew and others[1] and it was to be heard on every hand. One could +hardly go to church, to say nothing of going to a public meeting, +without hearing echoes of it. In general it was maintained that slavery +had made for the civilization of the world in that it had mitigated +the evils of war, had made labor profitable, had changed the nature of +savages, and elevated woman. The slave-trade was of course horrible and +unjust, but the great advantages of the system more than outweighed a +few attendant evils. Emancipation and deportation were alike impossible. +Even if practicable, they would not be expedient measures, for they +meant the loss to Virginia of one-third of her property. As for +morality, it was not to be expected that the Negro should have the +sensibilities of the white man. Moreover the system had the advantage of +cultivating a republican spirit among the white people. In short, said +Dew, the slaves, in both the economic and the moral point of view, were +"entirely unfit for a state of freedom among the whites." Holland, +already cited, in 1822 maintained five points, as follows: 1. That the +United States are one for national purposes, but separate for their +internal regulation and government; 2. That the people of the North and +East "always exhibited an unfriendly feeling on subjects affecting the +interests of the South and West"; 3. That the institution of slavery +was not an institution of the South's voluntary choosing; 4. That the +Southern sections of the Union, both before and after the Declaration +of Independence, "had uniformly exhibited a disposition to restrict +the extension of the evil--and had always manifested as cordial a +disposition to ameliorate it as those of the North and East"; and 5. +That the actual state and condition of the slave population "reflected +no disgrace whatever on the character of the country--as the slaves were +infinitely better provided for than the laboring poor of other countries +of the world, and were generally happier than millions of white people +in the world." Such arguments the clergy supported and endeavored to +reconcile with Christian precept. Rev. Dr. Richard Furman, president +of the Baptist Convention of South Carolina,[2] after much inquiry and +reasoning, arrived at the conclusion that "the holding of slaves is +justifiable by the doctrine and example contained in Holy Writ; and is, +therefore, consistent with Christian uprightness both in sentiment and +conduct." Said he further: "The Christian golden rule, of doing +to others as we would they should do to us, has been urged as an +unanswerable argument against holding slaves. But surely this rule +is never to be urged against that order of things which the Divine +government has established; nor do our desires become a standard to us, +under this rule, unless they have a due regard to justice, propriety, +and the general good.... A father may very naturally desire that his son +should be obedient to his orders: Is he therefore to obey the orders of +his son? A man might be pleased to be exonerated from his debts by the +generosity of his creditors; or that his rich neighbor should equally +divide his property with him; and in certain circumstances might desire +these to be done: Would the mere existence of this desire oblige him +to exonerate his debtors, and to make such division of his property?" +Calhoun in 1837 formally accepted slavery, saying that the South should +no longer apologize for it; and the whole argument from the standpoint +of expediency received eloquent expression in the Senate of the United +States from no less a man than Henry Clay, who more and more appears in +the perspective as a pro-Southern advocate. Said he: "I am no friend of +slavery. But I prefer the liberty of my own country to that of any other +people; and the liberty of my own race to that of any other race. +The liberty of the descendants of Africa in the United States is +incompatible with the safety and liberty of the European descendants. +Their slavery forms an exception--an exception resulting from a +stern and inexorable necessity--to the general liberty in the United +States."[3] After the lapse of years the pro-slavery argument is pitiful +in its numerous fallacies. It was in line with much of the discussion of +the day that questioned whether the Negro was actually a human being, +and but serves to show to what extremes economic interest will sometimes +drive men otherwise of high intelligence and honor. + +[Footnote 1: _The Pro-Slavery Argument_ (as maintained by the most +distinguished writers of the Southern states). Charleston, 1852.] + +[Footnote 2: "Rev. Dr. Richard Furman's Exposition of the Views of the +Baptists relative to the Coloured Population in the United States, in +a Communication to the Governor of South Carolina." Second edition, +Charleston, 1833 (letter bears original date, December 24, 1822).] + +[Footnote 3: Address "On Abolition," February 7, 1839.] + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE NEGRO REPLY, I: REVOLT + + +We have already seen that on several occasions in colonial times the +Negroes in bondage made a bid for freedom, many men risking their all +and losing their lives in consequence. In general these early attempts +failed completely to realize their aim, organization being feeble and +the leadership untrained and exerting only an emotional hold over +adherents. In Charleston, S.C., in 1822, however, there was planned an +insurrection about whose scope there could be no question. The leader, +Denmark Vesey, is interesting as an intellectual insurrectionist just as +the more famous Nat Turner is typical of the more fervent sort. It is +the purpose of the present chapter to study the attempts for freedom +made by these two men, and also those of two daring groups of captives +who revolted at sea. + + +1. _Denmark Vesey's Insurrection_ + +Denmark Vesey is first seen as one of the three hundred and ninety +slaves on the ship of Captain Vesey, who commanded a vessel trading +between St. Thomas and Cape François (Santo Domingo), and who was +engaged in supplying the French of the latter place with slaves. At the +time, the boy was fourteen years old, and of unusual personal beauty, +alertness, and magnetism. He was shown considerable favoritism, and +was called Télémaque (afterwards corrupted to _Telmak_, and then to +_Denmark_). On his arrival at Cape François, Denmark was sold with +others of the slaves to a planter who owned a considerable estate. On +his next trip, however, Captain Vesey learned that the boy was to be +returned to him as unsound and subject to epileptic fits. The laws of +the place permitted the return of a slave in such a case, and while it +has been thought that Denmark's fits may have been feigned in order that +he might have some change of estate, there was quite enough proof in the +matter to impress the king's physician. Captain Vesey never had reason +to regret having to take the boy back. They made several voyages +together, and Denmark served until 1800 as his faithful personal +attendant. In this year the young man, now thirty-three years of age and +living in Charleston, won $1,500 in an East Bay Street lottery, $600 of +which he devoted immediately to the purchase of his freedom. The sum was +much less than he was really worth, but Captain Vesey liked him and had +no reason to drive a hard bargain with him. + +In the early years of his full manhood accordingly Denmark Vesey found +himself a free man in his own right and possessed of the means for a +little real start in life. He improved his time and proceeded to win +greater standing and recognition by regular and industrious work at his +trade, that of a carpenter. Over the slaves he came to have unbounded +influence. Among them, in accordance with the standards of the day, he +had several wives and children (none of whom could he call his own), and +he understood perfectly the fervor and faith and superstition of the +Negroes with whom he had to deal. To his remarkable personal magnetism +moreover he added just the strong passion and the domineering temper +that were needed to make his conquest complete. + +Thus for twenty years he worked on. He already knew French as well +as English, but he now studied and reflected upon as wide a range of +subjects as possible. It was not expected at the time that there would +be religious classes or congregations of Negroes apart from the white +people; but the law was not strictly observed, and for a number of +years a Negro congregation had a church in Hampstead in the suburbs +of Charleston. At the meetings here and elsewhere Vesey found his +opportunity, and he drew interesting parallels between the experiences +of the Jews and the Negroes. He would rebuke a companion on the street +for bowing to a white person; and if such a man replied, "We are +slaves," he would say, "You deserve to be." If the man then asked +what he could do to better his condition, he would say, "Go and buy a +spelling-book and read the fable of Hercules and the wagoner."[1] At the +same time if he happened to engage in conversation with white people in +the presence of Negroes, he would often take occasion to introduce some +striking remark on slavery. He regularly held up to emulation the work +of the Negroes of Santo Domingo; and either he or one of his chief +lieutenants clandestinely sent a letter to the President of Santo +Domingo to ask if the people there would help the Negroes of Charleston +if the latter made an effort to free themselves.[2] About 1820 moreover, +when he heard of the African Colonization scheme and the opportunity +came to him to go, he put this by, waiting for something better. This +was the period of the Missouri Compromise. Reports of the agitation and +of the debates in Congress were eagerly scanned by those Negroes in +Charleston who could read; rumor exaggerated them; and some of the more +credulous of the slaves came to believe that the efforts of Northern +friends had actually emancipated them and that they were being illegally +held in bondage. Nor was the situation improved when the city marshal, +John J. Lafar, on January 15, 1821, reminded those ministers or other +persons who kept night and Sunday schools for Negroes that the law +forbade the education of such persons and would have to be enforced. +Meanwhile Vesey was very patient. After a few months, however, he ceased +to work at his trade in order that all the more he might devote +himself to the mission of his life. This was, as he conceived it, an +insurrection that would do nothing less than totally annihilate the +white population of Charleston. + +[Footnote 1: Official Report, 19.] + +[Footnote 2: Official Report, 96-97, and Higginson, 232-3.] + +In the prosecution of such a plan the greatest secrecy and faithfulness +were of course necessary, and Vesey waited until about Christmas, 1821, +to begin active recruiting. He first sounded Ned and Rolla Bennett, +slaves of Governor Thomas Bennett, and then Peter Poyas and Jack +Purcell. After Christmas he spoke to Gullah Jack and Monday Gell; +and Lot Forrester and Frank Ferguson became his chief agents for the +plantations outside of Charleston.[1] In the whole matter of the choice +of his chief assistants he showed remarkable judgment of character. His +penetration was almost uncanny. "Rolla was plausible, and possessed +uncommon self-possession; bold and ardent, he was not to be deterred +from his purpose by danger. Ned's appearance indicated that he was a man +of firm nerves and desperate courage. Peter was intrepid and resolute, +true to his engagements, and cautious in observing secrecy when it was +necessary; he was not to be daunted or impeded by difficulties, and +though confident of success, was careful in providing against any +obstacles or casualties which might arise, and intent upon discovering +every means which might be in their power if thought of beforehand. +Gullah Jack was regarded as a sorcerer, and as such feared by the +natives of Africa, who believe in witchcraft. He was not only considered +invulnerable, but that he could make others so by his charms; and that +he could and certainly would provide all his followers with arms.... +His influence amongst the Africans was inconceivable. Monday was firm, +resolute, discreet, and intelligent."[2] He was also daring and active, +a harness-maker in the prime of life, and he could read and write with +facility; but he was also the only man of prominence in the conspiracy +whose courage failed him in court and who turned traitor. To these names +must be added that of Batteau Bennett, who was only eighteen years old +and who brought to the plan all the ardor and devotion of youth. In +general Vesey sought to bring into the plan those Negroes, such as +stevedores and mechanics, who worked away from home and who had some +free time. He would not use men who were known to become intoxicated, +and one talkative man named George he excluded from his meetings. Nor +did he use women, not because he did not trust them, but because in case +of mishap he wanted the children to be properly cared for. "Take care," +said Peter Poyas, in speaking about the plan to one of the recruits, +"and don't mention it to those waiting men who receive presents of old +coats, etc., from their masters, or they'll betray us; I will speak to +them." + +[Footnote 1: Official Report, 20. Note that Higginson, who was so +untiring in his research, strangely confuses Jack Purcell and Gullah +Jack (p. 230). The men were quite distinct, as appears throughout the +report and from the list of those executed. The name of Gullah Jack's +owner was Pritchard.] + +[Footnote 2: Official Report, 24. Note that this remarkable +characterization was given by the judges, Kennedy and Parker, who +afterwards condemned the men to death.] + +With his lieutenants Vesey finally brought into the plan the Negroes for +seventy or eighty miles around Charleston. The second Monday in July, +1822, or Sunday, July 14, was the time originally set for the attack. +July was chosen because in midsummer many of the white people were +away at different resorts; and Sunday received favorable consideration +because on that day the slaves from the outlying plantations were +frequently permitted to come to the city. Lists of the recruits were +kept. Peter Poyas is said to have gathered as many as six hundred names, +chiefly from that part of Charleston known as South Bay in which he +lived; and it is a mark of his care and discretion that of all of those +afterwards arrested and tried, not one belonged to his company. Monday +Gell, who joined late and was very prudent, had forty-two names. All +such lists, however, were in course of time destroyed. "During the +period that these enlistments were carrying on, Vesey held frequent +meetings of the conspirators at his house; and as arms were necessary to +their success, each night a hat was handed round, and collections made, +for the purpose of purchasing them, and also to defray other necessary +expenses. A Negro who was a blacksmith and had been accustomed to make +edged tools, was employed to make pike-heads and bayonets with sockets, +to be fixed at the ends of long poles and used as pikes. Of these +pike-heads and bayonets, one hundred were said to have been made at an +early day, and by the 16th June as many as two or three hundred, and +between three and four hundred daggers."[1] A bundle containing some of +the poles, neatly trimmed and smoothed off, and nine or ten feet long, +was afterwards found concealed on a farm on Charleston Neck, where +several of the meetings were held, having been carried there to have the +pike-heads and bayonets fixed in place. Governor Bennett stated that the +number of poles thus found was thirteen, but so wary were the Negroes +that he and other prominent men underestimated the means of attack. It +was thought that the Negroes in Charleston might use their masters' +arms, while those from the country were to bring hoes, hatchets, and +axes. For their main supply of arms, however, Vesey and Peter Poyas +depended upon the magazines and storehouses in the city. They planned to +seize the Arsenal in Meeting Street opposite St. Michael's Church; it +was the key to the city, held the arms of the state, and had for some +time been neglected. Poyas at a given signal at midnight was to move +upon this point, killing the sentinel. Two large gun and powder stores +were by arrangement to be at the disposal of the insurrectionists; and +other leaders, coming from six different directions, were to seize +strategic points and thus aid the central work of Poyas. Meanwhile a +body of horse was to keep the streets clear. "Eat only dry food," said +Gullah Jack as the day approached, "parched corn and ground nuts, and +when you join us as we pass put this crab claw in your mouth and you +can't be wounded." + +[Footnote 1: Official Report, 31-32.] + +On May 25[1] a slave of Colonel Prioleau, while on an errand at the +wharf, was accosted by another slave, William Paul, who remarked: "I +have often seen a flag with the number 76, but never one with the number +96 upon it before." As this man showed no knowledge of what was going +on, Paul spoke to him further and quite frankly about the plot. The +slave afterwards spoke to a free man about what he had heard; this man +advised him to tell his master about it; and so he did on Prioleau's +return on May 30. Prioleau immediately informed the Intendant, or Mayor, +and by five o'clock in the afternoon both the slave and Paul were being +examined. Paul was placed in confinement, but not before his testimony +had implicated Peter Poyas and Mingo Harth, a man who had been appointed +to lead one of the companies of horse. Harth and Poyas were cool and +collected, however, they ridiculed the whole idea, and the wardens, +completely deceived, discharged them. In general at this time the +authorities were careful and endeavored not to act hastily. About June +8, however, Paul, greatly excited and fearing execution, confessed that +the plan was very extensive and said that it was led by an individual +who bore a charmed life. Ned Bennett, hearing that his name had been +mentioned, voluntarily went before the Intendant and asked to be +examined, thus again completely baffling the officials. All the while, +in the face of the greatest danger, Vesey continued to hold his +meetings. By Friday, June 14, however, another informant had spoken +to his master, and all too fully were Peter Poyas's fears about +"waiting-men" justified. This man said that the original plan had been +changed, for the night of Sunday, June 16, was now the time set for +the insurrection, and otherwise he was able to give all essential +information.[2] On Saturday night, June 15, Jesse Blackwood, an aid sent +into the country to prepare the slaves to enter the following day, while +he penetrated two lines of guards, was at the third line halted and sent +back into the city. Vesey now realized in a moment that all his plans +were disclosed, and immediately he destroyed any papers that might prove +to be incriminating. "On Sunday, June 16, at ten o'clock at night, +Captain Cattle's Corps of Hussars, Captain Miller's Light Infantry, +Captain Martindale's Neck Rangers, the Charleston Riflemen and the City +Guard were ordered to rendezvous for guard, the whole organized as a +detachment under command of Colonel R.Y. Hayne."[3] It was his work on +this occasion that gave Hayne that appeal to the public which was later +to help him to pass on to the governorship and then to the United States +Senate. On the fateful night twenty or thirty men from the outlying +districts who had not been able to get word of the progress of events, +came to the city in a small boat, but Vesey sent word to them to go back +as quickly as possible. + +[Footnote 1: Higginson, 215.] + +[Footnote 2: For reasons of policy the names of these informers were +withheld from publication, but they were well known, of course, to +the Negroes of Charleston. The published documents said of the chief +informer, "It would be a libel on the liberality and gratitude of this +community to suppose that this man can be overlooked among those who are +to be rewarded for their fidelity and principle." The author has been +informed that his reward for betraying his people was to be officially +and legally declared "a white man."] + +[Footnote 3: Jervey: _Robert Y. Hayne and His Times_, 131-2.] + +Two courts were formed for the trial of the conspirators. The first, +after a long session of five weeks, was dissolved July 20; a second was +convened, but after three days closed its investigation and adjourned +August 8.[1] All the while the public mind was greatly excited. The +first court, which speedily condemned thirty-four men to death, was +severely criticized. The New York _Daily Advertiser_ termed the +execution "a bloody sacrifice"; but Charleston replied with the reminder +of the Negroes who had been burned in New York in 1741.[2] Some of the +Negroes blamed the leaders for the trouble into which they had been +brought, but Vesey himself made no confession. He was by no means alone. +"Do not open your lips," said Poyas; "die silent as you shall see me +do." Something of the solicitude of owners for their slaves may be +seen from the request of Governor Bennett himself in behalf of Batteau +Bennett. He asked for a special review of the case of this young man, +who was among those condemned to death, "with a view to the mitigation +of his punishment." The court did review the case, but it did not change +its sentence. Throughout the proceedings the white people of Charleston +were impressed by the character of those who had taken part in the +insurrection; "many of them possessed the highest confidence of their +owners, and not one was of bad character."[3] + +[Footnote 1: Bennett letter.] + +[Footnote 2: See _City Gazette_, August 14, 1822, cited by Jervey.] + +[Footnote 3: Official Report, 44.] + +As a result of this effort for freedom one hundred and thirty-one +Negroes were arrested; thirty-five were executed and forty-three +banished.[1] Of those executed, Denmark Vesey, Peter Poyas, Ned Bennett, +Rolla Bennett, Batteau Bennett, and Jesse Blackwood were hanged July 2; +Gullah Jack and one more on July 12; twenty-two were hanged on a huge +gallows Friday, July 26; four more were hanged July 30, and one on +August 9. Of those banished, twelve had been sentenced for execution, +but were afterwards given banishment instead; twenty-one were to be +transported by their masters beyond the limits of the United States; +one, a free man, required to leave the state, satisfied the court by +offering to leave the United States, while nine others who were not +definitely sentenced were strongly recommended to their owners for +banishment. The others of the one hundred and thirty-one were acquitted. +The authorities at length felt that they had executed enough to teach +the Negroes a lesson, and the hanging ceased; but within the next +year or two Governor Bennett and others gave to the world most gloomy +reflections upon the whole proceeding and upon the grave problem at +their door. Thus closed the insurrection that for the ambitiousness of +its plan, the care with which it was matured, and the faithfulness of +the leaders to one another, was never equalled by a similar attempt for +freedom in the United States. + +[Footnote 1: The figure is sometimes given as 37, but the lists total +43.] + + +_2. Nat Turner's Insurrection_ + +About noon on Sunday, August 21, 1831, on the plantation of Joseph +Travis at Cross Keys, in Southampton County, in Southeastern Virginia, +were gathered four Negroes, Henry Porter, Hark Travis, Nelson Williams, +and Sam Francis, evidently preparing for a barbecue. They were soon +joined by a gigantic and athletic Negro named Will Francis, and by +another named Jack Reese. Two hours later came a short, strong-looking +man who had a face of great resolution and at whom one would not +have needed to glance a second time to know that he was to be the +master-spirit of the company. Seeing Will and his companion he raised a +question as to their being present, to which Will replied that life was +worth no more to him than the others and that liberty was as dear to +him. This answer satisfied the latest comer, and Nat Turner now went +into conference with his most trusted friends. One can only imagine the +purpose, the eagerness, and the firmness on those dark faces throughout +that long summer afternoon and evening. When at last in the night the +low whispering ceased, the doom of nearly three-score white persons--and +it might be added, of twice as many Negroes--was sealed. + +Cross Keys was seventy miles from Norfolk, just about as far from +Richmond, twenty-five miles from the Dismal Swamp, fifteen miles from +Murfreesboro in North Carolina, and also fifteen miles from Jerusalem, +the county seat of Southampton County. The community was settled +primarily by white people of modest means. Joseph Travis, the owner of +Nat Turner, had recently married the widow of one Putnam Moore. + +Nat Turner, who originally belonged to one Benjamin Turner, was born +October 2, 1800. He was mentally precocious and had marks on his head +and breast which were interpreted by the Negroes who knew him as marking +him for some high calling. In his mature years he also had on his right +arm a knot which was the result of a blow which he had received. He +experimented in paper, gunpowder, and pottery, and it is recorded of him +that he was never known to swear an oath, to drink a drop of spirits, +or to commit a theft. Instead he cultivated fasting and prayer and the +reading of the Bible. + +More and more Nat gave himself up to a life of the spirit and to +communion with the voices that he said he heard. He once ran away for +a month, but felt commanded by the spirit to return. About 1825 a +consciousness of his great mission came to him, and daily he labored +to make himself more worthy. As he worked in the field he saw drops +of blood on the corn, and he also saw white spirits and black spirits +contending in the skies. While he thus so largely lived in a religious +or mystical world and was immersed, he was not a professional Baptist +preacher. On May 12, 1828, he was left no longer in doubt. A great voice +said unto him that the Serpent was loosed, that Christ had laid down the +yoke, that he, Nat, was to take it up again, and that the time was fast +approaching when the first should be last and the last should be first. +An eclipse of the sun in February, 1831, was interpreted as the sign for +him to go forward. Yet he waited a little longer, until he had made sure +of his most important associates. It is worthy of note that when he +began his work, while he wanted the killing to be as effective and +widespread as possible, he commanded that no outrage be committed, and +he was obeyed. + +When on the Sunday in August Nat and his companions finished their +conference, they went to find Austin, a brother-spirit; and then all +went to the cider-press and drank except Nat. It was understood that he +as the leader was to spill the first blood, and that he was to begin +with his own master, Joseph Travis. Going to the house, Hark placed +a ladder against the chimney. On this Nat ascended; then he went +downstairs, unbarred the doors, and removed the guns from their places. +He and Will together entered Travis's chamber, and the first blow was +given to the master of the house. The hatchet glanced off and Travis +called to his wife; but this was with his last breath, for Will at once +despatched him with his ax. The wife and the three children of the house +were also killed immediately. Then followed a drill of the company, +after which all went to the home of Salathiel Francis six hundred yards +away. Sam and Will knocked, and Francis asked who was there. Sam replied +that he had a letter, for him. The man came to the door, where he was +seized and killed by repeated blows over the head. He was the only white +person in the house. In silence all passed on to the home of Mrs. +Reese, who was killed while asleep in bed. Her son awoke, but was also +immediately killed. A mile away the insurrectionists came to the home of +Mrs. Turner, which they reached about sunrise on Monday morning. Henry, +Austin, and Sam went to the still, where they found and killed the +overseer, Peebles, Austin shooting him. Then all went to the house. The +family saw them coming and shut the door--to no avail, however, as Will +with one stroke of his ax opened it and entered to find Mrs. Turner and +Mrs. Newsome in the middle of the room almost frightened to death. Will +killed Mrs. Turner with one blow of his ax, and after Nat had struck +Mrs. Newsome over the head with his sword, Will turned and killed her +also. By this time the company amounted to fifteen. Nine went mounted to +the home of Mrs. Whitehead and six others went along a byway to the home +of Henry Bryant. As they neared the first house Richard Whitehead, the +son of the family, was standing in the cotton-patch near the fence. +Will killed him with his ax immediately. In the house he killed Mrs. +Whitehead, almost severing her head from her body with one blow. +Margaret, a daughter, tried to conceal herself and ran, but was killed +by Turner with a fence-rail. The men in this first company were now +joined by those in the second, the six who had gone to the Bryant home, +who informed them that they had done the work assigned, which was to +kill Henry Bryant himself, his wife and child, and his wife's mother. By +this time the killing had become fast and furious. The company divided +again; some would go ahead, and Nat would come up to find work already +accomplished. Generally fifteen or twenty of the best mounted were put +in front to strike terror and prevent escape, and Nat himself frequently +did not get to the houses where killing was done. More and more the +Negroes, now about forty in number, were getting drunken and noisy. +The alarm was given, and by nine or ten o'clock on Monday morning one +Captain Harris and his family had escaped. Prominent among the events of +the morning, however, was the killing at the home of Mrs. Waller of ten +children who were gathering for school.[1] + +[Footnote 1: In "Horrid Massacre," or, to use the more formal title, +"Authentic and Impartial Narrative of the Tragical Scene which was +Witnessed in Southampton County (Virginia) on Monday the 22d of August +Last," the list below of the victims of Nat Turner's insurrection +is given. It must be said about this work, however, that it is not +altogether impeccable; it seems to have been prepared very hastily after +the event, its spelling of names is often arbitrary, and instead of the +fifty-five victims noted it appears that at least fifty-seven white +persons were killed: + + Joseph Travis, wife and three children 5 + Mrs. Elizabeth Turner, Hartwell Peebles, and Sarah Newsum 3 + Mrs. Piety Reese and son, William 2 + Trajan Doyal 1 + Henry Briant, wife and child, and wife's mother 4 + Mrs. Catherine Whitehead, her son Richard, four daughters + and a grandchild 7 + Salathael Francis 1 + Nathaniel Francis's overseer and two children 3 + John T. Barrow and George Vaughan 2 + Mrs. Levi Waller and ten children 11 + Mr. William Williams, wife and two boys 4 + Mrs. Caswell Worrell and child 2 + Mrs. Rebacca Vaughan, Ann Eliza Vaughan, and son Arthur 3 + Mrs. Jacob Williams and three children and Edwin Drewry 5 + __ + 55 ] + +As the men neared the home of James Parker, it was suggested that +they call there; but Turner objected, as this man had already gone to +Jerusalem and he himself wished to reach the county seat as soon as +possible. However, he and some of the men remained at the gate while +others went to the house half a mile away. This exploit proved to be the +turning-point of the events of the day. Uneasy at the delay of those who +went to the house, Turner went thither also. On his return he was met by +a company of white men who had fired on those Negroes left at the gate +and dispersed them. On discovering these men, Turner ordered his own men +to halt and form, as now they were beginning to be alarmed. The white +men, eighteen in number, approached and fired, but were forced to +retreat. Reënforcements for them from Jerusalem were already at hand, +however, and now the great pursuit of the Negro insurrectionists began. + +Hark's horse was shot under him and five or six of the men were wounded. +Turner's force was largely dispersed, but on Monday night he stopped at +the home of Major Ridley, and his company again increased to forty. He +tried to sleep a little, but a sentinel gave the alarm; all were soon up +and the number was again reduced to twenty. Final resistance was offered +at the home of Dr. Blunt, but here still more of the men were put to +flight and were never again seen by Turner. + +A little later, however, the leader found two of his men named Jacob and +Nat. These he sent with word to Henry, Hark, Nelson, and Sam to meet him +at the place where on Sunday they had taken dinner together. With what +thoughts Nat Turner returned alone to this place on Tuesday evening can +only be imagined. Throughout the night he remained, but no one joined +him and he presumed that his followers had all either been taken or had +deserted him. Nor did any one come on Wednesday, or on Thursday. On +Thursday night, having supplied himself with provisions from the Travis +home, he scratched a hole under a pile of fence-rails, and here he +remained for six weeks, leaving only at night to get water. All +the while of course he had no means of learning of the fate of his +companions or of anything else. Meanwhile not only the vicinity but +the whole South was being wrought up to an hysterical state of mind. A +reward of $500 for the capture of the man was offered by the Governor, +and other rewards were also offered. On September 30 a false account of +his capture appeared in the newspapers; on October 7 another; on October +8 still another. By this time Turner had begun to move about a little at +night, not speaking to any human being and returning always to his hole +before daybreak. Early on October 15 a dog smelt his provisions and led +thither two Negroes. Nat appealed to these men for protection, but they +at once began to run and excitedly spread the news. Turner fled in +another direction and for ten days more hid among the wheat-stacks on +the Francis plantation. All the while not less than five hundred men +were on the watch for him, and they found the stick that he had notched +from day to day. Once he thought of surrendering, and walked within two +miles of Jerusalem. Three times he tried to get away, and failed. On +October 25 he was discovered by Francis, who discharged at him a load of +buckshot, twelve of which passed through his hat, and he was at large +for five days more. On October 30 Benjamin Phipps, a member of the +patrol, passing a clearing in the woods noticed a motion among the +boughs. He paused, and gradually he saw Nat's head emerging from a hole +beneath. The fugitive now gave up as he knew that the woods were full of +men. He was taken to the nearest house, and the crowd was so great and +the excitement so intense that it was with difficulty that he was taken +to Jerusalem. For more than two months, from August 25 to October 30, he +had eluded his pursuers, remaining all the while in the vicinity of his +insurrection. + +While Nat Turner was in prison, Thomas C. Gray, his counsel, received +from him what are known as his "Confessions." This pamphlet is now +almost inaccessible,[1] but it was in great demand at the time it +was printed and it is now the chief source for information about the +progress of the insurrection. Turner was tried November 5 and sentenced +to be hanged six days later. Asked in court by Gray if he still believed +in the providential nature of his mission, he asked, "Was not Christ +crucified?" Of his execution itself we read: "Nat Turner was executed +according to sentence, on Friday, the 11th of November, 1831, at +Jerusalem, between the hours of 10 A.M. and 2 P.M. He exhibited the +utmost composure throughout the whole ceremony; and, although assured +that he might, if he thought proper, address the immense crowd assembled +on the occasion, declined availing himself of the privilege; and, being +asked if he had any further confessions to make, replied that he had +nothing more than he had communicated; and told the sheriff in a firm +voice that he was ready. Not a limb or muscle was observed to move. His +body, after death, was given over to the surgeons for dissection." + +[Footnote 1: The only copy that the author has seen is that in the +library of Harvard University.] + +Of fifty-three Negroes arraigned in connection with the insurrection +"seventeen were executed and twelve transported. The rest were +discharged, except ... four free Negroes sent on to the Superior Court. +Three of the four were executed." [1] Such figures as these, however, +give no conception of the number of those who lost their lives in +connection with the insurrection. In general, if slaves were convicted +by legal process and executed or transported, or if they escaped before +trial, they were paid for by the commonwealth; if killed, they were not +paid for, and a man like Phipps might naturally desire to protect his +prisoner in order to get his reward. In spite of this, the Negroes were +slaughtered without trial and sometimes under circumstances of the +greatest barbarity. One man proudly boasted that he had killed between +ten and fifteen. A party went from Richmond with the intention of +killing every Negro in Southampton County. Approaching the cabin of a +free Negro they asked, "Is this Southampton County?" "Yes, sir," came +the reply, "you have just crossed the line by yonder tree." They shot +him dead and rode on. In general the period was one of terror, with +voluntary patrols, frequently drunk, going in all directions. These men +tortured, burned, or maimed the Negroes practically at will. Said one +old woman [2] of them: "The patrols were low drunken whites, and in +Nat's time, if they heard any of the colored folks prayin' or singin' a +hymn, they would fall upon 'em and abuse 'em, and sometimes kill 'em.... +The brightest and best was killed in Nat's time. The whites always +suspect such ones. They killed a great many at a place called Duplon. +They killed Antonio, a slave of Mr. J. Stanley, whom they shot; then +they pointed their guns at him and told him to confess about +the insurrection. He told 'em he didn't know anything about any +insurrection. They shot several balls through him, quartered him, and +put his head on a pole at the fork of the road leading to the court.... +It was there but a short time. He had no trial. They never do. In Nat's +time, the patrols would tie up the free colored people, flog 'em, and +try to make 'em lie against one another, and often killed them before +anybody could interfere. Mr. James Cole, High Sheriff, said if any of +the patrols came on his plantation, he would lose his life in defense of +his people. One day he heard a patroller boasting how many Negroes +he had killed. Mr. Cole said, 'If you don't pack up, as quick as God +Almighty will let you, and get out of this town, and never be seen in +it again, I'll put you where dogs won't bark at you.' He went off, and +wasn't seen in them parts again." + +[Footnote 1: Drewry, 101.] + +[Footnote 2: Charity Bowery, who gave testimony to L.M. Child, quoted by +Higginson.] + +The immediate panic created by the Nat Turner insurrection in Virginia +and the other states of the South it would be impossible to exaggerate. +When the news of what was happening at Cross Keys spread, two companies, +on horse and foot, came from Murfreesboro as quickly as possible. On +the Wednesday after the memorable Sunday night there came from Fortress +Monroe three companies and a piece of artillery. These commands were +reënforced from various sources until not less than eight hundred men +were in arms. Many of the Negroes fled to the Dismal Swamp, and the +wildest rumors were afloat. One was that Wilmington had been burned, and +in Raleigh and Fayetteville the wildest excitement prevailed. In the +latter place scores of white women and children fled to the swamps, +coming out two days afterwards muddy, chilled, and half-starved. Slaves +were imprisoned wholesale. In Wilmington four men were shot without +trial and their heads placed on poles at the four corners of the town. +In Macon, Ga., a report was circulated that an armed band of Negroes was +only five miles away, and within an hour the women and children were +assembled in the largest building in the town, with a military force in +front for protection. + +The effects on legislation were immediate. Throughout the South the +slave codes became more harsh; and while it was clear that the uprising +had been one of slaves rather than of free Negroes, as usual special +disabilities fell upon the free people of color. Delaware, that only +recently had limited the franchise to white men, now forbade the use of +firearms by free Negroes and would not suffer any more to come within +the state. Tennessee also forbade such immigration, while Maryland +passed a law to the effect that all free Negroes must leave the state +and be colonized in Africa--a monstrous piece of legislation that it was +impossible to put into effect and that showed once for all the futility +of attempts at forcible emigration as a solution of the problem. In +general, however, the insurrection assisted the colonization scheme and +also made more certain the carrying out of the policy of the Jackson +administration to remove the Indians of the South to the West. It also +focussed the attention of the nation upon the status of the Negro, +crystallized opinion in the North, and thus helped with the formation of +anti-slavery organizations. By it for the time being the Negro lost; in +the long run he gained. + + +3. _The "Amistad" and "Creole" Cases_ + +On June 28, 1839, a schooner, the _Amistad_, sailed from Havana bound +for Guanaja in the vicinity of Puerto Principe. She was under the +command of her owner, Don Ramon Ferrer, was laden with merchandise, and +had on board fifty-three Negroes, forty-nine of whom supposedly belonged +to a Spaniard, Don Jose Ruiz, the other four belonging to Don Pedro +Montes. During the night of June 30 the slaves, under the lead of one +of their number named Cinque, rose upon the crew, killed the captain, a +slave of his, and two sailors, and while they permitted most of the crew +to escape, they took into close custody the two owners, Ruiz and Montes. +Montes, who had some knowledge of nautical affairs, was ordered to steer +the vessel back to Africa. So he did by day, when the Negroes would +watch him, but at night he tried to make his way to some land nearer at +hand. Other vessels passed from time to time, and from these the Negroes +bought provisions, but Montes and Ruiz were so closely watched that they +could not make known their plight. At length, on August 26, the schooner +reached Long Island Sound, where it was detained by the American +brig-of-war _Washington_, in command of Captain Gedney, who secured the +Negroes and took them to New London, Conn. It took a year and a half to +dispose of the issue thus raised. The case attracted the greatest amount +of attention, led to international complications, and was not really +disposed of until a former President had exhaustively argued the case +for the Negroes before the Supreme Court of the United States. + +In a letter of September 6, 1839, to John Forsyth, the American +Secretary of State, Calderon, the Spanish minister, formally made four +demands: 1. That the _Amistad_ be immediately delivered up to her owner, +together with every article on board at the time of her capture; 2. That +it be declared that no tribunal in the United States had the right to +institute proceedings against, or to impose penalties upon, the subjects +of Spain, for crimes committed on board a Spanish vessel, and in the +waters of Spanish territory; 3. That the Negroes be conveyed to Havana +or otherwise placed at the disposal of the representatives of Spain; and +4. That if, in consequence of the intervention of the authorities in +Connecticut, there should be any delay in the desired delivery of the +vessel and the slaves, the owners both of the latter and of the former +be indemnified for the injury that might accrue to them. In support of +his demands Calderon invoked "the law of nations, the stipulations +of existing treaties, and those good feelings so necessary in the +maintenance of the friendly relations that subsist between the two +countries, and are so interesting to both." Forsyth asked for any papers +bearing on the question, and Calderon replied that he had none except +"the declaration on oath of Montes and Ruiz." + +Meanwhile the abolitionists were insisting that protection had _not_ +been afforded the African strangers cast on American soil and that in +no case did the executive arm of the Government have any authority to +interfere with the regular administration of justice. "These Africans," +it was said, "are detained in jail, under process of the United States +courts, in a free state, after it has been decided by the District +Judge, on sufficient proof, that they are recently from Africa, were +never the lawful slaves of Ruiz and Montes," and "when it is clear as +noonday that there is no law or treaty stipulation that requires the +further detention of these Africans or their delivery to Spain or its +subjects." + +Writing on October 24 to the Spanish representative with reference to +the arrest of Ruiz and Montes, Forsyth informed him that the two Spanish +subjects had been arrested on process issuing from the superior court of +the city of New York upon affidavits of certain men, natives of Africa, +"for the purpose of securing their appearance before the proper +tribunal, to answer for wrongs alleged to have been inflicted by them +upon the persons of said Africans," that, consequently, the occurrence +constituted simply a "case of resort by individuals against others +to the judicial courts of the country, which are equally open to all +without distinction," and that the agency of the Government to obtain +the release of Messrs. Ruiz and Montes could not be afforded in the +manner requested. Further pressure was brought to bear by the Spanish +representative, however, and there was cited the case of Abraham +Wendell, captain of the brig _Franklin_, who was prosecuted at first by +Spanish officials for maltreatment of his mate, but with reference to +whom documents were afterwards sent from Havana to America. Much more +correspondence followed, and Felix Grundy, of Tennessee, Attorney +General of the United States, at length muddled everything by the +following opinion: "These Negroes deny that they are slaves; if they +should be delivered to the claimants, no opportunity may be afforded for +the assertion of their right to freedom. For these reasons, it seems to +me that a delivery to the Spanish minister is the only safe course for +this Government to pursue." The fallacy of all this was shown in a +letter dated November 18, 1839, from B.F. Butler, United States District +Attorney in New York, to Aaron Vail, acting Secretary of State. Said +Butler: "It does not appear to me that any question has yet arisen under +the treaty with Spain; because, although it is an admitted principle, +that neither the courts of this state, nor those of the United States, +can take jurisdiction of criminal offenses committed by foreigners +within the territory of a foreign state, yet it is equally settled in +this country, that our courts will take cognizance of _civil_ actions +between foreigners transiently within our jurisdiction, founded upon +contracts or other transactions made or had in a foreign state." +Southern influence was strong, however, and a few weeks afterwards an +order was given from the Department of State to have a vessel anchor +off New Haven, Conn., January 10, 1840, to receive the Negroes from +the United States marshal and take them to Cuba; and on January 7 the +President, Van Buren, issued the necessary warrant. + +The rights of humanity, however, were not to be handled in this summary +fashion. The executive order was stayed, and the case went further +on its progress to the highest tribunal in the land. Meanwhile the +anti-slavery people were teaching the Africans the rudiments of English +in order that they might be better able to tell their own story. From +the first a committee had been appointed to look out for their interests +and while they were awaiting the final decision in their case they +cultivated a garden of fifteen acres. + +The appearance of John Quincy Adams in behalf of these Negroes before +the Supreme Court of the United States February 24 and March 1, 1841, is +in every way one of the most beautiful acts in American history. In the +fullness of years, with his own administration as President twelve years +behind him, the "Old Man Eloquent" came once more to the tribunal that +he knew so well to make a last plea for the needy and oppressed. To the +task he brought all his talents--his profound knowledge of law, his +unrivaled experience, and his impressive personality; and his argument +covers 135 octavo pages. He gave an extended analysis of the demand of +the Spanish minister, who asked the President to do what he simply had +no constitutional right to do. "The President," said Adams, "has no +power to arrest either citizens or foreigners. But even that power is +almost insignificant compared with that of sending men beyond seas to +deliver them up to a foreign government." The Secretary of State had +"degraded the country, in the face of the whole civilized world, not +only by allowing these demands to remain unanswered, but by proceeding, +throughout the whole transaction, as if the Executive were earnestly +desirous to comply with every one of the demands." The Spanish minister +had naturally insisted in his demands because he had not been properly +met at first. The slave-trade was illegal by international agreement, +and the only thing to do under the circumstances was to release the +Negroes. Adams closed his plea with a magnificent review of his career +and of the labors of the distinguished jurists he had known in the court +for nearly forty years, and be it recorded wherever the name of Justice +is spoken, he won his case. + +Lewis Tappan now accompanied the Africans on a tour through the states +to raise money for their passage home. The first meeting was in Boston. +Several members of the company interested the audience by their readings +from the New Testament or by their descriptions of their own country +and of the horrors of the voyage. Cinque gave the impression of great +dignity and of extraordinary ability; and Kali, a boy only eleven years +of age, also attracted unusual attention. Near the close of 1841, +accompanied by five missionaries and teachers, the Africans set sail +from New York, to make their way first to Sierra Leone and then to their +own homes as well as they could. + +While this whole incident of the _Amistad_ was still engaging the +interest of the public, there occurred another that also occasioned +international friction and even more prolonged debate between the +slavery and anti-slavery forces. On October 25, 1841, the brig _Creole_, +Captain Ensor, of Richmond, Va., sailed from Richmond and on October 27 +from Hampton Roads, with a cargo of tobacco and one hundred and thirty +slaves bound for New Orleans. On the vessel also, aside from the crew, +were the captain's wife and child, and three or four passengers, who +were chiefly in charge of the slaves, one man, John R. Hewell, being +directly in charge of those belonging to an owner named McCargo. About +9.30 on the night of Sunday, November 7, while out at sea, nineteen of +the slaves rose, cowed the others, wounded the captain, and generally +took command of the vessel. Madison Washington began the uprising by an +attack on Gifford, the first mate, and Ben Blacksmith, one of the most +aggressive of his assistants, killed Hewell. The insurgents seized the +arms of the vessel, permitted no conversation between members of the +crew except in their hearing, demanded and obtained the manifests of +slaves, and threatened that if they were not taken to Abaco or some +other British port they would throw the officers and crew overboard. The +_Creole_ reached Nassau, New Providence, on Tuesday, November 9, and the +arrival of the vessel at once occasioned intense excitement. Gifford +went ashore and reported the matter, and the American consul, John F. +Bacon, contended to the English authorities that the slaves on board the +brig were as much a part of the cargo as the tobacco and entitled to +the same protection from loss to the owners. The governor, Sir Francis +Cockburn, however, was uncertain whether to interfere in the business at +all. He liberated those slaves who were not concerned in the uprising, +spoke of all of the slaves as "passengers," and guaranteed to the +nineteen who were shown by an investigation to have been connected with +the uprising all the rights of prisoners called before an English court. +He told them further that the British Government would be communicated +with before their case was finally passed upon, that if they wished +copies of the informations these would be furnished them, and that they +were privileged to have witnesses examined in refutation of the charges +against them. From time to time Negroes who were natives of the island +crowded about the brig in small boats and intimidated the American crew, +but when on the morning of November 12 the Attorney General questioned +them as to their intentions they replied with transparent good humor +that they intended no violence and had assembled only for the purpose +of conveying to shore such of the persons on the _Creole_ as might be +permitted to leave and might need their assistance. The Attorney General +required, however, that they throw overboard a dozen stout cudgels that +they had. Here the whole case really rested. Daniel Webster as Secretary +of State aroused the anti-slavery element by making a strong demand +for the return of the slaves, basing his argument on the sacredness of +vessels flying the American flag; but the English authorities at Nassau +never returned any of them. On March 21, 1842, Joshua R. Giddings, +untiring defender of the rights of the Negro, offered in the House of +Representatives resolutions to the effect that slavery could exist only +by positive law of the different states; that the states had delegated +no control over slavery to the Federal Government, which alone had +jurisdiction on the high seas, and that, therefore, slaves on the high +seas became free and the coastwise trade was unconstitutional. The +House, strongly pro-Southern, replied with a vote of censure and +Giddings resigned, but he was immediately reëlected by his Ohio +constituency. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE NEGRO REPLY, II: ORGANIZATION AND AGITATION + + +It is not the purpose of the present chapter primarily to consider +social progress on the part of the Negro. A little later we shall +endeavor to treat this interesting subject for the period between the +Missouri Compromise and the Civil War. Just now we are concerned with +the attitude of the Negro himself toward the problem that seemed to +present itself to America and for which such different solutions were +proposed. So far as slavery was concerned, we have seen that the remedy +suggested by Denmark Vesey and Nat Turner was insurrection. It is only +to state an historical fact, however, to say that the great heart of the +Negro people in the South did not believe in violence, but rather hoped +and prayed for a better day to come by some other means. But what was +the attitude of those people, progressive citizens and thinking leaders, +who were not satisfied with the condition of the race and who had to +take a stand on the issues that confronted them? If we study the matter +from this point of view, we shall find an amount of ferment and unrest +and honest difference of opinion that is sometimes overlooked or +completely forgotten in the questions of a later day. + + +1. _Walker's "Appeal_" + +The most widely discussed book written by a Negro in the period was one +that appeared in Boston in 1829. David Walker, the author, had been born +in North Carolina in 1785, of a free mother and a slave father, and he +was therefore free.[1] He received a fair education, traveled widely +over the United States, and by 1827 was living in Boston as the +proprietor of a second-hand clothing store on Brattle Street. He felt +very strongly on the subject of slavery and actually seems to have +contemplated leading an insurrection. In 1828 he addressed various +audiences of Negroes in Boston and elsewhere, and in 1829 he published +his _Appeal, in four articles; together with a Preamble to the Coloured +Citizens of the World, but in particular, and very expressly, to those +of the United States of America_. The book was remarkably successful. +Appearing in September, by March of the following year it had reached +its third edition; and in each successive edition the language was more +bold and vigorous. Walker's projected insurrection did not take place, +and he himself died in 1830. While there was no real proof of the fact, +among the Negro people there was a strong belief that he met with foul +play. + +[Footnote 1: Adams: _Neglected Period of Anti-Slavery_, 93.] + +Article I Walker headed "Our Wretchedness in Consequence of Slavery." A +trip over the United States had convinced him that the Negroes of the +country were "the most degraded, wretched and abject set of beings that +ever lived since the world began." He quoted a South Carolina paper as +saying, "The Turks are the most barbarous people in the world--they +treat the Greeks more like brutes than human beings"; and then from the +same paper cited an advertisement of the sale of eight Negro men and +four women. "Are we men?" he exclaimed. "I ask you, O! my brothers, are +we men?... Have we any other master but Jesus Christ alone? Is He not +their master as well as ours? What right, then, have we to obey and call +any man master but Himself? How we could be so submissive to a gang of +men, whom we can not tell whether they are as good as ourselves, or not, +I never could conceive." "The whites," he asserted, "have always been an +unjust, jealous, unmerciful, avaricious and bloodthirsty set of beings, +always seeking after power and authority." As heathen the white people +had been cruel enough, but as Christians they were ten times more so. As +heathen "they were not quite so audacious as to go and take vessel loads +of men, women and children, and in cold blood, through devilishness, +throw them into the sea, and murder them in all kind of ways. But being +Christians, enlightened and sensible, they are completely prepared +for such hellish cruelties." Next was considered "Our Wretchedness in +Consequence of Ignorance." In general the writer maintained that his +people as a whole did not have intelligence enough to realize their own +degradation; even if boys studied books they did not master their texts, +nor did their information go sufficiently far to enable them actually to +meet the problems of life. If one would but go to the South or West, +he would see there a son take his mother, who bore almost the pains of +death to give him birth, and by the command of a tyrant, strip her as +naked as she came into the world and apply the cowhide to her until she +fell a victim to death in the road. He would see a husband take his dear +wife, not unfrequently in a pregnant state and perhaps far advanced, and +beat her for an unmerciful wretch, until her infant fell a lifeless lump +at her feet. Moreover, "there have been, and are this day, in Boston, +New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore, colored men who are in league +with tyrants and who receive a great portion of their daily bread of +the moneys which they acquire from the blood and tears of their more +miserable brethren, whom they scandalously deliver into the hands of our +natural enemies." In Article III Walker considered "Our Wretchedness in +Consequence of the Preachers of the Religion of Jesus Christ." Here was +a fertile field, which was only partially developed. Walker evidently +did not have at hand the utterances of Furman and others to serve as a +definite point of attack. He did point out, however, the general failure +of Christian ministers to live up to the teachings of Christ. "Even here +in Boston," we are informed, "pride and prejudice have got to such a +pitch, that in the very houses erected to the Lord they have built +little places for the reception of colored people, where they must sit +during meeting, or keep away from the house of God." Hypocrisy could +hardly go further than that of preachers who could not see the evils +at their door but could "send out missionaries to convert the heathen, +notwithstanding." Article IV was headed "Our Wretchedness in Consequence +of the Colonizing Plan." This was a bitter arraignment, especially +directed against Henry Clay. "I appeal and ask every citizen of these +United States," said Walker, "and of the world, both white and black, +who has any knowledge of Mr. Clay's public labors for these states--I +want you candidly to answer the Lord, who sees the secrets of your +hearts, Do you believe that Mr. Henry Clay, late Secretary of State, and +now in Kentucky, is a friend to the blacks further than his personal +interest extends?... Does he care a pinch of snuff about Africa--whether +it remains a land of pagans and of blood, or of Christians, so long as +he gets enough of her sons and daughters to dig up gold and silver for +him?... Was he not made by the Creator to sit in the shade, and make the +blacks work without remuneration for their services, to support him +and his family? I have been for some time taking notice of this man's +speeches and public writings, but never to my knowledge have I seen +anything in his writings which insisted on the emancipation of slavery, +which has almost ruined his country." Walker then paid his compliments +to Elias B. Caldwell and John Randolph, the former of whom had said, +"The more you improve the condition of these people, the more you +cultivate their minds, the more miserable you make them in their present +state." "Here," the work continues, "is a demonstrative proof of a plan +got up, by a gang of slaveholders, to select the free people of color +from among the slaves, that our more miserable brethren may be the +better secured in ignorance and wretchedness, to work their farms and +dig their mines, and thus go on enriching the Christians with their +blood and groans. What our brethren could have been thinking about, who +have left their native land and gone away to Africa, I am unable to +say.... The Americans may say or do as they please, but they have to +raise us from the condition of brutes to that of respectable men, and to +make a national acknowledgment to us for the wrongs they have inflicted +on us.... You may doubt it, if you please. I know that thousands will +doubt--they think they have us so well secured in wretchedness, to them +and their children, that it is impossible for such things to occur. So +did the antediluvians doubt Noah, until the day in which the flood came +and swept them away. So did the Sodomites doubt, until Lot had got out +of the city, and God rained down fire and brimstone from heaven upon +them and burnt them up. So did the king of Egypt doubt the very +existence of God, saying, 'Who is the Lord, that I should let Israel +go?' ... So did the Romans doubt.... But they got dreadfully deceived." + +This document created the greatest consternation in the South. The Mayor +of Savannah wrote to Mayor Otis of Boston, demanding that Walker be +punished. Otis, in a widely published letter, replied expressing his +disapproval of the pamphlet, but saying that the author had done nothing +that made him "amenable" to the laws. In Virginia the legislature +considered passing an "extraordinary bill," not only forbidding the +circulation of such seditious publications but forbidding the education +of free Negroes. The bill passed the House of Delegates, but failed in +the Senate. The _Appeal_ even found its way to Louisiana, where there +were already rumors of an insurrection, and immediately a law was passed +expelling all free Negroes who had come to the state since 1825. + + +_2. The Convention Movement_ + +As may be inferred from Walker's attitude, the representative men of the +race were almost a unit in their opposition to colonization. They were +not always opposed to colonization itself, for some looked favorably +upon settlement in Canada, and a few hundred made their way to the West +Indies. They did object, however, to the plan offered by the American +Colonization Society, which more and more impressed them as a device on +the part of slaveholders to get free Negroes out of the country in order +that slave labor might be more valuable. Richard Allen, bishop of the +African Methodist Episcopal Church, and the foremost Negro of the +period, said: "We were stolen from our mother country and brought here. +We have tilled the ground and made fortunes for thousands, and still +they are not weary of our services. _But they who stay to till the +ground must be slaves_. Is there not land enough in America, or 'corn +enough in Egypt'? Why should they send us into a far country to die? See +the thousands of foreigners emigrating to America every year: and if +there be ground sufficient for them to cultivate, and bread for them to +eat, why would they wish to send the _first tillers_ of the land away? +Africans have made fortunes for thousands, who are yet unwilling to +part with their services; but the free must be sent away, and those who +remain must be slaves. I have no doubt that there are many good men who +do not see as I do, and who are sending us to Liberia; but they have not +duly considered the subject--they are not men of color. This land +which we have watered with our tears and our blood is now our _mother +country_, and we are well satisfied to stay where wisdom abounds and the +gospel is free."[1] This point of view received popular expression in +a song which bore the cumbersome title, "The Colored Man's Opinion of +Colonization," and which was sung to the tune of "Home, Sweet Home." The +first stanza was as follows: + +[Footnote 1: _Freedom's Journal_, November 2, 1827, quoted by Walker.] + + Great God, if the humble and weak are as dear + To thy love as the proud, to thy children give ear! + Our brethren would drive us in deserts to roam; + Forgive them, O Father, and keep us at home. + Home, sweet home! + We have no other; this, this is our home.[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Anti-Slavery Picknick_, 105-107.] + +To this sentiment formal expression was given in the measures adopted at +various Negro meetings in the North. In 1817 the greatest excitement +was occasioned by a report that through the efforts of the newly-formed +Colonization Society all free Negroes were forcibly to be deported from +the country. Resolutions of protest were adopted, and these were widely +circulated.[1] Of special importance was the meeting in Philadelphia in +January, presided over by James Forten. Of this the full report is as +follows: + +[Footnote 1: They are fully recorded in _Garrison's Thoughts on African +Colonization_.] + +At a numerous meeting of the people of color, convened at Bethel Church, +to take into consideration the propriety of remonstrating against the +contemplated measure that is to exile us from the land of our nativity, +James Forten was called to the chair, and Russell Parrott appointed +secretary. The intent of the meeting having been stated by the chairman, +the following resolutions were adopted without one dissenting voice: + + WHEREAS, Our ancestors (not of choice) were the first successful + cultivators of the wilds of America, we their descendants feel + ourselves entitled to participate in the blessings of her luxuriant + soil, which their blood and sweat manured; and that any measure or + system of measures, having a tendency to banish us from her bosom, + would not only be cruel, but in direct violation of those principles + which have been the boast of this republic, + + _Resolved_, That we view with deep abhorrence the unmerited stigma + attempted to be cast upon the reputation of the free people of + color, by the promoters of this measure, "that they are a + dangerous and useless part of the community," when in the state of + disfranchisement in which they live, in the hour of danger they + ceased to remember their wrongs, and rallied around the standard of + their country. + + _Resolved_, That we never will separate ourselves voluntarily from + the slave population of this country; they are our brethren by the + ties of consanguinity, of suffering, and of wrong; and we feel that + there is more virtue in suffering privations with them, than fancied + advantages for a season. + + _Resolved_, That without arts, without science, without a proper + knowledge of government to cast upon the savage wilds of Africa the + free people of color, seems to us the circuitous route through which + they must return to perpetual bondage. + + _Resolved_, That having the strongest confidence in the justice of + God, and philanthropy of the free states, we cheerfully submit our + destinies to the guidance of Him who suffers not a sparrow to fall + without his special providence. + + _Resolved_, That a committee of eleven persons be appointed to open + a correspondence with the honorable Joseph Hopkinson, member + of Congress from this city, and likewise to inform him of the + sentiments of this meeting, and that the following named persons + constitute the committee, and that they have power to call a general + meeting, when they, in their judgment, may deem it proper: Rev. + Absalom Jones, Rev. Richard Allen, James Forten, Robert Douglass, + Francis Perkins, Rev. John Gloucester, Robert Gorden, James Johnson, + Quamoney Clarkson, John Summersett, Randall Shepherd. + + JAMES FORTEN, Chairman. + + RUSSELL PARROTT, Secretary. + +In 1827, in New York, was begun the publication of _Freedom's Journal_, +the first Negro newspaper in the United States. The editors were John +B. Russwurm and Samuel E. Cornish. Russwurm was a recent graduate of +Bowdoin College and was later to become better known as the governor of +Maryland in Africa. By 1830 feeling was acute throughout the country, +especially in Ohio and Kentucky, and on the part of Negro men +had developed the conviction that the time had come for national +organization and protest. + +In the spring of 1830 Hezekiah Grice of Baltimore, who had become +personally acquainted with the work of Lundy and Garrison, sent a letter +to prominent Negroes in the free states bringing in question the general +policy of emigration.[1] received no immediate response, but in August +he received from Richard Allen an urgent request to come at once to +Philadelphia. Arriving there he found in session a meeting discussing +the wisdom of emigration to Canada, and Allen "showed him a printed +circular signed by Peter Williams, rector of St. Philip's Church, +New York, Peter Vogelsang and Thomas L. Jennings of the same place, +approving the plan of convention."[2] The Philadelphians now issued a +call for a convention of the Negroes of the United States to be held in +their city September 15, 1830. + +[Footnote 1: John W. Cromwell: _The Early Negro Convention Movement_.] + +[Footnote 2: _Ibid_., 5.] + +This September meeting was held in Bethel A.M.E. Church. Bishop Richard +Allen was chosen president, Dr. Belfast Burton of Philadelphia and +Austin Steward of Rochester vice-presidents, Junius C. Morell of +Pennsylvania secretary, and Robert Cowley of Maryland assistant +secretary. There were accredited delegates from seven states. While this +meeting might really be considered the first national convention of +Negroes in the United States (aside of course from the gathering of +denominational bodies), it seems to have been regarded merely as +preliminary to a still more formal assembling, for the minutes of the +next year were printed as the "Minutes and Proceedings of the First +Annual Convention of the People of Color, held by adjournments in the +city of Philadelphia, from the sixth to the eleventh of June, inclusive, +1831. Philadelphia, 1831." The meetings of this convention were held in +the Wesleyan Church on Lombard Street. Richard Allen had died earlier in +the year and Grice was not present; not long afterwards he emigrated +to Hayti, where he became prominent as a contractor. Rev. James W.C. +Pennington of New York, however, now for the first time appeared on the +larger horizon of race affairs; and John Bowers of Philadelphia served +as president, Abraham D. Shadd of Delaware and William Duncan of +Virginia as vice-presidents, William Whipper of Philadelphia as +secretary, and Thomas L. Jennings of New York as assistant secretary. +Delegates from five states were present. The gathering was not large, +but it brought together some able men; moreover, the meeting had some +distinguished visitors, among them Benjamin Lundy, William Lloyd +Garrison, Rev. S.S. Jocelyn of New Haven, and Arthur Tappan of New York. + +The very first motion of the convention resolved "That a committee be +appointed to institute an inquiry into the condition of the free people +of color throughout the United States, and report their views upon the +subject at a subsequent meeting." As a result of its work this committee +recommended that the work of organizations interested in settlement in +Canada be continued; that the free people of color be annually called to +assemble by delegation; and it submitted "the necessity of deliberate +reflection on the dissolute, intemperate, and ignorant condition of a +large portion of the colored population of the United States." "And, +lastly, your Committee view with unfeigned regret, and respectfully +submit to the wisdom of this Convention, the operations and +misrepresentations of the American Colonization Society in these United +States.... We feel sorrowful to see such an immense and wanton waste +of lives and property, not doubting the benevolent feelings of some +individuals engaged in that cause. But we can not for a moment doubt +but that the cause of many of our unconstitutional, unchristian, and +unheard-of sufferings emanate from that unhallowed source; and we would +call on Christians of every denomination firmly to resist it." The +report was unanimously received and adopted. + +Jocelyn, Tappan, and Garrison addressed the convention with reference to +a proposed industrial college in New Haven, toward the $20,000 expense +of which one individual (Tappan himself) had subscribed $1000 with the +understanding that the remaining $19,000 be raised within a year; and +the convention approved the project, _provided_ the Negroes had a +majority of at least one on the board of trustees. An illuminating +address to the public called attention to the progress of emancipation +abroad, to the fact that it was American persecution that led to the +calling of the convention, and that it was this also that first induced +some members of the race to seek an asylum in Canada, where already +there were two hundred log houses, and five hundred acres under +cultivation. + +In 1832 eight states were represented by a total of thirty delegates. By +this time we learn that a total of eight hundred acres had been secured +in Canada, that two thousand Negroes had gone thither, but that +considerable hostility had been manifested on the part of the Canadians. +Hesitant, the convention appointed an agent to investigate the +situation. It expressed itself as strongly opposed to any national aid +to the American Colonization Society and urged the abolition of slavery +in the District of Columbia--all of which activity, it is well to +remember, was a year before the American Anti-Slavery Society was +organized. + +In 1833 there were fifty-eight delegates, and Abraham Shadd, now of +Washington, was chosen president. The convention again gave prominence +to the questions of Canada and colonization, and expressed itself with +reference to the new law in Connecticut prohibiting Negroes from other +states from attending schools within the state. The 1834 meeting was +held in New York. Prudence Crandall[1] was commended for her stand in +behalf of the race, and July 4 was set apart as a day for prayer and +addresses on the condition of the Negro throughout the country. By +this time we hear much of societies for temperance and moral reform, +especially of the so-called Phoenix Societies "for improvement in +general culture--literature, mechanic arts, and morals." Of these +organizations Rev. Christopher Rush, of the A.M.E. Zion Church, was +general president, and among the directors were Rev. Peter Williams, +Boston Crummell, the father of Alexander Crummell, and Rev. William Paul +Quinn, afterwards a well-known bishop of the A.M.E. Church. The 1835 +and 1836 meetings were held in Philadelphia, and especially were the +students of Lane Seminary in Cincinnati commended for their zeal in +the cause of abolition. A committee was appointed to look into the +dissatisfaction of some emigrants to Liberia and generally to review the +work of the Colonization Society. + +[Footnote 1: See Chapter X, Section 3.] + +In the decade 1837-1847 Frederick Douglass was outstanding as a leader, +and other men who were now prominent were Dr. James McCune Smith, Rev. +James W.C. Pennington, Alexander Crummell, William C. Nell, and Martin +R. Delany. These are important names in the history of the period. These +were the men who bore the brunt of the contest in the furious days of +Texas annexation and the Compromise of 1850. About 1853 and 1854 there +was renewed interest in the idea of an industrial college; steps were +taken for the registry of Negro mechanics and artisans who were in +search of employment, and of the names of persons who were willing to +give them work; and there was also a committee on historical records and +statistics that was not only to compile studies in Negro biography but +also to reply to any assaults of note.[1] + +[Footnote 1: We can not too much emphasize the fact that the leaders +of this period were by no means impractical theorists but men who were +scientifically approaching the social problem of their people. They not +only anticipated such ideas as those of industrial education and of the +National Urban League of the present day, but they also endeavored to +lay firmly the foundations of racial self-respect.] + +Immediately after the last of the conventions just mentioned, those who +were interested in emigration and had not been able to get a hearing +in the regular convention issued a call for a National Emigration +Convention of Colored Men to take place in Cleveland, Ohio, August +24-26, 1854. The preliminary announcement said: "No person will be +admitted to a seat in the Convention who would introduce the subject +of emigration to the Eastern Hemisphere--either to Asia, Africa, or +Europe--as our object and determination are to consider our claims +to the West Indies, Central and South America, and the Canadas. This +restriction has no reference to personal preference, or individual +enterprise, but to the great question of national claims to come before +the Convention."[1] Douglass pronounced the call "uncalled for, unwise, +unfortunate and premature," and his position led him into a wordy +discussion in the press with James M. Whitfield, of Buffalo, prominent +at the time as a writer. Delany explained the call as follows: "It was +a mere policy on the part of the authors of these documents, to confine +their scheme to America (including the West Indies), whilst they +were the leading advocates of the regeneration of Africa, lest they +compromised themselves and their people to the avowed enemies of their +race."[2] At the secret sessions, he informs us, Africa was the topic of +greatest interest. In order to account for this position it is important +to take note of the changes that had taken place between 1817 and 1854. +When James Forten and others in Philadelphia in 1817 protested +against the American Colonization Society as the plan of a "gang of +slaveholders" to drive free people from their homes, they had abundant +ground for the feeling. By 1839, however, not only had the personnel +of the organization changed, but, largely through the influence of +Garrison, the purpose and aim had also changed, and not Virginia and +Maryland, but New York and Pennsylvania were now dominant in influence. +Colonization had at first been regarded as a possible solution of the +race problem; money was now given, however, "rather as an aid to the +establishment of a model Negro republic in Africa, whose effort would +be to discourage the slave-trade, and encourage energy and thrift among +those free Negroes from the United States who chose to emigrate, and +to give native Africans a demonstration of the advantages of +civilization."[3] In view of the changed conditions, Delany and others +who disagreed with Douglass felt that for the good of the race in the +United States the whole matter of emigration might receive further +consideration; at the same time, remembering old discussions, they +did not wish to be put in the light of betrayers of their people. The +Pittsburgh _Daily Morning Post_ of October 18, 1854, sneered at the new +plan as follows: "If Dr. Delany drafted this report it certainly does +him much credit for learning and ability; and can not fail to establish +for him a reputation for vigor and brilliancy of imagination never yet +surpassed. It is a vast conception of impossible birth. The Committee +seem to have entirely overlooked the strength of the 'powers on earth' +that would oppose the Africanization of more than half the Western +Hemisphere. We have no motive in noticing this gorgeous dream of 'the +Committee' except to show its fallacy--its impracticability, in fact, +its absurdity. No sensible man, whatever his color, should be for a +moment deceived by such impracticable theories." However, in spite of +all opposition, the Emigration Convention met. Upon Delany fell the real +brunt of the work of the organization. In 1855 Bishop James Theodore +Holly was commissioned to Faustin Soulouque, Emperor of Hayti; and he +received in his visit of a month much official attention with some +inducement to emigrate. Delany himself planned to go to Africa as the +head of a "Niger Valley Exploring Party." Of the misrepresentation and +difficulties that he encountered he himself has best told. He did get to +Africa, however, and he had some interesting and satisfactory interviews +with representative chiefs. The Civil War put an end to his project, he +himself accepting a major's commission from President Lincoln. Through +the influence of Holly about two thousand persons went to Hayti, but not +more than a third of these remained. A plan fostered by Whitfield for a +colony in Central America came to naught when this leading spirit died +in San Francisco on his way thither.[4] + +[Footnote 1: Official Report of the Niger Valley Exploring Party, by +M.R. Delany, Chief Commissioner to Africa, New York, 1861.] + +[Footnote 2: Delany, 8.] + +[Footnote 3: Fox: _The American Colonisation Society_, 177; also note +pp. 12, 120-2.] + +[Footnote 4: For the progress of all the plans offered to the convention +note important letter written by Holly and given by Cromwell, 20-21.] + + +3. _Sojourner Truth and Woman Suffrage_ + +With its challenge to the moral consciousness it was but natural that +anti-slavery should soon become allied with temperance, woman suffrage, +and other reform movements that were beginning to appeal to the heart +of America. Especially were representative women quick to see that the +arguments used for their cause were very largely identical with those +used for the Negro. When the woman suffrage movement was launched at +Seneca Falls, N.Y., in 1848, Lucretia Mott, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and +their co-workers issued a Declaration of Sentiments which like +many similar documents copied the phrasing of the Declaration of +Independence. This said in part: "The history of mankind is a history +of repeated injuries and usurpations on the part of man towards woman, +having in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over +her.... He has never permitted her to exercise her inalienable right to +the elective franchise.... He has made her, if married, in the eye of +the law civilly dead.... He has denied her the facilities for obtaining +a thorough education, all colleges being closed to her." It mattered +not at the time that male suffrage was by no means universal, or that +amelioration of the condition of woman had already begun; the movement +stated its case clearly and strongly in order that it might fully be +brought to the attention of the American people. In 1850 the first +formal National Woman's Rights Convention assembled in Worcester, Mass. +To this meeting came a young Quaker woman who was already listed in the +cause of temperance. In fact, wherever she went Susan B. Anthony entered +into "causes." She possessed great virtues and abilities, and at the +same time was capable of very great devotion. "She not only sympathized +with the Negro; when an opportunity offered she drank tea with him, to +her own 'unspeakable satisfaction.'"[1] Lucy Stone, an Oberlin graduate, +was representative of those who came into the agitation by the +anti-slavery path. Beginning in 1848 to speak as an agent of the +Anti-Slavery Society, almost from the first she began to introduce the +matter of woman's rights in her speeches. + +[Footnote 1: Ida M. Tarbell: "The American Woman: Her First Declaration +of Independence," _American Magazine_, February, 1910.] + +To the second National Woman's Suffrage Convention, held in Akron, Ohio, +in 1852, and presided over by Mrs. Frances D. Gage, came Sojourner +Truth. + +The "Libyan Sibyl" was then in the fullness of her powers. She had been +born of slave parents about 1798 in Ulster County, New York. In her +later years she remembered vividly the cold, damp cellar-room in which +slept the slaves of the family to which she belonged, and where she was +taught by her mother to repeat the Lord's Prayer and to trust in God. +When in the course of gradual emancipation she became legally free in +1827, her master refused to comply with the law and kept her in bondage. +She left, but was pursued and found. Rather than have her go back, a +friend paid for her services for the rest of the year. Then came an +evening when, searching for one of her children who had been stolen and +sold, she found herself a homeless wanderer. A Quaker family gave her +lodging for the night. Subsequently she went to New York City, joined +a Methodist church, and worked hard to improve her condition. Later, +having decided to leave New York for a lecture tour through the East, +she made a small bundle of her belongings and informed a friend that +her name was no longer _Isabella_ but _Sojourner_. She went on her +way, speaking to people wherever she found them assembled and being +entertained in many aristocratic homes. She was entirely untaught in the +schools, but was witty, original, and always suggestive. By her tact and +her gift of song she kept down ridicule, and by her fervor and faith she +won many friends for the anti-slavery cause. As to her name she said: +"And the Lord gave me _Sojourner_ because I was to travel up an' down +the land showin' the people their sins an' bein' a sign unto them. +Afterwards I told the Lord I wanted another name, 'cause everybody else +had two names, an' the Lord gave me _Truth_, because I was to declare +the truth to the people." + +On the second day of the convention in Akron, in a corner, crouched +against the wall, sat this woman of care, her elbows resting on her +knees, and her chin resting upon her broad, hard palms.[1] In the +intermission she was employed in selling "The Life of Sojourner Truth." +From time to time came to the presiding officer the request, "Don't let +her speak; it will ruin us. Every newspaper in the land will have +our cause mixed with abolition and niggers, and we shall be utterly +denounced." Gradually, however, the meeting waxed warm. Baptist, +Methodist, Episcopalian, Presbyterian, and Universalist preachers had +come to hear and discuss the resolutions presented. One argued the +superiority of the male intellect, another the sin of Eve, and the +women, most of whom did not "speak in meeting," were becoming filled +with dismay. Then slowly from her seat in the corner rose Sojourner +Truth, who till now had scarcely lifted her head. Slowly and solemnly +to the front she moved, laid her old bonnet at her feet, and turned +her great, speaking eyes upon the chair. Mrs. Gage, quite equal to the +occasion, stepped forward and announced "Sojourner Truth," and begged +the audience to be silent a few minutes. "The tumult subsided at once, +and every eye was fixed on this almost Amazon form, which stood nearly +six feet high, head erect, and eye piercing the upper air, like one in a +dream." At her first word there was a profound hush. She spoke in deep +tones, which, though not loud, reached every ear in the house, and even +the throng at the doors and windows. To one man who had ridiculed the +general helplessness of woman, her needing to be assisted into carriages +and to be given the best place everywhere, she said, "Nobody eber helped +me into carriages, or ober mud puddles, or gibs me any best place"; and +raising herself to her full height, with a voice pitched like rolling +thunder, she asked, "And a'n't I a woman? Look at me. Look at my arm." +And she bared her right arm to the shoulder, showing her tremendous +muscular power. "I have plowed, and planted, and gathered into barns, +and no man could head me--and a'n't I a woman? I could work as much and +eat as much as a man, when I could get it, and bear de lash as well--and +a'n't I a woman? I have borne five chilern and seen 'em mos' all sold +off into slavery, and when I cried out with a mother's grief, none but +Jesus heard--and a'n't I a woman?... Dey talks 'bout dis ting in de +head--what dis dey call it?" "Intellect," said some one near. "Dat's it, +honey. What's dat got to do with women's rights or niggers' rights? If +my cup won't hold but a pint and yourn holds a quart, wouldn't ye be +mean not to let me have my little half-measure full?" And she pointed +her significant finger and sent a keen glance at the minister who had +made the argument. The cheering was long and loud. "Den dat little man +in black dar, he say women can't have as much rights as man, 'cause +Christ wa'n't a woman. But whar did Christ come from?" Rolling thunder +could not have stilled that crowd as did those deep, wonderful tones as +the woman stood there with her outstretched arms and her eyes of fire. +Raising her voice she repeated, "Whar did Christ come from? From God and +a woman. Man had nothing to do with Him." Turning to another objector, +she took up the defense of Eve. She was pointed and witty, solemn and +serious at will, and at almost every sentence awoke deafening applause; +and she ended by asserting, "If de fust woman God made was strong enough +to turn the world upside down, all alone, dese togedder,"--and she +glanced over the audience--"ought to be able to turn it back and get it +right side up again, and now dey is askin' to do it, de men better let +'em." + +[Footnote 1: Reminiscences of the president, Mrs. Frances D. Gage, cited +by Tarbell.] + +"Amid roars of applause," wrote Mrs. Gage, "she returned to her corner, +leaving more than one of us with streaming eyes and hearts beating with +gratitude." Thus, as so frequently happened, Sojourner Truth turned a +difficult situation into splendid victory. She not only made an eloquent +plea for the slave, but placing herself upon the broadest principles of +humanity, she saved the day for woman suffrage as well. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +LIBERIA + + +In a former chapter we have traced the early development of the American +Colonization Society, whose efforts culminated in the founding of the +colony of Liberia. The recent world war, with Africa as its prize, fixed +attention anew upon the little republic. This comparatively small tract +of land, just slightly more than one-three hundredth part of the surface +of Africa, is now of interest and strategic importance not only because +(if we except Abyssinia, which claims slightly different race origin, +and Hayti, which is now really under the government of the United +States) it represents the one distinctively Negro government in the +world, but also because it is the only tract of land on the great West +Coast of the continent that has survived, even through the war, the +aggression of great European powers. It is just at the bend of the +shoulder of Africa, and its history is as romantic as its situation is +unique. + +Liberia has frequently been referred to as an outstanding example of +the incapacity of the Negro for self-government. Such a judgment is not +necessarily correct. It is indeed an open question if, in view of the +nature of its beginning, the history of the country proves anything one +way or the other with reference to the capacity of the race. The early +settlers were frequently only recently out of bondage, but upon them +were thrust all the problems of maintenance and government, and they +brought with them, moreover, the false ideas of life and work that +obtained in the Old South. Sometimes they suffered from neglect, +sometimes from excessive solicitude; never were they really left alone. +In spite of all, however, more than a score of native tribes have been +subdued by only a few thousand civilized men, the republic has preserved +its integrity, and there has been handed down through the years a +tradition of constitutional government. + + + +1. _The Place and the People_ + +The resources of Liberia are as yet imperfectly known. There is no +question, however, about the fertility of the interior, or of its +capacity when properly developed. There are no rivers of the first rank, +but the longest streams are about three hundred miles in length, and at +convenient distances apart flow down to a coastline somewhat more than +three hundred miles long. Here in a tract of land only slightly larger +than our own state of Ohio are a civilized population between 30,000 and +100,000 in number, and a native population estimated at 2,000,000. Of +the civilized population the smaller figure, 30,000, is the more nearly +correct if we consider only those persons who are fully civilized, and +this number would be about evenly divided between Americo-Liberians and +natives. Especially in the towns along the coast, however, there are +many people who have received only some degree of civilization, and +most of the households in the larger towns have several native children +living in them. If all such elements are considered, the total might +approach 100,000. The natives in their different tribes fall into three +or four large divisions. In general they follow their native customs, +and the foremost tribes exhibit remarkable intelligence and skill in +industry. Outstanding are the dignified Mandingo, with a Mohammedan +tradition, and the Vai, distinguished for skill in the arts and with a +culture similar to that of the Mandingo. Also easily recognized are +the Kpwessi, skillful in weaving and ironwork; the Kru, intelligent, +sea-faring, and eager for learning; the Grebo, ambitious and aggressive, +and in language connection close to the Kru; the Bassa, with +characteristics somewhat similar to those of the Kru, but in general +not quite so ambitious; the Buzi, wild and highly tattooed; and the +cannibalistic Mano. By reason of numbers if nothing else, Liberia's +chief asset for the future consists in her native population. + + +2. _History_ + +(a) _Colonization and Settlement_ + +In pursuance of its plans for the founding of a permanent colony on the +coast of Africa, the American Colonization Society in November, 1817, +sent out two men, Samuel J. Mills and Ebenezer Burgess, who were +authorized to find a suitable place for a settlement. Going by way +of England, these men were cordially received by the officers of the +African Institution and given letters to responsible persons in Sierra +Leone. Arriving at the latter place in March, 1818, they met John +Kizell, a native and a man of influence, who had received some training +in America and had returned to his people, built a house of worship, and +become a preacher. Kizell undertook to accompany them on their journey +down the coast and led the way to Sherbro Island, a place long in +disputed territory but since included within the limits of Sierra Leone. +Here the agents were hospitably received; they fixed upon the island as +a permanent site, and in May turned their faces homeward. Mills died on +the voyage in June and was buried at sea; but Burgess made a favorable +report, though the island was afterwards to prove by no means healthy. +The Society was impressed, but efforts might have languished at this +important stage if Monroe, now President, had not found it possible to +bring the resources of the United States Government to assist in +the project. Smuggling, with the accompanying evil of the sale of +"recaptured Africans," had by 1818 become a national disgrace, and on +March 3, 1819, a bill designed to do away with the practice became a +law. This said in part: "The President of the United States is hereby +authorized to make such regulations and arrangements as he may deem +expedient for the safe-keeping, support, and removal beyond the limits +of the United States, of all such Negroes, mulattoes, or persons of +color as may be so delivered and brought within their jurisdiction; and +to appoint a proper person or persons residing upon the coast of Africa +as agent or agents for receiving the Negroes, mulattoes, or persons of +color, delivered from on board vessels seized in the prosecution of the +slave-trade by commanders of the United States armed vessels." For the +carrying out of the purpose of this act $100,000 was appropriated, and +Monroe was disposed to construe as broadly as necessary the powers given +him under it. In his message of December 20, he informed Congress +that he had appointed Rev. Samuel Bacon, of the American Colonization +Society, with John Bankson as assistant, to charter a vessel and take +the first group of emigrants to Africa, the understanding being that +he was to go to the place fixed upon by Mills and Burgess. Thus the +National Government and the Colonization Society, while technically +separate, began to work in practical coöperation. The ship _Elizabeth_ +was made ready for the voyage; the Government informed the Society that +it would "receive on board such free blacks recommended by the Society +as might be required for the purpose of the agency"; $33,000 was placed +in the hands of Mr. Bacon; Rev. Samuel A. Crozer was appointed as the +Society's official representative; 88 emigrants were brought together +(33 men and 18 women, the rest being children); and on February 5, 1820, +convoyed by the war-sloop _Cyane_, the expedition set forth. + +An interesting record of the voyage--important for the sidelights it +gives--was left by Daniel Coker, the respected minister of a large +Methodist congregation in Baltimore who was persuaded to accompany the +expedition for the sake of the moral influence that he might be able to +exert.[1] There was much bad weather at the start, and it was the icy +sea that on February 4 made it impossible to get under way until the +next day. On board, moreover, there was much distrust of the agents in +charge, with much questioning of their motives; nor were matters made +better by a fight between one of the emigrants and the captain of the +vessel. It was a restless company, uncertain as to the future, and +dissatisfied and peevish from day to day. Kizell afterwards remarked +that "some would not be governed by white men, and some would not be +governed by black men, and some would not be governed by mulattoes; but +the truth was they did not want to be governed by anybody." On March 3, +however, the ship sighted the Cape Verde Islands and six days afterwards +was anchored at Sierra Leone; and Coker rejoiced that at last he had +seen Africa. Kizell, however, whom the agents had counted on seeing, +was found to be away at Sherbro; accordingly, six days after their +arrival[2] they too were making efforts to go on to Sherbro, for they +were allowed at anchor only fifteen days and time was passing rapidly. +Meanwhile Bankson went to find Kizell. Captain Sebor was at first +decidedly unwilling to go further; but his reluctance was at length +overcome; Bacon purchased for $3,000 a British schooner that had +formerly been engaged in the slave-trade; and on March 17 both ship and +schooner got under way for Sherbro. The next day they met Bankson, who +informed them that he had seen Kizell. This man, although he had not +heard from America since the departure of Mills and Burgess, had already +erected some temporary houses against the rainy season. He permitted the +newcomers to stay in his little town until land could be obtained; sent +them twelve fowls and a bushel of rice; but he also, with both dignity +and pathos, warned Bankson that if he and his companions came with +Christ in their hearts, it was well that they had come; if not, it would +have been better if they had stayed in America. + +[Footnote 1: "Journal of Daniel Coker, a descendant of Africa, from the +time of leaving New York, in the ship _Elizabeth_, Capt. Sebor, on a +voyage for Sherbro, in Africa. Baltimore, 1820."] + +[Footnote 2: March 15. The narrative, page 26, says February 15, but +this is obviously a typographical error.] + +Now followed much fruitless bargaining with the native chiefs, in all of +which Coker regretted that the slave-traders had so ruined the people +that it seemed impossible to make any progress in a "palaver" without +the offering of rum. Meanwhile a report was circulated through the +country that a number of Americans had come and turned Kizell out of his +own town and put some of his people in the hold of their ship. Disaster +followed disaster. The marsh, the bad water, and the malaria played +havoc with the colonists, and all three of the responsible agents died. +The few persons who remained alive made their way back to Sierra Leone. + +Thus the first expedition failed. One year later, in March, 1821, a new +company of twenty-one emigrants, in charge of J.B. Winn and Ephraim +Bacon, arrived at Freetown in the brig _Nautilus_. It had been the +understanding that in return for their passage the members of the first +expedition would clear the way for others; but when the agents of the +new company saw the plight of those who remained alive, they brought all +of the colonists together at Fourah Bay, and Bacon went farther down the +coast to seek a more favorable site. A few persons who did not wish to +go to Fourah Bay remained in Sierra Leone and became British subjects. +Bacon found a promising tract about two hundred and fifty miles down the +coast at Cape Montserado; but the natives were not especially eager to +sell, as they did not wish to break up the slave traffic. Meanwhile Winn +and several more of the colonists died; and Bacon now returned to the +United States. The second expedition had thus proved to be little more +successful than the first; but the future site of Monrovia had at least +been suggested. + +In November came Dr. Eli Ayres as agent of the Society, and in December +Captain Robert F. Stockton of the _Alligator_ with instructions to +coöperate. These two men explored the coast and on December 11 arrived +at Mesurado Bay. Through the jungle they made their way to a village and +engaged in a palaver with King Peter and five of his associates. The +negotiations were conducted in the presence of an excited crowd and with +imminent danger; but Stockton had great tact and at length, for the +equivalent of $300, he and Ayres purchased the mouth of the Mesurado +River, Cape Montserado, and the land for some distance in the interior. +There was also an understanding (for half a dozen gallons of rum and +some trade-cloth and tobacco) with King George, who "resided on the Cape +and claimed a sort of jurisdiction over the northern district of the +peninsula of Montserado, by virtue of which the settlers were permitted +to pass across the river and commence the laborious task of clearing +away the heavy forest which covered the site of their intended town."[1] +Then the agent returned to effect the removal of the colonists from +Fourah Bay, leaving a very small company as a sort of guard on +Perseverance (or Providence) Island at the mouth of the river. Some +of the colonists refused to leave, remained, and thus became British +subjects. For those who had remained on the island there was trouble at +once. A small vessel, the prize of an English cruiser, bound to Sierra +Leone with thirty liberated Africans, put into the roads for water, and +had the misfortune to part her cable and come ashore. "The natives claim +to a prescriptive right, which interest never fails to enforce to its +fullest extent, to seize and appropriate the wrecks and cargoes of +vessels stranded, under whatever circumstances, on their coast."[2] The +vessel in question drifted to the mainland one mile from the cape, a +small distance below George's town, and the natives proceeded to act in +accordance with tradition. They were fired on by the prize master and +forced to desist, and the captain appealed to the few colonists on the +island for assistance. They brought into play a brass field piece, and +two of the natives were killed and several more wounded. The English +officer, his crew, and the captured Africans escaped, though the small +vessel was lost; but the next day the Deys (the natives), feeling +outraged, made another attack, in the course of which some of them +and one of the colonists were killed. In the course of the operations +moreover, through the carelessness of some of the settlers themselves, +fire was communicated to the storehouse and $3000 worth of property +destroyed, though the powder and some of the provisions were saved. Thus +at the very beginning, by accident though it happened, the shadow of +England fell across the young colony, involving it in difficulties with +the natives. When then Ayres returned with the main crowd of settlers on +January 7, 1822--which arrival was the first real landing of settlers on +what is now Liberian soil--he found that the Deys wished to annul the +agreement previously made and to give back the articles paid. He himself +was seized in the course of a palaver, and he was able to arrive at no +better understanding than that the colonists might remain only until +they could make a new purchase elsewhere. Now appeared on the scene +Boatswain, a prominent chief from the interior who sometimes exercised +jurisdiction over the coast tribes and who, hearing that there was +trouble in the bay, had come hither, bringing with him a sufficient +following to enforce his decrees. Through this man shone something of +the high moral principle so often to be observed in responsible African +chiefs, and to him Ayres appealed. Hearing the story he decided in +favor of the colonists, saying to Peter, "Having sold your country and +accepted payment, you must take the consequences. Let the Americans +have their land immediately." To the agent he said, "I promise you +protection. If these people give you further disturbance, send for me; +and I swear, if they oblige me to come again to quiet them, I will do +it to purpose, by taking their heads from their shoulders, as I did old +king George's on my last visit to the coast to settle disputes." Thus on +the word of a native chief was the foundation of Liberia assured. + +[Footnote 1: Ashmun: _History of the American Colony in Liberia, from +1821 to 1823_, 8.] + +[Footnote 2: Ashmun, 9.] + +By the end of April all of the colonists who were willing to move had +been brought from Sierra Leone to their new home. It was now decided +to remove from the low and unhealthy island to the higher land of +Cape Montserado only a few hundred feet away; on April 28 there was a +ceremony of possession and the American flag was raised. The advantages +of the new position were obvious, to the natives as well as the +colonists, and the removal was attended with great excitement. By July +the island was completely abandoned. Meanwhile, however, things had not +been going well. The Deys had been rendered very hostile, and from them +there was constant danger of attack. The rainy season moreover had set +in, shelter was inadequate, supplies were low, and the fever continually +claimed its victims. Ayres at length became discouraged. He proposed +that the enterprise be abandoned and that the settlers return to Sierra +Leone, and on June 4 he did actually leave with a few of them. It was +at this juncture that Elijah Johnson, one of the most heroic of the +colonists, stepped forth to fame. + +The early life of the man is a blank. In 1789 he was taken to New +Jersey. He received some instruction and studied for the Methodist +ministry, took part in the War of 1812, and eagerly embraced the +opportunity to be among the first to come to the new colony. To the +suggestion that the enterprise be abandoned he replied, "Two years long +have I sought a home; here I have found it; here I remain." To him the +great heart of the colonists responded. Among the natives he was known +and respected as a valiant fighter. He lived until March 23, 1849. + +Closely associated with Johnson, his colleague in many an effort and +the pioneer in mission work, was the Baptist minister, Lott Cary, +from Richmond, Va., who also had become one of the first permanent +settlers.[1] He was a man of most unusual versatility and force of +character. He died November 8, 1828, as the result of a powder explosion +that occurred while he was acting in defense of the colony against the +Deys. + +[Footnote 1: See Chapter III, Section 5.] + +July (1822) was a hard month for the settlers. Not only were their +supplies almost exhausted, but they were on a rocky cape and the natives +would not permit any food to be brought to them. On August 8, however, +arrived Jehudi Ashmun, a young man from Vermont who had worked as a +teacher and as the editor of a religious publication for some years +before coming on this mission. He brought with him a company of +liberated Africans and emigrants to the number of fifty-five, and as he +did not intend to remain permanently he had yielded to the entreaty of +his wife and permitted her to accompany him on the voyage. He held no +formal commission from the American Colonization Society, but seeing the +situation he felt that it was his duty to do what he could to relieve +the distress; and he faced difficulties from the very first. On the day +after his arrival his own brig, the _Strong_, was in danger of being +lost; the vessel parted its cable, and on the following morning broke it +again and drifted until it was landlocked between Cape Montserado and +Cape Mount. A small anchor was found, however, and the brig was again +moored, but five miles from the settlement. The rainy season was now on +in full force; there was no proper place for the storing of provisions; +and even with the newcomers it soon developed that there were in the +colony only thirty-five men capable of bearing arms, so great had been +the number of deaths from the fever. Sometimes almost all of these +were sick; on September 10 only two were in condition for any kind of +service. Ashmun tried to make terms with the native chiefs, but their +malignity was only partially concealed. His wife languished before +his eyes and died September 15, just five weeks after her arrival. He +himself was incapacitated for several months, nor at the height of his +illness was he made better by the ministrations of a French charlatan. +He never really recovered from the great inroads made upon his strength +at this time. + +As a protection from sudden attack a clearing around the settlement was +made. Defenses had to be erected without tools, and so great was the +anxiety that throughout the months of September and October a nightly +watch of twenty men was kept. On Sunday, November 10, the report was +circulated that the Deys were crossing the Mesurado River, and at night +it became known that seven or eight hundred were on the peninsula only +half a mile to the west. The attack came at early dawn on the 11th and +the colonists might have been annihilated if they had not brought +a field-piece into play. When this was turned against the natives +advancing in compact array, it literally tore through masses of living +flesh until scores of men were killed. Even so the Deys might have won +the engagement if they had not stopped too soon to gather plunder. As +it was, they were forced to retreat. Of the settlers three men and one +woman were killed, two men and two women injured, and several children +taken captive, though these were afterwards returned. At this time +the colonists suffered greatly from the lack of any supplies for the +treatment of wounds. Only medicines for the fever were on hand, and in +the hot climate those whose flesh had been torn by bullets suffered +terribly. In this first encounter, as often in these early years, the +real burden of conflict fell upon Cary and Johnson. After the battle +these men found that they had on hand ammunition sufficient for only one +hour's defense. All were placed on a special allowance of provisions and +November 23 was observed as a day of prayer. A passing vessel furnished +additional supplies and happily delayed for some days the inevitable +attack. This came from two sides very early in the morning of December +2. There was a desperate battle. Three bullets passed through Ashmun's +clothes, one of the gunners was killed, and repeated attacks were +resisted only with the most dogged determination. An accident, or, as +the colonists regarded it, a miracle, saved them from destruction. A +guard, hearing a noise, discharged a large gun and several muskets. +The schooner _Prince Regent_ was passing, with Major Laing, Midshipman +Gordon, and eleven specially trained men on board. The officers, hearing +the sound of guns, came ashore to see what was the trouble. Major Laing +offered assistance if ground was given for the erection of a British +flag, and generally attempted to bring about an adjustment of +difficulties on the basis of submitting these to the governor of Sierra +Leone. To these propositions Elijah Johnson replied, "We want no +flagstaff put up here that it will cost more to get down than it will +to whip the natives." However, Gordon and the men under him were left +behind for the protection of the colony until further help could arrive. +Within one month he and seven of the eleven were dead. He himself had +found a ready place in the hearts of the settlers, and to him and his +men Liberia owes much. They came in a needy hour and gave their lives +for the cause of freedom. + +An American steamer passing in December, 1822, gave some temporary +relief. On March 31, 1823, the _Cyane_, with Capt. R.T. Spence in +charge, arrived from America with supplies. As many members of his crew +became ill after only a few days, Spence soon deemed it advisable to +leave. His chief clerk, however, Richard Seaton, heroically volunteered +to help with the work, remained behind, and died after only three +months. On May 24 came the _Oswego_ with sixty-one new colonists and +Dr. Ayres, who, already the Society's agent, now returned with the +additional authority of Government agent and surgeon. He made a survey +and attempted a new allotment of land, only to find that the colony was +soon in ferment, because some of those who possessed the best holdings +or who had already made the beginnings of homes, were now required to +give these up. There was so much rebellion that in December Ayres +again deemed it advisable to leave. The year 1823 was in fact chiefly +noteworthy for the misunderstandings that arose between the colonists +and Ashmun. This man had been placed in a most embarrassing situation by +the arrival of Dr. Ayres.[1] He not only found himself superseded in the +government, but had the additional misfortune to learn that his drafts +had been dishonored and that no provision had been made to remunerate +him for his past services or provide for his present needs. Finding his +services undervalued, and even the confidence of the Society withheld, +he was naturally indignant, though his attachment to the cause remained +steadfast. Seeing the authorized agent leaving the colony, and the +settlers themselves in a state of insubordination, with no formal +authority behind him he yet resolved to forget his own wrongs and to do +what he could to save from destruction that for which he had already +suffered so much. He was young and perhaps not always as tactful as he +might have been. On the other hand, the colonists had not yet learned +fully to appreciate the real greatness of the man with whom they were +dealing. As for the Society at home, not even so much can be said. The +real reason for the withholding of confidence from Ashmun was that many +of the members objected to his persistent attacks on the slave-trade. + +[Footnote 1: Stockwell, 73.] + +By the regulations that governed the colony at the time, each man who +received rations was required to contribute to the general welfare +two days of labor a week. Early in December twelve men cast off all +restraint, and on the 13th Ashmun published a notice in which he said: +"There are in the colony more than a dozen healthy persons who will +receive no more provisions out of the public store until they earn +them." On the 19th, in accordance with this notice, the provisions of +the recalcitrants were stopped. The next morning, however, the men went +to the storehouse, and while provisions were being issued, each seized +a portion and went to his home. Ashmun now issued a circular, reminding +the colonists of all of their struggles together and generally pointing +out to them how such a breach of discipline struck at the very heart of +the settlement. The colonists rallied to his support and the twelve men +returned to duty. The trouble, however, was not yet over. On March 19, +1824, Ashmun found it necessary to order a cut in provisions. He had +previously declared to the Board that in his opinion the evil was +"incurable by any of the remedies which fall within the existing +provisions"; and counter remonstrances had been sent by the colonists, +who charged him with oppression, neglect of duty, and the seizure of +public property. He now, seeing that his latest order was especially +unpopular, prepared new despatches, on March 22 reviewed the whole +course of his conduct in a strong and lengthy address, and by the last +of the month had left the colony. + +Meanwhile the Society, having learned that things were not going well +with the colony, had appointed its secretary, Rev. R.R. Gurley, to +investigate conditions. Gurley met Ashmun at the Cape Verde Islands and +urgently requested that he return to Monrovia.[1] This Ashmun was not +unwilling to do, as he desired the fullest possible investigation into +his conduct. Gurley was in Liberia from August 13 to August 22, 1824, +only; but from the time of his visit conditions improved. Ashmun was +fully vindicated and remained for four years more until his strength +was all but spent. There was adopted what was known as the Gurley +Constitution. According to this the agent in charge was to have supreme +charge and preside at all public meetings. He was to be assisted, +however, by eleven officers annually chosen, the most important of whom +he was to appoint on nomination by the colonists. Among these were +a vice-agent, two councilors, two justices of the peace, and two +constables. There was to be a guard of twelve privates, two corporals, +and one sergeant. + +[Footnote 1: This name, in honor of President Monroe, had recently been +adopted by the Society at the suggestion of Robert Goodloe Harper, of +Maryland, who also suggested the name _Liberia_ for the country. Harper +himself was afterwards honored by having the chief town in Maryland in +Africa named after him.] + +For a long time it was the custom of the American Colonization Society +to send out two main shipments of settlers a year, one in the spring +and one in the fall. On February 13, 1824, arrived a little more than +a hundred emigrants, mainly from Petersburg, Va. These people were +unusually intelligent and industrious and received a hearty welcome. +Within a month practically all of them were sick with the fever. On +this occasion, as on many others, Lott Cary served as physician, and so +successful was he that only three of the sufferers died. Another company +of unusual interest was that which arrived early in 1826. It brought +along a printer, a press with the necessary supplies, and books sent by +friends in Boston. Unfortunately the printer was soon disabled by the +fever. + +Sickness, however, and wars with the natives were not the only handicaps +that engaged the attention of the colony in these years. "At this period +the slave-trade was carried on extensively within sight of Monrovia. +Fifteen vessels were engaged in it at the same time, almost under the +guns of the settlement; and in July of this year a contract was existing +for eight hundred slaves to be furnished, in the short space of four +months, within eight miles of the cape. Four hundred of these were to be +purchased for two American traders."[1] Ashmun attacked the Spaniards +engaged in the traffic, and labored generally to break up slave +factories. On one occasion he received as many as one hundred and +sixteen slaves into the colony as freemen. He also adopted an attitude +of justice toward the native Krus. Of special importance was the attack +on Trade Town, a stronghold of French and Spanish traders about one +hundred miles below Monrovia. Here there were not less than three large +factories. On the day of the battle, April 10, there were three hundred +and fifty natives on shore under the direction of the traders, but the +colonists had the assistance of some American vessels, and a Liberian +officer, Captain Barbour, was of outstanding courage and ability. The +town was fired after eighty slaves had been surrendered. The flames +reached the ammunition of the enemy and over two hundred and fifty casks +of gunpowder exploded. By July, however, the traders had built a battery +at Trade Town and were prepared to give more trouble. All the same a +severe blow had been dealt to their work. + +[Footnote 1: Stockwell, 79.] + +In his report rendered at the close of 1825 Ashmun showed that the +settlers were living in neatness and comfort; two chapels had been +built, and the militia was well organized, equipped, and disciplined. +The need of some place for the temporary housing of immigrants having +more and more impressed itself upon the colony, before the end of 1826 +a "receptacle" capable of holding one hundred and fifty persons was +erected. Ashmun himself served on until 1828, by which time his strength +was completely spent. He sailed for America early in the summer and +succeeded in reaching New Haven, only to die after a few weeks. No man +had given more for the founding of Liberia. The principal street in +Monrovia is named after him. + +Aside from wars with the natives, the most noteworthy being the Dey-Gola +war of 1832, the most important feature of Liberian history in +the decade 1828-1838 was the development along the coast of other +settlements than Monrovia. These were largely the outgrowth of the +activity of local branch organizations of the American Colonization +Society, and they were originally supposed to have the oversight of the +central organization and of the colony of Monrovia. The circumstances +under which they were founded, however, gave them something of a feeling +of independence which did much to influence their history. Thus arose, +about seventy-five miles farther down the coast, under the auspices +especially of the New York and Pennsylvania societies, the Grand Bassa +settlements at the mouth of the St. John's River, the town Edina being +outstanding. Nearly a hundred miles farther south, at the mouth of +the Sino River, another colony developed as its most important town +Greenville; and as most of the settlers in this vicinity came from +Mississippi, their province became known as Mississippi in Africa. A +hundred miles farther, on Cape Palmas, just about twenty miles from the +Cavalla River marking the boundary of the French possessions, developed +the town of Harper in what became known as Maryland in Africa. This +colony was even more aloof than others from the parent settlement of +the American Colonization Society. When the first colonists arrived at +Monrovia in 1831, they were not very cordially received, there being +trouble about the allotment of land. They waited for some months for +reënforcements and then sailed down the coast to the vicinity of the +Cavalla River, where they secured land for their future home and where +their distance from the other colonists from America made it all the +more easy for them to cultivate their tradition of independence.[1] +These four ports are now popularly known as Monrovia, Grand Bassa, Sino, +and Cape Palmas; and to them for general prominence might now be added +Cape Mount, about fifty miles from Monrovia higher up the coast and just +a few miles from the Mano River, which now marks the boundary between +Sierra Leone and Liberia. In 1838, on a constitution drawn up by +Professor Greenleaf, of Harvard College, was organized the "Commonwealth +of Liberia," the government of which was vested in a Board of Directors +composed of delegates from the state societies, and which included all +the settlements except Maryland. This remote colony, whose seaport is +Cape Palmas, did not join with the others until 1857, ten years after +Liberia had become an independent republic. When a special company +of settlers arrived from Baltimore and formally occupied Cape Palmas +(1834), Dr. James Hall was governor and he served in this capacity +until 1836, when failing health forced him to return to America. He was +succeeded by John B. Russwurm, a young Negro who had come to Liberia +in 1829 for the purpose of superintending the system of education. The +country, however, was not yet ready for the kind of work he wanted +to do, and in course of time he went into politics. He served very +efficiently as Governor of Maryland from 1836 to 1851, especially +exerting himself to standardize the currency and to stabilize the +revenues. Five years after his death Maryland suffered greatly from an +attack by the Greboes, twenty-six colonists being killed. An appeal to +Monrovia for help led to the sending of a company of men and later to +the incorporation of the colony in the Republic. + +[Footnote 1: McPherson is especially valuable for his study of the +Maryland colony.] + +Of the events of the period special interest attaches to the murder of +I.F.C. Finley, Governor of Mississippi in Africa, to whose father, Rev. +Robert Finley, the organization of the American Colonization Society +had been very largely due. In September, 1838, Governor Finley left his +colony to go to Monrovia on business, and making a landing at Bassa +Cove, he was robbed and killed by the Krus. This unfortunate murder +led to a bitter conflict between the settlers in the vicinity and the +natives. This is sometimes known as the Fish War (from being waged +around Fishpoint) and did not really cease for a year. + +(b) The Commonwealth of Liberia + +The first governor of the newly formed Commonwealth was Thomas H. +Buchanan, a man of singular energy who represented the New York and +Pennsylvania societies and who had come in 1836 especially to take +charge of the Grand Bassa settlements. Becoming governor in 1838, he +found it necessary to proceed vigorously against the slave dealers at +Trade Town. He was also victorious in 1840 in a contest with the Gola +tribe led by Chief Gatumba. The Golas had defeated the Dey tribe so +severely that a mere remnant of the latter had taken refuge with the +colonists at Millsburg, a station a few miles up the St. Paul's River. +Thus, as happened more than once, a tribal war in time involved the very +existence of the new American colonies. Governor Buchanan's victory +greatly increased his prestige and made it possible for him to negotiate +more and more favorable treaties with the natives. A contest of +different sort was that with a Methodist missionary, John Seyes, who +held that all goods used by missionaries, including those sold to the +natives, should be admitted free of duty. The governor contended that +such privilege should be extended only to goods intended for the +personal use of missionaries; and the Colonization Society stood behind +him in this opinion. As early as 1840 moreover some shadow of future +events was cast by trouble made by English traders on the Mano River, +the Sierra Leone boundary. Buchanan sent an agent to England to +represent him in an inquiry into the matter; but in the midst of his +vigorous work he died in 1841. He was the last white man formally under +any auspices at the head of Liberian affairs. Happily his period of +service had given opportunity and training to an efficient helper, upon +whom now the burden fell and of whom it is hardly too much to say that +he is the foremost figure in Liberian history. + +Joseph Jenkin Roberts was a mulatto born in Virginia in 1809. At the +age of twenty, with his widowed mother and younger brothers, he went to +Liberia and engaged in trade. In course of time he proved to be a man of +unusual tact and graciousness of manner, moving with ease among people +of widely different rank. His abilities soon demanded recognition, and +he was at the head of the force that defeated Gatumba. As governor he +realized the need of cultivating more far-reaching diplomacy than the +Commonwealth had yet known. He had the coöperation of the Maryland +governor, Russwurm, in such a matter as that of uniform customs duties; +and he visited the United States, where he made a very good impression. +He soon understood that he had to reckon primarily with the English and +the French. England had indeed assumed an attitude of opposition to +the slave-trade; but her traders did not scruple to sell rum to slave +dealers, and especially were they interested in the palm oil of Liberia. +When the Commonwealth sought to impose customs duties, England took the +position that as Liberia was not an independent government, she had no +right to do so; and the English attitude had some show of strength +from the fact that the American Colonization Society, an outside +organization, had a veto power over whatever Liberia might do. When in +1845 the Liberian Government seized the _Little Ben_, an English trading +vessel whose captain acted in defiance of the revenue laws, the British +in turn seized the _John Seyes_, belonging to a Liberian named Benson, +and sold the vessel for £8000. Liberia appealed to the United States; +but the Oregon boundary question as well as slavery had given the +American Government problems enough at home; and the Secretary of State, +Edward Everett, finally replied to Lord Aberdeen (1845) that America +was not "presuming to settle differences arising between Liberian and +British subjects, the Liberians being responsible for their own acts." +The Colonization Society, powerless to act except through its own +government, in January, 1846, resolved that "the time had arrived when +it was expedient for the people of the Commonwealth of Liberia to take +into their own hands the whole work of self-government including the +management of all their foreign relations." Forced to act for herself +Liberia called a constitutional convention and on July 26, 1847, issued +a Declaration of Independence and adopted the Constitution of the +Liberian Republic. In October, Joseph Jenkin Roberts, Governor of the +Commonwealth, was elected the first President of the Republic. + +It may well be questioned if by 1847 Liberia had developed sufficiently +internally to be able to assume the duties and responsibilities of an +independent power. There were at the time not more than 4,500 civilized +people of American origin in the country; these were largely illiterate +and scattered along a coastline more than three hundred miles in length. +It is not to be supposed, however, that this consummation had been +attained without much yearning and heart-beat and high spiritual fervor. +There was something pathetic in the effort of this small company, most +of whose members had never seen Africa but for the sake of their race +had made their way back to the fatherland. The new seal of the Republic +bore the motto: THE LOVE OF LIBERTY BROUGHT US HERE. The flag, modeled +on that of the United States, had six red and five white stripes for +the eleven signers of the Declaration of Independence, and in the upper +corner next to the staff a lone white star in a field of blue. The +Declaration itself said in part: + + We, the people of the Republic of Liberia, were originally + inhabitants of the United States of North America. + + In some parts of that country we were debarred by law from all the + rights and privileges of men; in other parts public sentiment, more + powerful than law, frowned us down. + + We were everywhere shut out from all civil office. + + We were excluded from all participation in the government. + + We were taxed without our consent. + + We were compelled to contribute to the resources of a country which + gave us no protection. + + We were made a separate and distinct class, and against us every + avenue of improvement was effectually closed. Strangers from all + lands of a color different from ours were preferred before us. + + We uttered our complaints, but they were unattended to, or met only + by alleging the peculiar institution of the country. + + All hope of a favorable change in our country was thus wholly + extinguished in our bosom, and we looked with anxiety abroad for + some asylum from the deep degradation. + + The Western coast of Africa was the place selected by American + benevolence and philanthropy for our future home. Removed beyond + those influences which depressed us in our native land, it was + hoped we would be enabled to enjoy those rights and privileges, and + exercise and improve those faculties, which the God of nature had + given us in common with the rest of mankind. + +(c) _The Republic of Liberia_ + +With the adoption of its constitution the Republic of Liberia formally +asked to be considered in the family of nations; and since 1847 +the history of the country has naturally been very largely that of +international relations. In fact, preoccupation with the questions +raised by powerful neighbors has been at least one strong reason for the +comparatively slow internal development of the country. The Republic +was officially recognized by England in 1848, by France in 1852, but on +account of slavery not by the United States until 1862. Continuously +there has been an observance of the forms of order, and only one +president has been deposed. For a long time the presidential term was +two years in length; but by an act of 1907 it was lengthened to four +years. From time to time there have been two political parties, but not +always has such a division been emphasized. + +It is well to pause and note exactly what was the task set before the +little country. A company of American Negroes suddenly found themselves +placed on an unhealthy and uncultivated coast which was thenceforth to +be their home. If we compare them with the Pilgrim Fathers, we find that +as the Pilgrims had to subdue the Indians, so they had to hold their own +against a score of aggressive tribes. The Pilgrims had the advantage of +a thousand years of culture and experience in government; the Negroes, +only recently out of bondage, had been deprived of any opportunity for +improvement whatsoever. Not only, however, did they have to contend +against native tribes and labor to improve their own shortcomings; on +every hand they had to meet the designs of nations supposedly more +enlightened and Christian. On the coast Spanish traders defied +international law; on one side the English, and on the other the French, +from the beginning showed a tendency toward arrogance and encroachment. +To crown the difficulty, the American Government, under whose auspices +the colony had largely been founded, became more and more halfhearted +in its efforts for protection and at length abandoned the enterprise +altogether. It did not cease, however, to regard the colony as the +dumping-ground of its own troubles, and whenever a vessel with slaves +from the Congo was captured on the high seas, it did not hesitate to +take these people to the Liberian coast and leave them there, nearly +dead though they might be from exposure or cramping. It is well for +one to remember such facts as these before he is quick to belittle or +criticize. To the credit of the "Congo men" be it said that from the +first they labored to make themselves a quiet and industrious element in +the body politic. + +The early administrations of President Roberts (four terms, 1848-1855) +were mainly devoted to the quelling of the native tribes that continued +to give trouble and to the cultivating of friendly relations with +foreign powers. Soon after his inauguration Roberts made a visit to +England, the power from which there was most to fear; and on this +occasion as on several others England varied her arrogance with a rather +excessive friendliness toward the little republic. She presented to +Roberts the _Lark_, a ship with four guns, and sent the President home +on a war-vessel. Some years afteryards, when the _Lark_ was out of +repair, England sent instead a schooner, the _Quail_. Roberts made a +second visit to England in 1852 to adjust disputes with traders on the +western boundary. He also visited France, and Louis Napoleon, not to be +outdone by England, presented to him a vessel, the _Hirondelle_, and +also guns and uniforms for his soldiers. In general the administrations +of Roberts (we might better say his first series of administrations, for +he was later to be called again to office) made a period of constructive +statesmanship and solid development, and not a little of the respect +that the young republic won was due to the personal influence of its +first president. Roberts, however, happened to be very fair, and +generally successful though his administrations were, the desire on the +part of the people that the highest office in the country be held by a +black man seems to have been a determining factor in the choice of his +successor. There was an interesting campaign toward the close of his +last term. "There were about this time two political parties in the +country--the old Republicans and the 'True Liberians,' a party which had +been formed in opposition to Roberts's foreign policies. But during the +canvass the platform of this new party lost ground; the result was in +favor of the Republican candidate."[1] + +[Footnote 1: Karnga, 28.] + +Stephen Allen Benson (four terms, 1856-1863) was forced to meet in one +way or another almost all of the difficulties that have since played a +part in the life of the Liberian people. He had come to the country in +1822 at the age of six and had developed into a practical and efficient +merchant. To his high office he brought the same principles of sobriety +and good sense that had characterized him in business. On February 28, +1857, the independent colony of Maryland formally became a part of the +republic. This action followed immediately upon the struggle with the +Greboes in the vicinity of Cape Palmas in which assistance was rendered +by the Liberians under Ex-President Roberts. In 1858 an incident that +threatened complications with France but that was soon happily closed +arose from the fact that a French vessel which sought to carry away some +Kru laborers to the West Indies was attacked by these men when they had +reason to fear that they might be sold into slavery and not have to work +simply along the coast, as they at first supposed. The ship was seized +and all but one of the crew, the physician, were killed. Trouble +meanwhile continued with British smugglers in the West, and to this +whole matter we shall have to give further and special attention. In +1858 and a year or two thereafter the numerous arrivals from America, +especially of Congo men captured on the high seas, were such as to +present a serious social problem. Flagrant violation by the South of the +laws against the slave-trade led to the seizure by the United States +Government of many Africans. Hundreds of these people were detained at a +time at such a port as Key West. The Government then adopted the policy +of ordering commanders who seized slave-ships at sea to land the +Africans directly upon the coast of Liberia without first bringing them +to America, and appropriated $250,000 for the removal and care of those +at Key West. The suffering of many of these people is one of the most +tragic stories in the history of slavery. To Liberia came at one time +619, at another 867, and within two months as many as 4000. There was +very naturally consternation on the part of the people at this sudden +immigration, especially as many of the Africans arrived cramped or +paralyzed or otherwise ill from the conditions under which they had been +forced to travel. President Benson stated the problem to the American +Government; the United States sent some money to Liberia, the people of +the Republic helped in every way they could, and the whole situation was +finally adjusted without any permanently bad effects, though it is well +for students to remember just what Liberia had to face at this time. +Important toward the close of Benson's terms was the completion of the +building of the Liberia College, of which Joseph Jenkin Roberts became +the first president. + +The administrations of Daniel Bashiel Warner (two terms, 1864-1867) and +the earlier one of James Spriggs Payne (1868-1869) were comparatively +uneventful. Both of these men were Republicans, but Warner represented +something of the shifting of political parties at the time. At first +a Republican, he went over to the Whig party devoted to the policy of +preserving Liberia from white invasion. Moved to distrust of English +merchants, who delighted in defrauding the little republic, he +established an important Ports-of-Entry Law in 1865, which it is hardly +necessary to say was very unpopular with the foreigners. Commerce was +restricted to six ports and a circle six miles in diameter around each +port. On account of the Civil War and the hopes that emancipation held +out to the Negroes in the United States, immigration from America ceased +rapidly; but a company of 346 came from Barbadoes at this time. The +Liberian Government assisted these people with $4000, set apart for each +man an allotment of twenty-five rather than the customary ten acres; the +Colonization Society appropriated $10,000, and after a pleasant voyage +of thirty-three days they arrived without the loss of a single life. In +the company was a little boy, Arthur Barclay, who was later to be known +as the President of the Republic. At the semi-centennial of the American +Colonization Society held in Washington in January, 1867, it was shown +that the Society and its auxiliaries had been directly responsible for +the sending of more than 12,000 persons to Africa. Of these 4541 +had been born free, 344 had purchased their freedom, 5957 had been +emancipated to go to Africa, and 1227 had been settled by the Maryland +Society. In addition, 5722 captured Africans had been sent to Liberia. +The need of adequate study of the interior having more and more +impressed itself, Benjamin Anderson, an adventurous explorer, assisted +with funds by a citizen of New York, in 1869 studied the country for two +hundred miles from the coast. He found the land constantly rising, and +made his way to Musardu, the chief city of the western Mandingoes. He +summed up his work in his _Narrative of a Journey to Musardo_ and made +another journey of exploration in 1874. + +Edward James Roye (1870-October 26, 1871), a Whig whose party was formed +out of the elements of the old True Liberian party, attracts attention +by reason of a notorious British loan to which further reference must +be made. Of the whole amount of £100,000 sums were wasted or +misappropriated until it has been estimated that the country really +reaped the benefit of little more than a quarter of the whole amount. +President Roye added to other difficulties by his seizure of a bank +building belonging to an Industrial Society of the St. Paul's River +settlements, and by attempting by proclamation to lengthen his term +of office. Twice a constitutional amendment for lengthening the +presidential term from two years to four had been considered and voted +down. Roye contested the last vote, insisted that his term ran to +January, 1874, and issued a proclamation forbidding the coming biennial +election. He was deposed, his house sacked, some of his cabinet officers +tried before a court of impeachment,[1] and he himself was drowned as he +was pursued while attempting to escape to a British ship in the harbor. +A committee of three was appointed to govern the country until a new +election could be held; and in this hour of storm and stress the people +turned once more to the guidance of their old leader, Joseph J. Roberts +(two terms, 1872-1875). His efforts were mainly devoted to restoring +order and confidence, though there was a new war with the Greboes to be +waged.[2] He was succeeded by another trusted leader, James S. Payne +(1876-1877), whose second administration was as devoid as the first of +striking incident. In fact, the whole generation succeeding the loan +of 1871 was a period of depression. The country not only suffered +financially, but faith in it was shaken both at home and abroad. Coffee +grown in Liberia fell as that produced at Brazil grew in favor, the +farmer witnessing a drop in value from 24 to 4 cents a pound. Farms were +abandoned, immigration from the United States ceased, and the country +entered upon a period of stagnation from which it has not yet fully +recovered. + +[Footnote 1: But not Hilary R.W. Johnson, the efficient Secretary of +State, later President.] + +[Footnote 2: President Roberts died February 21, 1876, barely two months +after giving up office. He was caught in the rain while attending a +funeral, took a severe chill, and was not able to recover.] + +Within just a few years after 1871, however, conditions in the United +States led to an interesting revival of the whole idea of colonization, +and to noteworthy effort on the part of the Negroes themselves to better +their condition. The withdrawal of Federal troops from the South, +and all the evils of the aftermath of reconstruction, led to such a +terrorizing of the Negroes and such a denial of civil rights that there +set in the movement that culminated in the great exodus from the South +in 1879. The movement extended all the way from North Carolina to +Louisiana and Arkansas. Insofar as it led to migration to Kansas and +other states in the West, it belongs to American history. However, there +was also interest in going to Africa. Applications by the thousands +poured in upon the American Colonization Society, and one organization +in Arkansas sent hundreds of its members to seek the help of the New +York State Colonization Society. In all such endeavor Negro Baptists +and Methodists joined hands, and especially prominent was Bishop H.M. +Turner, of the African Methodist Episcopal Church. By 1877 there was +organized in South Carolina the Liberian Exodus and Joint Stock Company; +in North Carolina there was the Freedmen's Emigration Aid Society; and +there were similar organizations in other states. The South Carolina +organization had the threefold purpose of emigration, missionary +activity, and commercial enterprise, and to these ends it purchased a +vessel, the _Azor_, at a cost of $7000. The white people of Charleston +unfortunately embarrassed the enterprise in every possible way, among +other things insisting when the _Azor_ was ready to sail that it was not +seaworthy and needed a new copper bottom (to cost $2000). The vessel at +length made one or two trips, however, on one voyage carrying as many as +274 emigrants. It was then stolen and sold in Liverpool, and one gets an +interesting sidelight on Southern conditions in the period when he knows +that even the United States Circuit Court in South Carolina refused to +entertain the suit brought by the Negroes. + +In the administration of Anthony W. Gardiner (three terms, 1878-1883) +difficulties with England and Germany reached a crisis. Territory in +the northwest was seized; the British made a formal show of force at +Monrovia; and the looting of a German vessel along the Kru Coast and +personal indignities inflicted by the natives upon the shipwrecked +Germans, led to the bombardment of Nana Kru by a German warship and the +presentation at Monrovia of a claim for damages, payment of which was +forced by the threat of the bombardment of the capital. To the Liberian +people the outlook was seldom darker than in this period of calamities. +President Gardiner, very ill, resigned office in January of his last +year of service, being succeeded by the vice-president, Alfred F. +Russell. More and more was pressure brought to bear upon Liberian +officials for the granting of monopolies and concessions, especially to +Englishmen; and in his message of 1883 President Russell said, "Recent +events admonish us as to the serious responsibility of claims held +against us by foreigners, and we cannot tell what complications may +arise." In the midst of all this, however, Russell did not forget the +natives and the need of guarding them against liquor and exploitation. + +Hilary Richard Wright Johnson (four terms, 1884-1891), the next +president, was a son of the distinguished Elijah Johnson and the first +man born in Liberia who had risen to the highest place in the republic. +Whigs and Republicans united in his election. Much of his time had +necessarily to be given to complications arising from the loan of 1871; +but the western boundary was adjusted (with great loss) with Great +Britain at the Mano River, though new difficulties arose with the +French, who were pressing their claim to territory as far as the Cavalla +River. In the course of the last term of President Johnson there was an +interesting grant (by act approved January 21, 1890) to F.F. Whittekin, +of Pennsylvania, of the right to "construct, maintain, and operate a +system of railroads, telegraph and telephone lines." Whittekin bought up +in England stock to the value of half a million dollars, but died on the +way to Liberia to fulfil his contract. His nephew, F.F. Whittekin, asked +for an extension of time, which was granted, but after a while the whole +project languished.[1] + +[Footnote 1: See _Liberia_, Bulletin No. 5, November, 1894.] + +Joseph James Cheeseman (1892-November 15, 1896) was a Whig. He conducted +what was known as the third Grebo War and labored especially for a sound +currency. He was a man of unusual ability and his devotion to his task +undoubtedly contributed toward his death in office near the middle +of his third term. As up to this time there had been no internal +improvement and little agricultural or industrial development in the +country, O.F. Cook, the agent of the New York State Colonization +Society, in 1894 signified to the legislature a desire to establish +a station where experiments could be made as to the best means of +introducing, receiving, and propagating beasts of burden, commercial +plants, etc. His request was approved and one thousand acres of land +granted for the purpose by act of January 20, 1894. Results, however, +were neither permanent nor far-reaching. In fact, by the close of the +century immigration had practically ceased and the activities of the +American Colonization Society had also ceased, many of the state +organizations having gone out of existence. In 1893 Julius C. Stevens, +of Goldsboro, N.C., went to Liberia and served for a nominal salary as +agent of the American Colonization Society, becoming also a teacher in +the Liberia College and in time Commissioner of Education, in connection +with which post he edited his _Liberian School Reader_; but he died in +1903.[1] + +[Footnote 1: Interest in Liberia by no means completely died. +Contributions for education were sometimes made by the representative +organizations, and individual students came to America from time +to time. When, however, the important commission representing the +Government came to America in 1908, the public was slightly startled as +having heard from something half-forgotten.] + +William D. Coleman as vice-president finished the incomplete term of +President Cheeseman (to the end of 1897) and later was elected for +two terms in his own right. In the course of his last administration, +however, his interior policy became very unpopular, as he was thought to +be harsh in his dealing with the natives, and he resigned in December, +1900. As there was at the time no vice-president, he was succeeded +by the Secretary of State, Garretson W. Gibson, a man of scholarly +attainments, who was afterwards elected for a whole term (1902-1903). +The feature of this term was the discussion that arose over the proposal +to grant a concession to an English concern known as the West African +Gold Concessions, Ltd. This offered to the legislators a bonus of £1500, +and for this bribe it asked for the sole right to prospect for and +obtain gold, precious stones, and all other minerals over more than half +of Liberia. Specifically it asked for the right to acquire freehold +land and to take up leases for eighty years, in blocks of from ten to +a thousand acres; to import all mining machinery and all other things +necessary free of duty; to establish banks in connection with the mining +enterprises, these to have the power to issue notes; to construct +telegraphs and telephones; to organize auxiliary syndicates; and to +establish its own police. It would seem that English impudence could +hardly go further, though time was to prove that there were still other +things to be borne. The proposal was indignantly rejected. + +Arthur Barclay (1904-1911) had already served in three cabinet positions +before coming to the presidency; he had also been a professor in the +Liberia College and for some years had been known as the leader of the +bar in Monrovia. It was near the close of his second term that the +president's term of office was lengthened from two to four years, and +he was the first incumbent to serve for the longer period. In his first +inaugural address President Barclay emphasized the need of developing +the resources of the hinterland and of attaching the native tribes to +the interests of the state. In his foreign policy he was generally +enlightened and broad-minded, but he had to deal with the arrogance of +England. In 1906 a new British loan was negotiated. This also was for +£100,000, more than two-thirds of which amount was to be turned over to +the Liberian Development Company, an English scheme for the development +of the interior. The Company was to work in coöperation with the +Liberian Government, and as security for the loan British officials were +to have charge of the customs revenue, the chief inspector acting as +financial adviser to the Republic. It afterwards developed that the +Company never had any resources except those it had raised on the credit +of the Republic, and the country was forced to realize that it had been +cheated a second time. Meanwhile the English officials who, on various +pretexts of reform, had taken charge of the barracks and the customs +in Monrovia, were carrying things with a high hand. The Liberian force +appeared with English insignia on the uniforms, and in various other +ways the commander sought to overawe the populace. At the climax of the +difficulties, on February 13, 1909, a British warship _happened_ to +appear in the waters of Monrovia, and a calamity was averted only by the +skillful diplomacy of the Liberians. Already, however, in 1908, Liberia +had sent a special commission to ask the aid of the United States. +This consisted of Garretson W. Gibson, former president; J.J. Dossen, +vice-president at the time, and Charles B. Dunbar. The commission was +received by President Roosevelt and by Secretary Taft just before the +latter was nominated for the presidency. On May 8, 1909, a return +commission consisting of Roland P. Falkner, George Sale, and Emmett J. +Scott, arrived in Monrovia. The work of this commission must receive +further and special attention. + +President Barclay was succeeded by Daniel Edward Howard (two long +terms, 1912-1919), who at his inauguration began the policy of giving +prominence to the native chiefs. The feature of President Howard's +administrations was of course Liberia's connection with the Great War +in Europe. War against Germany having been declared, on the morning +of April 10, 1918, a submarine came to Monrovia and demanded that the +French wireless station be torn down. The request being refused, the +town was bombarded. The excitement of the day was such as has never been +duplicated in the history of Liberia. In one house two young girls were +instantly killed and an elderly woman and a little boy fatally wounded; +but except in this one home the actual damage was comparatively slight, +though there might have been more if a passing British steamer had not +put the submarine to flight. Suffering of another and more far-reaching +sort was that due to the economic situation. The comparative scarcity of +food in the world and the profiteering of foreign merchants in Liberia +by the summer of 1919 brought about a condition that threatened +starvation; nor was the situation better early in 1920, when butter +retailed at $1.25 a pound, sugar at 72 cents a pound, and oil at $1.00 a +gallon. + +President Howard was succeeded by Charles Dunbar Burgess King, who as +president-elect had visited Europe and America, and who was inaugurated +January 5, 1920. His address on this occasion was a comprehensive +presentation of the needs of Liberia, especially along the lines of +agriculture and education. He made a plea also for an enlightened native +policy. Said he: "We cannot afford to destroy the native institutions of +the country. Our true mission lies not in the building here in Africa +of a Negro state based solely on Western ideas, but rather a Negro +nationality indigenous to the soil, having its foundation rooted in the +institutions of Africa and purified by Western thought and development." + + +3. _International Relations_ + +Our study of the history of Liberia has suggested two or three matters +that call for special attention. Of prime importance is the country's +connection with world politics. Any consideration of Liberia's +international relations falls into three divisions: first, that of +titles to land; second, that of foreign loans; and third, that of +so-called internal reform. + +In the very early years of the colony the raids of slave-traders gave +some excuse for the first aggression on the part of a European power. +"Driven from the Pongo Regions northwest of Sierra Leone, Pedro Blanco +settled in the Gallinhas territory northwest of the Liberian frontier, +and established elaborate headquarters for his mammoth slave-trading +operations in West Africa, with slave-trading sub-stations at Cape +Mount, St. Paul River, Bassa, and at other points of the Liberian coast, +employing numerous police, watchers, spies, and servants. To obtain +jurisdiction the colony of Liberia began to purchase from the lords of +the soil as early as 1824 the lands of the St. Paul Basin and the Grain +Coast from the Mafa River on the west to the Grand Sesters River on the +east; so that by 1845, twenty-four years after the establishment of the +colony, Liberia with the aid of Great Britain had destroyed throughout +these regions the baneful traffic in slaves and the slave barracoons, +and had driven the slave-trading leaders from the Liberian coast."[1] +The trade continued to flourish, however, in the Gallinhas territory, +and in course of time, as we have seen, the colony had also to reckon +with British merchants in this section, the Declaration of Independence +in 1847 being very largely a result of the defiance of Liberian +revenue-laws by Englishmen. While President Roberts was in England +not long after his inauguration, Lord Ashley, moved by motives of +philanthropy, undertook to raise £2000 with which he (Roberts) might +purchase the Gallinhas territory; and by 1856 Roberts had secured the +title and deeds to all of this territory from the Mafa River to Sherbro +Island. The whole transaction was thoroughly honorable, Roberts informed +England of his acquisition, and his right to the territory was not then +called in question. Trouble, however, developed out of the attitude of +John M. Harris, a British merchant, and in 1862, while President Benson +was in England, he was officially informed that the right of Liberia was +recognized _only_ to the land "east of Turner's Peninsula to the River +San Pedro." Harris now worked up a native war against the Vais; the +Liberians defended themselves; and in the end the British Government +demanded £8878.9.3 as damages for losses sustained by Harris, and +arbitrarily extended its territory from Sherbro Island to Cape Mount. In +the course of the discussion claims mounted up to £18,000. Great Britain +promised to submit this boundary question to the arbitration of the +United States, but when the time arrived at the meeting of one of the +commissions in Sierra Leone she firmly declined to do so. After this, +whenever she was ready to take more land she made a plausible pretext +and was ready to back up her demands with force. On March 20, 1882, four +British men-of-war came to Monrovia and Sir A.E. Havelock, Governor of +Sierra Leone, came ashore; and President Gardiner was forced to submit +to an agreement by which, in exchange for £4750 and the abandonment of +all further claims, the Liberian Government gave up all right to +the Gallinhas territory from Sherbro Island to the Mafa River. This +agreement was repudiated by the Liberian Senate, but when Havelock was +so informed he replied, "Her Majesty's Government can not in any case +recognize any rights on the part of Liberia to any portions of the +territories in dispute." Liberia now issued a protest to other great +powers; but this was without avail, even the United States counseling +acquiescence, though through the offices of America the agreement was +slightly modified and the boundary fixed at the Mano River. Trouble next +arose on the east. In 1846 the Maryland Colonization Society purchased +the lands of the Ivory Coast east of Cape Palmas as far as the San Pedro +River. These lands were formally transferred to Liberia in 1857, and +remained in the undisputed possession of the Republic for forty years. +France now, not to be outdone by England, on the pretext of title deeds +obtained by French naval commanders who visited the coast in 1890, in +1891 put forth a claim not only to the Ivory Coast, but to land as far +away as Grand Bassa and Cape Mount. The next year, under threat of +force, she compelled Liberia to accept a treaty which, for 25,000 francs +and the relinquishment of all other claims, permitted her to take all +the territory east of the Cavalla River. In 1904 Great Britain asked +permission to advance her troops into Liberian territory to suppress a +native war threatening her interests. She occupied at this time what +is known as the Kaure-Lahun section, which is very fertile and of easy +access to the Sierra Leone railway. This land she never gave up; instead +she offered Liberia £6000 or some poorer land for it. France after 1892 +made no endeavor to delimit her boundary, and, roused by the action +of Great Britain, she made great advances in the hinterland, claiming +tracts of Maryland and Sino; and now France and England each threatened +to take more land if the other was not stopped. President Barclay +visited both countries; but by a treaty of 1907 his commission was +forced to permit France to occupy all the territory seized by force; and +as soon as this agreement was reached France began to move on to other +land in the basin of the St. Paul's and St. John's rivers. This is all +then simply one more story of the oppression of the weak by the strong. +For eighty years England has not ceased to intermeddle in Liberian +affairs, cajoling or browbeating as at the moment seemed advisable; and +France has been only less bad. Certainly no country on earth now has +better reason than Liberia to know that "they should get who have the +power, and they should keep who can." + +[Footnote 1: Ellis in _Journal of Race Development_, January, 1911.] + +The international loans and the attempts at reform must be considered +together. In 1871, at the rate of 7 per cent, there was authorized a +British loan of £100,000. _For their services_ the British negotiators +retained £30,000, and £20,000 more was deducted as the interest for +three years. President Roye ordered Mr. Chinery, a British subject and +the Liberian consul general in London, to supply the Liberian Secretary +of Treasury with goods and merchandise to the value of £10,000; and +other sums were misappropriated until the country itself actually +received the benefit of not more than £27,000, if so much. This whole +unfortunate matter was an embarrassment to Liberia for years; but in +1899 the Republic assumed responsibility for £80,000, the interest being +made a first charge on the customs revenue. In 1906, not yet having +learned the lesson of "Cavete Graecos dona ferentes," and moved by the +representations of Sir Harry H. Johnston, the country negotiated a +new loan of £100,000. £30,000 of this amount was to satisfy pressing +obligations; but the greater portion was to be turned over to the +Liberian Development Company, a great scheme by which the Government +and the company were to work hand in hand for the development of the +country. As security for the loan, British officials were to have charge +of the customs revenue, the chief inspector acting as financial adviser +to the Republic. When the Company had made a road of fifteen miles +in one district and made one or two other slight improvements, it +represented to the Liberian Government that its funds were exhausted. +When President Barclay asked for an accounting the managing director +expressed surprise that such a demand should be made upon him. The +Liberian people were chagrined, and at length they realized that they +had been cheated a second time, with all the bitter experiences of the +past to guide them. Meanwhile the English representatives in the country +were demanding that the judiciary be reformed, that the frontier force +be under British officers, and that Inspector Lamont as financial +adviser have a seat in the Liberian cabinet and a veto power over all +expenditures; and the independence of the country was threatened if +these demands were not complied with. Meanwhile also the construction +of barracks went forward under Major Cadell, a British officer, and the +organization of the frontier force was begun. Not less than a third of +this force was brought from Sierra Leone, and the whole Cadell fitted +out with suits and caps stamped with the emblems of His Britannic +Majesty's service. He also persuaded the Monrovia city government to let +him act without compensation as chief of police, and he likewise became +street commissioner, tax collector, and city treasurer. The Liberian +people naturally objected to the usurping of all these prerogatives, but +Cadell refused to resign and presented a large bill for his services. He +also threatened violence to the President if his demands were not met +within twenty-four hours. Then it was that the British warship, the +_Mutiny_, suddenly appeared at Monrovia (February 12, 1909). Happily +the Liberians rose to the emergency. They requested that any British +soldiers at the barracks be withdrawn in order that they might be free +to deal with the insurrectionary movement said to be there on the +part of Liberian soldiers; and thus tactfully they brought about the +withdrawal of Major Cadell. + +By this time, however, the Liberian commission to the United States +had done its work, and just three months after Cadell's retirement the +return American commission came. After studying the situation it made +the following recommendations: That the United States extend its aid to +Liberia in the prompt settlement of pending boundary disputes; that +the United States enable Liberia to refund its debt by assuming as a +guarantee for the payment of obligations under such arrangement the +control and collection of the Liberian customs; that the United States +lend its assistance to the Liberian Government in the reform of its +internal finances; that the United States lend its aid to Liberia in +organizing and drilling an adequate constabulary or frontier police +force; that the United States establish and maintain a research +station at Liberia; and that the United States reopen the question of +establishing a coaling-station in Liberia. Under the fourth of these +recommendations Major (now Colonel) Charles Young went to Liberia, +where from time to time since he has rendered most efficient service. +Arrangements were also made for a new loan, one of $1,700,000, which was +to be floated by banking institutions in the United States, Germany, +France, and England; and in 1912 an American General Receiver of Customs +and Financial Adviser to the Republic of Liberia (with an assistant +from each of the other three countries mentioned) opened his office +in Monrovia. It will be observed that a complicated and expensive +receivership was imposed on the Liberian people when an arrangement +much more simple would have served. The loan of $1,700,000 soon proving +inadequate for any large development of the country, negotiations were +begun in 1918 for a new loan, one of $5,000,000. Among the things +proposed were improvements on the harbor of Monrovia, some good roads +through the country, a hospital, and the broadening of the work of +education. About the loan two facts were outstanding: first, any money +to be spent would be spent wholly under American and not under Liberian +auspices; and, second, to the Liberians acceptance of the terms +suggested meant practically a surrender of their sovereignty, as +American appointees were to be in most of the important positions in the +country, at the same time that upon themselves would fall the ultimate +burden of the interest of the loan. By the spring of 1920 (in Liberia, +the commencement of the rainy season) it was interesting to note that +although the necessary measures of approval had not yet been passed by +the Liberian Congress, perhaps as many as fifteen American officials had +come out to the country to begin work in education, engineering, and +sanitation. Just a little later in the year President King called an +extra session of the legislature to consider amendments. While it was in +session a cablegram from the United States was received saying that no +amendments to the plan would be accepted and that it must be accepted as +submitted, "or the friendly interest which has heretofore existed would +become lessened." The Liberians were not frightened, however, and stood +firm. Meanwhile a new presidential election took place in the United +States; there was to be a radical change in the government; and the +Liberians were disposed to try further to see if some changes could not +be made in the proposed arrangements. Most watchfully from month to +month, let it be remembered, England and France were waiting; and in +any case it could easily be seen that as the Republic approached its +centennial it was face to face with political problems of the very first +magnitude.[1] + +[Footnote 1: Early in 1921 President King headed a new commission to the +United States to take up the whole matter of Liberia with the incoming +Republican administration.] + + +4. _Economic and Social Conditions_ + +From what has been said, it is evident that there is still much to be +done in Liberia along economic lines. There has been some beginning +in coöperative effort; thus the Bassa Trading Association is an +organization for mutual betterment of perhaps as many as fifty +responsible merchants and farmers. The country has as yet (1921), +however, no railroads, no street cars, no public schools, and no genuine +newspapers; nor are there any manufacturing or other enterprises for +the employment of young men on a large scale. The most promising youth +accordingly look too largely to an outlet in politics; some come to +America to be educated and not always do they return. A few become +clerks in the stores, and a very few assistants in the customs offices. +There is some excellent agriculture in the interior, but as yet no means +of getting produce to market on a large scale. In 1919 the total customs +revenue at Monrovia, the largest port, amounted to $196,913.21. For the +whole country the figure has recently been just about half a million +dollars a year. Much of this amount goes to the maintenance of the +frontier force. Within the last few years also the annual income for +the city of Monrovia--for the payment of the mayor, the police, and all +other city officers--has averaged $6000. + +In any consideration of social conditions the first question of all of +course is that of the character of the people themselves. Unfortunately +Liberia was begun with faulty ideals of life and work. The early +settlers, frequently only recently out of bondage, too often felt that +in a state of freedom they did not have to work, and accordingly they +imitated the habits of the old master class of the South. The real +burden of life then fell upon the native. There is still considerable +feeling between the native and the Americo-Liberian; but more and more +the wisest men of the country realize that the good of one is the good +of all, and they are endeavoring to make the native chiefs work for the +common welfare. From time to time the people of Liberia have given to +visitors an impression of arrogance, and perhaps no one thing had led to +more unfriendly criticism of this country than this. The fact is that +the Liberians, knowing that their country has various shortcomings +according to Western standards, are quick to assume the defensive, and +one method of protecting themselves is by erecting a barrier of dignity +and reserve. One has only to go beyond this, however, to find the real +heartbeat of the people. The comparative isolation of the Republic +moreover, and the general stress of living conditions have together +given to the everyday life an undue seriousness of tone, with a rather +excessive emphasis on the church, on politics, and on secret societies. +In such an atmosphere boys and girls too soon became mature, and for +them especially one might wish to see a little more wholesome outdoor +amusement. In school or college catalogues one still sees much of +jurisprudence and moral philosophy, but little of physics or biology. +Interestingly enough, this whole system of education and life has not +been without some elements of very genuine culture. Literature has been +mainly in the diction of Shakespeare and Milton; but Shakespeare and +Milton, though not of the twentieth century, are still good models, +and because the officials have had to compose many state documents and +deliver many formal addresses, there has been developed in the country +a tradition of good English speech. A service in any one of the +representative churches is dignified and impressive. + +The churches and schools of Liberia have been most largely in the hands +of the Methodists and the Episcopalians, though the Baptists, the +Presbyterians, and the Lutherans are well represented. The Lutherans +have penetrated to a point in the interior beyond that attained by any +other denomination. The Episcopalians have excelled others, even the +Methodists, by having more constant and efficient oversight of their +work. The Episcopalians have in Liberia a little more than 40 schools, +nearly half of these being boarding-schools, with a total attendance +of 2000. The Methodists have slightly more than 30 schools, with 2500 +pupils. The Lutherans in their five mission stations have 20 American +workers and 300 pupils. While it seems from these figures that the +number of those reached is small in proportion to the outlay, it must be +remembered that a mission school becomes a center from which influence +radiates in all directions. + +While the enterprise of the denominational institutions can not be +doubted, it may well be asked if, in so largely relieving the people +of the burden of the education of their children, they are not unduly +cultivating a spirit of dependence rather than of self-help. Something +of this point of view was emphasized by the Secretary of Public +Instruction, Mr. Walter F. Walker, in an address, "Liberia and Her +Educational Problems," delivered in Chicago in 1916. Said he of the day +schools maintained by the churches: "These day schools did invaluable +service in the days of the Colony and Commonwealth, and, indeed, in the +early days of the Republic; but to their continuation must undoubtedly +be ascribed the tardy recognition of the government and people of the +fact that no agency for the education of the masses is as effective as +the public school.... There is not one public school building owned by +the government or by any city or township." + +It might further be said that just now in Liberia there is no +institution that is primarily doing college work. Two schools in +Monrovia, however, call for special remark. The College of West Africa, +formerly Monrovia Seminary, was founded by the Methodist Church in 1839. +The institution does elementary and lower high school work, though some +years ago it placed a little more emphasis on college work than it has +been able to do within recent years. It was of this college that the +late Bishop A.P. Camphor served so ably as president for twelve years. +Within recent years it has recognized the importance of industrial work +and has had in all departments an average annual enrollment of 300. Not +quite so prominent within the last few years, but with more tradition +and theoretically at the head of the educational system of the Republic +is the Liberia College. In 1848 Simon Greenleaf of Boston, received from +John Payne, a missionary at Cape Palmas, a request for his assistance in +building a theological school. Out of this suggestion grew the Board +of Trustees of Donations for Education in Liberia incorporated in +Massachusetts in March, 1850. The next year the Liberia legislature +incorporated the Liberia College, it being understood that the +institution would emphasize academic as well as theological subjects. In +1857 Ex-President J.J. Roberts was elected president; he superintended +the erection of a large building; and in 1862 the college was opened +for work. Since then it has had a very uneven existence, sometimes +enrolling, aside from its preparatory department, twenty or thirty +college students, then again having no college students at all. Within +the last few years, as the old building was completely out of repair, +the school has had to seek temporary quarters. It is too vital to the +country to be allowed to languish, however, and it is to be hoped that +it may soon be well started upon a new career of usefulness. In the +course of its history the Liberia College has had connected with it some +very distinguished men. Famous as teacher and lecturer, and president +from 1881 to 1885, was Edward Wilmot Blyden, generally regarded as the +foremost scholar that Western Africa has given to the world. Closely +associated with him in the early years, and well known in America as in +Africa, was Alexander Crummell, who brought to his teaching the richness +of English university training. A trustee for a number of years was +Samuel David Ferguson, of the Protestant Episcopal Church, who served +with great dignity and resource as missionary bishop of the country +from 1884 until his death in 1916. A new president of the college, Rev. +Nathaniel H.B. Cassell, was elected in 1918, and it is expected that +under his efficient direction the school will go forward to still +greater years of service. + +Important in connection with the study of the social conditions in +Liberia is that of health and living conditions. One who lives in +America and knows that Africa is a land of unbounded riches can hardly +understand the extent to which the West Coast has been exploited, or +the suffering that is there just now. The distress is most acute in the +English colonies, and as Liberia is so close to Sierra Leone and the +Gold Coast, much of the same situation prevails there. In Monrovia the +only bank is the branch of the Bank of British West Africa. In the +branches of this great institution all along the coast, as a result of +the war, gold disappeared, silver became very scarce, and the common +form of currency became paper notes, issued in denominations as low as +one and two shillings. These the natives have refused to accept. They go +even further: rather than bring their produce to the towns and receive +paper for it they will not come at all. In Monrovia an effort was made +to introduce the British West African paper currency, and while this +failed, more and more the merchants insisted on being paid in silver, +nor in an ordinary purchase would silver be given in change on an +English ten-shilling note. Prices accordingly became exorbitant; +children were not properly nourished and the infant mortality grew to +astonishing proportions. Nor were conditions made better by the lack of +sanitation and by the prevalence of disease. Happily relief for these +conditions--for some of them at least--seems to be in sight, and it is +expected that before very long a hospital will be erected in Monrovia. + +One or two reflections suggest themselves. It has been said that the +circumstances under which Liberia was founded led to a despising of +industrial effort. The country is now quite awake, however, to the +advantages of industrial and agricultural enterprise. A matter of +supreme importance is that of the relation of the Americo-Liberian to +the native; this will work itself out, for the native is the country's +chief asset for the future. In general the Republic needs a few visible +evidences of twentieth century standards of progress; two or three high +schools and hospitals built on the American plan would work wonders. +Finally let it not be forgotten that upon the American Negro rests the +obligation to do whatever he can to help to develop the country. If he +will but firmly clasp hands with his brother across the sea, a new day +will dawn for American Negro and Liberian alike. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE NEGRO A NATIONAL ISSUE + + +1. _Current Tendencies_ + +It is evident from what has been said already that the idea of the Negro +current about 1830 in the United States was not very exalted. It was +seriously questioned if he was really a human being, and doctors of +divinity learnedly expounded the "Cursed be Canaan" passage as applying +to him. A prominent physician of Mobile[1] gave it as his opinion that +"the brain of the Negro, when compared with the Caucasian, is smaller by +a tenth ... and the intellect is wanting in the same proportion," and +finally asserted that Negroes could not live in the North because "a +cold climate so freezes their brains as to make them insane." About +mulattoes, like many others, he stretched his imagination marvelously. +They were incapable of undergoing fatigue; the women were very delicate +and subject to all sorts of diseases, and they did not beget children +as readily as either black women or white women. In fact, said Nott, +between the ages of twenty-five and forty mulattoes died ten times as +fast as either white or black people; between forty and fifty-five fifty +times as fast, and between fifty-five and seventy one hundred times as +fast. + +[Footnote 1: See "Two Lectures on the Natural History of the Caucasian +and Negro Races. By Josiah C. Nott, M.D., Mobile, 1844."] + +To such opinions was now added one of the greatest misfortunes that have +befallen the Negro race in its entire history in America--burlesque on +the stage. When in 1696 Thomas Southerne adapted _Oroonoko_ from the +novel of Mrs. Aphra Behn and presented in London the story of the +African prince who was stolen from his native Angola, no one saw any +reason why the Negro should not be a subject for serious treatment on +the stage, and the play was a great success, lasting for decades. In +1768, however, was presented at Drury Lane a comic opera, _The Padlock_, +and a very prominent character was Mungo, the slave of a West Indian +planter, who got drunk in the second act and was profane throughout the +performance. In the course of the evening Mungo entertained the audience +with such lines as the following: + + Dear heart, what a terrible life I am led! + A dog has a better, that's sheltered and fed. + Night and day 'tis the same; + My pain is deir game: + Me wish to de Lord me was dead! + Whate'er's to be done, + Poor black must run. + Mungo here, Mungo dere, + Mungo everywhere: + Above and below, + Sirrah, come; sirrah, go; + Do so, and do so, + Oh! oh! + Me wish to de Lord me was dead! + +The depreciation of the race that Mungo started continued, and when in +1781 _Robinson Crusoe_ was given as a pantomime at Drury Lane, Friday +was represented as a Negro. The exact origins of Negro minstrelsy +are not altogether clear; there have been many claimants, and it is +interesting to note in passing that there was an "African Company" +playing in New York in the early twenties, though this was probably +nothing more than a small group of amateurs. Whatever may have been +the beginning, it was Thomas D. Rice who brought the form to genuine +popularity. In Louisville in the summer of 1828, looking from one of the +back windows of a theater, he was attracted by an old and decrepit slave +who did odd jobs about a livery stable. The slave's master was named +Crow and he called himself Jim Crow. His right shoulder was drawn up +high and his left leg was stiff at the knee, but he took his deformity +lightly, singing as he worked. He had one favorite tune to which he +had fitted words of his own, and at the end of each verse he made a +ludicrous step which in time came to be known as "rocking the heel." His +refrain consisted of the words: + + Wheel about, turn about, + Do jis so, + An' ebery time I wheel about + I jump Jim Crow. + +Rice, who was a clever and versatile performer, caught the air, made up +like the Negro, and in the course of the next season introduced Jim Crow +and his step to the stage, and so successful was he in his performance +that on his first night in the part he was encored twenty times.[1] Rice +had many imitators among the white comedians of the country, some of +whom indeed claimed priority in opening up the new field, and along with +their burlesque these men actually touched upon the possibilities of +plaintive Negro melodies, which they of course capitalized. In New York +late in 1842 four men--"Dan" Emmett, Frank Brower, "Billy" Whitlock, and +"Dick" Pelham--practiced together with fiddle and banjo, "bones" +and tambourine, and thus was born the first company, the "Virginia +Minstrels," which made its formal debut in New York February 17, 1843. +Its members produced in connection with their work all sorts of popular +songs, one of Emmett's being "Dixie," which, introduced by Mrs. John +Wood in a burlesque in New Orleans at the outbreak of the Civil War, +leaped into popularity and became the war-song of the Confederacy. +Companies multipled apace. "Christy's Minstrels" claimed priority to the +company already mentioned, but did not actually enter upon its New York +career until 1846. "Bryant's Minstrels" and Buckley's "New Orleans +Serenaders" were only two others of the most popular aggregations +featuring and burlesquing the Negro. In a social history of the Negro in +America, however, it is important to observe in passing that already, +even in burlesque, the Negro element was beginning to enthrall the +popular mind. About the same time as minstrelsy also developed the habit +of belittling the race by making the name of some prominent and worthy +Negro a term of contempt; thus "cuffy" (corrupted from Paul Cuffe) now +came into widespread use. + +[Footnote 1: See Laurence Hutton: "The Negro on the Stage," in _Harper's +Magazine_, 79:137 (June, 1889), referring to article by Edmon S. Conner +in _New York Times_, June 5, 1881.] + +This was not all. It was now that the sinister crime of lynching raised +its head in defiance of all law. At first used as a form of punishment +for outlaws and gamblers, it soon came to be applied especially to +Negroes. One was burned alive near Greenville, S.C., in 1825; in May, +1835, two were burned near Mobile for the murder of two children; and +for the years between 1823 and 1860 not less than fifty-six cases of the +lynching of Negroes have been ascertained, though no one will ever know +how many lost their lives without leaving any record. Certainly more men +were executed illegally than legally; thus of forty-six recorded murders +by Negroes of owners or overseers between 1850 and 1860 twenty resulted +in legal execution and twenty-six in lynching. Violent crimes against +white women were not relatively any more numerous than now; but those +that occurred or were attempted received swift punishment; thus of +seventeen cases of rape in the ten years last mentioned Negroes were +legally executed in five and lynched in twelve.[1] + +[Footnote 1: See Hart: _Slavery and Abolition_, 11 and 117, citing +Cutler: _Lynch Law_, 98-100 and 126-128.] + +Extraordinary attention was attracted by the burning in St. Louis in +1835 of a man named McIntosh, who had killed an officer who was trying +to arrest him.[1] This event came in the midst of a period of great +agitation, and it was for denouncing this lynching that Elijah P. +Lovejoy had his printing-office destroyed in St. Louis and was forced +to remove to Alton, Ill., where his press was three times destroyed and +where he finally met death at the hands of a mob while trying to protect +his property November 7, 1837. Judge Lawless defended the lynching and +even William Ellery Channing took a compromising view. Abraham Lincoln, +however, then a very young man, in an address on "The Perpetuation of +Our Political Institutions" at Springfield, January 27, 1837, said: +"Accounts of outrages committed by mobs form the everyday news of the +times. They have pervaded the country from New England to Louisiana; +they are neither peculiar to the eternal snows of the former nor the +burning suns of the latter; they are not the creatures of climate, +neither are they confined to the slaveholding or the nonslaveholding +states.... Turn to that horror-striking scene at St. Louis. A single +victim only was sacrificed there. This story is very short, and is +perhaps the most highly tragic of anything that has ever been witnessed +in real life. A mulatto man by the name of McIntosh was seized in the +street, dragged to the suburbs of the city, chained to a tree, and +actually burned to death; and all within a single hour from the time he +had been a free man attending to his own business and at peace with +the world.... Such are the effects of mob law, and such are the scenes +becoming more and more frequent in this land so lately famed for love of +law and order, and the stories of which have even now grown too familiar +to attract anything more than an idle remark." + +[Footnote 1: Cutler: _Lynch Law_, 109, citing Niles's _Register_, June +4, 1836.] + +All the while flagrant crimes were committed against Negro women and +girls, and free men in the border states were constantly being +dragged into slavery by kidnapers. Two typical cases will serve for +illustration. George Jones, a respectable man of New York, was in 1836 +arrested on Broadway on the pretext that he had committed assault and +battery. He refused to go with his captors, for he knew that he had +done nothing to warrant such a charge; but he finally yielded on the +assurance of his employer that everything possible would be done for +him. He was placed in the Bridewell and a few minutes afterwards taken +before a magistrate, to whose satisfaction he was proved to be a slave. +Thus, in less than two hours after his arrest he was hurried away by the +kidnapers, whose word had been accepted as sufficient evidence, and he +had not been permitted to secure a single friendly witness. Solomon +Northrup, who afterwards wrote an account of his experiences, was a +free man who lived in Saratoga and made his living by working about the +hotels, where in the evenings he often played the violin at parties. One +day two men, supposedly managers of a traveling circus company, met him +and offered him good pay if he would go with them as a violinist to +Washington. He consented, and some mornings afterwards awoke to find +himself in a slave pen in the capital. How he got there was ever a +mystery to him, but evidently he had been drugged. He was taken South +and sold to a hard master, with whom he remained twelve years before +he was able to effect his release.[1] In the South any free Negro who +entertained a runaway might himself become a slave; thus in South +Carolina in 1827 a free woman with her three children suffered this +penalty because she gave succor to two homeless and fugitive children +six and nine years old. + +[Footnote 1: McDougall: Fugitive Slaves, 36-37.] + +Day by day, moreover, from the capital of the nation went on the +internal slave-trade. "When by one means and another a dealer had +gathered twenty or more likely young Negro men and girls, he would bring +them forth from their cells; would huddle the women and young children +into a cart or wagon; would handcuff the men in pairs, the right hand of +one to the left hand of another; make the handcuffs fast to a long chain +which passed between each pair of slaves, and would start his procession +southward."[1] It is not strange that several of the unfortunate people +committed suicide. One distracted mother, about to be separated from her +loved ones, dumbfounded the nation by hurling herself from the window +of a prison in the capital on the Sabbath day and dying in the street +below. + +[Footnote 1: McMaster, V, 219-220.] + +Meanwhile even in the free states the disabilities of the Negro +continued. In general he was denied the elective franchise, the right of +petition, the right to enter public conveyances or places of amusement, +and he was driven into a status of contempt by being shut out from the +army and the militia. He had to face all sorts of impediments in getting +education or in pursuing honest industry; he had nothing whatever to +do with the administration of justice; and generally he was subject to +insult and outrage. + +One might have supposed that on all this proscription and denial of the +ordinary rights of human beings the Christian Church would have taken a +positive stand. Unfortunately, as so often happens, it was on the side +of property and vested interest rather than on that of the oppressed. We +have already seen that Southern divines held slaves and countenanced +the system; and by 1840 James G. Birney had abundant material for his +indictment, "The American Churches the Bulwarks of American Slavery." +He showed among other things that while in 1780 the Methodist Episcopal +Church had opposed slavery and in 1784 had given a slaveholder one month +to repent or withdraw from its conferences, by 1836 it had so drifted +away from its original position as to disclaim "any right, wish, or +intention to interfere in the civil and political relation between +master and slave, as it existed in the slaveholding states of the +union." Meanwhile in the churches of the North there was the most +insulting discrimination; in the Baptist Church in Hartford the pews for +Negroes were boarded up in front, and in Stonington, Conn., the floor +was cut out of a Negro's pew by order of the church authorities. In +Boston, in a church that did not welcome and that made little provision +for Negroes, a consecrated deacon invited into his own pew some Negro +people, whereupon he lost the right to hold a pew in his church. He +decided that there should be some place where there might be more +freedom of thought and genuine Christianity, he brought others into the +plan, and the effort that he put forth resulted in what has since become +the Tremont Temple Baptist Church. + +Into all this proscription, burlesque, and crime, and denial of the +fundamental principles of Christianity, suddenly came the program of the +Abolitionists; and it spoke with tongues of fire, and had all the vigor +and force of a crusade. + + +2. _The Challenge of the Abolitionists_ + +The great difference between the early abolition societies which +resulted in the American Convention and the later anti-slavery movement +of which Garrison was the representative figure was the difference +between a humanitarian impulse tempered by expediency and one that had +all the power of a direct challenge. Before 1831 "in the South the +societies were more numerous, the members no less earnest, and the +hatred of slavery no less bitter,... yet the conciliation and persuasion +so noticeable in the earlier period in twenty years accomplished +practically nothing either in legislation or in the education of public +sentiment; while gradual changes in economic conditions at the South +caused the question to grow more difficult."[1] Moreover, "the evidence +of open-mindedness can not stand against the many instances of absolute +refusal to permit argument against slavery. In the Colonial Congress, +in the Confederation, in the Constitutional Convention, in the state +ratifying conventions, in the early Congresses, there were many vehement +denunciations of anything which seemed to have an anti-slavery tendency, +and wholesale suspicion of the North at all times when the subject was +opened."[2] One can not forget the effort of James G. Birney, or that +Benjamin Lundy's work was most largely done in what we should now call +the South, or that between 1815 and 1828 at least four journals which +avowed the extinction of slavery as one, if not the chief one, of +their objects were published in the Southern states.[3] Only gradual +emancipation, however, found any real support in the South; and, as +compared with the work of Garrison, even that of Lundy appears in the +distance with something of the mildness of "sweetness and light." Even +before the rise of Garrison, Robert James Turnbull of South Carolina, +under the name of "Brutus," wrote a virulent attack on anti-slavery; and +Representative Drayton of the same state, speaking in Congress in 1828, +said, "Much as we love our country, we would rather see our cities in +flames, our plains drenched in blood--rather endure all the calamities +of civil war, than parley for an instant upon the right of any power, +than our own to interfere with the regulation of our slaves."[4] More +and more this was to be the real sentiment of the South, and in the +face of this kind of eloquence and passion mere academic discussion was +powerless. + +[Footnote 1: Adams: _The Neglected Period of Anti-Slavery, 1808-1831_, +250-251.] + +[Footnote 2: _Ibid_., 110.] + +[Footnote 3: William Birney: _James G. Birney and His Times_, 85-86.] + +[Footnote 4: Register of Debates, _4,975_, cited by Adams, 112-3.] + +The _Liberator_ was begun January 1, 1831. The next year Garrison was +the leading spirit in the formation of the New England Anti-Slavery +Society; and in December, 1833, in Philadelphia, the American +Anti-Slavery Society was organized. In large measure these organizations +were an outgrowth of the great liberal and humanitarian spirit that by +1830 had become manifest in both Europe and America. Hugo and Mazzini, +Byron and Macaulay had all now appeared upon the scene, and romanticism +was regnant. James Montgomery and William Faber wrote their hymns, +and Reginald Heber went as a missionary bishop to India. Forty years +afterwards the French Revolution was bearing fruit. France herself had a +new revolution in 1830, and in this same year the kingdom of Belgium was +born. In England there was the remarkable reign of William IV, which +within the short space of seven years summed up in legislation reforms +that had been agitated for decades. In 1832 came the great Reform Bill, +in 1833 the abolition of slavery in English dominions, and in 1834 a +revision of factory legislation and the poor law. Charles Dickens and +Elizabeth Barrett Browning began to be heard, and in 1834 came to +America George Thompson, a powerful and refined speaker who had had much +to do with the English agitation against slavery. The young republic +of the United States, lusty and self-confident, was seething with new +thought. In New England the humanitarian movement that so largely began +with the Unitarianism of Channing "ran through its later phase in +transcendentalism, and spent its last strength in the anti-slavery +agitation and the enthusiasms of the Civil War."[1] The movement was +contemporary with the preaching of many novel gospels in religion, in +sociology, in science, education, and medicine. New sects were formed, +like the Universalists, the Spiritualists, the Second Adventists, +the Mormons, and the Shakers, some of which believed in trances and +miracles, others in the quick coming of Christ, and still others in the +reorganization of society; and the pseudo-sciences, like mesmerism and +phrenology, had numerous followers. The ferment has long since subsided, +and much that was then seething has since gone off in vapor; but when +all that was spurious has been rejected, we find that the +general impulse was but a new baptism of the old Puritan spirit. +Transcendentalism appealed to the private consciousness as the sole +standard of truth and right. With kindred movements it served to quicken +the ethical sense of a nation that was fast becoming materialistic and +to nerve it for the conflict that sooner or later had to come. + +[Footnote 1: Henry A. Beers: _Initial Studies in American Letters_, +95-98 passim.] + +In his salutatory editorial Garrison said with reference to his +position: "In Park Street Church, on the Fourth of July, 1829, in +an address on slavery, I unreflectingly assented to the popular but +pernicious doctrine of gradual abolition. I seize this opportunity to +make a full and unequivocal recantation, and thus publicly to ask pardon +of my God, of my country, and of my brethren, the poor slaves, for +having uttered a sentiment so full of timidity, injustice, and +absurdity.... I am aware that many object to the severity of my +language; but is there not cause for severity? I will be as harsh as +truth, and as uncompromising as justice. On this subject, I do not wish +to think, or speak, or write, with moderation. No! no! Tell a man whose +house is on fire, to give a moderate alarm; tell him to moderately +rescue his wife from the hands of the ravisher; tell the mother to +gradually extricate her babe from the fire into which it has fallen; +but urge me not to use moderation in a cause like the present! I am in +earnest. I will not equivocate--I will not excuse--I will not retreat a +single inch--AND I WILL BE HEARD." With something of the egotism +that comes of courage in a holy cause, he said: "On this question my +influence, humble as it is, is felt at this moment to a considerable +thanks." The suites were the first of MacDowell's works to appear in +print.[1] + +[1] The "Two Old Songs," which bear an earlier opus number,--9,--were +composed at a much later period--a fact which is betrayed by their +style. + +The death of Raff on June 25, 1882, brought to MacDowell his first +profound sorrow. There was a deep attachment between pupil and master, +and MacDowell felt in Raff's death the loss of a sincere friend, and, +as he later came to appreciate, a powerful ally. The influential part +which Raff bore in turning MacDowell's aims definitely and permanently +toward creative rather than pianistic activity could scarcely be +overestimated. When he first went to Paris, and during the later years +in Germany, there had been little serious thought on his part, or on +the part of his family, concerning his composition; his evident talent +for piano-playing had persistently overshadowed his creative gifts, +and had made it seem that his inevitable career was that of a +virtuoso. As he wrote in after years: "I had acquired from early +boyhood the idea that it was expected of me to become a pianist, and +every moment spent in 'scribbling' seemed to be stolen from the more +legitimate work of piano practice." It was Raff--Raff, who said to him +once: "Your music will be played when mine is forgotten"--who opened +his eyes. + +The two following years,--from the summer of 1882 till the summer of +1884--were increasingly given over to composition, though MacDowell +continued his private teaching and made a few appearances in concert. +He continued to try his hand at orchestral writing, and in this +pursuit he was greatly favoured by the willingness of the conductors +of the _Cur-Orchesters_ at Baden-Baden, Wiesbaden, and elsewhere, to +"try over" in the rehearsal hour his experiments. His requests for +such a trial reading of his scores were seldom refused, and the +practical training in instrumentation which was afforded by the +experience he always regarded as invaluable. Much that he tested in +this manner was condemned as a result of the illuminating, if +chastening, revelations thus brought about; and almost all of his +orchestral writing which he afterward thought fit to publish received +the benefit of such practical tests. + +The music which dates from this period comprises the three songs of +opus 11 ("Mein Liebchen,"[2] "Du liebst mich nicht," "Oben, wo +die Sterne glühen"); the two songs of op. 12 ("Nachtlied" and "Das +Rosenband"); the Prelude and Fugue (op. 13); the second piano suite +(op. 14)--begun in the days of his Darmstadt professorship; the +"Serenade" (op. 16); the two "Fantasiestücke" of op. 17: +"Erzählung" and the much-played "Hexentanz"; the "Barcarolle" +and "Humoreske" of op. 18; and the "Wald-Idyllen" (op. 19): +"Waldesstille," "Spiel der Nymphen," "Träumerei," "Dryadentanz." + +[2] I give the German titles under which these compositions were +originally published. + +In June, 1884, MacDowell returned to America, and on July 21, at +Waterford, Connecticut, he was married to his former pupil, Miss +Marian Nevins--a union, which, for perfection of sympathy and +closeness of comradeship, was, during the quarter of a century for +which it was to endure, nothing less than ideal. A few days later +MacDowell and his bride sailed from New York for Europe, innocent of +any very definite plans for the immediate future. They visited Exeter +and Bath, and then went to London, where they found lodgings at No. 5, +Woburn Place. There MacDowell's interest in the outer world was +divided between the British Museum, where he found a particular +fascination in the Egyptian and Syrian antiquities, and the +Shakespearian performances of Henry Irving and Ellen Terry. He was +captivated by their performance of "Much Ado About Nothing," and made +a sketch for a symphonic poem which was to be called "Beatrice and +Benedick"--a plan which he finally abandoned. Most of the material +which was to form the symphonic poem went ultimately to the making of +the scherzo of the second piano concerto, composed during the +following year. + +Returning to Frankfort, MacDowell and his wife lived for a short time +in a pension in the Praunheimer Strasse, keeping very much to +themselves in two small rooms. Upon their return from a brief +excursion to Paris, they found less restricted quarters in the Hotel +du Nord. In September of this year MacDowell learned of an +advantageous position that had been vacated at the Würzburg +Conservatory, and, assisted by letters from Frau Raff, Marmontel (his +former instructor at the Paris Conservatory), and the violinist +Sauret, he sought the place. But again, as at Frankfort three years +before, his youth was in his disfavour, and he was courteously +rejected. + +[Illustration: A LETTER FROM LISZT TO MACDOWELL ACCEPTING THE +DEDICATION OF THE FIRST PIANO CONCERTO (SEE PAGE 19)] + +The following winter was given over largely to composition. The +two-part symphonic poem, "Hamlet and Ophelia," his first production of +important significance, was composed at this time. The "Drei +Poesien" (op. 20) and "Mondbilder" (op. 21), both written for +four-hand performance, also date from the winter of 1884-85, and the +second piano concerto was begun. The "Moon Pictures" of op. 21 ("The +Hindoo Maiden," "Stork's Story," "In Tyrol," "The Swan," "Visit of the +Bear"), after Hans Christian Andersen, were at first intended to form +a miniature orchestral suite; but an opportunity arose to have them +printed as piano duets, and the orchestral sketches were destroyed--a +regrettable outcome, as it seems. + +His pupils, he found, were scattered, and he gave himself up without +restraint to the pleasures of creative writing. These were days of +quiet and deep happiness. He read much, often aloud in the +evening--fairy-tales, of which he was devotedly fond, legendary lore +of different countries, mediaeval romances, Keats, Shelley, Tennyson, +Benvenuto Cellini's Memoirs, Victor Hugo, Heine; and also Mark Twain. +Later, in the spring, the days were devoted partly to composition and +partly to long walks with his wife in the beautiful Frankfort woods, +where was suggested to MacDowell the particular mood that found +embodiment, many years later, in one of the last things that he wrote: +"From a German Forest," in the collection of "Fireside Tales." + +The following summer (1885), the death of a friend of his earlier +Frankfort days, Lindsay Deas, a Scotchman, left vacant in Edinburgh +the post of examiner for the Royal Academy of Music, and Deas's family +presented MacDowell's name as a candidate. A trip to London was +undertaken for the purpose of securing the place, if possible--since +composition alone could not be depended upon for a livelihood; but +again his youth, as well as his nationality and his "modern +tendencies," militated against him. He was obliged to admit that he +had been a protégé of "that dreadful man Liszt," as the potentate of +Weimar was characterised by Lady Macfarren, an all-powerful factor in +the control of the institution; and that proving finally his +abandonment to a nefarious modernity, he was again rejected. + +Upon their return to Germany the MacDowells moved from Frankfort to +Wiesbaden, where they spent the winter of 1885-86, living in a small +pension. The first concerto (op. 15) had recently been published by +Breitkopf and Härtel. The same year (1885) was marked by the +completion of the second concerto in D-minor, begun at Frankfort in +the previous winter, and the publication by Breitkopf and Härtel of +the full score of "Hamlet and Ophelia,"[3] with a dedication to Henry +Irving and Ellen Terry, from whose performances in London MacDowell +had caught the suggestion for the music. In the summer of 1886 +MacDowell and his wife again yielded to their passion for travelling +and went to London to buy furniture, for they had wearied of living in +pensions and hotels and had determined to set up housekeeping. When +they returned they hired a little flat in the Jahnstrasse and +installed themselves therewith just enough furniture to give them +countenance. Here Mrs. MacDowell suffered an illness which threatened +for a time to bring a tragic termination to their happiness, and +through which the hope of a child was lost to them. + +[3] The published score of this opus bears the title (in German): +"Hamlet; Ophelia: Two Poems for Grand Orchestra." But MacDowell +afterward changed his mind concerning this designation, and preferred +to entitle the work: "First Symphonic Poem (a. 'Hamlet'; b. 'Ophelia')." +This alteration is written in MacDowell's handwriting in his copy of +the printed score. When "Lancelot and Elaine" was published three +years later it bore the sub-title: "Second Symphonic Poem." + +One afternoon in the spring of 1887 MacDowell and his friend Templeton +Strong, a brilliant American composer who had recently moved from his +home in Leipzig to Wiesbaden, were tramping through the country when +they came upon a dilapidated cottage on the edge of the woods, in the +Grubweg. It had been built by a rich German, not as a habitation, but +as a kind of elaborate summer house. The situation was enticing. The +little building stood on the side of the Neroberg, overlooking the +town on one side, with the Rhine and the Main beyond, and on the other +side the woods. The two Americans were captivated by it, and nothing +would do but that MacDowell should purchase it for a home. There was +some question of its practicability by his cooler-headed wife; but +eventually the cottage was bought, with half an acre of ground, and +the MacDowells ensconced themselves. There was a small garden, in +which MacDowell delighted to dig; the woods were within a stone's +throw; and he and Strong, who were inseparable friends, walked +together and disputed amicably concerning principles and methods of +music-making, and the need for patriotism, in which Strong was +conceived to be deficient. + +This was a time of rich productiveness for MacDowell; and the life +that he and his wife were able to live was of an ideal serenity and +detachment. He was now devoting his entire energy to composition. He +put forth during these years at Wiesbaden the four pieces of op. 24 +("Humoresque," "March," "Cradle Song," "Czardas"); the symphonic poem +"Lancelot and Elaine" (op. 25); the six songs, "From An Old Garden," +to words by Margaret Deland (op. 26); the three songs for male chorus +of op. 27 ("In the Starry Sky Above Us," "Springtime," "The +Fisherboy"); the "Idyls" and "Poems" for piano (op. 28 and op. 31), +after Goethe and Heine; the symphonic poem "Lamia" (op. 29); the two +"Fragments" for orchestra after the "Song of Roland": "The Saracens" +and "The Lovely Aldâ" (op. 30); the "Four Little Poems" for +piano--"The Eagle," "The Brook," "Moonshine," "Winter" (op. 32); the +three songs of op. 33 ("Prayer," "Cradle Hymn," "Idyl") and the two of +op. 34 ("Menie," "My Jean"); and the "Romance" for 'cello and +orchestra. He had, moreover, the satisfaction of knowing that his work +was being received, both in Europe and in his own country, with +interest and respect. His reputation had begun unmistakably to spread. +"Hamlet and Ophelia" had been performed at Darmstadt, Wiesbaden, +Baden-Baden, Sondershausen, Frankfort. On March 8, 1884, his former +teacher, Teresa Carreno, had played his second piano suite at a +recital in New York; in March of the following year two movements from +the first suite were played at an "American Concert" given at Princes' +Hall, London; on March 30, 1885, at one of Mr. Frank Van der Stucken's +"Novelty Concerts" in New York, Miss Adele Margulies played the second +and third movements from the first piano concerto. In the same year +Mme. Carreño played on tour in America three movements from the second +suite, and in the following September she played at the Worcester +Festival of that year the "Hexentanz" of op. 17. On November 4, +1886, the "Ophelia" section of op. 22 was performed at the first of +Mr. Van der Stucken's "Symphonic Concerts" at Chickering Hall, New +York. Mr. H.E. Krehbiel, reviewing the work in the _Tribune_, praised +the orchestration as "brilliant" ("though the models studied are +rather more obvious than we like"), the melodic invention as +"beautiful" and as having a poetical mood and characteristic outline. +He considered that the music deserved repetition during the course of +the season, and pronounced it "a finer work in every respect than the +majority of the novelties which have come to us this season with +French and English labels." Mr. Henry T. Finck, writing in the +_Evening Post_, characterised the work as "an exquisitely conceived +tone-poem, charmingly orchestrated and full of striking harmonic +progressions." A year after the performance of the "Ophelia" in New +York Mr. Van der Stucken produced its companion piece, "Hamlet." In +April, 1888, at the first of a course of "pianoforte-concerto +concerts" given by Mr. B.J. Lang at Chickering Hall, Boston, +MacDowell's first concerto was played by Mr. B.L. Whelpley. "The +effect upon all present," wrote Mr. W.F. Apthorp in the _Transcript_, +"was simply electric." The concerto "was a surprise, if ever there was +one. We can hardly," he declared, "recall a composition so full of +astonishing and unprecedented effects [it will be recalled that this +concerto was composed in 1882, when MacDowell was nineteen years old]. +The work was evidently written at white heat; its brilliancy and +vigour are astounding. The impression it made upon us, in other +respects, is as yet rather undigested... But its fire and forcibleness +are unmistakable." These opinions are of interest, for they testify to +the prompt and ungrudging recognition which was accorded to +MacDowell's work, from the first, by responsible critics in his own +country. + +He might well have felt some pride in the sum of his achievements at +this time. He had not completed his twenty-seventh year; yet he had +published a concerto and two orchestral works of important +dimensions--"Hamlet and Ophelia" and "Lancelot and Elaine"; most of +the music that he had so far written had been publicly performed, and +almost invariably praised with warmth; and he was becoming known in +Europe and at home. His material affairs, however, were far from being +in a satisfactory or promising condition; for there was little more +than a precarious income to be counted upon from his compositions; and +he had given up teaching. Musicians from America began coming to the +little Wiesbaden retreat to visit the composer and his wife, and he +was repeatedly urged to return to America and assume his share in the +development of the musical art of his country. It was finally decided +that, all things considered, conditions would be more favorable in the +United States; and in September, 1888, the MacDowells sold their +Wiesbaden cottage, not without many pangs, and sailed for their own +shores. + +[Illustration: MACDOWELL AND TEMPLETON STRONG +From a photograph taken at Wiesbaden in 1888] + +They settled in Boston, as being less huge and tumultuous than New +York, and took lodgings in Mount Vernon Street. In later years they +lived successively at 13 West Cedar Street and at 38 Chestnut Street. +Though all of his more important music was as yet unwritten, MacDowell +found himself already established in the view of the musical public as +a composer abundantly worthy of honour at the hands of his countrymen. +He made his first public appearance in America, in the double capacity +of pianist and composer, at a Kneisel Quartet concert in Chickering +Hall, Boston, on November 19, 1888, playing the Prelude, Intermezzo, +and Presto from his first piano suite, and, with Kneisel and his +associates, the piano part in Goldmark's B-flat Quintet. He was +cordially received, and Mr. Apthorp, writing in the _Transcript_ of +his piano playing, praised his technique as "ample and brilliant," and +as being especially admirable "in the higher phases of playing"; "he +plays," wrote this critic, "with admirable truth of sentiment and +musical understanding." Of the early and immature suite he could not +well write with much enthusiasm, though he found in it "life and +brightness." + +In the following spring MacDowell made a more auspicious appearance, +and one which more justly disclosed his abilities as a composer, +when, on March 5, he played his second concerto, for the first time +in public, at an orchestral concert in Chickering Hall, New York, +under the direction of Mr. Theodore Thomas. His success was then +immediate and emphatic. Mr. Krehbiel, in the _Tribune_, praised the +concerto as "a splendid composition, so full of poetry, so full of +vigor, as to tempt the assertion that it must be placed at the head +of all works of its kind produced by either a native or adopted +citizen of America"; and he confessed to having "derived keener +pleasure from the work of the young American than from the +experienced and famous Russian"--Tchaikovsky, whose Fifth Symphony +was performed then for the first time in New York. "Several +enthusiastic and unquestionably sincere recalls," concluded the +writer, "were the tokens of gratitude and delight with which his +townspeople rewarded him." A month later MacDowell played the same +concerto in Boston, at a Symphony concert, under Mr. Gericke; his +performance of it evoked "rapt attention," and "the very heartiest of +plaudits, in which both orchestra and audience joined." + +In the summer of that year (1889) MacDowell and his wife went abroad. +He had been invited to take part in an "American Concert" at the Paris +Exposition, and on July 12, under Mr. Van der Stucken's direction, he +played his second concerto.[4] After a short stay on the continent, he +returned with his wife to America. + +[4] The rest of the programme, it may be interesting to note, +contained Arthur Foote's overture, "In the Mountains," Van der +Stucken's suite, "The Tempest," Chadwick's "Melpomene" overture, +Paine's "Oedipus Tyrannus" prelude, a romance and polonaise for violin +and orchestra by Henry Holden Huss, and songs by Margaret Ruthven +Lang, Dudley Buck, Chadwick, Foote, Van der Stucken. The concert ended +with an "_ouverture festivale sur l'Hymne Américaine_, 'The Star +Spangled Banner,'" by Dudley Buck. + +MacDowell found in Boston a considerable field for his activity as +pianist and teacher. He took many private pupils, and he made, during +the eight years that he remained there, many public appearances in +concert. In composition, these years were the most fruitful of his +life. He wrote during this period the Concert Study for piano (op. +36); the set of pieces after Victor Hugo's "Les Orientales" (op. +37)--"Clair de lune," "Dans le Hamac," "Danse Andalouse"; the +"Marionettes" (op. 38); the "Twelve Studies" of op. 39; the "Six Love +Songs" (op. 40); the two songs for male chorus (op. 41)--"Cradle Song" +and "Dance of the Gnomes"; the orchestral suite in A-minor (op. 42) +and its supplement, "In October" (op. 42-A);[5] the "Two Northern +Songs" and "Barcarolle" (op. 43 and op. 44) for mixed voices; the +"Sonata Tragica" (op. 45); the 12 "Virtuoso Studies" of op. 46; the +"Eight Songs" (op. 47); the second ("Indian") suite for orchestra; the +"Air" and "Rigaudon" (op. 49) for piano; the "Sonata Eroica" (op. 50); +and the "Woodland Sketches" (op. 51). This output did not contain his +most mature and characteristic works--those were to come later, during +the last six years of his creative activity; yet the product was in +many ways a notable one, and some of it--the two sonatas, the "Indian" +suite, the songs of op. 47, the "Woodland Sketches"--was, if not +consistently of his very best, markedly fine and characteristic in +quality. This decade (from 1887 to 1897) saw also the publication of +all his work contained between his op. 22 ("Hamlet and Ophelia") and +op. 51 (the "Woodland Sketches") with the exception of the symphonic +poem "Lamia," which was not published until after his death. + +[5] This episode formed part of the suite in its original form, but +was not printed until several years after the publication of the rest +of the music. The earlier portion, comprising four parts ("In a +Haunted Forest," "Summer Idyll," "The Shepherdess' Song," "Forest +Spirits"), was published in 1891, the supplement in 1893. + +Meanwhile his prestige grew steadily. Each new work that he put forth +met with a remarkable measure of success, both among the general +public and at the hands of many not over-complacent critical +appraisers. On January 10, 1890, his "Lancelot and Elaine" was played +at a Boston Symphony concert under Mr. Nikisch. In September, 1891, +his orchestral suite in A-minor (op. 42) was performed for the first +time at the Worcester Festival, and a month later it was played in +Boston at a Symphony concert under Mr. Nikisch. In November of the +same year the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra, under Bernhard Listemann, +performed for the first time, at the Tremont Theatre, his "Roland" +pieces, "The Saracens" and "The Lovely Aldâ." On the following +day--November 6, 1891--he gave his first piano recital, playing, in +addition to pieces by Bach, Schubert, Schumann, Templeton Strong, P. +Geisler, Alabieff, and Liszt, his own "Witches' Dance," "Shadow Dance" +(op. 39), "The Eagle," the Étude in F-sharp (op. 36), the Prelude from +the first suite, and the fourth of the "Idyls" after Goethe. He +followed this with a second recital in January, 1892, at which he +played, among other things, the "Winter," "Moonshine," and "The +Brook," from the "Four Little Poems" (op. 32). Discussing the first of +these recitals, Mr. Philip Hale (in the _Boston Post_) wrote these +words, which have a larger application than their reference to +MacDowell: "No doubt, as a composer, he has studied and mastered form +and knows its value; but he prefers suggestions and hints and dream +pictures and sleep-chasings to all attempts to be original in an +approved and conventional fashion.... They [his compositions] are +interesting, and more than that: they are extremely characteristic in +harmonic colouring. Their size has nothing to do with their merits. A +few lines by Gautier stuffed with prismatic words and yet as vague as +mist-wreaths may in artistic worth surpass whole cantos of more famous +poets; and Mr. MacDowell has Gautier's sense of colour and knowledge +of the power of suggestion." His performance "was worthy of the +warmest praise ... seeing gorgeous or delicate colours and hearing the +voices of orchestral instruments, it is no wonder that Mr. MacDowell +is a pianist of rare fascination." On January 28, 1893, the "Hamlet +and Ophelia" was played, for the first time in Boston, by the Symphony +Orchestra under Mr. Nikisch; but a more important event was the first +performance[6] two months later of the "Sonata Tragica," which +MacDowell played at a Kneisel Quartet concert in Chickering Hall. +Concerning the sonata Mr. Apthorp wrote: "One feels genius in it +throughout--and we are perfectly aware that _genius_ is not a term to +be used lightly. The composer," he added, "played it superbly, +magnificently." MacDowell achieved one of the conspicuous triumphs of +his career on December 14, 1894, when he played his second concerto +with the Philharmonic Society of New York, under the direction of +Anton Seidl. He won on this occasion, recorded Mr. Finck in the +_Evening Post_, "a success, both as pianist and composer, such as no +American musician has ever won before a metropolitan concert audience. +A Philharmonic audience can be cold when it does not like a piece or a +player; but Mr. MacDowell ... had an ovation such as is accorded only +to a popular prima donna at the opera. Again and again he had to get +up and bow after every movement of his concerto; again and again was +he recalled at the close ... For once a prophet has had great honour +in his own country ... He played with that splendid kind of virtuosity +which makes one forget the technique." Concerning the concerto, Mr. +W.J. Henderson wrote (in the _Times_) that it was difficult to speak +of it "in terms of judicial calmness, for it is made of the stuff that +calls for enthusiasm. There need be no hesitation," he continued, "in +saying that Mr. MacDowell in this work fairly claims the position of +an American master. We may have no distinctive school of music, but +here is one young man who has placed himself on a level with the men +owned by the world. This D-minor concerto is a strong, wholesome, +beautiful work of art, vital with imagination, and made with masterly +skill." And Mr. James Huneker observed that "it easily ranks with any +modern work in this form. Dramatic in feeling, moulded largely, and +its themes musically eloquent, it sounds a model of its kind--the kind +which Johannes Brahms gave the world over thirty years ago in his +D-minor concerto." In March of the following year MacDowell gave two +piano recitals in the Madison Square Garden Concert Hall, New York, +playing, beside a number of his smaller pieces, his "Tragica" sonata, +which made, if anything, an even profounder impression than it had +made in Boston two years before. Probably the most signal of the +honours that came to him at this time was paid him when the Boston +Symphony Orchestra placed both his "Indian" suite and his first +concerto on the programme of its New York concert on January 23, 1896, +at the Metropolitan Opera House. + +[6] A single movement of the "Sonata Tragica," the third, was played +by MacDowell in Boston on March 18, 1892, at the last of the three +recitals which he gave in that season at Chickering Hall. + +In the spring of 1896 it was determined to found a department of music +at Columbia University, New York. This was made possible by a fund of +$150,000 given to the trustees by Mrs. Elizabeth Mary Ludow, with the +proviso that the income was to be applied in such ways as should "tend +more effectually to elevate the standard of musical instruction in the +United States, and to afford the most favourable opportunity for +acquiring musical instruction of the highest order." In May of that +year the professorship was offered to MacDowell, the committee who had +the appointment in charge announcing the consensus of their opinion to +be that he was "the greatest musical genius America has produced." +MacDowell, though he valued greatly the honour of his selection, +considered anxiously the advisability of accepting the post. He now +had more pupils than he could take, and his pecuniary circumstances +would not be improved by the change, save that a settled income would +be assured to him. This was of course a tempting prospect; on the +other hand, the task of organizing _de novo_ a new department in a +large university, and the curtailed freedom which the position would +necessitate, made him hesitate. But the assurance of an income free +from precariousness finally decided him in favour of acceptance; and +in the following autumn he moved from Boston to New York, and began +his duties at Columbia. + +That he undertook his labours there, from the start, in no casual or +perfunctory spirit, is made clear by the bare record of his activity. +For the first two years of his incumbency he had no assistant, carrying +all the work of his department on his own shoulders. He devoted from +eight to ten hours a week to lectures and class-work; and this +represented but a small proportion of the time and labour expended in +establishing the new department. The aim of the instruction was to be +twofold. "First, to teach music scientifically and technically, with a +view to training musicians who shall be competent to teach and to +compose. Second, to treat music historically and aesthetically as an +element of liberal culture." This plan involved five courses of study, +and a brief description of them will indicate the scope of the task +undertaken by MacDowell. + +There was to be, first, a "general musical course," consisting of +lectures and private reading, with illustrations. This course, while +"outlining the purely technical side of music," aimed at giving "a +general idea of music from its historical and aesthetic side," and it +treated of "the beginnings of music, the Greek modes and their +evolution, systems of notation, the Troubadours and Minnesingers, +counterpoint and fugue, beginnings of opera, the clavecinists, +beginnings of programme music, harmony, beginnings of the modern +orchestra, evolution of forms, the symphony and opera up to +Beethoven." A second course (this was not begun until the following +year) treated "of the development of forms, the song, romanticism, +instrumental development, and the composers for pianoforte, +revolutionary influences, the virtuoso, modern orchestration and +symphonic forms, the music-drama, impressionism versus absolute music, +color _versus_ form, the relationship of music to the other arts, +musical criticism." A third course treated of "general theory, +dictation, harmony, comprising chords and their mutual significance, +altered chords, suspensions, modulation, imitation, analysis, and the +commencement of composition in the smaller forms." A fourth course +comprised, in the first term, counterpoint, canon, choral figuration, +and fugue; in the second term, "free counterpoint, canon and fugue, +analysis, commencement of composition in the larger forms." The fifth +course treated of "free composition, analysis, instrumentation, +symphonic forms," and the study of "all the orchestral and other +instruments, considered collectively and individually," together with +demonstrations of their "technique, possibilities, and limitations." + +At the end of the second year an assistant was appointed--a gentleman +who had been a student in the department. To him were entrusted the +classes in rudimentary harmony, dictation, and chord-analysis: and to +this extent he relieved MacDowell until the latter had his sabbatical +vacation in 1902-03; he then took over the classes in strict +counterpoint; but all the more advanced courses were discontinued +until MacDowell's return. Even with an assistant, however, MacDowell +found his labours very far from being light. In his third year +(1898-99) he still gave five courses of two hours a week each, with +the exception of a single one-hour course. For these no less than +eighty-six students were registered; and in the following year, +fifty-two students were registered in one of the courses. In 1901-02 +he gave six courses: a general course in musical culture, for which he +had thirty-seven students; an advanced course in musical culture, for +which he had fourteen students; a course in counterpoint, twelve +students; in orchestration, twelve students; in practical composition, +thirteen students; in free compositions, two students. This continued +to be, in general, his work until he resigned in 1904. To these +labours he added the appalling drudgery of correcting examination +books and exercises--a task which he performed with unflagging +patience and invariable thoroughness. Some of his friends remember +seeing him at this particular labour, and they recall "the weary, +tired, though interested face; the patient trying-over and +annotating." In addition to his regular duties, he devoted every +Sunday morning to receiving students in the more advanced courses who +were invited to come to him for help in their composition and piano +work. He was, as his friend Hamlin Garland has said, "temperate in all +things but work--in that he was hopelessly prodigal." + +These facts are worth stating in detail; for it has been said that +MacDowell had no drudgery to perform at Columbia; that he had few +students, and that the burden of the teaching work was borne by his +assistant. The impression has gone abroad that he had little didactic +capacity, that he was disinclined toward and disqualified for +methodical work. It cannot, of course, be said that his inclinations +tended irresistibly toward pedagogy, or that he loved routine. Yet +that he had uncommon gifts as a teacher, that he was singularly +methodical in his manner of work, are facts that are beyond question. +His students have testified to the strikingly suggestive and +illuminating manner in which his instruction was imparted. His +lectures, which he wrote out in full, are remarkable for the amount of +sheer "brain-stuff" that was expended upon them. They are erudite, +accurate, and scholarly; they are original in thought, they are lucid +and stimulating in their presentation and interpretation of fact, and +they are often admirable in expression. They would reflect uncommon +credit upon a writer who had given his life to the critical, +historical, and philosophical study of music; as the work of a man who +had been primarily absorbed in making music, rather than in discussing +it, they are extraordinary. + +As conveying an idea of MacDowell's methods in the class-room I cannot +do better than quote from a vivid account of him in this aspect +written by one of his pupils, Miss J.S. Watson: + +"A crowd of noisy, expectant students sat in the lecture room +nervously eyeing the door and the clock by turns. The final +examination in course I of the Department of Music was in progress in +the back room, the door of which opened at intervals as one pupil came +out and another went in. The examination was oral and private, and +when the door closed behind me Professor MacDowell, who was standing +at the open window, turned with a smile and motioned me toward a +chair. In a pedagogic sense it was not a regular examination. There +was something beautifully human in the way the professor turned the +traditional stiff and starched catechism into a delightfully informal +chat, in which the faburden, the Netherland School, early notation, +the great clavichord players, suites and sonatas, formed the main +topics. The questions were put in such an easy, charming way that I +forgot to be frightened; forgot everything but the man who walked +rapidly about the room with his hands in his pockets and his head +tipped slightly to one side; who talked animatedly and looked intently +at the floor; but the explanations and suggestions were meant for me. +When I tripped upon the beginning of notation for instruments, he +looked up quickly and said, 'Better look that up again; that's +important.' + +"At the lectures Professor MacDowell's aim had been to emphasise those +things that had served to mark the bright spots in the growth and +advancement of music as an intelligible language. How well I recall my +impression on the occasion of my first visit to the lectures, and +afterwards! There was no evidence of an æsthetic side to the equipment +of the lecture room. At the end it was vast and glaringly white, and +except for an upright piano and a few chairs placed near the +lecturer's table the room was empty. Ten or twelve undergraduates, +youths of eighteen or twenty, and twenty or more special students and +auditors, chiefly women, were gathered here. The first lectures, +treating of the archaic beginnings of music, might have easily fallen +into a business-like recital of dates, but Professor MacDowell never +sank into the passionless routine of lecture giving. His were not the +pedantic discourses students link most often to university chairs. +They were beautifully illuminating talks, delivered with so much +freedom and such a rush of enthusiasm that one felt that the hour +never held all that wanted to be said, and the abundant knowledge, in +its longing to get out, kept spilling over into the to-morrows. + +"His ideas were not tied up in a manuscript, nor doled out from notes. +They came untrammelled from a wonderfully versatile mind, and were +illustrated with countless musical quotations and interlined with a +wealth of literary and historical references. There was no regular +textbook; some students carried a Rockstro or a Hunt, but the majority +depended upon the references made during the lectures. These were +numerous, and gave a broad view of this speculative period in musical +history. + +"Music was brought from behind the centuries and spread before us like +a huge map. Whatever meaning lay hidden under the musical theories of +the ancients was explained in a clear and conscientious way. Short +decisive sentences swept into every obscure corner, and from all sides +we saw reflected Professor MacDowell's resolute spirit and sincerity +of purpose.... + +"To illustrate [a point in connection with a discussion of popular +music], Professor MacDowell went to the piano to play 'A Hot Time in +the Old Town To-night.' After playing a few measures, he turned +abruptly toward the class, saying: 'Why, that isn't it! What is it I +am playing?' Someone answered 'Annie Rooney.' Facing us with a droll +smile, he asked if there was anyone present who could play 'A Hot +Time.' A dozen boys rushed forward and the one who gained the chair +dashed it off with the abandon of a four weeks' old freshman ... + +"The lectures on musical form were distinguished by many brilliant +demonstrations of MacDowell's genius. The ease and rapidity with which +he flashed his thoughts upon the blackboard were both inspiring and +bewildering to the student who must grope his way through notes before +he can reach an idea. If any were unwise enough to stop even for a +moment to catch these spontaneous thoughts as they flew along the +staff, they were very apt upon looking up to see them vanishing like +phantoms in a cloud of white chalk. At the same time he made +sarabandes, gavottes, minuets, chaconnes, passepieds, gigues, +polonaises and rondos dance across the piano in quick succession; and +his comments were as spirited as his playing. + +"Professor MacDowell's criticisms were clear and forceful, and filled +with many surprising and humorous touches. Of Bach he said, 'Bach +spoke in close, scientific, contrapuntal language. He was as emotional +and romantic as Chopin, Wagner or Tchaikovsky; his emotion was +expressed in the language of his time. Young women who say they adore +Bach play him like a sum in mathematics. They find a grim pleasure in +it, like biting on a sore tooth.' + +"He never approached the piano like a conqueror. He had a nervous way +of saying that he didn't know whether things would go, because he had +had no time to practise. After an apologetic little preamble, he would +sit down and play these rococo bits of trailing sound with fingers +dipped in lightning, fingers that flashed over the keys in perfect +evenness and with perfect sureness. + +"The closing lectures were in reality delightfully informal concerts +for which the class began to assemble as early as 8.30 in the morning. +By 9.30 every student would be in his chair, which he had dragged as +near to the piano as the early suburbanite would let him. Someone at +the window would say, 'Here he comes!' and, entering the room with a +huge bundle of music under one arm and his hat in his hand, MacDowell +would deposit them on the piano and turn to us with his gracious +smile. Then, instead of sitting down, he would continue to walk up and +down the room, his thoughts following, apparently, the pace set by his +energetic steps. He had an abundant word supply and his short, terse +sentences were easy to follow." + +This is not the picture of a man who was unqualified for his task, or +indifferent, rebellious, or inept in its performance; it is the +picture of a man of vital and electric temperament, with almost a +genius--certainly with an extraordinary gift--for teaching. His ideals +were lofty; he dreamed of a relationship between university +instruction and a liberal public culture which was not to be realised +in his time. He was anything but complacent; had he been less +intolerant in his hatred of unintelligent and indolent thought on the +subjects that were near his heart, his way would have been made far +easier. + +The results of his labours at the university, he finally came to feel, +did not warrant the expenditure of the vitality and time that he was +devoting to them. He was, in a sense, an anachronism in the position +in which he found himself. Both in his ideals and in his plans for +bringing about their fulfilment he had reached beyond his day. The +field was not yet ripe for his best efforts. It became clear to him +that he could not make his point of view operative in what he +conceived as the need for a reformation of conditions affecting his +work; and on January 18, 1904, after long and anxious deliberation and +discussion with his wife, he tendered his resignation as head of the +department. His attitude in the matter was grievously misunderstood +and misrepresented at the time, to his poignant distress and +harassment. The iron entered deeply into his soul: it was the +forerunner of tragedy. + +When he took up his work at Columbia his activity as a concert pianist +had, of course, to be virtually suspended. With the exception of two +short tours of a few weeks' each, he gave up his public appearances +altogether until the year of his sabbatical vacation (1902-03). In +December, 1902, he went on an extensive concert tour, which took him +as far west as San Francisco and occupied all of that winter. The +following spring and summer were spent Abroad, in England and on the +Continent. In London he appeared in concert, playing his second +concerto with the Philharmonic Society on May 14. He returned to +America in October, and resumed his work at Columbia. + +Meanwhile his composition had continued uninterruptedly. Indeed, the +eight years during which he held his Columbia professorship were, in a +creative sense, the most important of his life; for to this period +belong the "Sea Pieces" (op. 55), the two superb sonatas, the "Norse" +(op. 57) and the "Keltic" (op. 59), and the best of his songs--the +four of op. 56 ("Long Ago," "The Swan Bent Low to the Lily," "A Maid +Sings Light," "As the Gloaming Shadows Creep"), and the three of op. +58 ("Constancy," "Sunrise," "Merry Maiden Spring"): a product which +contains the finest flower of his inspiration, the quintessence of +his art.[7] He wrote also during these years the three songs of op. +60 ("Tyrant Love," "Fair Springtide," "To the Golden Rod"); the +"Fireside Tales" (op. 61); the "New England Idyls" (op. 62); numerous +part-songs, transcriptions, arrangements; and, finally, the greater +part of a suite for string orchestra which he never finished to his +satisfaction: in fact, nearly one quarter of the bulk of his entire +work was composed during these eight years. During this period, +moreover, was published all of the music hitherto unprinted which he +cared to preserve. + +[7] The only one of his works of equal calibre which does not, +strictly speaking, belong to this period is the set of "Woodland +Sketches"; these were composed during the last part of his stay in +Boston, and were published in the year (1896) of his removal to New +York. + +He had bought in 1896 a piece of property near the town of Peterboro, +in southern New Hampshire, consisting of a small farmhouse, some +out-buildings, fifteen acres of arable land, and about fifty acres of +forest. The buildings he consolidated and made over into a rambling +and comfortable dwelling-house; and in this rural "asyl" (as Wagner +would have called it), surrounded by the woods and hills that he +loved, he spent his summers from then until the end of his life. There +most of his later music was written, in a small log cabin which he +built, in the heart of the woods, for use as a workshop. Thus his +summers were devoted to composition, and his winters to the arduous +though absorbing labours of his professorship; in addition, he taught +in private a few classes for which he made time in that portion of the +day which was not taken up by his sessions at the university. During +his first two winters in New York he also served as conductor of the +Mendelssohn Glee Club, and he was for a time president of the +Manuscript Society, an association of American composers. Altogether, +it was a scheme of living which permitted him virtually no opportunity +for the rest and idleness which he imperatively needed. + +In New York the MacDowells' home was, during the first year, a house +in 88th Street, near Riverside Drive. Later they lived at the Majestic +Hotel; but during most of the Columbia years--from 1898 till +1902--they occupied an apartment at 96th Street and Central Park West. +After their return from the sabbatical vacation abroad they lived for +a year at the Westminster Hotel in Irving Place, and for a year in an +apartment house on upper Seventh Avenue, near Central Park. When that +was sold and torn down they returned to the Westminster; and there +MacDowell's last days were spent. + +After he left Columbia in 1904, he continued his private piano classes +(at some of which he gave free tuition to poor students in whose +talent he had confidence). He should have rested--should have ceased +both his teaching and his composing; for he was in a threatening +condition. Had he spent a year in a sanitarium, or had he stopped all +work completely and taken even a brief vacation, he might have averted +the collapse which was to come. In the spring of 1905 he began to +manifest alarming signs of nervous exhaustion. A summer in Peterboro +brought no improvement. That autumn his ailment was seen to be far +more deeply seated than had been supposed. There were indications of +an obscure brain lesion, baffling but sinister. Then began a very +gradual, progressive, and infinitely pathetic decline--the slow +beginning of the end. He suffered little pain, and until the last +months he preserved in an astonishing degree his physical well-being. +It was clear almost from the start that he was beyond the aid of +medical science, even the boldest and most expert. A disintegration of +the brain-tissues had begun--an affection to which specialists +hesitated to give a precise name, but which they recognized as +incurable. His mind became as that of a little child. He sat quietly, +day after day, in a chair by a window, smiling patiently from time to +time at those about him, turning the pages of a book of fairy tales +that seemed to give him a definite pleasure, and greeting with a +fugitive gleam of recognition certain of his more intimate friends. +Toward the last his physical condition became burdensome, and he sank +rapidly. At nine o'clock on the evening of January 23, 1908, in the +beginning of his forty-seventh year, he died at the Westminster Hotel, +New York, in the presence of the heroic woman who for almost a quarter +of a century had been his devoted companion, counsellor, helpmate, and +friend. After such simple services as would have pleased him, held at +St. George's Episcopal Church, on January 25, his body was taken to +Peterboro; and on the following day, a Sunday, he was buried in the +sight of many of his neighbours, who had followed in procession, on +foot, the passage of the body through the snow-covered lane from the +village. His grave is on an open hill-top, commanding one of the +spacious and beautiful views that he had loved. On a bronze tablet are +these lines of his own, which he had devised as a motto for his "From +a Log Cabin," the last music that he wrote: + + "A house of dreams untold, + It looks out over the whispering tree-tops + And faces the setting sun." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +PERSONAL TRAITS AND VIEWS + + +In his personal intercourse with the world, MacDowell, like so many +sensitive and gifted men, had the misfortune to give very often a +wholly false account of himself. In reality a man of singularly +lovable personality, and to his intimates a winning and delightful +companion, he lacked utterly the social gift, that capacity for ready +and tactful address which, even for men of gifts, is not without its +uses. It was a deficiency (if a deficiency it is) which undoubtedly +cost him much in a material sense. Had he possessed this serviceable +and lubricant quality it would often have helpfully smoothed his path. +For those who could penetrate behind the embarrassed and painful +reticence that was for him both an impediment and an unconscious +shield, he gave lavishly of the gifts of temperament and spirit which +were his; even that lack of ready address, of social adaptability and +adjustment, which it is possible to deplore in him, was, for those who +knew him and valued him, a not uncertain element of charm: for it was +akin to the shyness, the absence of assertiveness, the entirely +genuine modesty, which were of his dominant traits. Yet in his contact +with the outer world this incurable shyness sometimes, as I have said, +led him into giving a grotesquely untrue impression of himself: he was +at times _gauche_, blunt, awkwardly infelicitous in speech or silence, +when he would have wished, as he knew perfectly how, to be +considerate, gentle, sympathetic, responsive. On the other hand, his +shyness and reticence were seemingly contradicted by a downright +bluntness, a deliberate frankness in matters of opinion in which his +convictions were involved; for his views were most positively held and +his convictions were often passionate in intensity, and he declared +them, upon occasion, with an utter absence of diplomacy, compromise, +or equivocation; with a superb but sometimes calamitous disregard of +his own interests. + +[Illustration: MACDOWELL IN 1892] + +Confident and positive to a fault in his adherence to and expression +of his principles, he was as morbidly dubious concerning his own +performances as he was uneasy under praise. He was tortured by doubts +of the value of each new work that he completed, after the flush and +ardour generated in its actual expression had passed; and he listened +to open praise of it in evident discomfort. I have a memory of him on +a certain occasion in a private house following a recital at which he +had played, almost for the first time, his then newly finished +"Keltic" Sonata. Standing in the center of a crowded room, surrounded +by enthusiastically effusive strangers who were voluble--and not +overpenetrating--in their expressions of appreciation, he presented a +picture of unhappiness, of mingled helplessness and discomfort, which +was almost pathetic in its genuineness of woe. I was standing near +him, and during a momentary lull in the amiable siege of which he was +the distressed object, he whispered tragically to me: "Can't we get +out of this?--Do you know the way to the back door?" I said I did, and +led him through an inconspicuous doorway into a comparatively deserted +corridor behind the staircase. I procured for him, through the +strategic employment of a passing servant, something to eat, and we +staid in concealment there until the function had come to an end, and +his wife had begun to search for him. He was quite happy, consuming +his salad and beer behind the stairs and telling me in detail his +conception of certain of the figures of Celtic mythology which he had +had in mind while composing his sonata. + +To visitors at his house in Peterboro, he said one morning, on leaving +them, "I am going to the cabin to write some of my rotten melodies!" +He was sincerely distrustful concerning the worth of any composition +which he had finished; especially so, of course, concerning his more +youthful performances. He once sent a frantic telegram to Teresa +Carreño, upon learning from an announcement that she was to play his +early Concert Étude (op. 36) for the first time: "Don't put that +dreadful thing on your programme"; and for certain of his more popular +and hackneyed pieces, as the "Hexentanz" and the much-mauled and +over-sentimental song, "Thy Beaming Eyes," he had a detestation that +was amusing in its virulence. He regretted at times that his earlier +orchestral works--"Hamlet and Ophelia" and "Lancelot and Elaine"--had +been published; and he was invariably tormented by questionings and +misgivings after he had committed even his ripest work to his +publisher. Only the assurances of his wise and devoted wife at times +prevented him from recalling a completed work. Yet he was always +touched, delighted, and genuinely cheered by what he felt to be +sincere and thoughtful praise. To a writer who had published an +admiring article concerning some of his later music he wrote: + + "MY DEAR MR.----: + + "Your article was forwarded to me after all. I wish to thank you + for the warm-hearted and sympathetic enthusiasm which prompted + your writing it. While my outgivings have always been sincere, I + feel only too often their inadequacy to express my ideals; thus + what you speak of as accomplishment I fear is often but attempt. + Certainly your sympathy for my aims is most welcome and precious + to me, and I thank you again most heartily." + +Those who knew the man only through his music have thought of him as +wholly a dreamer and a recluse, a poet brooding in detachment, and +unfriendly to the pedestrian and homely things of the world. Nothing +could be further from the truth. He was overflowingly human, notably +full-blooded. On his "farm" (as he called it) at Peterboro he lived, +when he was not composing, a robust and vigorous outdoor life. He was +an ardent sportsman, and he spent much of his time in the woods and +fields, fishing, riding, walking, hunting. He had a special relish for +gardening and for photography, and he liked to undertake laborious +jobs in carpentry, at which he was quite deft. That his feeling for +the things of the natural world was acutely sensitive and coloured by +imagination and emotion is abundantly evidenced in his music. He was +fond of taking long, leisurely drives and rides through the rich and +varied hill country about Peterboro, and many of the impressions that +were then garnered and stored have found issue in some of his most +intimate and affecting music--as in the "Woodland Sketches" and "New +England Idyls." He had an odd, naive tenderness for growing things and +for the creatures of the woods: it distressed him to have his wife +water some of the flowers in the garden without watering them all; and +though an excellent shot, he never brought down game without a +pang--it used to be said at Peterboro that for this reason he only +"pretended to hunt," despite his expertness as a marksman. + +In his intellectual interests and equipment he presented a striking +contrast to the brainlessness of the average musician. His tastes were +singularly varied and catholic. An omnivorous reader of poetry, an +inquisitive delver in the byways of mediæval literature, an authority +in mythological detail, he was at the same time keenly interested in +contemporary affairs. He read, and discussed with eagerness and +acumen, scientific, economic, and historical deliverances; and he +enjoyed books of travel, biographies, dramatic literature. Mark Twain +he adored, and delighted to quote, and almost to the end of his life +he read with inexhaustible pleasure Joel Chandler Harris's "Uncle +Remus." In the later years of his activity he fell captive to the new +and unaccustomed music of Fiona Macleod's exquisite prose and verse; +he wanted to dedicate his "New England Idyls" to the author of +"Pharais" and "From the Hills of Dream," and wrote for her permission; +but the identity of the mysterious author was then jealously guarded, +and his letter must have gone astray; for it was never answered. + +His erudition was extraordinary. He exemplified in a marked degree the +truth that the typical modern music-maker touches hands with the whole +body of culture and the humanities in a sense which would have been +simply incredible to Mozart or Schubert. He was, intellectually, one +of the most fully and brilliantly equipped composers in the history of +musical art. He had read widely and curiously in many literatures, and +the knowledge which he had acquired he applied to the elucidation of +aesthetic and philosophical problems touching the theory and practice +of music. He had meditated deeply concerning the art of which he was +always a tireless student--had come to conclusions concerning its +actual and assumed records, its tendencies, its potentialities. He was +a vigorous and original critic, and he had shrewd, cogent, and +clear-cut reasons for the particular views at which he had arrived; +whether one could always agree with them or not, they invariably +commanded respect. Yet his erudition was seldom displayed. One came +upon it unexpectedly in conversation with him, through the accident of +some reference or the discussion of some disputed point of fact. + +In his appearance MacDowell suggested a fusion of Scandinavian and +American types. His eyes, of a light and brilliant blue, were perhaps +his most salient feature. They betrayed his inextinguishable humour. +When he was amused--and he was seldom, in conversation, grave for +long--they lit up with an extraordinary animation; he had an +unconscious trick of blinking them rapidly once or twice, with the +effect of a fugitive twinkle, which was oddly infectious. His laugh, +too, was communicative; he did not often laugh aloud; his enjoyment +found vent in a low, rich chuckle, which, with the lighting up of his +eyes, was wholly and immediately irresistible. The large head, the +strong, rather boyish face, with its singular mobility and often +sweetness of expression, the bright, vital eyes, set wide apart, the +abundant (though not long), dark hair tinged with grey, the white +skin, the sensitive mouth, rather large and full-lipped, the strong +jaws, the sturdy and athletic build,--he was somewhat above medium +height, with broad shoulders, powerful arms, and large, muscular, +finely shaped hands,--his general air of physical soundness and +vigour: all these combined to form an outer personality that was +strongly attractive. His movements were quick and decisive. To +strangers, even when he felt at ease, his manner was diffident, yet of +an indescribable, almost childlike, simplicity and charm. His voice in +speaking was low-pitched and subdued, like his laugh; in conversation, +when he was entirely himself, he could be brilliantly effective and +witty, and his mirth-loving propensities were irrepressible. + +His sense of humour, which was of true Celtic richness, was fluent and +inexhaustible. To an admirer who had affirmed in print that certain +imaginative felicities in some of the verse which he wrote for his +songs recalled at moments the phrasing of Whitman and Shakespeare, he +wrote: + + "I will confide in you that if, in the next world, I should happen + upon the wraiths of Shakespeare, Whitman, and Co., I would light + out without delay. Good heavens! I blush at the thought of it! A + header through a cloud would be the only thing.--Seriously, I was + deeply touched by your praise and wish I were more worthy." + +His pupil and friend, Mr. W.H. Humiston, recalls that, in going over +MacDowell's sketchbooks and manuscripts after his death, he found that +many of the manuscripts had been rewritten several times: "I would +find a movement begun and continued for half a page, then it would be +broken off suddenly, and a remark like this written at the end:--'Hand +organ to the rescue!'" + +I told him once that I had first heard his "To a Wild Rose" played by +a high-school girl, on a high-school piano, at a high-school +graduation festivity. "Well," he remarked, with his sudden +illumination, "I suppose she pulled it up by the roots!" Some one sent +him at about this time, relates Mr. Humiston, a programme of an organ +recital which contained this same "Wild Rose" piece. "He was not +pleased with the idea, having in mind the expressionless organ of a +dozen years ago when only a small portion of most organs was enclosed +in a swell-box. Doubtless thinking also of a style of organ +performance which plays Schumann's _Träumerei_ on the great organ +diapasons, he said it made him think of a hippopotamus wearing a +clover leaf in his mouth." + +A member of one of his classes at Columbia, finding some unoccupied +space on the page of his book after finishing his exercise, filled up +the space with rests, at the end of which he placed a double bar. When +his book was returned the page was covered with corrections--all +except these bars of rests, which were enclosed in a red line and +marked: "This is the only correct passage in the exercise." + +He once observed in a lecture that "Bach differed in almost everything +from Handel, except that he was born the same year and was killed by +the same doctor." + +He was often sarcastic; but his was a sarcasm without sting or +rancour. Bitterness, indeed, was one of the few normal attributes +which he did not possess. Mr. Humiston tells of lunching with him +unexpectedly at a restaurant one day, just after his resignation from +Columbia had been accepted. "We sat over our coffee and cigars until +nearly four o'clock, and among other things he talked of that [the +Columbia matter]. There was not a word of bitterness or reproach +toward anyone, but rather a deep feeling of disappointment that his +plans and ideals for the training and welfare of young artists should +have been so completely defeated." + +In his methods of work he was, like most composers of first-rate +quality, at the mercy of his inspiration. He never composed at the +piano, in the ordinary meaning of the phrase. That is to say, he never +sat down to the piano with the idea that he wanted to compose a song +or a piano piece. But sometime, when he might be improvising, as he +was fond of doing when alone, a theme, an idea, might come to him, and +almost before he knew it he had sketched something in a rudimentary +form. He had a fancy that the technique of composition suffered as +much as that of the piano if it was allowed to go for weeks and months +without exercise. The constant work and excitement that his winters in +Boston and New York involved, made it necessary for him to let days +and weeks slip by with no creative work accomplished. Yet he always +tried to write each day a few bars of music. Often in this way he +evolved a theme for which he afterward found a use. In looking over a +sketch-book in the summer he would run across something he liked, and +the idea would expand into a matured work. + +His sketch-books are full of all kinds of random and fugitive +material--half-finished fugues, canons, piano pieces, songs, single +themes. Undoubtedly this habit of work had its value when he came to +the leisurely months of summer; for he did not then have to go through +a period of technical "warming up." There were many days when he did +not write a note, but he always intended to, and usually did. When he +was absorbed in a particular composition he kept at it, almost night +and day, save for the hours he always tried to spend in the open air, +and two hours in the evening when, no matter how late it might be, he +sat quietly with his wife, reading or talking, smoking, and, in +earlier days, enjoying a glass of beer and some food. His love of +reading was a godsend to him when the waters were more than usually +troubled and his brain was in a whirl. + +In the actual work of composition he was elaborately meticulous--not +often to the extent of changing an original plan, but in minor +details; he never ceased working on a score until the music was out of +his hands, or entirely put aside. Sometimes he tried over a few +measures on the piano as many as fifty times, changing the value or +significance of a note; as a result, his piano writing is almost +always "pianistic." In one respect he was sometimes careless: in the +noting of the expression marks. By the time he arrived at that duty he +was usually tired out. For this reason, much in his printed music is +marked differently from the way he actually played it in concert. He +never, in performance, changed a note, save in a few of the earlier +pieces; but in details of expression he often departed widely from the +printed directions. + +He was always profoundly absorbed when at work, though not to the +extent of being able to compose amid noise or disturbance. He needed +to isolate himself as much as possible; although, when it could not be +avoided, he contrived to work effectively under obstructive +conditions; the Largo of the "Sonata Tragica," for example, was +written in Boston when he was harassed by drudgery and care. During +the earlier days at Peterboro he composed in a music room which was +joined to the main body of the house by a covered passage; in this way +he could hear nothing of the household workings, and was unaware of +the chance caller. No one was ever allowed to intrude upon him, save +his wife. Yet certain outside noises were still apparent; so the log +cabin in the woods was built. There he used to go nearly every +morning, coming home when he felt disposed, and usually going to the +golf grounds for a game before dinner, which he always had at night. +He kept a piano in the music room as well as at the log cabin; so if +he felt like working in the evening he could do so; and when he was +especially engrossed he often worked into the small hours. His +unselfishness made it easy for his wife, when she deemed a change and +rest essential, to make the excuse that _she_ needed it. After a +preliminary protest he would usually give in, and they would leave +Peterboro for a few days' excursion. + +He knew discouragement in an extreme form. Many weeks, even months, +had to pass before his discontent over the last child of his +imagination would become normal. Particularly was this so with the +larger works; though each one was started in a fever of inspiration, a +longing to reduce to actual form the impossible. He was always +disheartened when a work was finished, but he was too sane in his +judgment not to have moments when he could estimate fairly the quality +of what he had written. But those were rare moments; as a rule, it was +in his future music that he was always going to do his "really good +work," and he longed ardently for leisure and freedom from care, so +that, as he once bitterly said, he would not have to press into a +small piano piece material enough to make a movement of a symphony. + +His preferences in the matter of his own music were not very definite. +In 1903, when he had finished all that he was to write, he expressed a +preference for the "Dirge" from the "Indian" suite above anything that +he had composed. "Of all my music," he confessed at this time, "the +'Dirge' in the 'Indian' suite pleases me most. It affects me deeply +and did when I was writing it. In it an Indian woman laments the death +of her son; but to me, as I wrote it, it seemed to express a +world-sorrow rather than a particularised grief." His estimate of the +value of the music has, naturally, no extraordinary importance; but my +conviction is that, in this instance, his judgment was correct. As to +the sonatas, he cared most for the "Keltic"; after that, for the +"Eroica," as a whole; though I doubt whether there was anything in the +two that he cared for quite as he did for the Largo in the "Tragica" +and certain parts of the "Norse." He felt concerning the "Keltic" that +there was hardly a bar in it that he wanted changed, that he had +scarcely ever written any thing so rounded, so complete, in which the +joining was so invisible. He played it _con amore_, and it grew to be +part of himself as no other of his works ever did. Technically, it was +never hard for him, whereas he found the "Eroica" exhausting, +physically and mentally. + +Of the smaller works he preferred the "Sea Pieces," as a whole, above +all the others; yet there were single things in each of the other sets +for which he cared perhaps as much. Of the "Sea Pieces" those he liked +best were: "To the Sea," "From the Depths," "In Mid-Ocean"; of the +"Fireside Tales": the "Haunted House," "Salamander," "'Brer Rabbit"; +and he had a tender feeling for "In a German Forest," which always +seemed to bring back the Frankfort days to his memory. Of the "New +England Idyls," his favorites were: "In Deep Woods," "Mid-Winter," +"From a Log Cabin." + +In his composition he was growing away from piano work,--he felt that +the future must mean larger, probably orchestral, forms, for him, and +his dream of an ultimate leisure was a dream for which his friends can +be thankful. He did not end with despair at his heart that the +distracting work, the yearly drudgery, were to go on forever. + +His preferences in music were governed by the independence which +characterised his intellectual judgments. Of the moderns, Wagner was +his god; for Liszt he had an unbounded admiration, though he detected +the showman, the mere juggler, in him; Tchaikovsky stirred +him mightily; Brahms did not as a rule give him pleasure, though +certain of that master's more fertile moments compelled his +appreciation. Grieg he delighted in. To him he dedicated both his +"Norse" and "Keltic" sonatas. In response to his request for +permission to inscribe the first of these to his eminent contemporary, +he received from Grieg the following delectable letter--one of the +Norwegian's very few attempts at English composition (I quote it +verbatim; the spelling is Grieg's):-- + + COPENHAGEN, 26/10/99. + Hotel King of Denmark. + + MY DEAR SIR! + + Will you remit me in bad English to express my best thanks for + your kind letter and for the sympathi you feel for my music. Of + course it will be a great honor and pleasure for me to accept your + dedication. + + Some years ago I thought it possible to shake hands with you in + your own country. But unfortunately my delicat health does not + seem to agree. At all events, if we are not to meet, I am glad to + read in the papers of your artistical success in Amerika. + + With my best wishes, + + I am, dear Sir, + + Yours very truly, + + EDVARD GRIEG. + +[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF A LETTER FROM GRIEG TO MACDOWELL, +ACCEPTING THE DEDICATION OF THE "NORSE" SONATA. ONE OF GRIEG'S RARE +ATTEMPTS AT ENGLISH COMPOSITION (SEE PAGE 73)] + +I may quote also, in this place, because of its unusual interest, a +letter written (in German) by Grieg to Mrs. MacDowell when he learned +of her husband's collapse:-- + + CHRISTIANIA, + December 14, 1905. + + DEAR MADAM: + + The news of MacDowell's serious illness has deeply affected me. + Permit me therefore to express to you my own and my wife's + sincerest sympathy for you. I am a great admirer of MacDowell's + Muse, and would regard it as a severe blow if his best creative + period should be so hastily broken off. From all that I hear of + your husband, his qualities as a man are as remarkable as his + qualities as an artist. He is a complete Personality, with an + unusually sympathetic and sensitive nervous system. Such a + temperament gives one the capacity not only for moods of the + highest transport, but for an unspeakable sorrow tenfold more + profound. This is the unsolvable riddle. An artist so ideally + endowed [_ein so ideal angelegter Künstler_] as MacDowell must ask + himself: Why have I received from nature this delicately strung + lyre, if I were better off without it? So unmerciful is Life that + every artist must ask himself this question. The only consolation + is: Work--yes, even the severest labours. ... _But_: the artist is + an optimist. Otherwise he would be no artist. He believes and + hopes in the triumph of the good and the beautiful. He trusts in + his lucky star till his last breath. And you, the wife of a highly + gifted artist, will not and must not lose hope! In similar cases, + happily, one often witnesses a seemingly inexplicable recovery. If + it can give MacDowell a moment's cheer, say to him that he has in + distant Norway a warm and understanding friend who feels for him, + and wishes from his heart that for him, as for you, better times + may soon come. + + With best greeting to you both, + + Your respectful + + EDVARD GRIEG. + +MacDowell's feeling in regard to Strauss, whom he considered to have +developed what he called the "suggestive" (delineative) power of music +at the expense of its finer potentialities, is indicated in a lecture +which he prepared on the subject of "Suggestion in Music." "'Thus +Spake Zarathustra,'" he wrote, "may be considered the apotheosis of +this power of suggestion in tonal colour, and in it I believe we can +see the tendency I allude to [the tendency "to elevate what should be +a means of adding power and intensity to musical speech, to the +importance of musical speech itself"]. It stuns by its glorious +magnificence of tonal texture. The suggestion, at the beginning, of +the rising sun, is a mighty example of the overwhelming power of +tone-colour. The upward sweep of the music to the highest regions of +light has something splendrous about it; and yet I remember once +hearing in London a song sung in the street at night that seemed to me +to contain a truer germ of music."--From which it will be seen that +there were limits to the aesthetic sympathy of even so liberal and +divining an appreciator as MacDowell. + +The modern Frenchmen he knew scarcely at all. Some of d'Indy's earlier +music he had heard and admired: but that he would have cared for such +a score as Debussy's "La Mer" I very much doubt. I remember his +amusement over what he called the "queerness" of a sonata by the +Belgian Lekeu for violin and piano, which he had read or heard. It is +likely that he would have found little to attract him in the more +characteristic music of d'Indy, Debussy, and Ravel; his instincts and +temperament led him into a wholly different region of expression. He +was a prophet of modernity; but it was a modernity that he alone +exemplifies: it has no exact parallel. + +Concerning the classics he had his own views. Of Bach he wrote that he +believed him to have accomplished his work as "one of the world's +mightiest tone-poets not by means of the contrapuntal methods of his +day, but in spite of them. The laws of canon and fugue are based upon +as prosaic a foundation as those of the Rondo and Sonata Form, and I +find it impossible to imagine their ever having been a spur, an +incentive, to poetic musical speech." + +Of Mozart he wrote: "It is impossible to forget the fact that in his +piano works he was first and foremost a piano virtuoso, a child +prodigy: of whom filigree work (we cannot call this Orientalism, for +it was more or less of German pattern, traced from the _fioriture_ of +the Italian opera singer) was expected by the public for which his +sonatas were written.... We need freshness and sincerity in forming +our judgments of art.... If we read on one page of some history (every +history of music has such a page) that Mozart's sonatas are sublime; +that they far transcend anything written for the harpsichord or +clavichord by Haydn or his contemporaries, we are apt to echo the +saying ... But let us look the thing straight in the face: Mozart's +sonatas are compositions entirely unworthy of the author of 'The Magic +Flute' and 'Don Giovanni,' or of any composer with pretensions to more +than mediocre talent. They are written in a style of flashy +harpsichord virtuosity such as Liszt in his most despised moments +never descended to. Yet I am well aware that this statement would be +dismissed as either absurd or heretical, according to the point of +view of the particular objector." + +Of Mendelssohn he said: "Mendelssohn professed to be an 'absolutist' +in music. As a matter of fact, he stands on the same ground that Liszt +and Berlioz did; for almost everything he wrote, even to the smallest +piano piece, he furnished with an explanatory title.... Formalist +though he was, his work often exhibits eccentricities of form--as, for +instance, in the Scotch Symphony, where, in the so-called 'exposition' +of the first movement, he throws in an extra little theme that laps +over his frame with a jaunty disregard of the rules that is +delightful.... His technic of piano writing was perfect; compared with +Beethoven's it was a revelation. He never committed the fault of mere +virtuoso writing, which is remarkable when we consider how strong a +temptation there must have been to do so. In his piano music can be +found the germs of most of the pianistic innovations that are usually +identified with other composers--for instance, the manner of +enveloping the melody with runs, the discovery of which has been +ascribed to Thalberg, but which we find in Mendelssohn's first +Prelude, written in 1833. The interlocking passages which have become +so prevalent in modern music we find in his compositions dating from +1835." + +Of Schumann he said happily: "His music is not avowed programme-music; +neither is it, as was much of Schubert's, pure delight in beautiful +sound. It did not break through formalism by sheer violence of +emotion, as did Beethoven's: it represents the rhapsodical revery of +an inspired poet to whom no imaginative vagary seems strange or alien, +and who has the faculty of relating his visions, never attempting to +give them coherence, and unaware of their character until perhaps +when, awakened from his dream, he naïvely wonders what they may have +meant--you remember that he added titles to his music after it was +composed. He put his dreams in music and guessed their meaning +afterward." + +Of Liszt and Chopin: "To all of this new, strange music [the piano +music of the Romantics] Liszt and Chopin added the wonderful tracery +of Orientalism. The difference between these two is, that with Chopin +this tracery developed poetic thought as with a thin gauze; whereas +with Liszt [in his piano music] the embellishment itself made the +starting-point for almost a new art in tonal combination, the effects +of which one sees on every hand to-day. To realise its influence one +need only compare the easy mastery of the arabesque displayed in the +simplest piano piece of to-day with the awkward and gargoyle-like +figuration of Beethoven and his predecessors. We may justly attribute +this to Liszt rather than to Chopin, whose nocturne embellishments are +but first cousins to those of the Englishman, John Field." + +Of Wagner: "His music-dramas, shorn of the fetters of the actual +spoken word, emancipated from the materialism of acting, painting, and +furniture, must be considered the greatest achievement in our art." + +Concerning Form in music, he observed: "If by the word 'form' our +purists meant the most poignant expression of poetic thought in music, +if they meant by this term the art of arranging musical sounds so that +they constituted the most telling presentation of a musical idea, I +should have nothing to say. But as it is, the word in almost its +invariable use by theorists stands for what are called 'stoutly-built +periods,' 'subsidiary themes' and the like, a happy combination of +which in certain prescribed keys is supposed to constitute good form. +Such a principle, inherited from the necessities and fashions of the +dance, and changing from time to time, is surely not worthy of the +strange worship it has received. In their eagerness to press this +great revolutionist [Beethoven] into their own ranks in the fight of +narrow theory against expansion and progress, the most amusing +mistakes are constantly occurring. For example, the first movement of +this sonata [the so-called "Moonlight"]--which, as we know, is a poem +of profound sorrow and the most poignant resignation alternating with +despair--has, by some strange torturing, been cited as being in strict +sonata-form by one theorist (Harding: Novello's primer), is dubbed a +free fantasy by another (Matthews), and is described as being in +song-form by another: all of which is somewhat weakened by the dictum +of still another theorist that the music is absolutely formless! A +form of so doubtful an identity can surely lay small claim to any +serious intellectual value.... In our modern days we too often, +Procrustes-like, make our ideas to fit the forms. We put our guest, +the poetic thought, that comes to us like a homing bird from out of +the mystery of the blue sky--we put this confiding stranger +straightway into that iron bed: the 'sonata-form'--or perhaps even the +'third-rondo form,' for we have quite an assortment; and should the +idea survive, and grow, and become too large for the bed, and if we +have grown to love it too much to cut off its feet and thus _make_ it +fit (as did that old robber of Attica), why then we run the risk of +having some wiseacre say, as is said of Chopin: 'Yes--but he is weak +in sonata-form'! ... Form should be nothing more than a synonym for +_coherence_. No idea, whether great or small, can find utterance +without form; but that form will be inherent in the idea, and there +will be as many forms as there are adequately expressed ideas in the +world." + +Concerning programme-music he wrote at length. "In my opinion," he +says in one of his lectures, "the battle over what music can express +and what it cannot express has been carried on wrong lines. We are +always referred back to language as actually expressing an idea, when, +as a matter of fact, language expresses nothing but that which its +vital parallel means of expression, gesture and facial expression, +permit it to express. Words mean nothing whatsoever in themselves; the +same words in different languages mean wholly different things; for +written words are mere symbols, and no more express things or ideas +than any marks on paper would. Yet language is forever striving to +emulate music by actually expressing something, besides merely +symbolising it, and thus we have in poetry the coining of +onomatopoetic words--words that will bring the things they stand for +more vividly before our eyes and minds. Now music may express all that +words can express and much more, for it is the natural means of +expression for all animals, mankind included. If musical sounds were +accepted as symbols for things we would have another speech. It seems +strange to say that by means of music one could say the most +commonplace thing, as, for instance: 'I am going to take a walk'; yet +this is precisely what the Chinese have been doing for centuries. For +such things, however, our word-symbols do perfectly well, and such a +symbolising of musical sounds must detract, I think, from the high +mission of music: which, as I conceive, is neither to be an agent for +expressing material things; nor to utter pretty sounds to amuse the +ear; nor a sensuous excitant to fire the blood, or a sedative to lull +the senses: it is a _language_, but a language of the intangible, a +kind of soul-language. It appeals directly to the _Seelenzustände_ it +springs from, for it is the natural expression of it, rather than, +like words, a translation of it into set stereotyped symbols which may +or may not be accepted for what they were intended to denote by the +writer"--a _credo_ which sums up in fairly complete form his theory of +music-making, whatever validity it may have as a philosophical +generalisation. + +In regard to the sadly vexed question of musical nationalism, +especially in its relation to America, his position was definite and +positive. His views on this subject may well be quoted somewhat in +detail, since they have not always been justly represented or fully +understood. In the following excerpt, from a lecture on "Folk-Music," +he pays his respects to Dvorák's "New World" symphony, and touches +upon his own attitude toward the case as exemplified in his "Indian" +suite: + +"A man is generally something different from the clothes he wears or +the business he is occupied with; but when we do see a man identified +with his clothes we think but little of him. And so it is with music. +So-called Russian, Bohemian, or any other purely national music has no +place in art, for its characteristics may be duplicated by anyone who +takes the fancy to do so. On the other hand, the vital element of +music--personality--stands alone. We have seen the Viennese Strauss +family adopting the cross rhythms of the Spanish--or, to be more +accurate, the Moorish or Arab--school of art. Moszkowski the Pole +writes Spanish dances. Cowen in England writes a Scandinavian +Symphony. Grieg the Norwegian writes Arabian music; and, to cap the +climax, we have here in America been offered a pattern for an +'American' national musical costume by the Bohemian Dvorak--though +what the Negro melodies have to do with Americanism in art still +remains a mystery. Music that can be made by 'recipe' is not music, +but 'tailoring.' To be sure, this tailoring may serve to cover a +beautiful thought; but--why cover it? and, worst of all, why cover it +(if covered it must be: if the trademark of nationality is +indispensable, which I deny)--why cover it with the badge of whilom +slavery rather than with the stern but at least manly and free +rudeness of the North American Indian? If what is called local tone +colour is necessary to music (which it most emphatically is not), why +not adopt some of the Hindoo _Ragas_ and modes--each one of which (and +the modes alone number over seventy-two) will give an individual tonal +character to the music written according to its rules? But the means +of 'creating' a national music to which I have alluded are childish. +No: before a people can find a musical writer to echo its genius it +must first possess men who truly represent it--that is to say, men +who, being part of the people, love the country for itself: men who +put into their music what the nation has put into its life; and in the +case of America it needs above all, both on the part of the public and +on the part of the writer, absolute freedom from the restraint that an +almost unlimited deference to European thought and prejudice has +imposed upon us. Masquerading in the so-called nationalism of Negro +clothes cut in Bohemia will not help us. What we must arrive at is the +youthful optimistic vitality and the undaunted tenacity of spirit that +characterizes the American man. This is what I hope to see echoed in +American music." + +Of MacDowell as a pianist, Mr. Henry T. Finck, who had known him in +this capacity almost from the beginning of his career in America, has +written for me his impressions, and I shall quote them, rather than +any of my own; since I had comparatively few opportunities to hear him +display, at his best, the full measure of his ability: + +"As he never felt quite sure," writes Mr. Finck, "that what he was +composing was worth while, so, in the matter of playing in public, he +was so self-distrustful that when he came on the stage and sat down on +the piano stool he hung his head and looked a good deal like a +school-boy detected in the act of doing something he ought not to do. + +"Often though I was with him--sometimes a week at a time in +Peterboro--I never could persuade him to play for me. I once asked +Paderewski to play for me his new set of songs, and he promptly did +so. But MacDowell always was 'out of practice,' or had some other +excuse, generally a witticism or bit of sarcasm at his own expense. I +am sorry now that I did not urge him with more persistence, for he +might have yielded in the end, and I would have got a more _intime_ +idea of his playing; for after all a musical tête-à-tête like that is +preferable to any public hearing. I never heard Grieg play at a +concert, but I am sure that the hour I sat near him in his Bergen +home, while he played and his wife sang, gave me a better appreciation +of his skill as an interpreter than I could have got in a public hall +with an audience to distract his attention. One afternoon I called on +Saint-Saëns at his hotel after one of his concerts in New York. +Talking about it, he sat down at the piano, ran over his _Valse +Canariote_, and said: 'That's the way I _ought_ to have played it!' + +"MacDowell was quite right in saying that he was out of practice; he +generally was, his duties as professor allowing him little time for +technical exercising; but once every few years he set to work and got +his fingers into a condition which enabled them to follow his +intentions; and those intentions, it is needless to say, were always +honourable! He never played any of those show pieces which help along +a pianist, but confined himself to the best he could find. + +"Usually the first half of a recital was devoted to the classical and +romantic masters, the second to his own compositions. Beethoven, +Schubert, Chopin, Liszt, Grieg, were likely to be represented, and he +also did missionary work for Templeton Strong and other Americans. His +interpretation of the music of other composers was both objective and +subjective; there was no distortion or exaggeration, yet one could not +mistake the fact that it was MacDowell who was playing it. + +"The expression, 'he played like a composer,' is often used to hint +that the technic was not that of a virtuoso. In this sense MacDowell +did not play like a composer; his technical skill was equal to +everything he played, though never obtrusive. In another sense he did +play 'like a composer,' especially when interpreting his own pieces; +that is, he played with an insight, a subtlety of expression, which +only a creative performer has at his command. I doubt if Chopin +himself could have rendered one of his pieces with more ravishing +delicacy than MacDowell showed in playing his 'To a Wild Rose.' I +doubt if Liszt could have shown a more overwhelming dramatic power +than MacDowell did in playing his 'Keltic' sonata. In this combination +of feminine tenderness with masculine strength he was, as in his +creative gift, a man of genius. After one of his concerts I wrote in +the glow of enthusiasm that I would rather hear him than any pianist +in the field excepting Paderewski; that utterance I never saw reason +to modify." + +For an interesting and closely observed description of MacDowell's +technical peculiarities as a piano player I am indebted to his friend +and pupil, Mr. T.P. Currier, who had followed MacDowell's career as a +pianist from the time of his first public appearance in Boston: + +"[His finger velocity] was at that time [in 1888] the most striking +characteristic of his playing," says Mr. Currier. "For him, too, it +was a mere bagatelle. He took to prestissimo like a duck to water. He +could, in fact, play fast more easily than he could slowly. One of his +ever-present fears was that in performance his fingers would run away +with him. And many hours were spent in endeavours to control such an +embarrassing tendency. This extraordinary velocity, acquired in the +Paris Conservatory, and from his friend and teacher, Carl Heymann, of +Frankfort, invariably set his listeners agape, and was always one of +the chief sensations at his concerts. + +"But for this finger speeding and for his other technical acquirements +as well, MacDowell cared little, except as they furthered his one +absorbing aim. He was heart and soul a composer, and to be able to +play his own music as he heard it in his inner ear was his single spur +to practice. From the time of his complete immersion in composition, +his ideas of pianistic effects, of tone colour, gradually led him +farther and farther away from conventional pianism. Scales and +arpeggios, as commonly rendered, had no longer interest or charm for +him. He cared for finger passages only when they could be made to +suggest what he wanted them to suggest in his own colour-scheme. With +his peculiar touch and facility at command, he rejoiced in turning +such passages into streams and swirls of tone, marked with strong +accents and coloured with vivid, dynamic contrasts. + +"That his passage playing rarely sounded clean and pure--like that of +a Rosenthal--was due not only to his musical predilections, but to his +hand formation as well. His hand was broad and rather thick-set, and +tremendously muscular. It would not bend back at the knuckles; and the +fingers also had no well-defined knuckle movement. It appears, +therefore, that he could not, if he would, have succeeded on more +conventional technical lines. Gradually he developed great strength +and intense activity in the middle joints, which enabled him to play +with a very close, often overlapping, touch, and to maintain extremely +rapid tempi in legato or staccato with perfect ease and little +fatigue. With this combination of velocity and close touch, it was a +slight matter to produce those pianistic effects which were especially +dear to him. + +"MacDowell's finger development has been thus dwelt upon, because it +was, as has been said, the feature of his technic which immediately +surprised and captivated his hearers. Less noticeable was his wrist +and octave work. But his chord playing, though also relatively +unattractive, was even in those early days almost as uncommon in its +way as was his velocity. And in this field of technic, during his +later years, when in composition his mind turned almost wholly to this +mode of expression, he reached a plane of tonal effect which, for +variety, from vague, shadowy, mysterious _ppp_, to virile, orchestral +_ffff_, has never been surpassed by any pianist who has visited these +shores in recent years. His tone in chord playing, it is true, was +often harsh, and this fault also appeared in his melodic delivery. But +in both cases any unmusical effect was so greatly overbalanced by many +rare and beautiful qualities of tone production, that it was easily +forgiven and forgotten. + +"Wonderful tone blending in finger passages; a peculiarly crisp, yet +veiled staccato; chord playing extraordinary in variety,--tender, +mysterious, sinister, heroic; a curiously unconventional yet effective +melodic delivery; playing replete with power, vitality, and dramatic +significance, always forcing upon the ear the phrase, never the +tickling of mere notes; a really marvellous command and use of both +pedals,--these were the characteristics of MacDowell's pianistic art +as he displayed it in the exposition of his own works. Unquestionably +he was a born pianist. If it had not been for his genius for +composition, he would, without doubt, have been known as a brilliant +and forceful interpreter of the greatest piano literature. But his +compositional bent turned him completely away from mere piano playing. +He was a composer-pianist, and as such he ever desired to be +regarded." + +[Illustration: THE HOUSE AT PETERBORO, NEW HAMPSHIRE, WHERE MACDOWELL +SPENT HIS SUMMERS] + +As a pianist, as in all other matters touching his own capacities, he +was often tortured by doubts concerning the effect of his +performances. "I shall never forget," recalls his wife, "the first +time he played it [the "Eroica" sonata] in Boston. We all thought he +did it wonderfully. But when I went around to the green-room door to +find him, fearing something might be wrong, as he had not come to me, +he had gone. When I got home, accompanied by two friends, there he was +almost in a corner, white, and as if he were guilty of some crime, and +he said as we came in: 'I can play better than that. But I was so +tired!' We almost wept with the pity of the unnecessary suffering, +which was yet so real and intense. In a short time he was more +himself, and naïvely admitted that he had played three movements well, +but had been a 'd---- fool in one.' I grew to be very used to this as +the years went on, for he could not help emphasising to himself what +he did badly, and ignoring the good." + +He left few uncompleted works. There are among his manuscripts three +movements of a symphony, two movements of a suite for string +orchestra, a suite for violin and piano, some songs and piano pieces, +and a large number of sketches. He had schemes for a music-drama on an +Arthurian subject, and sketched a single act of it. He had planned +this work upon novel lines: there was to be comparatively little +singing, and much emphasis was to be laid upon the orchestral +commentary; the action was to be carried on by a combination of +pantomime and tableaux, and the scenic element was to be +conspicuous--a suggestion which he got in part from E.A. Abbey's Holy +Grail frescoes in the Boston Public Library. But he had determined to +write his own text: and the prospective labour of this, made more +formidable by his restricted leisure, finally discouraged him, and he +abandoned the project. Five years before his death he destroyed the +sketches that he had made; only a few fragments remain. + +A rare and admirable man!--a man who would have been a remarkable +personality if he had not written a note of music. His faults--and he +was far from being a paragon--were never petty or contemptible: they +were truly the defects of his qualities--of his honesty, his courage, +his passionate and often reckless zeal in the promotion of what he +believed to be sound and fine in art and in life. Mr. Philip Hale, +whose long friendship with MacDowell gives him the right to speak with +peculiar authority, and whose habit is that of sobriety in speech, has +written of him in words whose justice and felicity cannot be bettered: +"A man of blameless life, he was never pharasaical; he was +compassionate toward the slips and failings of poor humanity. He was a +true patriot, proud and hopeful of his country and of its artistic +future, but he could not brook the thought of patriotism used as a +cloak to cover mediocrity in art.... He was one who worked steadily +and courageously in the face of discouragement; who never courted by +trickery or device the favour of the public; who never fawned upon +those who might help him; who in his art kept himself pure and +unspotted." + + "O that so many pitchers of rough clay + Should prosper and the porcelain break in two!" + + + + +THE MUSIC-MAKER + +CHAPTER III + +HIS ART AND ITS METHODS + + +Among those music-makers of to-day who are both pre-eminent and +representative the note of sincere romance is infrequently sounded. +The fact must be obvious to the most casual observer of musical art in +its contemporary development. The significant work of the most +considerable musicians of our time--of Strauss, Debussy, Loeffler, +d'Indy--has few essentially romantic characteristics. It is necessary +to distinguish between that fatuous Romanticism of which Mr. Ernest +Newman has given an unequalled definition: the Romanticism which +expended itself in the fabrication of a pasteboard world of "gloomy +forests, enchanted castles, impossible maidens, and the obsolete +profession of magic," and that other and imperishable Spirit of +Romance whose infrequent embodiment in modern music I have remarked. +_That_ is a romance in no wise divorced from reality--is, in fact, but +reality diviningly perceived; if it uses the old Romanticistic +properties, it uses them not because of any inherent validity which +they possess, but because they may at times be made to serve as +symbols. It deals in a truth that is no less authentic because it is +conveyed in terms of a beauty that may often be in the last degree +incalculable and aërial. + +It is to its persistent embodiment of this valid spirit of romance +that MacDowell's work owes its final and particular distinction. I +know of no composer who has displayed a like sensitiveness to the +finer stuff of romance. He has chosen more than occasionally to +employ, in the accomplishment of his purposes, what seems at first to +be precisely the magical apparatus so necessary to the older +Romanticism. Dryads and elves are his intimate companions, and he +dwells at times under fairy boughs and in enchanted woods; but for +him, as for the poets of the Celtic tradition, these things are but +the manifest images of an interior passion and delight. Seen in the +transfiguring mirror of his music, the moods and events of the natural +world, and of the drama that plays incessantly in the hearts of men, +are vivified into shapes and designs of irresistible beauty and +appeal. He is of those quickened ministers of beauty who attest for us +the reality of that changeless and timeless loveliness which the +visible world of the senses and the invisible world of the imagination +are ceaselessly revealing to the simple of heart, the dream-filled, +and the unwise. + +MacDowell presents throughout the entire body of his work the +noteworthy spectacle of a radical without extravagance, a musician at +once in accord with, and detached from, the dominant artistic +movement of his day. The observation is more a definition than an +encomium. He is a radical in that, to his sense, music is nothing if +not articulate. Wagner's luminous phrase, "the fertilisation of music +by poetry," would have implied for him no mere æsthetic abstraction, +but an intimate and ever-present ideal. He was a musician, yet he +looked out upon the visible world and inward upon the world of the +emotions through the transforming eyes of the poet. He would have +none of a formal and merely decorative beauty--a beauty serving no +expressional need of the heart or the imagination. In this ultimate +sense he is to be regarded as a realist--a realist with the +romantic's vision, the romantic's preoccupation; and yet he is as +alien to the frequently unleavened literalism of Richard Strauss as +he is to the academic ideal. Though he conceives the prime mission of +music to be interpretive, he insists no less emphatically that, in +its function as an expressional instrument, it shall concern itself +with essences and impressions, and not at all with transcriptions. +His standpoint is, in the last analysis, that of the poet rather than +of the typical musician: the standpoint of the poet intent mainly +upon a vivid embodiment of the quintessence of personal vision and +emotion, who has elected to utter that truth and that emotion in +terms of musical beauty. One is, indeed, almost tempted to say that +he is paramountly a poet, to whom the supplementary gift of musical +speech has been extravagantly vouchsafed. + +He is a realist, as I have said--applying the term in that larger +sense which denotes the transmutation of life into visible or audible +form, and which implicates Beethoven as well as Wagner, Schumann as +well as Liszt, Tchaikovsky and Debussy as well as Strauss: all those +in whom the desire for intelligible utterance coexists with, or +supersedes, the impulse toward perfected design. But if MacDowell's +method of transmutation is not the method of Strauss, neither is it +the method of Schumann, or of Debussy. He occupies a middle ground +between the undaunted literalism of the Munich tone-poet and the +sentimental posturings into which the romanticism of Schumann so +frequently declined. It is impossible to conceive him attempting the +musical exposition of such themes as kindled the imagination of +Strauss when he wrought out his "Heldenleben," "Zarathustra," and +"Till Eulenspiegel"; nor has he any appreciable affinity with the +prismatic subtleties of the younger French school: so that there is +little in the accent of his musical speech to remind one of the +representative voices of modernity. + +Though he has avoided shackling his music to a detailed programme, he +has never very seriously espoused the sophistical compromise which +concedes the legitimacy of programme-music provided it speaks as +potently to one who does not know the subject-matter as to one who +does. The bulk of his music no more discloses its full measure of +beauty and eloquence to one who is in ignorance of its poetic basis +than would Wagner's "Faust" overture, Tchaikovsky's "Romeo and +Juliet," or Debussy's "L'Après-midi d'un Faune." Its appeal is +conditioned upon an understanding of the basis of drama and emotional +crisis upon which the musician has built; and in much of his music he +has frankly recognized this fact, and has printed at the beginning of +such works as the "Idyls" and "Poems" after Goethe and Heine, the +"Norse" and "Keltic" sonatas, the "Sea Pieces," and the "New England +Idyls," the fragment of verse or legend or meditation which has served +as the particular stimulus of his inspiration; while in other works +he has contented himself with the suggestion of a mood or subject +embodied in his title, as, for example, in his "Woodland +Sketches,"--"To a Wild Rose," "Will o' the Wisp," "At an Old Trysting +Place," "In Autumn," "From an Indian Lodge," "To a Water-Lily," "A +Deserted Farm." That he has been tempted, however, in the direction of +the compromise to which I have alluded, is evident from the fact that +although his symphonic poem "Lancelot and Elaine" is built upon the +frame of an extremely definite sequence of events,--such as Lancelot's +downfall in the tournament, his return to the court, Guinevere's +casting away of the trophies, the approach of the barge bearing +Elaine's body, and Lancelot's reverie by the river bank,--he gives in +the published score no hint whatever of the particular phases of that +moving chronicle of passion and tragedy which he has so faithfully +striven to represent. "I would never have insisted," he wrote in 1899, +"that this symphonic poem need mean 'Lancelot and Elaine' to everyone. +It did to me, however, and in the hope that my artistic enjoyment +might be shared by others, I added the title to my music." + +But if MacDowell displayed at times the usual inconsistency of the +modern tone-poet in his attitude toward the whole subject of +programme-music,[8] the tendency was neither a persistent nor +determined one; and he was, as I have noted, even less disposed toward +the frankly literal methods of which Strauss and his followers are +such invincible exponents. His nearest approach to such diverting +expedients as the bleating sheep and the exhilarating wind-machine of +"Don Quixote" is in the denotement of the line: + + "And like a thunderbolt he falls" + +in his graphic paraphrase of Tennyson's poem, "The Eagle"--an +indulgence which the most exigent champion of programmatic reserve +would probably condone. In the main, MacDowell's predilection for what +he chose to call "suggestive" music finds expression in such continent +symbolism as he employs in those elastically wrought tone-poems, brief +or vigorously sustained, in which he sets forth a poetic concept with +memorable vividness--in such things as his terse though astonishingly +eloquent apostrophe "To a Wandering Iceberg," and his "In Mid-Ocean," +from the "Sea Pieces"; in "To a Water-lily," from the "Woodland +Sketches"; in the "Winter" and "In Deep Woods" from the "New England +Idyls"; in the "Marionettes" ("Soubrette," "Lover," "Witch," "Clown," +"Villain," "Sweetheart"); in the Raff-like orchestral suite, op. 42 +("In a Haunted Forest," "Summer Idyll," "The Shepherdess' Song," +"Forest Spirits"), and in the later and far more important "Indian" +suite for orchestra ("Legend," "Love Song," "In War-time," "Dirge," +"Village Festival"). + +[8] That MacDowell came later to realise the disadvantages, no less +than the inconsistency, of writing programme-music based upon a +detailed and definite programme and then withholding the programme, is +indicated by this passage from a lecture on Beethoven which he +delivered at Columbia: "If it [Beethoven's music] is absolute music, +according to the accepted meaning of the term, either it must be +beautiful music in itself,--that is, composed of beautiful sounds,--or +its excuse for _not_ being beautiful must rest upon its power of +expressing emotions and ideas that demand other than merely beautiful +tones for their utterance. Music, for instance, that would give us the +emotion--if I may call it that--of a series of exploding bombshells +could hardly be called 'absolute music'; yet that is exactly what the +opening of the last movement of the so-called 'Moonlight' Sonata meant +to Miss Thackeray, who speaks of it in her story, 'Beauty and the +Beast.'... If this is abstract music, it is bad. We know, however, +that Beethoven had some poetic idea in his mind as he wrote this; but +as he never gave the clew to the world, the music has been swallowed +as 'absolute music' by the modern formalists"--a comment which would +apply almost word for word, with a change of names and titles, to a +certain tumultuous and "unbeautiful" passage in MacDowell's "Lancelot +and Elaine." This passage is intended to express the rage and jealousy +of Guinevere; but MacDowell has given no indication of this fact in +his score, and only occasionally does the information find its way +into the programme-books. Yet in his own copy of the score he wrote a +complete and detailed key to the significance of the music at every +point. Such are the ways of the musical realist! + +He was, in an extraordinarily complete sense, a celebrant of the +natural world. His imagination was enslaved by the miraculous pageant +of the visible earth, and he sought tirelessly to transfix some moment +of its wonder or its splendour or its terror in permanent images of +tone. The melancholy beauty of the autumn woods, the loveliness of +quiet waters under fading skies, the sapphire and emerald glories, or +the ominous chantings, of the sea, the benign and mysterious majesty +of summer stars, the lyric sweetness of a meadow: these things urged +him to musical transcripts, notations of loving tenderness and +sincerity. His music is redolent of the breath and odour of woodland +places, of lanes and moors and gardens; or it is saturated with salt +spray; or it communicates the incommunicable in its voicing of that +indefinable and evanescent sense of association which is evoked by +certain aspects, certain phases, of the outer world--that sudden +emotion of things past and irrecoverable which may cling about a field +at sunset, or a quiet street at dusk, or a sudden intimation of spring +in the scent of lilacs. + +But although such themes as he loved to dwell upon in his celebration +of the magic of the natural world were very precious to his +imagination, the human spectacle held for him, from the first, an +emotion scarcely less swift and abundant. His scope is comprehensive: +he can voice the archest gaiety, a naive and charming humour, as in +the "Marionettes" and in the songs "From an Old Garden"; there is +passion in the symphonic poems and in many of the songs; while in the +sonatas and in the "Indian" suite the tragic note is struck with +impressive and indubitable authority. + +Of the specifically musical traits in which MacDowell exhibits the +tendencies and preferences which underlie his art, one must begin by +saying that his distinguishing quality--that which puts so +unmistakable a stamp upon his work--eludes precise definition. His +tone is unmistakable. Its chief possession is a certain clarity and +directness which is apparent no less in moments of great stress and +complexity of emotion than in passages of simpler and slighter +content. His style has little of the torrential rhetoric, the +unbridled gusto and exuberance of Strauss, though it owns something of +his forthright quality; nor has it any of Debussy's withdrawals. One +thinks, as a discerning commentator has observed, of the "broad +Shakespearian daylight" of Fitzgerald's fine phrase as being not +inapplicable to the atmosphere of MacDowell's writing. He has few +reservations, and he shows small liking for recondite effects of +harmonic colour, for the wavering melodic line--which is far from +implying that he is ever merely obvious or banal: that he never is. +His clarity, his directness, find issue in an order of expression at +once lucid and distinguished, at once spontaneous and expressive. It +is difficult to recall, in any example of his maturer work, a single +passage that is not touched with a measure of beauty and character. He +had, of course, his period of crude experimentation, his days of +discipleship. In his earlier writing there is not a little that is +unworthy of him: much in which one seeks vainly for that note of +distinction and personality which sounds so constantly throughout the +finer body of his work. But in that considerable portion of his output +which is genuinely representative--say from his opus 45 onward--he +sustains his art upon a noteworthy level of fineness and strength. + +The range of his expressional gamut is striking. One is at a loss to +say whether he is happier in emotional moments of weighty +significance,--as in many pages of the sonatas and some of the "Sea +Pieces,"--or in such cameo-like performances as the "Woodland +Sketches," certain of the "Marionettes,"[9] and the exquisite song +group, "From an Old Garden," in which he attains an order of delicate +eloquence difficult to associate with the mind which shaped the heroic +ardours of the "Norse" and "Keltic" sonatas. His capacity for forceful +utterance is remarkable. Only in certain pages of Strauss is there +anything in contemporary music which compares, for superb virility, +dynamic power, and sweep of line, with the opening of the "Keltic" +sonata. He has, moreover, a remarkable gift for compact expression. +Time and again he astonishes by his ability to charge a composition of +the briefest span with an emotional or dramatic content of large and +far-reaching significance. His "To the Sea,"[10] for example, is but +thirty-one bars long; yet within this limited frame he has confined a +tone-picture which for breadth of conception and concentrated +splendour of effect is paralleled in the contemporary literature of +the piano only by himself. Consider, also, the "Epilogue" in the +revised version of the "Marionettes." The piece comprises only a score +of measures; yet within it the thought of the composer traverses a +world of philosophical meditation: here is reflected the mood of one +who looks with grave tenderness across the tragi-comedy of human life, +in which, he would say to us, we are no less the playthings of a +controlling destiny than are the figures of his puppet microcosm. + +[9] The revised version, published in 1901, is referred to. The +original edition, which appeared in 1888, is decidedly inferior. + +[10] From the "Sea Pieces," for piano. + +[Illustration: THE PIAZZA AND GARDEN WALK AT PETERBORO] + +This scope and amplitude of expression are realised through a method +at once plastic and unlaboured; his art has spontaneity--the deceptive +spontaneity of the expert craftsman. It is not, in its elements, a +strikingly novel style. His harmony, _per se_, is not unusual, if one +sets it beside the surprising combinations evolved by such innovators +as d'Indy, Debussy, and Strauss. It is in the novel disposition of +familiar material--in what Mr. Apthorp has happily called his "free, +instinctive application of the old in a new way"--that MacDowell's +emphatic individuality consists. Whether it is a more signal +achievement to create a new speech through the readjustment of +established locutions than to evolve it from fresh and unworked +elements, is open to debate. Be that as it may, however, MacDowell's +achievement is of the former order. + +His harmonic method is ingenious and pliable. An over-insistence upon +certain formulas--eloquent enough in themselves--has been charged +against it, and the accusation is not without foundation. MacDowell is +exceedingly fond, for instance, of suspensions in the chord of the +diminished seventh. There is scarcely a page throughout his later work +in which one does not encounter this effect in but slightly varied +form. Yet there is a continual richness in his harmonic texture. I can +think of no other composer, save Wagner, whose chord-progressions are +so full and opulent in colour. His tonal web is always densely +woven--he avoids "thinness" as he avoids the banal phrase and the +futile decoration. In addition to the plangency of his chord +combinations, as such, his polyphonic skill is responsible for much of +the solidity of his fabric. His pages, particularly in the more recent +works, are studded with examples of felicitous and dexterous +counterpoint--poetically significant, and of the most elastic and +untrammelled contrivance. Even in passages of a merely episodic +character, one is struck with the vitality and importance of his inner +voices. Dissonance--in the sense in which we understand dissonance +to-day--plays a comparatively unimportant part in his technical +method. The climax of the second of the "Sea Pieces"--"From a +Wandering Iceberg"--marks about as extreme a point of harmonic +conflict as he ever touches. Nor has he been profoundly affected by +the passion for unbridled chromaticism engendered in modern music by +the procedures of Chopin, Liszt, and Wagner. Even in the earlier of +the orchestral works, "Hamlet and Ophelia" and "Lancelot and +Elaine"--both written in Germany in the days when the genius of Wagner +was an ambient and inescapable flame--the writing is comparatively +free from chromatic effects. On the other hand, he is far less +audaciously diatonic than Richard Strauss. His style is, in fact, a +subtle blend of opposing tendencies. + +That his songs constitute almost a third of the entire bulk of his +work is not without significance; for his melodic gift is, probably, +the most notable possession of his art. His insistence upon the value +and importance of the _melos_ was, indeed, one of his cardinal tenets; +and he is, in his practice,--whether writing for the voice, for piano, +or for orchestra,--inveterately and frankly melodic: melodic with a +suppleness, a breadth, a freshness and spontaneity which are anything +but common in the typical music of our day. It is a curious experience +to turn from the music of such typical moderns as Loeffler and +Debussy, with its elusive melodic contours, its continual avoidance of +definite patterns, its passion for the esoteric and its horror of +direct communication, to the music of such a writer as MacDowell. For +he has accomplished the difficult and perilous feat of writing frankly +without obviousness, simply without triteness. His melodic outlines +are firm, clean-cut, apprehendable; but they are seldom commonplace in +design. His thematic substance at its best--in, say, the greater part +of the sonatas, the "Sea Pieces," the "Woodland Sketches," the "Four +Songs" of op. 56--has saliency, character, and often great beauty; and +even when it is not at its best--as in much of his writing up to his +opus 45--it has a spirit and colour that lift it securely above +mediocrity. + +It must have already become evident to anyone who has followed this +essay at an exposition of MacDowell's art that his view of the +traditional musical forms is a liberal one. Which is briefly to say +that, although his application to his art of the fundamental +principles of musical design is deliberate and satisfying, he shares +the typical modern distaste for the classic forms. His four sonatas, +his two piano concertos, and his two "modern suites" for piano are his +only important adventures in the traditional instrumental moulds. The +catalogue of his works is innocent of any symphony, overture, string +quartet, or cantata. The major portion of his work is as elastic and +emancipated in form as it is unconfined in spirit. He preferred to +shape his inspiration upon the mould of a definite poetic concept, +rather than upon a constructive formula which was, for him, artificial +and anomalous. Even in his sonatas the classic prescription is altered +or abrogated at will in accordance with the requirements of the +underlying poetic idea. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +EARLY EXPERIMENTS + + +MacDowell's impulse toward significant expression was not slow in +declaring itself. The first "modern suite" (op. 10), the earliest of +his listed works, which at first glance seems to be merely a group of +contrasted movements of innocently traditional aspect, with the +expected Præludium, Presto, Intermezzo, Fugue, etc., contains, +nevertheless, the germ of the programmatic principle; for at the head +of the third movement (Andantino and Allegretto) one comes upon a +motto from Virgil--"Per amica silentia lunæ," and the Rhapsodic is +introduced with the + + "Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch' entrate" + +of Dante. The Præludium of the second piano suite, op. 14, is also +annotated, having been suggested by lines from Byron's "Manfred." +In the "Zwei Fantasiestücke", op. 17--"Erzählung" and "Hexentanz"--but +more particularly in the "Wald-Idyllen" of op. 19--"Waldesstille," +"Spiel der Nymphen," "Träumerei," and "Driadentanz,"--a definite +poetic concept is implied. Here the formative influence of Raff is +evident. The works which follow--"Drei Poesien" ("Nachts am Meere," +"Erzählung aus der Ritterzeit," "Ballade"), and the "Mondbilder," +after Hans Christian Andersen--are of a similar kind. The romanticism +which pervades them is not of a very finely distilled quality: they are +not, that is to say, the product of a clarified and wholly personal +vision--of the vision which prompted the issue of such things as the +"Woodland Sketches," the "Sea Pieces," and the "New England Idyls." In +these earlier works one feels that the romantic view has been assumed +somewhat vicariously--one can imagine the favourite pupil of Raff +producing a group of "Wald-Idyllen" quite as a matter of course, and +without interior conviction. Nor is the style marked by individuality, +except in occasional passages. There are traces of his peculiar +quality in the first suite,--in the 6/8 passage of the Rhapsodie, for +example,--in portions of the first piano concerto (the _a piacere_ +passage toward the close of the first movement is particularly +characteristic), in the _Erzählung_, and in No. 3 (_Träumerei_) of the +_Wald-Idyllen_; but the prevailing note of his style at this time was, +quite naturally, strongly Teutonic: one encounters in it the trail of +Liszt, of Schumann, of Raff, of Wagner. + +Not until one reaches the "Hamlet and Ophelia" is it apparent that he +is beginning to find himself. This work was written before he had +completed his twenty-fourth year; yet the music is curiously ripe in +feeling and accomplishment. There is breadth and steadiness of view in +the conception, passion and sensitiveness in its embodiment: It is +mellower, of a deeper and finer beauty, than anything he had +previously done, though nowhere has it the inspiration of his later +works. + +The second piano concerto (op. 23), completed a year later, is fairly +within the class of that order of music which it has been generally +agreed to describe as "absolute." It is innocent of any programme, +save for the fact that some of the ideas prompted by "Much Ado About +Nothing," which were to form a "Beatrice and Benedick" symphonic poem, +were, as I have related in a previous chapter, incorporated in the +scherzo. Together with its companion work, the first piano concerto; +the "Romanza" for 'cello and orchestra; the concert study, op. 36, and +such conventional _morceaux_ as the early "Serenata" and "Barcarolle" +(of which, it should be noted, there are extremely few among his +productions), it represents the very limited body of his writing which +does not, in some degree, propose and enforce a definite poetic +concept. Not elsewhere in his earlier work has MacDowell marshalled +the materials of his art with so confident an artistry as he exhibits +in this concerto. In substance the work is not extraordinary. The +manner derives something from Grieg, more from Liszt, and there is +comparatively little disclosure of personality. But the manipulation +is, throughout, the work of a music-wright of brilliant executive +capacity. In fundamental logic, in cohesion, flexibility, and symmetry +of organism, it is a brilliantly successful accomplishment. As in all +of MacDowell's writing, its allegiance is to the basic principles of +structure and design, rather than to a traditional and arbitrary +formula. + +The succeeding opus (24), comprising the "Humoreske," "March," "Cradle +Song," and "Czardas," is unimportant. Of the four pieces the gracious +"Cradle Song" is of the most worth. The group as a whole belongs to +that inconsiderable portion of his output which one cannot accept as +of serious artistic consequence. With the "Lancelot and Elaine" (op. +25), however, one comes upon a work of the grade of the "Hamlet and +Ophelia" music. MacDowell had a peculiar affinity for the spirit of +the Arthurian tales, and he was happy in whatever musical +transmutation of them he attempted. This tone-poem is, as he avows, +"after Tennyson." The work follows consistently the larger action of +the poem, and musical equivalents are sought and found for such +crucial incidents as the meeting with Elaine, the tournament, +Lancelot's downfall, his return to the court and the interview with +Guinevere, the apparition of the funeral barge, and the soliloquy of +Lancelot by the river bank. The work is dramatically conceived. There +are passages of impressive tenderness,--as in the incident of the +approaching barge; of climactic force,--as in the passage portraying +the casting away of the trophies; and there are admirable details of +workmanship. The scoring is full and adroit, though not very +elaborate. As always with him, the instrumental texture is richly +woven, although his utilisation of the possibilities of the orchestra +is far from exhaustive. One misses, for example, the colouring of +available harp effects, for which he appeared to have a distaste, +since the instrument is not required in any of his orchestral works. +That he was not satisfied with the scoring of the work is known. He +remarked to Mr. Philip Hale that it was "too full of horns"; and in +his own copy of the score, which I possess, he has made in pencil +numerous changes in the instrumentation, much to its improvement; he +has, for instance, in accord with his expressed feeling, reduced the +prominence of the horns, allotting their parts, in certain important +instances, to the wood-wind, trombones, or trumpets. + +The "Six Idyls after Goethe," for piano (op. 28), are noteworthy as +foreshadowing the candid impressionism which was to have its finest +issue in the "Woodland Sketches," "Sea Pieces," and "New England +Idyls." The Goethe paraphrases, although they have only a tithe of the +graphic nearness and felicity of the later pieces, are yet fairly +successful in their attempt to find a musical correspondence for +certain definitely stated concepts and ideas--a partial fulfilment of +the method implied in the earlier "Wald-Idyllen." He presents +himself here as one who has yielded his imagination to an intimate +contemplation of the natural world, and who already has, in some +degree, the faculty of uttering whatever revelation of its loveliness +or majesty has been vouchsafed. At once, in studying these pieces, one +observes a wide departure in method and accomplishment from the style +of the "Wald-Idyllen." In those, it seemed, the poet had somehow +failed to compose "with his eye on the object": the vision lacked +steadiness, lacked penetration--or it may be that the vision was +present, but not the power of notation. In the Goethe paraphrases, on +the other hand, we are given, in a measure, the sense of the thing +perceived; I say "in a measure," for his power of acute and +sympathetic observation and of eloquent transmutation had not yet come +to its highest pitch. Of the six "Idyls," three--"In the Woods," +"Siesta," and "To the Moonlight"--are memorable, though uneven; and of +these the third, after Goethe's "An den Mond," adumbrates faintly +MacDowell's riper manner. The "Silver Clouds," "Flute Idyl,"[11] and +"Blue Bell" are decidedly less characteristic. + +[11] The poems which suggested this and the preceding piece were used +again by MacDowell in two of the most admirable of the "Eight Songs," +op. 47. + +His third orchestral work, the symphonic poem "Lamia," is based upon +the fantastic (and what Mr. Howells would call unconscionably +"romanticistic") poem of Keats. Begun during his last year in +Wiesbaden (1888), and completed the following winter in Boston, it +stands, in the order of MacDowell's orchestral pieces, between +"Lancelot and Elaine" and the two "fragments" after the "Song of +Roland." On a fly-leaf of the score MacDowell has written this +glossary of the story as told by Keats: + + "Lamia, an enchantress in the form of a serpent, loves Lycius, a + young Corinthian. In order to win him she prays to Hermes, who + answers her appeal by transforming her into a lovely maiden. + Lycius meets her in the wood, is smitten with love for her, and + goes with her to her enchanted palace, where the wedding is + celebrated with great splendour. But suddenly Apollonius appears; + he reveals the magic. Lamia again assumes the form of a serpent, + the enchanted palace vanishes, and Lycius is found lifeless." + +Now this is obviously just the sort of thing to stir the musical +imagination of a young composer nourished on Liszt, Raff, and Wagner; +and MacDowell (he was then in his twenty-seventh year) composed his +tone-poem with evident gusto. Yet it is the weakest of his orchestral +works--the weakest and the least characteristic. There is much Liszt +in the score, and a good deal of Wagner. Only occasionally--as in the +_pianissimo_ passage for flutes, clarinets, and divided strings, +following the first outburst of the full orchestra--does his own +individuality emerge with any positiveness. MacDowell withheld the +score from publication, at the time of its composition, because of his +uncertainty as to its effect. He had not had an opportunity to secure +a reading of it by one of the _Cur-Orchester_ which had accommodatingly +tried over his preceding scores at their rehearsals; and such a thing +was of course out of the question in America. Not only was he +reluctant to put it forth without such a test, but he lacked the funds +to pay for its publication. He came to realise in later years, of +course, that the music was immature and far from characteristic, +though he still had a genuine affection for it. In a talk which I had +with him a year before his collapse, he gave me the impression that he +considered it at least as good a piece of work as its predecessors, +"Hamlet and Ophelia" and "Lancelot and Elaine," though he made sport, +in his characteristic way, of its occasional juvenility and its +Wagneristic allegiances. He intended ultimately to revise and publish +the score, and he allowed it to remain on the list of his works. After +his death it was concluded that it would be wise to print the music, +for several reasons. These were, first, because of the fear lest, +if it were allowed to remain in manuscript, it might at some future +time suffer from well-meant attempts at revision; and, secondly, +because of the chance that it might be put forward, after the death +of those who knew its history, in a way which would seem to make +unwarranted pretensions for it, or would give rise to doubts as to its +authenticity. In a word, it was felt that its immediate publication +would obviate any possible misconception at some future time as to its +true relation to MacDowell's artistic evolution. It was, therefore, +published in October, 1908, twenty years after its composition, with a +dedication to Mr. Henry T. Finck. + +In "Die Sarazenen" and "Die Schöne Aldâ," two "fragments" for +orchestra after the "Song of Roland," numbered op. 30, a graver note +is sounded. These "fragments," originally intended to form part of a +"Roland" symphony, were published in 1891 in their present form, the +plan for a symphony having been definitely abandoned. "Die +Sarazenen" is a transcription of the scene in which Ganelon, the +traitor in Charlemagne's camp through whose perfidy Roland met his +death, swears to commit his crime. It is a forceful conception, +barbaric in colour and rhythm, and picturesquely scored. The second +fragment, "Die Schöne Aldâ," is, however, a more memorable work, +depicting the loveliness and the grieving of Aldâ, Roland's betrothed. +In spite of its strong Wagnerian leanings, the music bears the impress +of MacDowell's own style, and it has moments of rare loveliness. Both +pieces are programmatic in bent, and, with excellent wisdom, MacDowell +has quoted upon the fly-leaf of the score those portions of the "Song +of Roland" from which the conception of the music sprang. + +Like the "Idyls" after Goethe, the "Six Poems" after Heine (op. 31), +for piano, are devoted to the embodiment of a poetic subject,--with +the difference that instead of the landscape impressionism of the +Goethe studies we have a persistent impulse toward psychological +suggestion. Each of the poems which he has selected for illustration +has a burden of human emotion which the music reflects with varying +success. The style is more individualised than in the Goethe pieces, +and the invention is, on the whole, of a superior order. The "Scotch +Poem" (No. 2) is the most successful of the set; the + + "... schöne, kranke Frau, + Zartdurchsichtig und marmorblass," + +and her desolate lamenting, are sharply projected, though scarcely +with the power that he would have brought to bear upon the endeavour a +decade later. Less effective, but more characteristic, is "The +Shepherd Boy" (No. 5). This is almost, at moments, MacDowell in the +happiest phase of his lighter vein. The transition from F minor to +major, after the _fermata_ on the second page, is as typical as it is +delectable; and the fifteen bars that follow are of a markedly +personal tinge. "From Long Ago" and "From a Fisherman's Hut" are less +good, and "The Post Wagon" and "Monologue" are disappointing--the +latter especially so, because the exquisite poem which he has chosen +to enforce, the matchless lyric beginning "Der Tod, das ist die kühle +Nacht," should, it seems, have offered an inspiring incentive. + +In the "Four Little Poems" of op. 32 one encounters a piece which it +is possible to admire without qualification: I mean the music +conceived as an illustration to Tennyson's poem, "The Eagle." The +three other numbers of this opus, "The Brook," "Moonshine," and +"Winter," one can praise only in measured terms--although "Winter," +which attempts a representation of the "widow bird" and frozen +landscape of Shelley's lyric, has some measures that dwell +persistently in the memory: but "The Eagle" is a superb achievement. +Its deliberate purpose is to realise in tone the imagery and +atmosphere of Tennyson's lines--an object which it accomplishes with +triumphant completeness. As a feat of sheer tone-painting one recalls +few things, of a similar scope and purpose, that surpass it in +fitness, concision, and felicity. It displays a power of imaginative +transmutation hitherto undisclosed in MacDowell's writing. Here are +precisely the severe and lonely mood of the opening lines of the poem, +the sense of inaccessible and wind-swept spaces, which Tennyson has so +magnificently and so succinctly conveyed. Here, too, are the far-off, +"wrinkled sea," and the final cataclysmic and sudden descent: yet, +despite the literalism of the close, there is no yielding of artistic +sobriety in the result, for the music has an unassailable dignity. It +remains, even to-day, one of MacDowell's most characteristic and +admirable performances. + +Of the "Romance" for 'cello and orchestra (op. 35), the Concert Study +(op. 36), and "Les Orientales" (op. 37),--three _morceaux_ for +piano, after Victor Hugo,--there is no need to speak in detail. +"Perfunctory" is the word which one must use to describe the creative +impulse of which they are the ungrateful legacy--an impulse less +spontaneous, there is reason to believe, than utilitarian. Perhaps +they may most justly be characterised as almost the only instances in +which MacDowell gave heed to the possibility of a reward not primarily +and exclusively artistic. They are sentimental and unleavened, and +they are far from worthy of his gifts, though they are not without a +certain rather inexpensive charm. + +[Illustration: A WINTER VIEW OF THE PETERBORO HOUSE] + +The "Marionettes" of op. 38 are in a wholly different case. Published +first in 1888, the year of MacDowell's return to America, they were +afterward extensively revised, and now appear under a radically +different guise. In its present form, the group comprises six _genre_ +studies--"Soubrette," "Lover," "Witch," "Clown," "Villain," +"Sweetheart"--besides two additions: a "Prologue" and "Epilogue." Here +MacDowell is in one of his happiest moods. It was a fortunate and +charming conceit which prompted the plan of the series, with its +half-playful, half-ironic, yet lurkingly poetic suggestions; for in +spite of the mood of bantering gaiety which placed the pieces in such +mocking juxtaposition, there is, throughout, an undertone of grave and +meditative tenderness which it is one of the peculiar properties of +MacDowell's art to communicate and enforce. This is continually +apparent in "The Lover" and "Sweetheart," fugitively so in the +"Prologue," and, in an irresistible degree, in the exceedingly poetic +and deeply felt "Epilogue"--one of the most typical and beautiful of +MacDowell's smaller works. The music of these pieces is, as with other +of his earlier works that he has since revised, confusing to the +observer who attempts to place it among his productions in the order +suggested by its opus number. For although in the list of his +published works the "Marionettes" follow immediately on the heels of +the Concert Study and "Les Orientales" the form in which they are +now most generally known represents the much later period of the +"Keltic" sonata--a fact which will, however, be sufficiently evident +to anyone who studies the two versions carefully enough to perceive +the difference between more or less experimental craftsmanship and +ripe and heedful artistry. The observer will notice in these pieces, +incidentally, the abandonment of the traditional Italian terms of +expression and the substitution of English words and phrases, which +are used freely and with adroitness to indicate every shade of the +composer's meaning. In place of the stereotyped terms of the +music-maker's familiarly limited vocabulary, we have such a system of +direct and elastic expression as Schumann adopted. Thus one finds, in +the "Prologue," such unmistakable and illuminating directions as: +"with sturdy good humour," "pleadingly," "mockingly"; in the +"Soubrette"--"poutingly"; in the "Lover"--in the "Villain"--"with +sinister emphasis," "sardonically." This method, which MacDowell has +followed consistently in all his later works, has obvious advantages; +and it becomes in his hands a picturesque and stimulating means for +the conveyance of his intentions. Its defect, equally obvious, is that +it is not, like the conventional Italian terminology, universally +intelligible. + +The "Twelve Studies" of op. 39 are less original in conception and of +less artistic moment than the "Marionettes." Their titles--among which +are a "Hunting Song," a "Romance," a "Dance of the Gnomes," and others +of like connotation--suggest, in a measure, that imperfectly realised +romanticism which I have before endeavoured to separate from the +intimate spirit of sincere romance which MacDowell has so often +succeeded in embodying. The same thing is true, though in a less +degree, of the suite for orchestra (op. 42). It is more Raff-like--not +in effect but in conception--than anything he has done. There are four +movements: "In a Haunted Forest," "Summer Idyl," "The Shepherdess' +Song," and "Forest Spirits," together with a supplement, "In October," +forming part of the original suite, but not published until several +years later. The work, as a whole, has atmosphere, freshness, +buoyancy, and it is scored with exquisite skill and charm; but somehow +it does not seem either as poetic or as distinguished as one imagines +it might have been made. It is carried through with delightful high +spirits, and with an expert order of craftsmanship; but it lacks +persuasion--lacks, to put it baldly, inspiration. + +Passing over a sheaf of piano pieces, the "Twelve Virtuoso Studies" of +op. 46 (of which the "Novelette" and "Improvisation" are most +noteworthy), we come to a stage of MacDowell's development in which, +for the first time, he presents himself as an assured and confident +master of musical impressionism and the possessor of a matured and +fully individualised style. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A MATURED IMPRESSIONIST + + +With the completion and production of his "Indian" suite for orchestra +(op. 48) MacDowell came, in a measure, into his own. Mr. Philip Hale, +writing apropos of a performance of the suite at a concert of the +Boston Symphony Orchestra[12] in December, 1897, did not hesitate to +describe the work as "one of the noblest compositions of modern +times." Elsewhere he wrote concerning it: "The thoughts are the +musical thoughts of high imagination; the expression is that of the +sure and serene master. There are here no echoes of Raff, or Wagner, +or Brahms, men that have each influenced mightily the musical thought +of to-day. There is the voice of one composer: a virile, tender voice +that does not stammer, does not break, does not wax hysterical: the +voice of a composer that not only must pour out that which has +accumulated within him, but knows all the resources of musical +oratory--in a word, the voice of MacDowell." + +[12] The suite is dedicated to this Orchestra and its former +conductor, Mr. Emil Paur. + +MacDowell has derived the greater part of the thematic substance of +the suite, as he acknowledges in a prefatory note, from melodies of +the North American Indians, with the exception of a few subsidiary +themes of his own invention. "If separate titles for the different +movements are desired," he says in his note, "they should be arranged +as follows: I. 'Legend'; II. 'Love Song'; III. 'In War-time'; IV. +'Dirge'; V. Village Festival'"--a concession in which again one traces +a hint of the inexplicable and amusing reluctance of the musical +impressionist to acknowledge without reservation the programmatic +basis of his work. In the case of the "Indian" suite, however, the +intention is clear enough, even without the proffered titles; for the +several movements are unmistakably based upon firmly held concepts of +a definite dramatic and emotional significance. As supplemental aids +to the discovery of his poetic purposes, the phrases of direction +which he has placed at the beginning of each movement are indicative, +taken in connection with the titles which he sanctions. The first +movement, "Legend," is headed: _Not fast. With much dignity and +character_; the second movement, "Love Song," is to be played _Not +fast. Tenderly_; the third movement, "In War-time," is marked: _With +rough vigour, almost savagely_; the fourth, "Dirge": _Dirge-like, +mournfully_; the fifth, "Village Festival": _Swift and light_. + +Here, certainly, is food for the imagination, the frankest of +invitations to the impressionable listener. There is no reason to +believe that the music is built throughout upon such a detailed and +specific plan as underlies, for example, the "Lancelot and Elaine"; +the notable fact is that MacDowell has attained in this work to a +power and weight of utterance, an eloquence of communication, a +ripeness of style, and a security and strength of workmanship, which +he had not hitherto brought to the fulfilment of an avowedly +impressionistic scheme.[13] He has exposed the particular emotions and +the essential character of his subject with deep sympathy and +extraordinary imaginative force--at times with profoundly impressive +effect, as in the first movement, "Legend," and the third, "In +War-Time"; and in the overwhelmingly poignant "Dirge" he has achieved +the most profoundly affecting threnody in music since the +"Götterdämmerung" _Trauermarsch_. I am inclined to rank this movement, +with the sonatas and one or two of the "Woodland Sketches" and "Sea +Pieces," as the choicest emanation of MacDowell's genius; and of these +it is, I think, the most inspired and the most deeply felt. The +extreme pathos of the opening section, with the wailing phrase in the +muted strings under the reiterated G of the flutes (an inverted +organ-point of sixteen _adagio_ measures); the indescribable effect of +the muted horn heard from behind the scenes, over an accompaniment of +divided violas and 'cellos _con sordini_; the heart-shaking sadness +and beauty of the succeeding passage for all the muted strings; the +mysterious and solemn close: these are outstanding moments in a +masterpiece of the first rank: a page which would honour any +music-maker, living or dead. + +[13] The "Tragica" sonata, op. 45, which antedates the suite by +several years, and of which I shall write in another chapter, has a +considerably less definite content. + +In the suite as a whole he has caught and embodied the fundamental +spirit of his theme: these are the sorrows and laments and rejoicings, +not of our own day and people, but of the vanished life of an +elemental and dying race; here is the solitude of dark forests, of +illimitable and lonely prairies, and the sombreness and wildness of +one knows not what grim tragedies and romances and festivities enacted +in the shadow of a fading past. + +Into the discussion of the relation between such works as the "Indian" +suite and the establishment of a possible "American" school of music I +shall not intrude. To those of us who believe that such a "school," +whether desirable or not, can never be created through conscious +effort, and who are entirely willing to permit time and circumstance +to bring about its establishment, the subject is as wearisome as it is +unprofitable. The logic of the belief that it is possible to achieve a +representative nationalism in music by the ingenuous process of +adopting the idiom of an alien though neighbouring race is not +immediately apparent; and although MacDowell in this suite has +admittedly derived his basic material from the North American +aborigines, he never, so far as I am aware, claimed that his +impressive and noble score constitutes, for that reason, a +representatively national utterance. He perceived, doubtless, that +territorial propinquity is quite a different thing from racial +affinity; and that a musical art derived from either Indian or +Ethiopian sources can be "American" only in a partial and quite +unimportant sense. He recognised, and he affirmed the belief, that +racial elements are transitory and mutable, and that provinciality in +art, even when it is called patriotism, makes for a probable oblivion. + +I have already dwelt upon MacDowell's preoccupation with the pageant +of the natural world. If one is tempted, at times, to praise in him +the celebrant of the "mystery and the majesty of earth" somewhat at +the expense of the musical humanist, it is because he has in an +uncommon degree the intimate visualising faculty of the essential +Celt. "In all my work," he avowed a few years before his death, "there +is the Celtic influence. I love its colour and meaning. The +development in music of that influence is, I believe, a new field." +That it was a note which he was pre-eminently qualified to strike and +sustain is beyond doubt: and, as he seems to have realised, he had the +field to himself. He is, strangely enough, the first Celtic influence +of genuine vitality and importance which has been exerted upon +creative music--a singular but incontestable fact. As it is exerted by +him it has an exquisite authenticity. Again and again one is aware +that the "sheer, inimitable Celtic note," which we have long known how +to recognise in another art, is being sounded in the music of this +composer who has in his heart and brain so much of "the wisdom of old +romance." With him one realises that "natural magic" is, as Mr. Yeats +has somewhere said, "but the ancient worship of Nature and that +troubled ecstasy before her, that certainty of all beautiful places +being haunted, which is brought into men's minds." We have observed +the operation of this impulse in such comparatively immature +productions as the "Wald-Idyllen" and the "Idyls" after Goethe, in +the "Four Little Poems" of op. 32, and in the first orchestral suite; +but it is in the much later "Woodland Sketches" and "Sea Pieces," for +piano, that the tendency comes to its finest issue. + +Music, of course--from Frohberger and Haydn to Mendelssohn, Wagner, +Raff, and Debussy--abounds in examples of natural imagery. In claiming +a certain excellence for his method one need scarcely imply that +MacDowell has ever threatened the supremacy of such things as the +"Rheingold" prelude or the "Walküre" fire music. It is as much by +reason of his choice of subjects as because of the peculiar vividness +and felicity of his expression, that he occupies so single a place +among tone-poets of the external world. He has never attempted such +vast frescoes as Wagner delighted to paint. Of his descriptive music +by far the greater part is written for the piano; so that, at the +start, a very definite limitation is imposed upon magnitude of plan. +You cannot suggest on the piano, with any adequacy of effect, a +mountain-side in flames, or the prismatic arch of a rainbow, or the +towering architecture of cloud forms; so MacDowell has confined +himself within the bounds of such canvases as he paints upon in his +"Four Little Poems" ("The Eagle," "The Brook," "Moonshine," "Winter"), +in his first orchestral suite, and in the inimitable "Woodland +Sketches" and "Sea Pieces." Thus his themes are starlight, a +water-lily, will o' the wisps, a deserted farm, a wild rose, the +sea-spell, deep woods, an old garden. As a fair exemplification of his +practice, consider, let me say, his "To a Water-lily," from the +"Woodland Sketches." It is difficult to recall anything in objective +tone-painting, for the piano or for the orchestra, conceived and +executed quite in the manner of this remarkable piece of lyrical +impressionism. Of all the composers who have essayed tonal +transcriptions of the phases of the outer world, I know of none who +has achieved such vividness and suggestiveness of effect with a +similar condensation. The form is small; but these pieces are no more +justly to be dismissed as mere "miniature work" than is Wordsworth's +"Daffodils," which they parallel in delicacy of perception, intensity +of vision, and perfection of accomplishment. The question of bulk, +length, size, has quite as much pertinence in one case as in the +other. In his work in this sort, MacDowell is often as one who, having +fallen, through the ignominies of daily life, among the barren +makeshifts of reality, "remembers the enchanted valleys." It is +touched at times with the deep and wistful tenderness, the primæval +nostalgia, which is never very distant from the mood of his writing, +and in which, again, one is tempted to trace the essential Celt. It is +this close kinship with the secret presences of the natural world, +this intimate responsiveness to elemental moods, this quick +sensitiveness to the aroma and the magic of places, that sets him +recognisably apart. + +If in the "Indian" suite MacDowell disclosed the full maturity of his +powers of imaginative and structural design, it is in the "Woodland +Sketches" (op. 51) that his speech, freed from such incumbrances as +were imposed upon it by his deliberate adoption of an exotic idiom, +assumes for the first time some of its most engaging and distinctive +characteristics. Consider, for example, number eight of the group, "A +Deserted Farm." Here is the quintessence of his style in one of its +most frequent aspects. The manner has a curious simplicity, yet it +would be difficult to say in what, precisely, the simplicity consists; +it has striking individuality,--yet the particular trait in which it +resides is not easily determined. The simplicity is certainly not of +the harmonic plan, nor of the melodic outline, which are subtly yet +frankly conceived; and the individuality does not lie in any +eccentricity or determined novelty of effect. Both the flavour of +simplicity and of personality are, one concludes, more a spiritual +than an anatomical possession of the music. Its quality is as +intangible and pervasive as that dim magic of "unremembering +remembrance" that is awakened in some by the troubling tides of +spring; it is apparently as unsought for as are the naive utterances +of folk-song. It is his unfailing charm, and it is everywhere manifest +in his later work: that spontaneity and _insouciance_, that utter +absence of self-consciousness, which is in nothing so surprising as in +its serene antithesis to what one has come to accept--too readily, it +may be--as the dominant accent of musical modernity. + +These pieces have an inescapable fragrance, tenderness, and zest. "To +a Wild Rose," "Will o' the Wisp," "In Autumn," "From Uncle Remus," and +"By a Meadow Brook" are slight in poetic substance, though executed +with charm and humour; but the five other pieces--"At an Old Trysting +Place," "From an Indian Lodge," "To a Water-lily," "A Deserted Farm," +and "Told at Sunset"--are of a different calibre. With the exception +of "To a Water-lily," whose quality is uncomplex and unconcealed, +these tone-poems in little are a curious blend of what, lacking an +apter name, one must call nature-poetry, and psychological suggestion; +and they are remarkable for the manner in which they focus great +richness of emotion into limited space. "At an Old Trysting Place," +"From an Indian Lodge," "A Deserted Farm," and "Told at Sunset," imply +a consecutive dramatic purpose which is emphasised by their connection +through a hint of thematic community. The element of drama, though, is +not insisted upon--indeed, a large portion of the searching charm of +these pieces lies in their tactful reticence. + +In the "Sea Pieces" of op. 55 a larger impulse is at work. The set +comprises eight short pieces, few of them over two pages in length; +yet they are modelled upon ample lines, and they have, in a +conspicuous degree, that property to which I have alluded--the +property of suggesting within a limited framework an emotional or +dramatic content of large and far-reaching significance. I spoke in an +earlier chapter, in this connection, of the first of these pieces, "To +the Sea." I must repeat that this tone-poem seems to me one of the +most entirely admirable things in the literature of the piano; and it +is typical, in the main, of the volume. MacDowell is one of the +comparatively few composers who have been thrall to the spell of the +sea; none, I think, has felt that spell more irresistibly or has +communicated it with more conquering an eloquence. This music is full +of the glamour, the awe, the mystery, of the sea; of its sinister and +terrible beauty, but also of its tonic charm, its secret allurement. +Here is sea poetry to match with that of Whitman and Swinburne. The +music is drenched in salt-spray, wind-swept, exhilarating. There are +pages in it through which rings the thunderous laughter of the sea in +its mood of cosmic and terrifying elation, and there are pages through +which drift sun-painted mists--mists that both conceal and disclose +enchanted vistas and apparitions. There is an exhilaration even in his +titles (which he has supplemented with mottos): as "To the Sea," "From +a Wandering Iceberg," "Starlight," "From the Depths," "In Mid-Ocean." +I make no concealment of my unqualified admiration for these pieces: +with the sonatas, the "Dirge" from the "Indian" suite, and certain of +the "Woodland Sketches," they record, I think, his high-water mark. He +has carried them through with superb gusto, with unwearying +imaginative fervour. In "To the Sea," "From the Depths," and "In +Mid-Ocean," it is the sea of Whitman's magnificent apostrophe that he +celebrates--the sea of + + "brooding scowl and murk," + +of + + "unloosed hurricanes," + +speaking, imperiously, + + "with husky-haughty lips"; + +while elsewhere, as in the "Wandering Iceberg" and "Nautilus" studies, +the pervading tone is of Swinburne's + + "deep divine dark dayshine of the sea." + +"Starlight" is of a brooding and solemn tenderness. The "Song" and +"A.D. MDCXX." (a memoir of the notorious galleon of the Pilgrims) are +in a lighter vein. The tonal plangency, the epic quality, of these +studies is extraordinary,--exposing a tendency toward an orchestral +fulness and breadth of style that will offer a more pertinent theme +for comment in a consideration of the sonatas. Their littleness is +wholly a quantitative matter; their spiritual and imaginative +substance is not only of rare quality, but of striking amplitude. + +We come now to the final volumes in the series of what one may as well +call pianistic "nature-studies": the "Fireside Tales" (op. 61) and +"New England Idyls" (op. 62), which, together with the songs of op. +60, constitute the last of his published works (they were all issued +in 1902). In these last piano pieces there is a new quality, an +unaccustomed accent. One notes it on the first page of the opening +number of the "Fireside Tales," "An Old Love Story," where the voice +of the composer seems to have taken on an unfamiliar _timbre_. There +is here a turn of phrase, a quality of sentiment, which are notably +fresh and strange. There is in this, and in "By Smouldering Embers," a +graver tenderness, a more pervasive sobriety, than he had revealed +before. Read over the D-flat major section of "An Old Love Story." +Throughout MacDowell's previous work one will find no passage quite +like it in contour and emotion. It is quieter, more ripely poised, +than anything in his earlier manner that I can recall. "Of Br'er +Rabbit," "From a German Forest," "Of Salamanders," and "A Haunted +House," are in his familiar vein; but again the new note is sounded in +the concluding number of the book, "By Smouldering Embers." + +In the "New England Idyls," the point is still more evident. One +passes over "From an Old Garden" and "Midsummer" as belonging +fundamentally to the period of the "Woodland Sketches" and "Sea +Pieces." But one halts at "Mid-Winter," No. 3 of the collection; with +those fifteen bars in E-flat major in the middle section, one enters +upon unfamiliar ground in the various and delectable region of +MacDowell's fantasy. So in the succeeding piece, "With Sweet +Lavender": he had not given us in any of his former writing a theme +similar in quality to the one with which he begins the thirteenth bar. +"In Deep Woods" is less unusual--is, in fact, strongly suggestive, in +harmonic colour, of the shining sonorities of the "Wandering Iceberg" +study in the "Sea Pieces." The "Indian Idyl," "To an Old White Pine," +and "From Puritan Days" are also contrived in the familiar idiom of +the earlier volumes, though they are unfailingly resourceful in +invention and imaginative vigour. In "From a Log Cabin," though, we +come upon as surprising a thing as MacDowell's art had yielded us +since the appearance of the "Woodland Sketches." I doubt if, in the +entire body of his writing, one will find a lovelier, a more intimate +utterance. It bears as a motto the words--strangely prophetic when he +wrote them--which are now inscribed on the memorial tablet near his +grave:-- + + "A house of dreams untold, + It looks out over the whispering tree-tops + And faces the setting sun." + +[Illustration: THE "HOUSE OF DREAMS UNTOLD"--THE LOG CABIN IN THE +WOODS AT PETERBORO WHERE MACDOWELL COMPOSED, AND WHERE MOST OF HIS +LATER MUSIC WAS WRITTEN] + +The music of this piece is suffused with a mood that is Schumann-like +in its intense sincerity of impulse, yet with a passionate fulness and +ardour not elsewhere to be paralleled. It is steeped in an atmosphere +which is felt in no other of his works, is the issue of an inspiration +more profoundly contemplative than any to which he had hitherto +responded. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE SONATAS + + +MacDowell never hesitated, as I have elsewhere said, to adapt--some +would say "warp"--the sonata form to the needs of his poetic purposes. +Moreover, he declared his convictions as to the considerations which +should govern its employment. "If the composer's ideas do not +imperatively demand treatment in that [the sonata] form," he has +observed--"that is, if his first theme is not actually dependent upon +his second and side themes for its poetic fulfilment--he has not +composed a sonata movement, but a potpourri, which the form only +aggravates." There can be little question of the success which has +attended his application of this principle to his own performances in +this field, nor of the skill and tact with which he has reshaped the +form in accordance with his chosen poetic or dramatic scheme. + +His four sonatas belong undeniably, though with a variously strict +allegiance, to the domain of programme-music. Neither the "Tragica," +the "Eroica," the "Norse," nor the "Keltic," makes its appeal +exclusively to the tonal sense. If one looks to these works for the +particular kind of gratification which he is accustomed to derive, for +example, from a sonata by Brahms (to name the most extreme of +contrasts), he will not find it. It is impossible fully to appreciate +and enjoy the last page of the "Keltic," for instance, without some +knowledge of the dramatic crisis upon which the musician has +built--although its beauty and power, as sheer music, are immediately +perceptible. + +With the exception of the "Tragica," the poetic substratum of the +sonatas has been avowed with more or less particularity. In the +"Tragica"--his first essay in the form--he has vouchsafed only the +general indication of his purpose which is declared in the title of +the work, though it is known that in composing the music MacDowell was +moved by the memory of his grief over the death of his master Raff (it +might stand even more appropriately as a commentary on the tragedy of +his own life). The tragic note is sounded, with impressive authority +and force, in the brief introduction, _largo maestoso_. The music, +from the first, drives to the very heart of the subject: there is +neither pose nor bombast in the presentation of the thought; and this +attitude is maintained throughout--in the ingratiating loveliness of +the second subject, in the fierce striving of the middle section, in +the noble and sombre slow movement,--a _largo_ of profound pathos and +dignity,--and in the dramatic and impassioned close (the scherzo is, I +think, less good). Of this final _allegro_ an exposition has been +vouchsafed. While in the preceding movements, it is said, he aimed at +expressing tragic details, in the last he has tried to generalise. He +wished "to heighten the darkness of tragedy by making it follow +closely on the heels of triumph. Therefore, he attempted to make the +last movement a steadily progressive triumph, which, at its close, is +utterly broken and shattered, thinking that the most poignant tragedy +is that of catastrophe in the hour of triumph.... In doing this he has +tried to epitomise the whole work." The meaning of the _coda_ is thus +made clear: a climax approached with the utmost pomp and brilliancy, +and cut short by a _precipitato_ descent in octaves, _fff_, ending +with a reminiscence of the portentous subject of the introduction. It +is a profoundly moving conclusion to a noble work--a work which Mr. +James Huneker has not extravagantly called "the most marked +contribution to solo sonata literature since Brahms' F-minor piano +sonata"; yet it is not so fine a work as any one of the three sonatas +which MacDowell afterward wrote. The style evinces, for the first time +in his piano music, the striking orchestral character of his +thought--yet the writing is not, paradoxical as it may seem, +unpianistic. The suggestion of orchestral relationships is contained +in the massiveness of the harmonic texture, and in the cumulative +effect of the climaxes and crescendi. He conveys an impression of +extended tone-spaces, of a largeness, complexity, and solidity of +structure, which are peculiar to his own music, and which presuppose a +rather disdainful view of the limitations of mere strings and hammers; +yet it is all playable: its demands are formidable, but not +prohibitive. + +[Illustration (Score): FACSIMILE OF A PORTION OF THE MS. OF THE +"SONATA TRAGICA"] + +In 1895 MacDowell published his "Sonata Eroica" (op. 50), and those +who had wondered how he could better his performance in the "Tragica" +received a fresh demonstration of the extent of his gifts. For these +sonatas of his constitute an ascending series, steadily progressive in +excellence of substance and workmanship. They are, on the whole, I +think it will be determined, his most significant and important +contribution to musical art. The "Eroica" bears the motto, "Flos +regum Arthuris," and as a further index to its content MacDowell has +given this explanation: "While not exactly programme music,"[14] he +says, "I had in mind the Arthurian legend when writing this work. The +first movement typifies the coming of Arthur. The scherzo was +suggested by a picture of Doré showing a knight in the woods +surrounded by elves. The third movement was suggested by my idea of +Guinevere. That following represents the passing of Arthur." MacDowell +had intended to inscribe the scherzo: "After Doré"; but he finally +thought better of this because, as he told Mr. N.J. Corey, "the +superscription seemed to single it out too much from the other +movements." Concerning this movement Mr. Corey writes: "The passage +which it [the Doré picture] illustrates, may be found in [Tennyson's] +_Guinevere_, in the story of the little novice, following a few lines +after the well known 'Late, late, so late!' poem. I always had a +little feeling," continues Mr. Corey, "that the sonata would have been +stronger, from a programme standpoint, with this movement +omitted--that it had perhaps been included largely as a concession to +the traditions of sonata form. The fact that no scherzos were included +in the two sonatas that followed, strengthened my opinion in regard to +this. I questioned him in regard to it later when I saw him in New +York, and he replied that it was a matter over which he had pondered +considerably, and one which had influenced him in the composition of +the last two sonatas, as the insertion of a scherzo in such a scheme +did seem something like an interruption, or 'aside.'" + +[14] It must be confessed that this qualification is a little +difficult to grasp. Is not the sonata dependent for its complete +understanding upon a knowledge of its literary basis? MacDowell +exhibits here the half-heartedness which I have elsewhere remarked +in his attitude toward representative music. + +In this sonata MacDowell has been not only faithful to his text, he +has illuminated it. Indeed, I think it would not be extravagant to say +that he has given us here the noblest musical incarnation of the +Arthurian legend which we have. It is singular, by the way, how +frequently one is impelled to use the epithet "noble" in praising +MacDowell's work; in reference to the "Sonata Eroica" it has an +emphatic aptness, for nobility is the keynote of this music. If the +work, as a whole, has not the dynamic power of the "Tragica," the +weight and gravity of substance, it is both a lovelier and a more +lovable work, and it is everywhere more significantly accented. He has +written few things more luxuriantly beautiful than the "Guinevere" +movement, nothing more elevated and ecstatic than the apotheosis which +ends the work. The diction throughout is richer and more variously +contrasted than in the earlier work, and his manipulation of the form +is more elastic. + +Apparent as is the advance of the "Eroica" over its predecessor, the +difference between these and the two later sonatas--the "Norse" and +the "Keltic"--is even more marked. The first of these, the "Norse" +sonata (op. 57) appeared five years after the publication of the +"Eroica." In the interval he had put forth the "Woodland Sketches," +the "Sea Pieces," and the songs of op. 56 and op. 58; and he had, +evidently, examined deeply into the resources and potentialities of +his art. He had hitherto done nothing quite like these two later +sonatas; they are based upon larger and more intricate plans than +their predecessors, are more determined and confident in their +expression of personality, riper in style and far freer in form: they +are, in fact, MacDowell at his most salient and distinguished. He has +placed these lines of his own on the first page of the score of the +"Norse" (which is dedicated to Grieg): + + "Night had fallen on a day of deeds. + The great rafters in the red-ribbed hall + Flashed crimson in the fitful flame + Of smouldering logs; + And from the stealthy shadows + That crept 'round Harald's throne + Rang out a Skald's strong voice + With tales of battles won: + Of Gudrun's love + And Sigurd, Siegmund's son." + +Here, evidently, is a subject after his own heart, presenting such +opportunities as he is at his happiest in improving--and he has +improved them magnificently. The spaciousness of the plan, the boldness +of the drawing, the fulness and intensity of the colour scheme, engage +one's attention at the start. He has indulged almost to its extreme +limits his predilection for extended chord formations and for phrases +of heroic span--as in, for example, almost the whole of the first +movement. The pervading quality of the musical thought is of a +resistless and passionate virility. It is steeped in the barbaric and +splendid atmosphere of the sagas. There are pages of epical breadth and +power, passages of elemental vigour and ferocity--passages, again, of +an exquisite tenderness and poignancy. Of the three movements which the +work comprises, the first makes the most lasting impression, although +the second (the slow movement) has a haunting subject, which is +recalled episodically in the final movement in a passage of +unforgettable beauty and character. + +With the publication, in 1901, of the "Keltic" sonata (his fourth, op. +59),[15] MacDowell achieved a conclusive demonstration of his capacity +as a creative musician of unquestionable importance. Not before had he +given so convincing an earnest of the larger aspect of his genius: +neither in the three earlier sonatas, in the "Sea Pieces," nor in the +"Indian" suite, had he attained an equal magnitude, an equal scope and +significance. Nowhere else in his work are the distinguishing traits +of his genius so strikingly disclosed--the breadth and reach of +imagination, the magnetic vitality, the richness and fervour, the +conquering poetic charm. Here you will find a beauty which is as "the +beauty of the men that take up spears and die for a name," no less +than "the beauty of the poets that take up harp and sorrow and the +wandering road"--a harp shaken with a wild and piercing music, a +sorrow that is not of to-day, but of a past when dreams were actual +and imperishable, and men lived the tales of beauty and of wonder +which now are but a discredited and fading memory. + +[15] Dedicated, like the "Norse," to Grieg. + +It was a fortunate, if not an inevitable, event, in view of his +temperamental affiliations with the Celtic genius, that MacDowell +should have been made aware of the suitability for musical treatment +of the ancient heroic chronicles of the Gaels, and that he should +have gone for his inspiration, in particular, to the legends +comprised in the famous Cycle of the Red Branch: that wonderful group +of epics which comprises, among other tales, the story of the +matchless Deirdré,--whose loveliness was such, so say the +chroniclers, that "not upon the ridge of earth was there a woman so +beautiful,"--and the life and adventures and glorious death of the +incomparable Cuchullin. These two kindred legends MacDowell has +welded into a coherent and satisfying whole; and in a verse with +which he prefixes the sonata, he gives this index to its poetic +content: + + "Who minds now Keltic tales of yore, + Dark Druid rhymes that thrall; + Deirdré's song, and wizard lore + Of great Cuchullin's fall." + +At the time of the publication of the sonata he wrote to me as +follows concerning it: + + "... Here is the sonata, which it is a pleasure to me to offer you + as a token of sympathy. I enclose also some lines [of his own + verse] anent Cuchullin, which, however, do not entirely fit the + music, and which I hope to use in another musical form. They may + serve, however, to aid the understanding of the _stimmung_ of + the sonata. Cuchullin's story is in touch with the Deirdré-Naesi + tale; and, as with my 3rd Sonata, the music is more a commentary + on the subject than an actual depiction of it." + +[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF A PASSAGE FROM THE ORIGINAL MS. OF THE +"KELTIC" SONATA] + +The "lines anent Cuchullin" I quote below. They do not, as he said, +have a parallel in the sonata as a whole; but in the _coda_ of the +last movement (of which I shall speak later) he has attempted a +commentary on the scene which he here describes: + + "Cuchullin fought and fought in vain, + 'Gainst faery folk and Druid thrall: + And as the queenly sun swept down. + In royal robes, red gold besown, + With one last lingering glance + He sate himself in lonely state + Against a giant monolith, + To wait Death's wooing call. + None dared approach the silent shape + That froze to iron majesty, + Save the wan, mad daughters of old Night, + Blind, wandering maidens of the mist, + Whose creeping fingers, cold and white, + Oft by the sluggard dead are kissed. + And yet the monstrous Thing held sway, + No living soul dared say it nay; + When lo! upon its shoulder still, + Unconscious of its potent will, + There perched a preening birdling gray, + A'weary of the dying day; + And all the watchers knew the lore: + Cuchullin was no more." + +To Mr. Corey MacDowell wrote: + + "... Even though you are not on intimate terms with Deirdré, + Cuchullin, etc., you will easily perceive from the music that + something extremely unpleasant is happening. Joking aside, I will + confess to a certain fascination the subject has for me. So much + so that my 'motto' [the original motto--the verses which I have + quoted above] spread beyond the music; therefore I am going to + make a different work of the former, and for the sonata I adopted + the modest quatrain that is printed in it.... Like the third, + this fourth sonata is more of a 'bardic' rhapsody on the subject + than an attempt at actual presentation of it, although I have + made use of all the suggestion of tone-painting in my power,--just + as the bard would have reinforced _his_ speech with gesture + and facial expression." + +He aimed to make his music, as he says, "more a commentary on the +subject than an actual depiction of it"; but the case would be stated +more truly, I think, if one were to say that he has penetrated to the +heart of the entire body of legends, has imbued himself with their +ultimate spirit and significance, and has bodied it forth in his music +with splendid veracity and eloquence. He has attempted no mere musical +recounting of those romances of the ancient Gaelic world at which he +hints in his brief motto. It would be juster to say, rather, that he +has recalled in his music the very life and presence of the Gaelic +prime--that he has "unbound the Island harp." Above all, he has +achieved that "heroic beauty" which, believes Mr. Yeats, has been +fading out of the arts since "that decadence we call progress set +voluptuous beauty in its place"--that heroic beauty which is of the +very essence of the imaginative life of the primitive Celts, and which +the Celtic "revival" in contemporary letters has so signally failed to +revive. For it is, I repeat, the heroic Gaelic world that MacDowell +has made to live again in his music: that miraculous world of +stupendous passions and aspirations, of bards and heroes and great +adventure--the world of Cuchullin the Unconquerable, and Laeg, and +Queen Meave; of Naesi, and Deirdré the Beautiful, and Fergus, and +Connla the Harper, and those kindred figures, lovely or greatly +tragical, that are like no other figures in the world's mythologies. + +This sonata marks the consummation of his evolution toward the acme of +powerful expression. It is cast in a mould essentially heroic; it has +its moods of tenderness, of insistent sweetness, but these are +incidental: the governing mood is signified in the tremendous exordium +with which the work opens, and which is sustained, with few +deviations, throughout the work. Deirdré he has realised exquisitely +in his middle movement: that is her image, in all its fragrant +loveliness. MacDowell has limned her musically in a manner worthy of +comparison with the sumptuous pen-portrait of her in Standish +O'Grady's "Cuculain": "a woman of wondrous beauty, bright gold her +hair, eyes piercing and splendid, tongue full of sweet sounds, her +countenance like the colour of snow blended with crimson." + +In the close of the last movement we are justified in seeing a +translation of the sublime tradition of Cuchullin's death. This it is +which furnished MacDowell with the theme that he celebrates in the +lines of verse which I have quoted above. I believe that he was +planning an orchestral setting of this scene; and that, had he lived, +we should have had from him a symphonic poem, "Cuchullin." + +The manner of the hero's death is thus described by Standish O'Grady: +"Cuculain sprang forth, but as he sprang, Lewy MacConroi pierced him +through the bowels. Then fell the great hero of the Gael. Thereat the +sun darkened, and the earth trembled ... when, with a crash, fell that +pillar of heroism, and that flame of the warlike valour of Erin was +extinguished.... Then Cuculain, raising his eyes, saw thence +northwards from the lake a tall pillar-stone, the grave of a warrior +slain there in some ancient war. With difficulty he reached it and he +leaned awhile against the pillar, for his mind wandered, and he knew +nothing for a space. After that he took off his brooch, and removing +the torn bratta [girdle], he passed it round the top of the pillar, +where there was an indentation in the stone, and passed the ends under +his arms and around his breast, tying with languid hands a loose knot, +which soon was made fast by the weight of the dying hero; thus they +beheld him standing with the drawn sword in his hand, and the rays of +the setting sun bright on his panic-striking helmet. So stood +Cuculain, even in death-pangs, a terror to his enemies, for a deep +spring of stern valour was opened in his soul, and the might of his +unfathomable spirit sustained him. Thus perished Cuculain ..." + +Superb as this is, it is paralleled by MacDowell's tone-picture. That, +for nobility of conception, for majestic solemnity and pathos, is a +musical performance which measures up to the level of superlative +achievements. + +If there is anything in the literature of the piano since the death of +Beethoven which, for combined passion, dignity, breadth of style, +weight of momentum, and irresistible plangency of emotion, is +comparable to the four sonatas which have been considered here, I do +not know of it. And I write these words with a perfectly definite +consciousness of all that they may be held to imply. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE SONGS + + +Any one who should undertake casually to examine MacDowell's songs +_seriatim_, beginning with his earliest listed work in this form--the +"Two Old Songs," op. 9--would not improbably be struck by an apparent +lack of continuity and logic in the initial stages of his artistic +development. At first glance, MacDowell seems to have attained a +phenomenal ripeness and individuality of expression in these songs, +which head the catalogue of his published works; whereas the songs of +the following opus (11-12) are conventional and unimportant. The +explanation, which I have elsewhere intimated, is simple. The songs of +op. 11 and 12, issued in 1883, were the first of his _Lieder_ to appear +in print; the songs numbered op. 9, which would appear to antedate +them in composition and publication, were not written until a decade +later, when they were issued under an arbitrary opus number as a +matter of expediency. Their proper place in MacDowell's musical +history is, therefore, about synchronous with the mature and +characteristic "Eight Songs" of op. 47. From the five songs now +published in one volume as op. 11 and 12, the progress of MacDowell's +art as a song writer is both steady and intelligible. + +He has not been especially prolific in this field, when one thinks of +Grieg's one hundred and twenty songs, and of Brahms' one hundred and +ninety-six; not to mention Schumann's two hundred and forty-eight, or +Schubert's amazing six hundred and over. MacDowell has written +forty-two songs for single voice and piano, together with a number of +ingenious and effective pieces for men's voices and for mixed chorus. + +He has avowed his methods and principles as a song writer. In an +interview published a few years before his death he declared his +opinion to be that "song writing should follow declamation"--that the +composer "should declaim the poems in sounds: the attention of the +hearer should be fixed upon the central point of declamation. The +accompaniment should be merely a background for the words. Harmony is +a frightful den for the small composer to get into--it leads him into +frightful nonsense. Too often the accompaniment of a song becomes a +piano fantasie with no resemblance to the melody. Colour and harmony +under such conditions mislead the composer; he uses it instead of the +line which he at the moment is setting, and obscures the central +point, the words, by richness of tissue and overdressing; and all +modern music is labouring under that. He does not seem to pause to +think that music was not made merely for pleasure, but to say things. + +"Language and music have nothing in common. In one way, that which is +melodious in verse becomes doggerel in music, and meter is hardly of +value. Sonnets in music become abominable. I have made many +experiments for finding the affinity of language and music. The two +things are diametrically opposed, unless music is free to distort +syllables. A poem may be of only four words, and yet those four words +may contain enough suggestion for four pages of music; but to found a +song on those four words would be impossible. For this reason the +paramount value of the poem is that of its suggestion in the field of +instrumental music, where a single line may be elaborated upon.... +To me, in this respect, the poem holds its highest value of +suggestion.... A short poem would take a lifetime to express; to do +it in as many bars of music is impossible. The words clash with the +music, they fail to carry the full suggestion of the poem ... + +"Many poems contain syllables ending with _e_ or other letters not +good to sing. Some exceptionally beautiful poems possess this +shortcoming, and, again, words that prove insurmountable obstacles. I +have in mind one by Aldrich in which the word 'nostrils' occurs in the +very first verse, and one cannot do anything with it. Much of the +finest poetry--for instance, the wonderful writings of Whitman--proves +unsuitable, yet it has been undertaken.... + +"A song, if at all dramatic, should have climax, form, and plot, as +does a play. Words to me seem so paramount and, as it were, apart in +value from the musical setting, that, while I cannot recall the +melodies of many of the songs that I have written, the words of them +are so indelibly impressed upon my mind that they are very easy of +recall.... Music and poetry cannot be accurately stated unless one has +written both." + +It is clear that these are the views of a composer who placed +veracious declamation of the poetic idea very much to the front in his +conception of the art of the song-writer. They explain in part, also, +the fact that MacDowell himself wrote the words of many of his songs, +though, quite characteristically, he did not avow the fact in the +printed music. The verses of all the songs of op. 56, save one, op. +58, and op. 60 (the last three sets that he wrote), of the "Slumber +Song" of op. 9, of "The Robin Sings in the Apple Tree," "Confidence," +and "The West Wind Croons in the Cedar Trees" (op. 47), and of some of +the choruses, were of his authorship. He enjoyed what he called +"stringing words together," and most of his verses were written +off-hand, with a facility which betrayed the marked gift for verbal +expression which is apparent in his often admirably stated lectures. +But his especial reason for writing the words for his songs was his +difficulty hi finding texts which quite suited him. Many poems which +he would have liked to set were, as he explained in the words I have +quoted, full of snags in the way of unsingable words. And though it +used to make him uncomfortable to do so, he often felt compelled for +this reason to refuse much otherwise excellent poetry that was sent to +him with the request that he use it for music. Some of the verse that +he wrote for use in his songs is of uncommon quality--imaginative, +distinguished in diction, and, above all, perfectly suited to musical +utterance. Of uncommon quality, too, are some of the brief verses +which he used as mottos for certain of his later piano pieces--as for +the "Sea Pieces" and "New England Idyls." + +That his songs, as a whole, are comparable in inherent artistic +consequence with his sonatas, or with such things as the "Woodland +Sketches," the "Sea Pieces," and the "New England Idyls," I do not +believe, although I readily grant the beauty and fascination of many +passages, and of certain pages in which he is incontestably at the +height of his powers. Here, as in his writing for piano and for +orchestra, one will find abundant evidence of his distinguishing +traits--sensitiveness and fervour of imagination, a lovely and +intimate sense of romance, whimsical and piquant humour, virility, +passion, an unerring instinct for atmospheric suggestion. But there +are times when, despite his avowed principles in the matter, he +sacrifices truth of declamation to the presumed requirements of +melodic design--when he seems to pay more heed to the unrelated effect +of tonal contours than to the dramatic or emotional needs of his text. +As an instance of his not infrequent indifference to justness of +declamatory utterance, examine his setting of "in those brown eyes," +at the bottom of the last page of "Confidence" (op. 47), and of the +word "without" in the fourth bar of "Tyrant Love" (op. 60). I dwell +upon this point, not in any spirit of captiousness, I need scarcely +say, but because it exemplifies a fairly persistent characteristic of +MacDowell's style as a song writer. + +Of that other trait to which I have referred--his not exceptional +preoccupation with a purely musical plan at the expense of dramatic +and emotional congruity--the attentive observer will not want for +examples in almost any of MacDowell's song-groups. As a single +instance, I may allege the run in eighth-notes which encumbers the +setting of the second syllable of the word "again," in the fourth bar +of "Springtide" (op. 60). Such infelicities are difficult to account +for in the work of a musician so exceedingly sensitive in matters of +poetic fitness as he. It may be that his acute sense of dramatic and +emotional values operated perfectly only when he was unhampered by the +thought of the voice. + +I have dwelt upon this point because it should be noted in any candid +study of his traits as a song writer. Yet it is not a defect which +weighs heavily against him when one considers the musical quality of +his songs as a whole. Not, as a whole, equal to his piano music, they +are admirable and deeply individual; and the best of them are not +surpassed in any body of modern song-writing. + +[Illustration: THE MUSIC-ROOM AT PETERSBORO] + +In almost all of his songs the voice is predominant over the piano +part--although he is far, indeed, from writing mere accompaniments: +the support which he gives the voice is consistently important, for he +brings to bear upon it all his rich resources of harmonic expression. +But though he makes the voice the paramount element, he uses it, in +general, rather as a vehicle for the unconscious exposition of a +determined lyricism than as an instrument of precise emotional +utterance. When one thinks of how Hugo Wolf, for example, or Debussy, +would have treated the phrase, "to wake again the bitter joy of love," +in "Fair Springtide," it will be felt, I think, that MacDowell's +setting leaves something to be desired on the score of emotional +verity, although the song, as a whole, is one of the loveliest and +most spontaneous he has written. I do not mean to say that he does not +often achieve an ideal correspondence between the significance of his +text and the effect of his music; but when he does--as in, for +instance, that superb tragedy in little, "The Sea,"[16] or in the +still finer "Sunrise"[17]--one's impression is that it is the +fortunate result of chance, rather than the outcome of deliberate +artistic purpose. It is in songs of an untrammelled lyricism that his +art finds its chief opportunity. In such he is both delightful and +satisfying--in, for instance, the six flower songs, "From an Old +Garden"; in "Confidence" and "In the Woods" (op. 47); in "The Swan +Bent Low to the Lily," "A Maid Sings Light," and "Long Ago" (op. 56); +and in the delectable "To the Golden Rod," from his last song group +(op. 60). This is music of blithe and captivating allurement, of grave +or riant tenderness, of compelling fascination; and in it, the word +and the tone are ideally mated. Yet even in others of his songs in +which they do not so invariably correspond, one must acknowledge +gladly the beauty and freshness of the music itself: such music as he +has given us in "Constancy" (op. 58), in "As the Gloaming Shadows +Creep" (op. 56), in "Fair Springtide"--which represent his ripest +utterances as a song writer. If he is not, in this particular form, +quite at his happiest, he is among the foremost of those who have kept +alive in the modern tradition the conception of the song as a medium +of lyric utterance no less than of precise dramatic signification. + +[16] No. VII. of the "Eight Songs," op. 47. + +[17] Op. 58, No. II. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +SUMMARY + + +To gain a true sense of MacDowell's place in American music it is +necessary to remember that twenty-five years ago, when he sent from +Germany, as the fruit of his apprenticeship there, the earliest +outgivings of his talent, our native musical art was still little +more than a pallid reproduction of European models. MacDowell did +not at that time, of course, give positive evidence of the vitality +and the rarity of his gifts; yet there was, even in his early +music,--undeniably immature though it was, and modelled after easily +recognised Teutonic masters,--a fresh and untrammelled impulse. A new +note vibrated through it, a new and buoyant personality suffused it. +Thenceforth music in America possessed an artistic figure of +constantly increasing stature. MacDowell commanded, from the start, +an original idiom, a manner of speech which has been recognised even +by his detractors as entirely his own. + +His style is as pungent and unmistakable as Grieg's, and far less +limited in its variety. Hearing certain melodic turns, certain +harmonic formations, you recognise them at once as belonging to +MacDowell, and to none other. This marked individuality of speech, +apparent from the first, became constantly more salient and more +vivid, and in the music which he gave forth at the height of his +creative activity,--in, say, the "Sea Pieces" and the last two +sonatas,--it is unmistakable and beyond dispute. This emphatically +personal accent it was which, a score of years ago, set MacDowell in a +place apart among native American music-makers. No one else was saying +such charming and memorable things in so fresh and individual a way. +We had then, as we have had since, composers who were entitled to +respect by virtue of their expert and effective mastery of a familiar +order of musical expression,--who spoke correctly a language acquired +in the schools of Munich, Leipzig, and Berlin. But they had nothing to +say that was both important and new. They had grace, they had +dexterity, they had, in a measure, scholarship; but their art was +obviously derivative, without originality of substance or a telling +quality of style. It is not a needlessly harsh asseveration to say +that, until MacDowell began to put forth his more individual works, +our music had been palpably, almost frankly, dependent: an undisguised +and naïve transplantation, made rather feeble and anæmic in the +process, of European growths. The result was admirable, in its way, +praiseworthy, in its way--and wholly negligible. + +The music of MacDowell was, almost from the first, in a wholly +different case. In its early phases it, too, was imitative, +reflective. MacDowell returned to America, after a twelve years' +apprenticeship to European influences, in 1888, bringing with him his +symphonic poems, "Hamlet and Ophelia" and "Lancelot and Elaine," his +unfinished "Lamia," his two orchestral paraphrases of scenes from the +Song of Roland, two concertos, and numerous songs and piano pieces. +Not greatly important music, this, measured beside that which he +afterward put forth; but possessing an individual profile, a savour, a +tang, which gave it an immediately recognised distinction. A new voice +spoke out of it, a fresh and confident, an eloquent and forceful, +voice. It betrayed Germanic influences: of that there was no question; +yet it was strikingly rich in personal accent. Gradually his art came +to find, through various forms, a constantly finer and weightier +expression. For orchestra he wrote the "Indian" suite--music of superb +vigour, fantastically and deeply imaginative, wholly personal in +quality; for the piano he wrote four sonatas of heroic and passionate +content--indisputable masterworks--and various shorter pieces, free in +form and poetic in inspiration; and he wrote many songs, some of them +quite flawless in their loveliness and their emotional veracity. + +It will thus be seen why the potent and aromatic art of MacDowell +impressed those who were able to feel its charm and estimate its +value. It is mere justice to him, now that he has definitely passed +beyond the reach of our praise, to say that he gave to the art of +creative music in this country (I am thinking now only of music-makers +of native birth) its single impressive and vital figure. His is the +one name in our music which, for instance, one would venture to pair +with that of Whitman in poetry. + +An abundance of pregnant, beautiful, and novel ideas was his chief +possession, and he fashioned them into musical designs with great +skill and unflagging art. That he did not undertake adventures in all +of the forms of music, has been said. There is no symphony in the list +of his published works, no large choral composition. Yet he was far +from being a miniaturist,--he was, in fact, anything but that. His +four sonatas for the piano are planned upon truly heroic lines; they +are large in scope and of epical sweep and breadth; and his "Indian" +suite is the most impressive orchestral work composed by an American. +He wrote two piano concertos,--early works, not of his best +inspiration,--a large number of poetically descriptive smaller works, +and almost half a hundred songs of frequent loveliness and character. +The three symphonic poems, "Hamlet and Ophelia," "Lancelot and +Elaine," and "Lamia"; the two "fragments," "The Saracens," and "The +Lovely Aldâ," and the first orchestral suite, op. 42--which he might +have entitled "Sylvan"--complete the record of his output, save for +some spirited but not very important part-songs for male voices. The +list comprises sixty-two opus numbers and one hundred and eighty-six +separate compositions,--not a remarkable accomplishment, in point of +quantity, yet notable and rare in quality. + +He suggested, at his best, no one save himself. He was one of the most +individual writers who ever made music--as individual as Chopin, or +Debussy, or Brahms, or Grieg. His mannner of speech was utterly +untrammelled, and wholly his own. Vitality--an abounding freshness, a +perpetual youthfulness--was one of his prime traits; nobility--nobility +of style and impulse--was another. The morning freshness, the welling +spontaneity of his music, even in moments of exalted or passionate +utterance, was continually surprising: it was music not unworthy of the +golden ages of the world. Yet MacDowell was a Celt, and his music is +deeply Celtic--mercurial, by turns dolorous and sportive, darkly +tragical and exquisitely blithe, and overflowing with the unpredictable +and inexplicable magic of the Celtic imagination. He is unfailingly +noble--it is, in the end, the trait which most surely signalises him. +"To every man," wrote Maeterlinck, "there come noble thoughts, thoughts +that pass across his heart like great white birds." Such thoughts came +often to MacDowell--they seem always to be hovering not far from the +particular territory to which his inspiration has led him, even when he +is most gayly inconsequent; and in his finest and largest utterances, +in the sonatas, their majestic trend appears somehow to have suggested +the sweeping and splendid flight of the musical idea. Not often subtle +in impulse or recondite in mood, his art has nothing of the +impalpability, the drifting, iridescent vapours of Debussy, nothing of +the impenetrable backgrounds of Brahms. He would have smiled at the +dictum of Emerson: "a beauty not explicable is dearer than a beauty of +which we can see the end." He knew how to evoke a kind of beauty that +was both aerial and enchanted; but it was a clarified and lucid beauty, +even then: it was never dim or wavering. He would never, as I have +said, have comprehended the art of such a writer as Debussy--he viewed +the universe from a wholly different angle. Of the moderns, Wagner he +worshipped, Tchaikovsky deeply moved him, Grieg he loved--Grieg, who +was his artistic inferior in almost every respect. Yet none of these so +seduced his imagination that his independence was overcome--he was +always, throughout his maturity, himself; not arrogantly or +insistently, but of necessity; he could not be otherwise. + +What are the distinguishing traits, after all, of MacDowell's music? +The answer is not easily given. His music is characterised by great +buoyancy and freshness, by an abounding vitality, by a constantly +juxtaposed tenderness and strength, by a pervading nobility of tone +and feeling. It is charged with emotion, yet it is not brooding or +hectic, and it is seldom intricate or recondite in its psychology. It +is music curiously free from the fevers of sex. And here I do not wish +to be misunderstood. This music is anything but androgynous. It is +always virile, often passionate, and, in its intensest moments, full +of force and vigour. But the sexual impulse which underlies it is +singularly fine, strong, and controlled. The strange and burdened +winds, the subtle delirium, the disorder of sense, that stir at times +in the music of Wagner, Tchaikovsky, Debussy, are not to be found +here. In Wagner, in certain songs by Debussy, one often feels, as +Pater felt in William Morris's "King Arthur's Tomb," the tyranny of a +moon which is "not tender and far-off, but close down--the sorcerer's +moon, large and feverish," and the presence of a colouring that is "as +of scarlet lilies"; and there is the suggestion of poison, with "a +sudden bewildered sickening of life and all things." In the music of +MacDowell there is no hint of these matters; there is rather the +infinitely touching emotion of those rare beings who are in their +interior lives both passionate and shy: they know desire and sorrow, +supreme ardour and enamoured tenderness; but they do not know either +the languor or the dementia of eroticism; they are haunted and swept +by beauty, but they are not sickened or oppressed by it. Nor is their +passion mystical and detached. MacDowell in his music is full-blooded, +but he is never febrile: in this (though certainly in nothing else) he +is like Brahms. The passion by which he is swayed is never, in its +expression, ambiguous or exotic, his sensuousness is never luscious. +It is difficult to think of a single passage from which that accent +upon which I have dwelt--the accent of nobility, of a certain +chivalry, a certain rare and spontaneous dignity--is absent. Yet he +can be, withal, wonderfully tender and deeply impassioned, with a +sharpness of emotion that is beyond denial. In such songs as +"Deserted" (op. 9); "Menie" (op. 34); "The Robin Sings in the Apple +Tree," "The West Wind Croons in the Cedar Trees" (op. 47); "The Swan +Bent Low to the Lily," "As the Gloaming Shadows Creep" (op. 56); +"Constancy" (op. 58); "Fair Springtide" (op. 60); in "Lancelot and +Elaine"; in "Told at Sunset," from the "Woodland Sketches"; in "An Old +Love Story," from "Fireside Tales": in this music the emotion is the +distinctive emotion of sex; but it is the sexual emotion known to +Burns rather than to Rossetti, to Schubert rather than to Wagner. + +He had the rapt and transfiguring imagination, in the presence of +nature, which is the special possession of the Celt. Yet he was more +than a mere landscape painter. The human drama was for him a +continually moving spectacle; he was most sensitively attuned to its +tragedy and its comedy,--he was never more potent, more influential, +indeed, than in celebrating its events. He is at the summit of his +powers, for example, in the superb pageant of heroic grief and equally +heroic love which is comprised within the four movements of the +"Keltic" sonata, and in the piercing sadness and the transporting +tenderness of the "Dirge" in the "Indian" suite. + +In its general aspect his later music is not German, or French, or +Italian--its spiritual antecedents are Northern, both Celtic and +Scandinavian. MacDowell had not the Promethean imagination, the +magniloquent passion, that are Strauss's; his art is far less +elaborate and subtle than that of such typical moderns as Debussy and +d'Indy. But it has an order of beauty that is not theirs, an order of +eloquence that is not theirs, a kind of poetry whose secrets they do +not know; and there speaks through it and out of it an individuality +that is persuasive, lovable, unique. + +There is no need to attempt, at this juncture, to speculate concerning +his place among the company of the greater dead; it is enough to avow +the conviction that he possessed genius of a rare order, that he +wrought nobly and valuably for the art of the country which he loved. + + + + +LIST OF WORKS + +COMPOSITIONS OF EDWARD MACDOWELL + + +Op. 9. _Two Old Songs_, for voice and piano (1894)[18]: + 1. Deserted + 2. Slumber Song + +[18] The publication dates given here are those of the original +editions. + +Op. 10. First _Modern Suite_, for piano (1883): + Præladium--Presto--Andantino and + Allegretto--Intermezzo--Rhapsody--Fugue + +Op. 11.] _An Album of Five Songs_, for voice and piano +Op. 12.] 1. My Love and I + 2. You Love me Not + 3. In the Skies + 4. Night-Song + 5. Bands of Roses + +Op. 13. _Prelude and Fugue_, for piano (1883) + +Op. 14. _Second Modern Suite_, for piano (1883): + Præludium--Fugato--Rhapsody--Scherzino--March--Fantastic + Dance + +Op. 15. _First Concerto_, in A-minor, for piano and orchestra (1885) + +Op. 16. _Serenata_, for piano (1883) + +Op. 17. _Two Fantastic Pieces_, for piano (1884): + 1. Legend + 2. Witches' Dance + +Op. 18. _Two Compositions_, for piano (1884): + 1. Barcarolle + 2. Humoresque + +Op. 19. _Forest Idyls_, for piano (1884): + 1. Forest Stillness + 2. Play of the Nymphs + 3. Revery + 4. Dance of the Dryads + +Op. 20. _Three Poems_, for piano, four hands (1886): + 1. Night at Sea + 2. A Tale of the Knights + 3. Ballad + +Op. 21. _Moon Pictures_, for piano, four hands (1886): + 1. The Hindoo Maiden + 2. Stork's Story + 3. In Tyrol + 4. The Swan + 5. Visit of the Bear + +Op. 22. _Hamlet and Ophelia_, symphonic poem for orchestra (1885) + +Op. 23. _Second Concerto_, in D-minor, for piano and orchestra + (1890) + +Op. 24. _Four Compositions_, for piano (1887): + 1. Humoresque + 2. March + 3. Cradle Song + 4. Czardas + +Op. 25. _Lancelot and Elaine_, symphonic poem for orchestra (1888) + +Op. 26. _From an Old Garden_, for voice and piano (1887): + 1. The Pansy + 2. The Myrtle + 3. The Clover + 4. The Yellow Daisy + 5. The Blue Bell + 6. The Mignonette + +Op. 27. _Three Songs_, for male chorus (1890): + 1. In the Starry Sky Above Us + 2. Springtime + 3. The Fisherboy + +Op. 28. _Six Idyls after Goethe_, for piano (1887): + 1. In the Woods + 2. Siesta + 3. To the Moonlight + 4. Silver Clouds + 5. Flute Idyl + 6. The Bluebell + +Op. 29. _Lamia_, symphonic poem for orchestra (1908)[19] + +[19] Posthumous. + +Op. 30. _The Saracens; The Lovely Aldâ_, two fragments +(after the Song of Roland), for orchestra (1891) + +Op. 31. _Six Poems after Heine_, for piano (1887): + 1. From a Fisherman's Hut + 2. Scotch Poem + 3. From Long Ago + 4. The Post Wagon + 5. The Shepherd Boy + 6. Monologue + +Op. 32. _Four Little Poems_, for piano (1888): + 1. The Eagle + 2. The Brook + 3. Moonshine + 4. Winter + +Op. 33. _Three Songs_, for voice and piano (1894): + 1. Prayer + 2. Cradle Hymn + 3. Idyl + +Op. 34. _Two Songs_, for voice and piano (1889): + 1. Menie + 2. My Jean + +Op. 35. _Romance_, for violoncello and orchestra (1888) + +Op. 36. _Étude de Concert_, in F-sharp, for piano (1889) + +Op. 37. _Les Orientales_, for piano (1889): + 1. Clair de Lune + 2. Dans le Hamac + 3. Danse Andalouse + +Op. 38. _Marionettes_, Eight Little Pieces, for piano (1888)[20]: + 1. Prologue + 2. Soubrette + 3. Lover + 4. Witch + 5. Clown + 6. Villain + 7. Sweetheart + 8. Epilogue + +[20] In their original form this set comprised only six pieces. +MacDowell afterward revised them extensively, rearranged their order, +and added the "Prologue" and "Epilogue." In this altered form they +were published in 1901. + +Op. 39. _Twelve Studies_, for piano (1890): + [ Hunting Song + | Alla Tarantella + | Romance +Book 1. | Arabesque + | In the Forest + | Dance of the Gnomes] + [ Idyl + | Shadow Dance +Book 2. | Intermezzo] + | Melody + | Scherzino + | Hungarian] + +Op. 40. _Six Love Songs_, for voice and piano (1890): + 1. Sweet, Blue-eyed Maid + 2. Sweetheart, Tell Me + 3. Thy Beaming Eyes + 4. For Love's Sweet Sake + 5. O Lovely Rose + 6. I Ask but This + +Op. 41. _Two Songs_, for male chorus (1890): + 1. Cradle Song + 2. Dance of the Gnomes + +Op. 42. _First Suite_, for orchestra (1891-1893[21]): + 1. In a Haunted Forest + 2. Summer Idyl + 3. In October + 4. The Shepherdess' Song + 5. Forest Spirits + +[21] As originally published, in 1891, this suite comprised only the +first, second, fourth, and fifth movements. The third, "In October," +though composed at the same time as the others, and intended for +inclusion in the suite, was not published until 1893, when it was +issued as a "supplement" under the same opus number. + +Op. 43. _Two Northern Songs_, for mixed chorus (1891): + 1. The Brook + 2. Slumber Song + +Op. 44. _Barcarolle_, for mixed chorus with four-hand piano +accompaniment (1892) + +Op. 45. _Sonata Tragica_, for piano (1893) + +Op. 46. _Twelve Virtuoso Studies_, for piano (1894): + 1. Novelette + 2. Moto Perpetuo + 3. Wild Chase + 4. Improvisation + 5. Elfin Dance + 6. Valse triste + 7. Burleske + 8. Bluette + 9. Träumerei + 10. March Wind + 11. Impromptu + 12. Polonaise + +Op. 47. _Eight Songs_, for voice and piano (1893): + 1. The Robin Sings in the Apple Tree + 2. Midsummer Lullaby + 3. Folk Song + 4. Confidence + 5. The West Wind Croons in the Cedar Trees + 6. In the Woods + 7. The Sea + 8. Through the Meadow + +Op. 48. _Second (Indian) Suite_, for orchestra (1897): + 1. Legend + 2. Love Song + 3. In War-time + 4. Dirge + 5. Village Festival + +Op. 49. _Air and Rigaudon_, for piano (1894) + +Op. 50. _Second Sonata (Eroica)_, for piano (1895) + +Op. 51. _Woodland Sketches_, for piano (1896): + 1. To a Wild Rose + 2. Will'-o-the-Wisp + 3. At an Old Trysting Place + 4. In Autumn + 5. From an Indian Lodge + 6. To a Water-lily + 7. From Uncle Remus + 8. A Deserted Farm + 9. By a Meadow Brook + 10. Told at Sunset + +Op. 52. _Three Choruses_, for male voices (1897): + 1. Hush, hush! + 2. From the Sea + 3. The Crusaders + +Op. 53. _Two Choruses_, for male voices (1898): + 1. Bonnie Ann + 2. The Collier Lassie + +Op. 54. _Two Choruses_, for male voices (1898): + 1. A Ballad of Charles the Bold + 2. Midsummer Clouds + +Op. 55. _Sea Pieces_, for piano (1898): + 1. To the Sea + 2. From a Wandering Iceberg + 3. A.D. 1620 + 4. Starlight + 5. Song + 6. From the Depths + 7. Nautilus + 8. In Mid-Ocean + +Op. 56. _Four Songs_, for voice and piano (1898): + 1. Long Ago + 2. The Swan Bent Low to the Lily + 3. A Maid Sings Light + 4. As the Gloaming Shadows Creep + +Op. 57. _Third Sonata (Norse)_, for piano (1900) + +Op. 58. _Three Songs_, for voice and piano (1899): + 1. Constancy + 2. Sunrise + 3. Merry Maiden Spring + +Op. 59. _Fourth Sonata (Keltic)_, for piano (1901) + +Op. 60. _Three Songs_, for voice and piano (1902): + 1. Tyrant Love + 2. Fair Springtide + 3. To the Golden Rod + +Op. 61. _Fireside Tales_, for piano (1902): + 1. An Old Love Story + 2. Of Br'er Rabbit + 3. From a German Forest + 4. Of Salamanders + 5. A Haunted House + 6. By Smouldering Embers + +Op. 62. _New England Idyls_, for piano (1902): + 1. An Old Garden + 2. Midsummer + 3. Mid-winter + 4. With Sweet Lavender + 5. In Deep Woods + 6. Indian Idyl + 7. To an Old White Pine + 8. From Puritan Days + 9. From a Log Cabin + 10. The Joy of Autumn + + +WITHOUT OPUS NUMBER + + _Two Songs from the Thirteenth Century_, for male chorus (1897): + 1. Winter Wraps his Grimmest Spell + 2. As the Gloaming Shadows Creep + + +Library, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team +(www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original lovely illustrations. + See 14110-h.htm or 14110-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/1/1/14110/14110-h/14110-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/1/1/14110/14110-h.zip) + + + + + +KERNEL COB AND LITTLE MISS SWEETCLOVER + +Written by + +GEORGE MITCHEL + +Illustrated by Tony Sarg + +1918 + + + + + + + + _To_ Ursula, Dordie, Hutch and Bob + And children the wide world over, + I dedicate brave Kernel Cob + And dear Little Miss Sweetclover. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + + + +CHAPTER I + +Jackie was a little boy and he had a little sister named Peggs, and +they lived with their Aunt who was very old, maybe thirty-two. + +And it was so very long since she had been a little girl, that she +quite forgot that children need toys to play with and all that. + +So poor little Jackie and Peggs had no soldiers or dolls but could +only play at make-believe all day long. + +They lived in a little white house nearly all covered with +honeysuckle, and a little white fence with a little white gate in it +ran all about and at the back of the little white house was a little +garden with beautiful flowers growing in it. + +And once, when they were making pies in the garden, Peggs began to cry +and Jackie ran and put his arms about her, for he loved his little +Peggs very dearly; and he said to her: + +"What's the matter, Peggsie? Did a spider bite you?" + +"No," says Peggs, "it didn't." + +"Was it a naughty worm?" + +"No," says Peggs, "it wasn't." + +"Well, what was it?" says Jackie. + +"It weren't anything that bit me, only I want a doll," and away she +cried again. + +"Huh!" says Jackie, "that's nothing. You don't want a doll any mor'n I +want a soldier," and he sat down beside her and began to cry, too. + +And after they had cried for a long time, maybe four hours or two, +they stopped. + +"I tell you what!" says Jackie. + +"What?" says Peggs, drying her eyes on her pinafore. + +"If no one will give us a soldier"... + +"But I don't want a soldier," says Peggs. "I want a doll." + +"Let's make one," says Jackie. + +"That's a good way," says Peggs. + +"You bet," says Jackie, and he slapped one of his legs the way sailors +do in tales of the sea. + +"What'll we make it of?" asked Peggs. + +"Things," says Jackie. "Goodie!" says Peggs. + +And they went in search of the things they would make the dolls of. +And pretty soon, Peggs made the most wonderful doll of flowers that +ever a child could see. + +The head was of Sweetclover, the dress was a purple morning-glory +turned upside-down so it looked like a bodice and a skirt, and it was +tied to the head so that they wouldn't come apart. And perched on the +top of the head was a little bonnet, only it wasn't really a bonnet, +you know, but a little four o'clock. + +And she called it Little Miss Sweetclover and it was the dearest +little doll and as fresh as the morning dew. + +In the meantime, Jackie had been busy, you may be sure; but he +couldn't find anything to make a soldier of except sticks of wood, but +he had no jack-knife, much as he had always wanted one. + +"Whatever shall I do?" thought Jackie, as he looked about the garden, +and just then he saw an ear of corn and he picked it up. + +"Maybe this will do," and he picked all the kernels off except two for +the eyes, one for the nose, two more for the ears and a row for the +teeth. + +And he ran to Peggs to have her sew some clothes for his soldier. + +"What do you think of Little Miss Sweetclover?" says Peggs, holding it +up for Jackie to see. + +"I think she's very pretty," says Jackie, "only she needs legs." And +while Peggs cut out and sewed a uniform for the soldier, Jackie went +in search of legs for Sweetclover. + +And these he made of two stems of a flower, bent at the ends to look +like feet. And he ran back to Peggs with them. + +"Here are the legs for Sweetclover with green shoes and stockings on." +And he tied them to the rest of Sweetclover so that when she walked, +they wouldn't come off. + +By this time Peggs had finished the uniform for Jackie's soldier and a +hat of newspaper with a great plume of cornsilk and a lot of medals +which were cut from the gold leaf that comes on a card of buttons. And +when they were all sewed on the jacket, he cut out a sword from the +gold leaf and made hands and feet from the corn husk. And he colored +the eyes with black ink and the lips with red, and, much before you +could say "Crickety," the soldier was all finished. + +"What'll we call him?" asked Jackie. + +And they thought, and thought, and thought. + +"I have it!" said Jackie. + +"What?" asked Peggs. + +"We'll call him Kernel Cob," says Jackie. + +"Goodie!" says Peggs, clapping her hands with glee. + +And you will see what wonderful dolls they were, and what wonderful +things they did, and how they helped Jackie and Peggs to find ... but +never mind. + +You will see. + + + + +[Illustration] + +CHAPTER II + + +And one day, when Jackie and Peggs were playing in the garden with +Kernel Cob and Sweetclover, the sun was very hot, so Peggs ran and got +a parasol and put it over the dolls so they wouldn't wilt. + +"I'd like Kernel Cob to be a great general," said Jackie as he put up +the parasol, "and fight in all the wars of the world and lead his +soldiers with a sword in his hand and get wounded and all that. Not +very much wounded, though. Or I'd like to have him be an Admiral and +sail all around the world. What do you think of that?" + +"That's good," said Peggs. + +"You bet," said Jackie. And he stood on his tippy toes to look bigger. + +"And I'd like Sweetclover to be a mother," says Peggs, "and have +hundreds and hundreds of children so she could give them all the dolls +that ever they wanted." + +"That would be noble," said Jackie. + +"It's terrible for children to have no father or mother isn't it?" +asked Peggs looking far off at nothing in the sky. + +"Yes," said Jackie. + +"I would rather have a mother and father than everything else in the +world," says Peggs. + +"Better'n little Sweetclover?" asked Jackie. + +"Yes," answered Peggs, "for I could make another doll, but you can +only have one mother and one father." + +"Maybe you're right," said Jackie, "but I love Kernel Cob very much, +just the same." + +"Of course!" says Peggs. + +Now, all of this was heard by Kernel Cob and Sweetclover, for all +flowers and vegetables understand the language of people, but people +do not understand the language of flowers and vegetables; and when +Kernel Cob and Sweetclover talked, Jackie and Peggs couldn't hear them +because flowers whisper very softly, and even if the children could +hear them they couldn't understand them, you see, because it's a +different kind of language and they never had heard it. + +Sometimes, if you are a child, and sit in the garden when the wind is +blowing, and listen, you may hear a kind of whispering among the +flowers. And if you look very closely, you will see them sway toward +each other and smile and nod their heads. Well, that is when they +whisper in each other's ears just as if they were children. + +And all vegetables are like that too, only the corn has a louder +voice, because the wind loves to blow through its ears and make it +wave so it looks like a great green ocean. + +"Did we have a mother and father?" asked Peggs. + +"Of course!" answered Jackie, "Everybody has to have a mother and a +father, except orphans." + +"Are we orphans?" asked Peggs. + +"I guess we must be," said Jackie, "I heard Auntie tell somebody, the +other day, that both our parents were lost." + +Just then the wind blew Sweetclover toward Kernel Cob, and, if you'd +been there, you could have heard a whispering sound, and, if you'd +been a flower, you would have heard Sweetclover say to Kernel Cob: + +"Poor little Peggs!" and if you had looked very closely you would have +seen dew drops in her eyes. + +"What did she do?" asked Kernel Cob, and his voice was slow, for you +must remember that it took him a long time to think, because his head +was heavy and so filled up with corn cob. But, like most people who +are slow, he was very determined, and once he made up his mind to do a +thing you might be sure he would do it, no matter what. + +"She lost her motheranfather," said Sweetclover. + +"Did Jackie lose his motheranfather too?" asked Kernel Cob. + +"Of course," answered Sweetclover. "Don't you know that Jackie and +Peggs are brother and sister?" + +"Sure," said Kernel Cob. + +"Well then," said Sweetclover. + +"You didn't tell me," said Kernel Cob. + +"Tell you what?" asked Sweetclover. + +"If Jackie lost his motheranfather," said Kernel Cob. + +"Jackie's motheranfather are the same as Peggs'," explained +Sweetclover. + +"Doesn't everybody have his own motheranfather?" asked Kernel Cob. + +"Not always," says Sweetclover. "Why?" asks Kernel Cob. + +"Please keep quiet," said Sweetclover, "I can't hear what they are +saying." + +"If our mother and father are lost," says Peggs, "why doesn't Auntie +try to find them?" + +"I wish she would," says Jackie. + +"Did you hear that?" says Sweetclover. + +"What?" asked Kernel Cob. + +"That they would like to find their motheranfather," says Sweetclover. + +"Are they lost?" asks Kernel Cob. + +"Yes," says Sweetclover. + +"Who lost them?" asks Kernel Cob. + +"Hush!" says Sweetclover. + +For a long time nobody spoke and pretty soon a little breeze swayed +Kernel Cob over toward Sweetclover and he said: + +"Let's try to find Jackie and Peggs' motheranfather. Let us pray to +the fairies that something will come along to help us." + +"Good!" said Sweet clover, and they prayed and prayed and prayed. + +And just then a great wind came and raised the parasol from the +ground, and the hook of the handle caught in Kernel Cob's belt and +pulled him up with it and Sweetclover was just in time to catch hold +of him as he sailed away. And Jackie and Peggs sat upon the grass and +cried because they had lost their little dolls. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + +CHAPTER III + + +And the parasol went up and up in the sky all the afternoon, and, try +as he would, Kernel Cob could not get it to stop. + +"I wonder what the fairies are sending us up here for?" shouted Kernel +Cob. + +"Maybe they're in Heaven," said Sweetclover, and just then the parasol +went skimming through a beautiful white cloud, and the sun was dancing +on it, making it look like pink eiderdown. + +And soon they came out of the cloud and were in the blue sky again. + +And up and up they sailed. And the sun dipped down in the sea, and its +light went out, and the stars came out and began to peep through the +sky like little fire-flies, and the moon came up, too, to see what was +going on, and it grew bigger and bigger till it was nearly as big as +the old Earth. + +And then they came to the Moon and could see little people running +around the edge waving their hands excitedly, and they were all +dressed in silver clothing, and when Kernel Cob and Sweetclover were +landed the Moonpeople ran to them and wondered. + +And everything about them was silver. Churches and houses and rocks +and rivers and trees and everything. + +And the Moonpeople ran ahead in great confusion to show them the way. + +And Kernel Cob formed them into line and put himself at the head of +the column, as a general does, and they marched in step and everything +until they came to the Palace of the King, which was of silver with +turrets and spires of diamonds, and glittered so you could scarcely +see. + +And the King and the Queen were sitting on thrones, and when the King +saw how Kernel Cob had formed his people in order, he was greatly +pleased and said to himself, "Here is a fine General. I will put him +at the head of all my armies." + +And Kernel Cobb and Sweetclover were invited to a great banquet, as +splendid as ever you could imagine. + +And when they were seated, Sweetclover saw some flowers on the banquet +table which were very beautiful, white with silver calyx, and they +were called Silverfloss, and Sweetclover whispered to Silverfloss: + +"Do you understand Earth talk?" + +"Ting-a-ling," answered Silverfloss, and it sounded like the tinkling +of a little silver bell. + +"What did she say?" asked Kernel Cob. + +"It must be Moonflower talk," said Sweetclover, and she looked about +and saw some Edelweiss and she was very glad and said: "Edelweiss, +Edelweiss, how came you here?" + +Now you must know the Edelweiss is a little white flower that grows +away up in the snow of the mountains of Switzerland. + +"One night I was blown up here in a great snow storm and I've been +here ever since," said Edelweiss. + +"Can you speak Moonflower talk?" asked Sweetclover. + +"Yes," said Edelweiss. + +"Very well," said Kernel Cob, "we are trying to find Jackie and Peggs' +motheranfather and we came all the way from the Earth on a parasol to +do so. Maybe you can help us." + +"I would if I could," replied Edelweiss. "But I am afraid they are not +here. I've been here over four seasons and I've never seen a human +being, and even if they were here they couldn't live here because it's +too cold." + +"You bet it is," said Kernel Cob, and he shivered till the medals on +his coat rattled. + +"Maybe they could be here in some other part of the Moon!" said +Sweetclover. "Would you mind looking?" + +"I would be glad to look," said Edelweiss, for he was a very polite +little flower and had very pretty manners. + +And turning to Silverfloss he asked her if she had seen two +earth-people on the Moon. + +"Ting-a-ling," answered Silverfloss and you would have thought it was +two bells tinkling. + +"She says there never was a human being on the Moon," said Edelweiss. + +"Well if they are not here," said Kernel Cob, "we had better go before +we freeze to death," and his teeth chattered. + +"How'll we get off?" asked Sweetclover. + +"I'll tell Silverfloss to weave you a strand of silver," and he turned +to Silverfloss and said some tinkling words to her. + +"She's doing it," he said. "It's a thread of silver so thin that it +can't be seen and yet it is so strong that it can easily bear your +weight." + +"But I can't climb all the way down," said Kernel Cob. + +"You won't have to," said Edelweiss. "All you have to do is to catch +hold of the end of the silver thread and hang on to it, and, as +Silverfloss weaves the thread it gets longer and longer, until you +have reached the Earth. You'd better start now, if you are going." + +So Kernel Cob wound the silver thread around his waist, and, lifting +Sweetclover, was ready to start. "Good-bye," said Kernel Cob. +"Good-bye," said Sweetclover. + +"Good-bye," said Edelweiss, "Hold on tight!" + +"All right," said Kernel Cob. + +"Thank you very much," cried Sweetclover. + +And down they went, Kernel Cob hanging to the silver thread and +Sweetclover snuggled close against his jacket. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + +CHAPTER IV + + +Kernel Cob and Sweetclover went down and down and down through the sky +from the Moon. + +And after they had gone down and down and down a long time Sweetclover +suddenly cried: + +"What's that?" and pointed below. "It's like a great ball turning +round and round." + +"It looks like another Moon with the lights out." + +"It's the Earth!" cried Sweetclover with delight, for she could now +see the tops of trees as the sun began to show his golden head above +the hills in the East. And little by little, as Kernel Cob and +Sweetclover neared the Earth, they could see rivers and lakes and +steeples and houses and after awhile, people and horses in the fields. + +And down, down, down they came, getting nearer and nearer and nearer +until they saw, beneath their very feet, a great tall house with sails +on it going round and round at a rapid rate, and, before you could +say, "Look out!" Kernel Cob was caught in one of the sails and dashed +to the ground. + +"Are you hurt?" asked Sweetclover sitting on the ground where she had +been thrown. + +"No," said Kernel Cob, for a soldier must bear pain without complaint +and pretend he isn't hurt even if he is. + +And a number of people who were working in the fields ran out to see +what had happened, and you may be sure that they were surprised to see +these strange dolls. And they spoke a strange language which neither +Kernel Cob nor Sweetclover could make out. + +"I wonder where we are," said Sweetclover, "and who these people can +be?" + +"They're very funny," laughed Kernel Cob, "I never saw shoes like +those before. They look like boats." + +"They're made of wood," said Sweetclover. + +And just then a little Dutch girl--for you have guessed that they were +in Holland--came over and picked them up and carried them off into her +house. + +And little Antje, for that was her name, played with them all day, +and, when night was come, she put them to sleep in a chair before the +fireplace where it was nice and warm and cosy. + +And, in the middle of the night, a cricket came out on the hearth +stone and began to chirp. + +"Chirp, chirp, chirp," sang the cricket, and Kernel Cob woke up and +rubbed his eyes and listened. + +"Hello, Mister Cricket," shouted Kernel Cob peering over the side of +the chair. + +And the Cricket hopped over to where Kernel Cob was lying. + +"Who are you?" he chirped. + +"I'm Kernel Cob. And Sweetclover and I are looking for Jackie and +Peggs' motheranfather," said Kernel Cob, "Have you seen them?" + +"Never heard of them," chirped the Cricket. "What's their names?" + +"Just Jackie and Peggs' motheranfather; that's all." + +And just then Sweetclover woke up and sat on the side of the chair. + +"I'm sure that there isn't anybody by that name," chirped the Cricket, +"but I'll soon find out." + +"How?" asked Kernel Cob. + +"I'll send a chirp to all the crickets in this house and garden, and +they'll send a chirp to all the crickets in the next house and garden, +and so on, and so on, and so on, all through this country, and in a +little while I'll be able to tell you if they're here or not." + +"How'll you ever get the message back?" asked Sweetclover. + +"I'm the King of all the Crickets," chirped he, "and when I give an +order you may be assured that it will be obeyed," and he stretched +himself with so much pride that you could have heard his jacket +crackle. + +"I'm sure you are very kind," said Sweetclover, "and Kernel Cob and I +are very much obliged to you," and she said this so very sweetly and +so prettily that the Cricket lost no time in sending the message. + +"Crick-a-crick-a-crick," he chirped, and it sounded just like a +telegraph instrument. "Crick-a-crick-a-crick. There," he chirped, +"I've told them to make a search and we'll soon have an answer." + +And while they waited, the cricket told them of the strange country +they were in and all about the canals and the windmills and the +skating in the winter and the curious wooden shoes that the people +wore. And when he had done, Kernel Cob and Sweetclover told him about +Jackie and Peggs, their wonderful visit to the Moon, and how they came +down in the field and were picked up by little Antje. + +"Hush!" said Kernel Cob, "I hear the chirping of a Cricket," for his +ears were quicker to hear than either Sweetclover's or the Cricket's. +And sure enough you could now hear the chirping.... + +"Crick-a-crick-a-crick," and the Cricket pricked up his ears and held +up a foot to warn them to keep silence. + +"I'm sorry to tell you," he said as the chirping stopped, "that they +are not here." + +"Too bad," said Sweetclover, and the dew began to come into her eyes. + +"Come," chirped the Cricket. "We must be quick, for if little Antje +wakes up, you'll not get away so easily again," and they followed him +as he hopped toward the window, upon which he leaped and was soon +outside. + +Kernel Cob climbed upon a chair, lifted Sweetclover in his arms and +was soon outside, following quickly on the heels of the nimble Cricket +who led them down to the waterside, where they found an old wooden +shoe. + +Into this Kernel Cob lifted Sweetclover and, after he had put up a +stick to serve as a mast and had fastened a piece of cloth to it for a +sail, he shook hands with the Cricket and climbed in. The cricket gave +the shoe a push off with one of his feet and they were afloat on the +sea. + +"Good-bye and good luck," chirped the Cricket. + +"Good-bye and many thanks," shouted Kernel Cob and Sweetclover, and +soon they were far off for the wind was blowing very strong. + +Presently they were out of sight of the shore and the Cricket turned +upon his heel and hopped away. + + + CRICKETS + + The Cricket is the kind of chap + For whom I never cared a rap! + I always thought he hopped about + The fields, because he had the gout + And lost his crutches in the crops, + And that's the reason why he hops. + But now I'll have to change my mind + Because I see he's very kind, + For he who is a friend in need + Is quite the best of friends indeed. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + +CHAPTER V + + +And Kernel Cob and Sweetclover sailed and sailed for many days and +nights. + +"I wonder where we are and if we shall ever be on land again," sighed +poor little Sweetclover. + +"Of course we will," answered Kernel Cob although he, too, was +doubtful, but being a soldier he had to keep his courage up and to +cheer Sweetclover. So he pretended that they were perfectly safe. + +And on they sailed and you couldn't see anything but water for miles +and miles, no matter where you looked. + +"What's that?" said Sweetclover, and she was so excited that she +nearly tipped over the boat. + +"I can't see anything but water and a little too much of that to suit +me," said Kernel Cob. + +"Don't you see something dark against the sky?" she asked. + +"No, I don't," said Kernel Cob, and he shaded his eyes with his hand +the way sailors do when they look for something at sea. + +"I hope it isn't a whale," said Sweetclover. + +"It had better not be," said Kernel Cob, "if he knows what's good for +him," and he patted his sword in a very brave manner. + +"It's getting bigger and bigger," said Sweetclover. "Don't you see +it?" + +"Sure!" said Kernel Cob, "I saw it all the time, it's a ship." And +like all people who tell fibs he was found out, for it wasn't a ship +at all. + +"It's land!" said Sweetclover, joyfully, and sure enough it was, for +soon you could see the trees. And as they sailed closer the trees grew +taller and taller, and after a while you could see the shore. + +"It's a little island," said Sweetclover. + +"What's an island?" asked Kernel Cob. + +"Didn't you ever go to school?" asked Sweetclover. + +"No, but I wish I had." + +But Kernel Cob didn't answer. He just steered the shoeboat toward the +shore by putting one leg over the side as if it were a rudder, and in +a little while they ran the boat up on the shore and Sweetclover +hopped out and Kernel Cob pulled the boat up on the beach so the tide, +when it came in, wouldn't take it out to sea again. + +And they walked along the beach. + +"I'm very hungry," said Sweetclover. + +"Sit down here," said Kernel Cob, "and I'll see if I can find +something for dinner." And he went along the beach. + +After he had walked a long distance, he found a tree with some nuts on +it, and he picked a lot of them and put them in his hat and started +back to Sweetclover. + +You may imagine his astonishment when he reached the spot where he had +left her and discovered that she was not there. + +But, all about on the sand, he saw foot-prints as of a great number of +bare footed people. + +"The savages have taken her," he muttered, and drawing his sword he +ran off in the direction they had taken. + +Through the woods he ran, and pretty soon he came to a clearing and +there was Sweetclover surrounded by about a thousand savages shouting +and dancing and waving spears above their heads. And Kernel Cob +grasped his sword firmly in his hand and ran at them, and, so fiercely +did he fight, that in a minute he had driven away about a hundred of +them. And he would have driven them all away, but his foot slipped +and, before he could get up again, he was overpowered and bound hand +and foot. + +And they brought him before their chief who was a great giant. + +And when it was night, the savages tied the two captives to trees and +went to sleep about a great fire. And in the middle of the night when +Kernel Cob was thinking of some way in which to make their escape, he +heard something stirring in the grass at his feet. + +"Who's that?" he whispered. + +"Tommy Hare," was the reply, and he ran out from a stone behind which +he had been hiding. + +"Good for you!" said Kernel Cob. "Come stand up on your hind legs, +like a good fellow, and untie me from this tree." + +"Who are you?" asked Tommy cautiously. + +"I'm Kernel Cob and this is my little friend Sweetclover and we're +looking for Jackie and Peggs' motheranfather and we've been captured +by the savages who may keep us here forever if you don't help us." + +"That I will," said Tommy, and in a jiffy he had gnawed them free. + +"Now, show us the way down to the beach as quickly as you can," said +Kernel Cob, "for it will be daylight soon and then it will be too +late. Come." + +And they started running as fast as they could. + +And not a minute too soon, for they had got only half way when they +heard the shouts of the savages and knew that their escape had been +discovered. + +Faster and faster they ran, but the savages gained on them at every +step and were soon close upon their heels. + +[Illustration] + +"Jump on my back!" shouted Tommy, "for I can run faster than all of +them put together." + +And they did so and flew over the ground as fast as the wind. + +And they reached the shore and jumped into the shoeboat and Tommy +shoved them off with a great push that put them out of sight of land, +and the savages' spears fell in the water behind them. + +"That was a narrow escape," said Sweetclover, as she settled down in +the boat. "I hope Tommy Hare wasn't caught by the savages." + +But she needn't have worried in the least about Tommy, for as soon as +he had pushed them off, he scurried away and was at that moment +sitting under a tree, eating his breakfast. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + +CHAPTER VI + + +Kernel Cob and Sweetclover sailed all day. The shoeboat rode the waves +with perfect ease. Up it went and up till it came to the top of a +great wave, and then it would race down on the other side as if they +were bob-sledding and great sport it was, too, out in the middle of +the ocean, and Sweetclover laughed and even old serious Kernel Cob +smiled and forgot all about fighting. + +Toward the afternoon, the sea quieted down and they rode along faster +and presently, Sweetclover, who was always watching, cried out: + +"I see another island!" + +"So it is!" said Kernel Cob, looking in the wrong direction. + +"Not over there. Look!" and she pointed. + +Sure enough. There was a large black stretch of what appeared to be +land. And it was very flat. + +"I hope there will be no more savages to fight," said Sweetclover. + +"I hope there will," said Kernel Cob. + +"It's moving," said Sweetclover. "It seems to be coming this way." + +"Where did it go?" asked Kernel Cob, for at that moment it disappeared +altogether. + +"I'm sure I saw it," said Sweetclover. "Didn't you?" + +But Kernel Cob only frowned and looked serious. + +And, in a few minutes, they saw it again, but this time it was very +much nearer and bigger and the sun made it look very smooth. + +"It's a whale!" said Sweetclover. + +"Who cares," said he, and drew his sword. + +And the turtle, for it was a turtle and not a whale at all, came +towards them and it was very large, nearly as big around as an acre. +And when it got very near to the boat, its head came up out of its +shell and the little shoe boat shook with the waves it made. + +And the turtle was just about to snap the boat in its mouth when +Kernel Cob swung his sword and with one mighty stroke cut off its +head. + +"Ha, ha!" cried Kernel Cob, but, receiving no reply from Sweetclover, +he looked about and found she had fainted. + +He found also that the boat was leaking badly from a crack in the side +made, no doubt, by the turtle. + +Quickly, he lifted Sweetclover and carried her aboard the back of the +turtle and laid her gently down, for the shoe was sinking and he was +no sooner out of it than it turned over on its side. + +"Not a minute too soon," muttered Kernel Cob, "and now to revive +Sweetclover." This he soon did and she opened her eyes and looked +about in wonder. + +"Where are we?" she asked. + +"On the old turtle's back," laughed Kernel Cob. + +"But we shall never get anywhere now, for we have no sail," said +Sweetclover. And she began to cry. + +"Crying never did anybody any good," said Kernel Cob, "I wish you +would stop." + +"I can't help it," said Sweetclover, "I'm miserable." + +"What's all this about?" said a strange voice, and looking about +quickly, they saw a sea-horse riding up to them. + +"I am very glad to see you," said Kernel Cob. + +"You're just in time to give us a lift on our journey." + +"With pleasure," whinnied the sea-horse. "And where might you be +going?" + +"To find Jackie and Peggs' motheranfather," said Sweetclover. + +"Well, leap on my back," said the Horse, "and I'll see that you get +there if it's in the water." + +So Kernel Cob got astride the horse and helped Sweetclover to mount +behind him. + +"Where are we?" asked Kernel Cob. + +"Cuba is right over there," said the sea-horse pointing with his ear. + +"Well, let's see if they are there, if you please," said Sweetclover. + +"Aye, aye, Miss," he said, and trotted away as nearly like a real +horse as he could. + +They had gone along for a couple of hours without mishap when a storm +came up. At first the sea-horse paid no attention to the storm, but +one great big clap of thunder rang out and a flash of lightning struck +so close it startled him. + +With a great leap, he started forward, his eyes bulging from his head, +and, with a stream of foam flung out from his mouth, he turned and +raced through the water at a terrific rate, Kernel Cob and Sweetclover +clinging to him with all their strength. + +"He's a runaway," shouted Kernel Cob and, sure enough, the horse was +mad and nothing could stop him. On and on they raced, but everything +must come to an end and along about the afternoon, they saw land in +the distance. + +Toward this he made at breakneck speed and with a final spurt dashed +into an inlet where many ships rode at anchor and a large city rose +against the sky. + +"Hurrah!" shouted Kernel Cob. + +In and out among the ships the sea-horse ran, until, with a last gasp, +he flung himself forward and fell upon the surface of the water. + + + + +[Illustration] + +CHAPTER VII + + +When the sea-horse fell, Kernel Cob and Sweetclover were thrown over +his head and landed into the water, but Kernel Cob told Sweetclover +they would soon be picked up. + +And so they were, for a row-boat pulled toward them and in a minute +they were taken from the water and laid on the bottom of the boat. + +"What did I tell you?" said Kernel Cob. "If you wish for anything +strong enough you'll get it." + +"You'll wish you were never born before you get out of here," said a +deep, strange voice, and looking about, Kernel Cob and Sweetclover +were surprised to see two puppets, their own size. + +The one who spoke was a villainous-looking fellow dressed as a Pirate. +His face was browned as if by the sun, earrings were in his ears, a +black hat on his head, and a deep and very ugly scowl was painted on +his forehead. + +The other was good looking and resembled the hero in a story. He had +pink cheeks and a pretty smile. + +Now, when Sweetclover heard the villainous puppet speak, she moved +away from him but Kernel Cob, who always welcomed a new adventure and +saw in this fellow a possible enemy, spoke up: + +"Who and what are you?" + +"A friend," answered the Villain. + +"You don't look it," said Sweetclover, "you look more like a villain." + +"And so I am," said he. "At least that's what I'm painted to be, but I +have a kind heart just the same." + +"What are you doing out here in this boat?" asked Kernel Cob. + +"The man who is rowing and who picked you up is a puppet showman," he +explained. + +"I don't like him a bit," said Sweetclover. + +"You'll like him less and less as you get to know him," said the +Villain. "He's very brutal. That's why we are in the boat, for +yesterday during the puppet show, he broke the Hero in a rage and he +had to go across the harbor to a toy-shop to buy another. That's the +new Hero alongside of me." + +"He's very handsome," said Sweetclover. + +"Sure," said the Villain. "He's got to be. Heroes are all handsome." + +"But why are you so ugly?" asked Kernel Cob. + +"Ha, ha," laughed the Villain, "why bless your heart, I'm not a real +villain, I only play the part of a villain in the play. My real self +is something very different. But what, may I ask, are you doing out +here in the harbor of Valparaiso?" + +"Is that where we are?" asked Sweetclover. + +"Sure," said Kernel Cob, for he didn't want the Villain to think he +wasn't smart. "Didn't you know we were in Italy?" + +"Ha, ha," sneered the Hero, and from that moment Kernel Cob disliked +him. + +"But you haven't told me how you got into the water," persisted the +Villain. + +"We came on a sea-horse from Cuba," said Sweetclover. + +"That must have been an exciting adventure," said the Villain. "Tell +me all of it." + +And Kernel Cob told him how they had been to the Moon on a parasol +and all that. When he had finished, he asked the Villain to tell them +some of his adventures. + +But the Villain was a modest sort of fellow and would say nothing but +that he was very unhappy, leading a wicked life. What annoyed him +most, he said, was that nearly everybody thought he was bad. + +"It only goes to show," he said, "that you can never go by anybody's +looks." + +"You're right," said Kernel Cob, and gave a sharp glance at the Hero. +"Many a kind heart beats beneath an ugly face." + +And then the row-boat landed at the dock, and the showman, taking the +Villain and the Hero under one arm and Kernel Cob and Sweetclover +under the other, got out and walked away. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Through the town they went and everywhere children ran after them, and +wondered at the strange puppets. And after a while they came to a +little theatre and were thrown down among a lot of other puppets. + +"I don't intend to stay here," said Kernel Cob. "I'm going to run +away. I've got to find Jackie and Peggs' motheranfather." + +"I don't think you'll be able to get away," said the Villain. + +"Well, at least I'll try," answered Kernel Cob. "Wouldn't you like to +come with us?" + +"You bet," said the Villain, for he had taken a great fancy to Kernel +Cob and especially to Sweetclover, whose gentle manners appealed very +strongly to him. "But how are you going to do it?" + +"Let me think," said Kernel Cob and they were very quiet for a long +while. + +"I tell you what," said the Villain, "When I am going to play I'll run +off the stage and as soon as you see the Showman run after me, you +must be ready to run and before he catches me, you'll be safe away." + +"But you won't be able to come with us, then," said Sweetclover, "and +you'll be beaten." + +"Well, as long as you and Kernel Cob get away, it won't matter what +happens to me," said the Villain. + +"That's very noble of you, I'm sure," said Kernel Cob, "and I see that +you are a very friendly Villain, but I think I can find a better plan +than that." + +While they were talking, the Showman came and tied some strings on +Kernel Cob and Sweetclover. + +"What's that for?" asked Kernel Cob. + +"I guess you are going to play in the show," explained the Villain. +"That's the way he works us." + +"Now we will never be able to get away," sighed Sweetclover. + +"Won't we though," said Kernel Cob, "leave it to me," for he was very +brave of heart and nothing daunted him, because he was a soldier, you +see, and was brave by nature. + +And the Showman took them into the theatre, and the performance began. +When the play was over, quick as a flash, Kernel Cob cut the strings +from Sweetclover and himself. + +"Now is our time!" shouted he to Sweetclover and the Villain, who were +standing close by, and the Villain, catching Sweetclover by the hand, +ran away with her. + +Holding the Showman at a distance, Kernel Cob backed his way off the +stage, joined the Villain and Sweetclover and all three ran out into +the street at the top of their speed, but the Showman was much faster +and was close on their heels when they came to a corner. + +"Straight ahead!" shouted Kernel Cob while he turned and ran up the +other street. This puzzled the Showman just what Kernel Cob wanted, +and while he stood, wondering which one of them to follow, they gained +on him. + +Feeling angrier with Kernel Cob than with the Villain and Sweetclover, +he made after him, but Kernel Cob had a good start this time and had +turned another corner, and seeing an open doorway, leaped in and was +well-hidden by the time the Showman came puffing by. + +For a long time the Showman searched, but never thought of the door +behind which Kernel Cob was hiding and finally gave up the search and +went back. + +After Kernel Cob had given him plenty of time to get away, he came out +cautiously and with great courage went back the way he had come, +anxious to find Sweetclover and the Villain. + +When he came to the corner where Sweetclover and the Villain had gone +straight ahead, he followed on after them, but could find no trace of +them. Night was coming on and still he walked and being very tired +with all his running, he sat down on the roadside, for he was now out +in the country. And the moon came out and he watched it and thought of +the many adventures he had been in since Sweetclover and he were up +there and a great longing came into his heart to see her and if he had +not been a soldier, I am sure he would have cried, but he didn't. +Instead, he got upon his feet and looked about for some place where he +could spend the night. + +This he soon found, for close at hand was a field in which some hay +had been stacked, and, careful not to arouse the dog, he crept under +one of the haystacks and soon was fast asleep. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + +CHAPTER IX + + +The Villain and Sweetclover ran on and on till their legs would carry +them no farther and, being entirely out of breath, they came to a halt +at last. They were far out beyond the City, and, if they had not been +worried about Kernel Cob, they would have enjoyed the lovely fields of +flowers and sunshine, but Sweetclover was quite sure that the wicked +Showman had captured Kernel Cob and, having recovered her breath, sat +down and began to cry. And the Villain, being a very kind-hearted +puppet sat down to comfort her, but, try as he would, Sweetclover only +cried the louder. + +"I'm sure he's captured, I'm sure he's captured," she repeated over +and over again, until she made the Villain believe it and he began to +cry, too. + +"Here, this will never do," said the Villain, getting up. "I'll go +back and see if I can find him." + +"No, no!" cried Sweetclover. "You'll be caught too, and then what will +I do?" So he stayed with her. + +Presently they were aroused by the barking of a dog and, looking +about, discovered that they were sitting on the terrace of a big house +all about which were fields of flowers and grain. And the dog, a big +mastiff, came toward them. Sweetclover put out a friendly hand and +said, "Nice Fido." + +"Don't call me Fido," said the dog, "my name is Napoleon." + +"Oh, excuse me," said Sweetclover, "I didn't know." + +"That's all right," said Napoleon with a stately bow. "Is there +anything I can do for you?" + +"I'm afraid not," said Sweetclover. "My friend here," and she turned +to the Villain, "and I have been separated from Kernel Cob and we are +anxious to find him. You didn't see him pass by, did you?" + +"No," said Napoleon, "that I didn't." + +"Oh dear," sighed Sweetclover, "night is coming on and we have nowhere +to go." + +"If you will give me a few minutes," said Napoleon, with a courteous +wave of his paw in the direction of his house, "I will put my humble +home at your disposal." + +"We cannot think of disturbing you," said Sweetclover. + +"It will be no trouble whatever," he said. "If I can be of any service +to you, it will give me much pleasure." + +And so they followed him, as he walked away with great dignity, to his +kennel. + +"What, may I enquire, has brought you to this neighborhood?" he asked +as they arrived at his house. + +"You see," explained Sweetclover, "we were captured by a very wicked +Showman and made to act with him in his puppet-show, so we ran away." + +"Have you been long in Valparaiso?" he asked. And she told him her +story. How they had been to the moon in search of Jackie and Peggs' +motheranfather, and so on, till the moment when he had met them on the +road. + +"Very, very interesting, I am sure," he said, "and I wish I could help +you in finding Jackie and Peggs' motheranfather, but I think you must +be tired, so if you will lie down here I will sleep outside and +protect you from any danger." + +So Sweetclover and the Villain entered his house, which was very +nicely covered with straw and made a very comfortable place to sleep +in, and in a few minutes were fast asleep. + + + + +[Illustration] + +CHAPTER X + + +In the morning, the sun was shining brightly and looking out of the +door of Napoleon's house they were overjoyed to see Kernel Cob walking +toward them, for the field in which he had slept was the one next to +where Napoleon lived. + +You may imagine their joy. + +After he had been introduced to Napoleon, they sat down to think what +had best be done. + +"I wish I could help you," said Napoleon, "but I am a watch dog and a +watch dog may never shirk his duty. I never leave these grounds, for I +love my master." + +"You have been very kind," said Sweetclover, "and I'm sure we are +grateful to you." + +"I'll tell you what I can do," said Napoleon, whose forehead wrinkled +as he thought, "I can introduce you to a great bird that lives in a +field back of me. She is the South American condor and I'm sure she +will be able to carry you somewhere." + +"All of us?" asked Kernel Cob. + +"Why, yes, indeed," replied Napoleon, "she is about ten times as big +as you and very strong." + +"Oh, goodie," said Sweetclover, "where is she?" + +"Over there," answered Napoleon. "Just say I sent you and she will do +anything for you." + +So, after thanking Napoleon for his kindness, they walked in the +direction he had given them and soon came to a great haystack on the +top of which was a large nest. + +And Kernel Cob called up to the nest and the bird put out her head. + +Kernel Cob then introduced everybody and the bird flew down at once. + +"We are trying to find Jackie and Peggs' motheranfather," he +explained, and after he had told her their story, she was so +interested that she said she would help them as soon as she had +finished her breakfast. + +"Now," she said, "let us start. Where are the motheranfather of these +little children?" + +"I don't know," said Kernel Cob. "They're lost." + +"I don't know anything about motheranfathers," replied the bird, "but +I know when I lose anything it is because it falls out of my nest." + +"People don't live in nests," replied Kernel Cob. "For if they did, +and fell out, they would get broken." + +"I say!" said the Villain who had been thinking very deeply. "Let's +look for them near where they were lost." + +"That's a good way," said Sweetclover. "Let's go to the United States. +How far is it?" + +"Thousands of miles," answered the Condor. "But that is nothing for +me. I can fly that far in a few days. Come, get ready. We will go to +the United States. Jump on my back." + +So they climbed up on the bird's back, and all being ready she flew +away. + +"How does she know which way to fly?" asked Sweetclover. + +"Birds know everything in the air, just the same as fishes do in the +water," said the Villain. + +"And worms in the ground," added Kernel Cob. + +"I guess Dolls must be the stupidest things in the world," said +Sweetclover. + +"Only some of us," said Kernel Cob. + +[Illustration] + +At this Sweetclover, the Villain and the Condor laughed, but Kernel +Cob didn't know what they were laughing at, which was a very good +thing for him. + +All that day they flew, and were very happy indeed in the warm +sunshine skimming through the clouds. And once they went through a +rainstorm and got wet; but as the sun came out soon after and dried +them quickly they were none the worse for their bath, but felt +refreshed for it. + +And they passed over the great Amazon river, the largest river in the +world, and, much before they knew it, they were in Central America +going at a tremendous rate of speed. +you! Haven't you got any manners at all?--after all the willows and +the good powder I've wasted on you! Get back to that pasture fence +before I take a club to you for such acting!" + +Before Belle's wrath Lance retreated, and Mary Hope found the courage +to wrinkle her nose at him when he glanced her way. "He rinned away to +save himself a whupping," she commented, and made sure that he heard +it, and hoped that he would realize that she spoke "Scotchy" just for +his special benefit. + +"All right for you, Belle Lorrigan!" Lance called back, retaliating +for Mary Hope's grimace by a kiss thrown brazenly in the expectation +of seeing her face grow redder; which it did immediately. "Careful of +that horse--he might rinned away again!" + +"That'll do for you, young man!" Whereupon Belle picked up a small +stone and threw it with such accurate aim that Lance's hat went off. +"Good thing for you that I haven't got a gun on me, or I'd dust your +heels for you!" Then she turned to Mary Hope, who was listening with +titillating horror to the painted Jezebel's unorthodox method of +reproving her offspring. "Get right down, honey, and come in and rest. +And don't mind Lance; he's an awful tease, especially when he likes a +person. Tie your horse to the fence--or turn him in the corral, if +he'll let you catch him again." + +"I--I don't believe I could stop. I--I only came by because I--my +horse--" Mary Hope stammered and blushed so red that her freckles were +invisible. After all, it was very hard to tell a lie, she discovered. + +"There's something I like about this horse," said Belle, running her +plump white hand down the nose of Rab. "He's neighborly, anyway. He +brought you here against your will, I can see that. And now he's here +he sort of takes it for granted you'll be friendly and stop a while. +Don't you think you ought to be as friendly as your horse, honey?" + +"I--I am friendly. I--I always wished I could come and see you. But +mother--mother doesna visit much among the neighbors; she--she's +always busy." + +"I don't visit much, myself," said Belle dryly. "But that ain't saying +I can't be friendly. Come on in, and we'll have some lemonade." + +Sheer astonishment brought Mary Hope down from her horse. All her life +she had taken it for granted that lemonade was sacred to the Fourth of +July picnics, just as oranges grew for Christmas trees only. She +followed Belle dumbly into the house, and once inside she remained +dumb with awe at what seemed to her to be the highest pinnacle of +grandeur. + +There was the piano with a fringed scarf draped upon its top, and +pictures in frames standing upon the scarf in orderly rows. There were +many sheets of music,--and never a hymn book. There were great chairs +with deep upholstery which Mary observed with amazement was not red +plush, nor even blue plush, yet which appealed to her instincts for +beauty. There was no center table with fringed spread and family album +and a Bible and a conch shell. Instead there was a long table before a +window--a table littered with all sorts of things: a box of revolver +cartridges, a rifle laid down in the middle of scattered newspapers, +a bottle of oil, more music, a banjo, a fruit jar that did duty as a +vase for wild flowers, a half-finished, braided quirt and four silver +dollars lying where they had been carelessly flung down. To Mary Hope, +reared in a household where dollars were precious things, that last +item was the most amazing of all. The Lorrigans must be rich,--as rich +as they were wicked. She thrilled anew at her own daring. + +Belle brought lemonade, wonderful lemonade, with an egg beaten to +yellow froth and added the last minute. Mary Hope sipped and marveled. +After that, Belle played on the piano and sang songs which Mary Hope +had never heard before and which she thought must be the songs the +angels sang in Heaven, although there was nothing to suggest harps or +hallelujahs. Love songs they were, mostly. The sun slipped around and +shone through a window on Belle's head, so that her yellow hair +glistened like fine threads of gold. Mary Hope watched it dreamily and +wondered how a Jezebel could be so beautiful and so good. + +"You'd better run along home now, honey," Belle said at last when she +had finished her eighth song. "I'd love to have you stay all +night--but I reckon there'd be trouble. Your dad ain't any too mild, +I've heard. But I hope you won't wait until your horse runs away with +you again. I want you to come real soon. And come early so you can +stay longer. I'll teach you to play the piano, honey. You ought to +learn, seeing you love it so." + +That night Mary Hope dreamed of playing strange, complex compositions +on a piano which Lance Lorrigan had given her. The next morning and +for many days after she still dreamed of playing entrancing strains +upon a piano, and of Lance Lorrigan who had thrown her a kiss. Belle +had said that Lance always teased a person he liked, and in that one +remark lay the stuff of many dreams. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +A MATTER OF BRANDS + + +On the grassy expanse known locally as Injun Creek, fifteen hundred +head of cattle were milling restlessly in a close-held herd over which +gray dust hovered and settled and rose again. Toward it other cattle +came lowing, trotting now and then when the riders pressed close, +essaying a retreat when the way seemed clear. From Devil's Tooth they +came, and from Lava Bed way, and from the rough sandstone ridges of +Mill Creek. Two by two the riders, mere moving dots at first against a +monotone of the rangeland, took form as they neared the common center. +Red cattle, black cattle, spotted and dingy white, with bandy-legged, +flat-bodied calves keeping close to their mothers, kicking up their +heels in sheer joy of their new life when the pace slowed a little, +seeking a light lunch whenever the cows stopped to cast a wary glance +back at their pursuer. A dozen brands were represented in that +foregathering: The NL brand of Tom Lorrigan on most, with its various +amendments which differentiated the property of other members of the +family, since all of the Lorrigans owned cattle. There was the NL +Block of Belle Lorrigan, the ANL which was Al's brand, the DNL of Duke +and the LNL which belonged to Lance; monograms all of them, deftly +constructed with the fewest possible lines. There was that invitation +to the unlawful artistry of brand-working, the Eleven which Sleek +Douglas thought quite sufficient to mark his cattle. It was merciful +to the calves, he maintained, and as to thieves, the dishonest would +be punished by law and the Douglas wrath. The Miller brand, a plain +Block, showed now and then upon the rump of some animal. The AJ fled +occasionally before a rider, and there were brands alien to the Black +Rim; brands on cattle that had drifted down from the Snake through the +Lava Creek pass, or over the sage-grown ridges farther north. + +His rifle sheathed in a saddle holster under his thigh, his black eyes +roving here and there and letting no small movement of men or animals +escape their seeing glances, Tom Lorrigan rode to the round-up, lord +of the range, steadfast upon the trail of his "million on the hoof" of +which he dreamed. Beside him rode Al, and the two of them were talking +while they rode. + +"He ain't safe, I tell you," Al was saying in the tone of reiteration. +"And you needn't ask me how I know. I know it, that's all. Maybe he's +too damn' agreeable or something. Anyway, I know I don't like the way +his eyes set in his head." + +"A man that wasn't safe wouldn't dare come into the Black Rim and make +the play he's makin'," Tom contended. "I've had my eye on him ever +since he come. I've checked up what he says at different times--they +tally like the truth. I can't find nothing wrong." + +"I've got him set down for a spotter," said Al. + +"If he ain't on the level it'll show up sooner or later," Tom +contended. "I've got my eye on him. I dunno what you pin your argument +on, Al, I'll be darned if I do." + +"Well, watch out for Cheyenne. That's all. You're pretty keen, all +right, but all a man's got to do to get on your blind side is to blow +in here with his chin on his shoulder and his horse rode to a whisper +and claim to you he's hidin' out. Cheyenne ain't right, I tell yuh. +You take a tip from me and watch him." + +"Takes a kid to tell his dad where to head in at!" growled Tom. "How +do you reckon I ever got along before your time. Ever figure that out, +Al?" + +"Now, what's eatin' on old Scotty Douglas, do yuh reckon? That's him, +all right. I could tell him on horseback ten mile off. He rides like a +Mormon." + +Tom grunted. His boys, he had long ago discovered, were very apt to +find some excuse for changing the subject whenever he mentioned the +past which had not held their arrogant young selves. Tom resented the +attitude of superior wisdom which they were prone to assume. They were +pretty smart kids, but if they thought they were smarter than their +dad they sure had a change of heart coming to them. + +"Supposin' it is old Scotty. Do you reckon, Al, I've got you along for +a guide, to point out what my eyes is getting too poor to see? As for +Cheyenne," he reverted angrily to the argument, "as for Cheyenne, when +you've growed to be a man, you'll find it's just as much the mark of a +fool to go along suspecting everybody as it is to bank on everybody. +You think now it's funny to put the Judas brand on every man you don't +know. It ain't. It's a kid's trick. Boys git that way when they begin +to sprout hair under their noses. I been pretty patient with yuh, Al. +You're growing up fast, and you're feeling your oats. I make +allowances, all kinds. But by the humpin' hyenas, don't you start in +telling me where to head in at with my own outfit! If you do, I'll +jest about wear out a willer switch on yuh!" + +This to a youth almost old enough to vote was dire insult. Al pulled +up his horse. "Run your own outfit and be darned to yuh!" he cried +hotly, and spurred off in the direction of the ranch. + +Tom laughed shortly and rolled a cigarette. "Thinks now it'll bust up +the round-up if he goes," he opined. "Lucky for my kids I ain't as +strict as my old dad was; they wouldn't have any hide left, I +reckon." + +Up loped Aleck Douglas then, riding stiff-legged, his bony elbows +jerking awkwardly with the motion of his horse, a rusty black vest +dangling open under his coat which flapped in the wind. That the +Douglas wrath rode with him Tom saw from the corner of his eye and +gave no sign. + +"Hello," said Tom casually and drew a match along the stamped fork of +his saddle. "You're quite a stranger." He lighted his cigarette, +holding his reins lightly in one hand while he did so; gave the reins +a gentle flip to one side and sent his horse after a cow and calf that +showed symptoms of "breaking back." + +"Mister Lorrigan, 'tis aboot a spotted yearlin' that I've come to +speak with ye. I've found the hide of her in the brush beneath yon +hill, and the brand is cut from it. But I wad swear to the hide wi'out +the brand. 'Twas a yearlin' I ken weel, Mister Lorrigan." He rode +alongside, and his close-set little eyes regarded keenly Tom's face. + +"A spotted yearling with the brand cut out, hey? That looks kinda bad. +Have you got the hide with you?" + +"I have no got the hide wi' me, but I ken weel whaur it lies, Mister +Lorrigan, and I thinkit so do you." + +"Hm-m. You'd ought to of brought it along." Tom's glance went out +toward the herd and the cattle lumbering toward it far and near. "The +range is plumb lousy with spotted yearlings, Scotty. What do you +expect me to do about it?" + +The Douglas face worked spasmodically before he spoke. "I expect ye, +Mr. Lorrigan, to pay for yon beastie. I ken weel ye could name the mon +that stickit the knife in her throat. An' she made fine eatin', I have +na doot. But 'tis the law, Mister Lorrigan, that a mon should pay for +the meat he consumes." + +"Meaning, of course, that you think I'm feeding Douglas meat to my +outfit. Don't you think you're kinda hasty? I kill a beef about every +three or four days in round-up time. The boys work hard and they eat +hard. And they eat NL beef, Scotty; don't overlook that fact. Hides +ain't worth anything much, but salt's cheap, too. I ain't throwin' +away a dollar when it's no trouble to save it. If you're any curious +at all, you ride over to ranch and count all the green hides you can +find. Belle, she'll show 'em to you. Take a look at the brands, and +figure it out yourself, I don't know how many you'll find, but I'll +gamble you a dozen cows against one that you'll wonder what went with +all the beef that was in them hides. Humpin' hyenas! Ain't I got +cattle enough of my own, without rustlin' off my neighbors?" + +"Aye. Ye ha' cattle, Mister Lorrigan; I ken weel ye should no' be put +to it for a wee bit meat--but I ken weel yon spotty yearlin' was +mine. I ken ye've been campin' thereabout--and it wad seem, Mister +Lorrigan, that the salt was no sa plentifu' when the spotty yearlin' +was kilt." + +The downright foolhardiness of the Douglas wrath held Tom's +hand,--though of a truth that hand trembled and crept backward. Nor +was Aleck Douglas nearsighted; he saw the movement and his bearded +underlip met his shaven underlip in a straight line. + +"Ye do weel to be reachin' for the gun, Mister Lorrigan. I dinna carry +aye weapon save the truth." + +Tom flushed. "Blame your oatmeal soul, if I reached for my gun, you +wouldn't be telling me about it!" he exploded. "Carry the truth, do +yuh? You've got to show me where you keep it, then. If you wasn't an +old man--and a darn fool on top of that." + +"'Tis no brave to cover shame wi' bitter words, Tam Lorrigan. 'Tis the +way of ye to bluster and bully until the neighbors all are affrighted +to face ye and yere ill deeds." + +Toward them clattered two riders hotly pursuing a lean, long-legged +steer with a wide spread of horns and a gift of speed that carried him +forging past the disputants. Tom wheeled mechanically and gave chase, +leaving the Douglas wrath to wax hotter or to cool if it would. It was +a harsh accusation that Aleck Douglas had made, and that he did make +it seemed to prove that he had what he considered very good evidence +that he was right. Tom was well schooled in troubles of that kind. He +did not take the matter so indifferently as Douglas believed. + +Duke and Mel Wilson, riding hard, came upon Tom just as he had roped +and thrown the steer in a shallow draw that hid them from the level +where Aleck Douglas waited. + +"Hey!" Tom beckoned them close. "Old Douglas says there's a hide in +the willows this side of Squaw Butte, with the brand cut out; a +spotted yearling, and he claims it's his and he can swear to it +without the brand. I don't know a darn thing about it. Nobody does in +this outfit; I'll stake all I've got on that. But he's on the +fight--and a mule's a sheep alongside him when he's got his back up. +He left the hide where he found it. Haze this steer and ride over +there and see what there is to his talk. If you find a hide cachéd in +the willows, put it outa sight. We don't want any rustling scraps +started on this range; that's bad medicine always. If he can't produce +any hide, he can't start anything but talk--and talk's cheap." + +A few moments later they came tearing up out of the draw, the steer +running strong, the three riders still hotly pursuing. Duke and Mel +rushed it on to the herd, and Tom dropped out of the race and came +along across to where Douglas wrath had not cooled but had smoldered +and waited for the wind of opposition to fan it to flame again. + +"Well, you still mournin' over your spotty yearlin'?" Tom called. "You +must have more time than you know what to do with to-day. Us, we have +to _work_." + +"If it's to the round-up ye're going, then I'll ride wi' ye, Tom +Lorrigan. I'm a fair mon and I wush na ill to my neighbors. But I +canna twiddle the thumbs whilst others fare well on Douglas beef." + +"You can ride where you please; it's open range. But if you ride to +the herd I'll show you forty yearlings that I'll bet are dead ringers +for the one that you claim was killed. I never seen that hide neither, +unless maybe when the critter was using it. + +"Now, I don't want any trouble with yuh, Scotty. But I tell yuh right +now I can't stand for much more of this talk about beef rustling. +Thief's a pretty hard word to use to a man's face--and get away with +it." + +"'Tis a hard mon I'm usin' it tae," the Douglas retorted grimly. + +"Braggin' about your nerve, are yuh, Scotty?" + +"I have a name, Tam Lorrigan, and 'tisna Scotty." The Douglas face +twisted with anger. "I will no bandy worrds with ye. 'Tis ill I should +descend to the level o' them that deespitefully use me." + +"Deespitefully!--why, humpin' hyenas! Ain't I letting yuh _live_? And +do yuh reckon any other man could walk up to me and call me a thief +and live long enough to take it back? Just because you're old, and +such a blamed fool you go around without a gun on yuh, I'm keepin' my +hands off you. I call yuh a coward. You wouldn't a dared to come over +here with a gun on yuh and talk the way you've done. You've got me +hog-tied. You know it. And damn yuh, I'll fight yuh now with the +law--which is the only way a coward will fight. + +"You've done a heap of chawin' around about the Lorrigans, Scotty. +Don't think I ain't heard it. Maybe it's your religion to backbite +yore neighbors and say what you wouldn't dare to say to their face +with a gun on you so we'd be equal. I've passed it up. I've considered +the source and let it go. But when you come belly-achin' around about +me stealin' a spotty yearlin'--jest as if there wasn't but one on the +Black Rim range!--why, damn it, _you'll prove it_! Do you get that? +You'll prove it before a jury, or I'll sue yuh for libel and bust yuh. +I don't go much on the law, but by Henry, I'll use it on you!" + +The Douglas eyes flickered uncertainly, but the Douglas mouth was +unyielding. "The law can no be cheatit so easy, Tam Lorrigan. I hae no +wush to send ye tae jail--but ye ken weel that wad be the penalty for +killin' yon beastie in the willows. I came to settle the matter fair +between neighbors, and tae warn ye to cease your evil doings on the +range. I wadna see yer woman come tae grief--" + +"You can cut out that mercy talk, Scotty. And don't try to bring Belle +into this. If it comes to a showdown, lemme advise you, you'd better +sidestep Belle. The grief would all be yourn, if you and Belle lock +horns, and I'm telling yuh so." + +They had reached the nearest margin of the herd. Cheyenne, a nameless +estray from the Wyoming ranges, chanced to be holding herd where the +two rode up. At him Tom looked, suspicion for the moment sharpening +his glance. + +"You can ask this man what he knows about any spotted hide over by +Squaw Butte," he invited the Douglas stiffly. "He's practically a +stranger to the outfit--been here about a month. Maybe his word'll be +worth something to yuh--I dunno. You can ask him." + +Douglas rode over to Cheyenne and said what he had to say. Tom +meanwhile held the herd and meditated on the petty injustices of +life--perhaps--and wished that a real he-man had come at him the way +Douglas had come. It irked Tom much to be compelled to meet hard words +with tolerant derision. Toleration was not much of a factor in his +life. But since he must be tolerant, he swung his horse to meet the +Douglas when the brief conversation with Cheyenne was over. The +Douglas head was shaking slowly, owning disappointment. + +"Well, yuh might as well make the rounds, Scotty. Go on and ask all +the boys. If I asked 'em myself you might think it was a frame-up. And +when you've made the rounds, take a look through the herd. The chances +are that you'll find your spotty yearlin' walking around with her hide +on her. And when you're plumb through, you make tracks away from my +outfit. My patience is strainin' the buttons right now, looking at +your ugly mug. And lemme tell yuh--and you mark it down in your little +red book so yuh won't forget it--after you've peddled your woes to the +hull outfit, you bring in that hide and some proof, or you get down on +them marrow bones and apologize! I'm plumb tired of the way you act." + +Aleck Douglas scowled, opened his hard lips to make a bitter answer +and reconsidered. He went off instead to interview the men, perhaps +thinking that adroit questioning might reveal a weak point somewhere +in their denial. + +Tom rode over to Cheyenne. "Scotty's got his war clothes on," he +observed carelessly. + +"Shore has," Cheyenne grinned. "But that's all right. He didn't make +nothin' off me. I never give him any satisfaction at all." + +Tom's brows pulled together. "Well, now, if you know anything about +any hide with the brand cut out, you'd better come through, +Cheyenne." + +"I never said I knowed anything about it. I guess mebby that's why I +couldn't give him no satisfaction." Cheyenne still grinned, but he +did not meet Tom's eyes. + +"You spoke kinda queer for a man who don't know nothing, Cheyenne. Did +yuh think mebby it wasn't all NL beef you been eating?" + +"Why, no. I never meant anything like that at all. I only said--" + +"Straight talk don't need no explainin', Cheyenne. The Devil's Tooth +outfit shore likes the taste of its own beef. If any man fails to +agree with that, I want him to speak up right now." + +Cheyenne pinched out the fire in his cigarette and flipped the stub +away from him. He did not look at Tom when he said: + +"NL beef shore suits me. I don't know about any other brand. I ain't +et none to judge by." + +"You bet your life you ain't," snapped Tom, as he turned away. "When +you sample another brand you won't be drawin' wages with this +outfit." + +He rode away to the wagon, where a fire was already burning and the +branding irons heating. Cheyenne, with his hat pulled down over his +forehead so that he looked out from under the brim that shaded his +face, watched Tom queerly, a corner of his lips lifted in a half smile +that was not pleasant. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +THEY RIDE AND THEY DO NOT TELL WHERE + + +Aleck Douglas, having questioned the crew as Tom had suggested, and +having inexorably ridden through the herd--in search of brands that +had been "worked," or for other evidence of the unlawful acquisition +of wealth, rather than in hope of finding his spotted yearling--rode +away with the parting threat that he would "gang to the shuriff and +hae a talk wi' him." Tom had advised him of one or two other +destinations where he hoped the Douglas would arrive without any delay +whatever, and the branding proceeded rather slowly with the crew three +men short. + +Duke and Mel Wilson rode in about three o'clock with a few cows and +calves which they had gleaned from some brushy draw to cover their +real errand. By the time they had snatched a hasty meal at the wagon a +mile away, and had caught up fresh horses, the afternoon's work was +nearly over. A little earlier than usual, Tom kicked the branding fire +apart, ordered the herd thrown on water and grazed back to the +bed-ground that had been used during round-up time ever since he could +remember, and rode slowly toward camp, whither the lucky ones not on +herd were speeding. + +Cheyenne, Tom observed, seemed in a greater hurry than the others, and +he beckoned to him a slim, swarthy-skinned youth who answered to the +euphonious name of Sam Pretty Cow, who was three-quarters Indian and +forgiven the taint for the ability to ride anything he ever tried to +ride, rope anything he ever swung his loop at, and for his unfailing +good humor which set him far above his kind. + +"Cheyenne's in a hurry to-night, Sam." + +"Yeah. Ride hell out of his horse. I dunno, me." Sam grinned amiably +at his boss. + +"I wish you would camp on his trail, Sam. He'll maybe ride somewhere +to-night." + +"Yeah. Uh-huh. You bet," acquiesced Sam, and leaned forward a little, +meaning to gallop after Cheyenne. + +"Hold on a minute! What did Scotty have to say, Sam?" + +"Him? Talk a lot about spotty yearlin' he says is dead. Asking who +kills them calf. Search me, I dunno." + +"Hear any talk among the boys about beef rustling?" + +"Uh-huh. First I hear is them sour-face asking me who kills them +critter. Me, I dunno." + +"If you hear anything about it, Sam, let me know. Scotty thinks we +done it." + +"Yeah. Uh-huh. Anybody does something mean, everybody says, 'Damn +Lorrigans done it.' Too much talk in the Black Rim. Talking under +their hats all the time but no liking to fight them Lorrigans. Uh-huh. +They're scared, you bet." + +"They'll have something to get scared at, if they ain't careful. I'm +getting tired of it," said Tom gloomily. + +"Yeah, you bet!" agreed Sam, his voice all sympathy. Then seeing that +Tom had no immediate intention of saying more, he touched his horse +with his long-shanked spurs and hurried on to "camp on the trail of +Cheyenne." + +Tom had nearly reached camp when Duke came pounding up behind him, +coming from the herd. Duke set his horse up, in two jumps slowing from +a gallop to a walk. Tom turned his head but he did not speak. Nor did +Duke wait for questions. + +"Dad, we didn't find any hide over by Squaw Butte," he announced +abruptly. "Mel and I hunted every foot of the willows. I saw where a +critter had been killed, all right. There was some scuffed-out tracks +and blood on the ground. But there wasn't any hide. Scotty musta +cachéd it somewheres." + +"Scotty claims he left it where he found it, for evidence," Tom said +gloomily. + +"Darned if I'd take the blame for other folks' rustling," Duke +declared. "I wisht he'd of come to me with his tale of woe. I'd a +showed him where to head in, mighty darned sudden. I'd of asked where +was his proof; there's other cow outfits in the Black Rim besides the +Devil's Tooth, I'd tell him. And if he didn't have mighty darned good +evidence, I'd of--" + +"Yes, I expect you would of tore the earth up all round him," Tom +interrupted drily. "You boys shore are fighty, all right--with your +faces. What I'm interested in, is whereabouts you and Mel hunted. That +hide wouldn't show up like the Devil's Tooth--understand. And Scotty +was bawling around like a man that's been hurt in the pocket. He found +a hide, and if it ain't his he shore thinks it is, and that's just +about the same. And we camped over there three days ago. Where all did +you and Mel look?" + +"All over, wherever a hide could be cachéd. There ain't any over +there. Scotty musta dreamt it--or else he buried it." + +"Scotty ain't the dreamy kind. Might be possible that the ones that +done the killing went back and had a burying--which they'd oughta +have had at the time. I can't sabe a man rustling beef and leaving +the hide laying around, unless--" Tom pulled his eyebrows together +in quick suspicion. "It kinda looks to me like a frame-up," he +resumed from his fresh viewpoint. "Well, you and Mel keep it under +your hats, Duke. Don't say nothing to any of the boys at all. But if +any of the boys has anything to say, you listen. Scotty made the +rounds to-day--talked to the whole bunch. They know all about his +spotty yearlin', gol darn him! I'd like to know if any of 'em has got +any inside dope. There's strangers in the outfit this spring. And, +Duke, you kinda keep your eye on Cheyenne. Al seems to think he +ain't right--but Al has got to the suspicious age, when every man +and his dog packs a crime on his conscience. You kinda stall around +and see if Cheyenne lets slip anything." + +"What would happen to old Scotty Douglas if he lost a bunch, for gosh +sake? Drop dead, I reckon," grumbled Duke. "He's sure making a lot of +fuss over one measly yearlin'." + +"Yeah--but I've saw bigger fusses made over smaller matters, son," Tom +drawled whimsically. "I saw two men killed over a nickel in change, +once. It ain't the start; it's the finish that counts." + +"Well, looking at it that way, uh course--" + +"That's the only way to look at it, son. Did you think, maybe, that I +hazed you over to find that hide and bury it, just to keep it from +scentin' up the scenery? It's what I could smell farther ahead that I +was after. If you'd looked ahead a little further, maybe you'd of +looked a little closer in the willers." + +To this Duke had nothing to say; and presently he loped on, leaving +Tom to ride slowly and turn the matter of the spotted yearling over +and over in his mind until he had reached some definite conclusion. + +Tom had the name of being a dangerous man, but he had not earned it by +being hasty. His anger was to be feared because it smoldered long, +rather than because it exploded into quick violence. He wanted to see +the trail ahead of him--and just now he thought he saw Trouble waiting +on the turn. No Lorrigan had ever ridden the other way because Trouble +waited ahead, but one Lorrigan at least would advance with his eyes +open and his weapons ready to his hand. + +"Bring your proof," he had said in effect to Aleck Douglas, "or stand +trial for libel. Since you won't fight with guns, I'll fight you with +the law." Very good, if he could be sure that the Douglas would fail +to produce his proof. + +Tom knew well enough the reputation he bore in the Black Rim country. +Before the coming of Belle, and later, of the boys, Tom had done his +share toward earning that reputation. But Belle and the boys had +changed his life far more than appeared on the surface. They had held +his rope from his neighbors' cattle, for one thing, though his +neighbors never had credited him with honesty. + +It is true that Tom could remember certain incidents of the round-up +that had added to his herd and brought him a little nearer the +million-dollar mark. Without remorse he remembered, and knew that any +cowman in the country would do the same, or worse if he dared. For +branding irons do not always inquire very closely into the parentage +of a calf that comes bouncing up stiff-legged at the end of a +cowpuncher's rope. Nor need a maverick worry very long because he +belongs to no one, so long as cowmen ride the range. Cattle would +always stray into the Black Rim country from ranges across the +mountains, and of these the Black Rim took its toll. He supposed +strange irons were set now and then on the hide of an NL animal across +the mountains--but the branders had better not let him catch them at +it! On the other hand, he would see to it that they did not catch him +branding mavericks on his own range. To Tom that seemed fair +enough,--a give-and-take game of the rangeland. According to Tom's +code he was as honest as his neighbors, and that was honest enough for +practical purposes. + +It happened that he had not killed Aleck Douglas' spotted yearling. +And to be accused of the theft hurt. + +"Why, humpin' hyenas! If I'd a beefed that critter, old Scotty +wouldn't ever have found no hide to catch me on! What kinda mark does +he think I am! Rustle a beef and leave the hide laying around? why, +any darn fool would know better than that!" + +It was characteristic of the Lorrigan influence that when Tom rode +into camp every one of the crew save his own sons quieted a little; +not enough to suggest timidity, but to a degree that told how well +they knew that their master was present. + +That master quietly took stock of his men while they ate their supper +and loafed and smoked and talked. Cheyenne had unobtrusively retired +to the bed tent. With his thumbs pushed down inside his belt Tom +strolled past and slanted a glance inside. Cheyenne was squatted on +his heels shaving with cold lather and a cracked looking-glass propped +against a roll of bedding, and a razor which needed honing. In turning +his head to look at Tom he nicked his chin and while he stopped the +bleeding with a bit of old newspaper the size of a small finger-nail +he congratulated himself in the mistaken belief that Tom had not seen +him at all. + +Cheyenne did not know Tom very well, else he would have taken it for +granted that Tom not only had seen him, but had also made a guess at +his reason for shaving in the middle of the week. + +Tom walked on, making a mental tally of the girls within riding +distance from camp. Jennie Miller was reported engaged to an AJ man, +and besides, she lived too far away and was not pretty enough to be +worth the effort of a twenty-five mile ride just to hear her play +hymns distressingly on an organ with a chronic squeak in one pedal. +There was Alice Boyle at the AJ, and there was Mary Hope Douglas, who +was growing to be quite a young lady,--pretty good-looking, too, if +she wouldn't peel her hair back so straight and tight. Mary Hope +Douglas, Tom decided, was probably the girl. It struck Tom as +significant that she should be the daughter of the man who mourned the +loss of the yearling. He had not reached the rear of the tent before +he decided that he himself would do a little riding that night. He +caught and saddled Coaley, his own pet saddle horse that had never +carried any man save Tom--never would, so long as Tom had anything to +say about it--and set off toward the Devil's Tooth ranch. Cheyenne +ducked his head under the tent flap when he heard the sound of hoof +beats passing close, saw that it was his boss, noted the direction he +was taking, and heaved a sigh of relief. While he labored with the +knot in his handkerchief which must be tied exactly right before he +would leave the tent, Cheyenne had been composing a reason for leaving +camp. Now he would not need a reason, and he grinned while he +plastered his hair down in a sleek, artistically perfect scallop over +his right eyebrow. Tom was going to the home ranch,--to round up Al, +very likely. He would be gone all night and he would not know how many +of his men rode abroad that night. + +So presently Cheyenne saddled the freshest horse in his string and +loped off, making an insulting sign with one hand when the boys wished +him luck with the girl and offered to go along and talk religion with +"feyther" just to help him out. + +Very soon after that Sam Pretty Cow drifted away, and no one noticed +his absence. Sam Pretty Cow's wanderings never did attract much +attention. He was Injun, and Injuns have ways strange to white men. +For instance, he did not sleep in the tent, but spread his blankets +under whatever shelter he could find within hailing distance from the +others. He was always around when he was wanted, and that seemed to be +all that was expected of him. Sleep settled on the Devil's Tooth +round-up camp, and the night guard sang to the cattle while they rode +round and round the herd, and never dreamed that this night was not as +other nights had been. + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +BELLE MEETS AN EMERGENCY IN HER OWN WAY + + +A Meadow Lark, his conscience comfortable after a generous breakfast +of big and little worms carried to his mate hidden away under a thick +clump of rabbit weed down by the creek, spread rigid wings and +volplaned to the crooked post beside the corral gate, folded his +feathers snug and tilted his head aslant. _"Cler, cler, cler, cler-ee, +cler-ee!"_ he sang, and perked a wary eye toward the low-roofed +stable. + +"Oh, I hear you, you sassy little sinner! I wouldn't think you'd have +the nerve, after what you've done to my radishes. I'm sure going to +mix with you, if you--Rosa! Lift a heel at me and you die! Stand +over--don't you try squeezing me against the wall, or I'll take my +quirt to you! Get over there, before I brain you! Hay-ah-h, you--" + +From the sounds one would imagine that a bear, two lions and a mule +had come to handgrips in the stable, and that a woman of the Amazons +was battling with them all. The meadow lark knew better. This was his +second season on the Devil's Tooth ranch, and he knew that Belle +Lorrigan was merely harnessing her pinto team in the stable, and that +nothing out of the ordinary was taking place. Being a wise bird as +well as an inquisitive one, he fluttered up to the ridge-pole of the +roof and from that sanctuary listened beady-eyed to the customary +tumult. + +Certain staccato epithets meant merely that Subrosa was objecting to +the crupper. A sudden stamping testified that Belle had approached +Rosa with the bridle. A high-keyed, musical voice chanting man-size +words of an intimidating nature followed which proved that the +harnessing was progressing as well as could be expected. Then came a +lull, and the meadow lark tilted forward expectantly, his head turned +sidewise to see what came next. + +First came Belle Lorrigan, walking backward, a shot-loaded quirt +raised admonishingly to the chin of Subrosa who walked stiff-legged +and reluctant, his white-lashed, blue eyes rolling fearsomely, his +nostrils belling in loud snorts of protest. A complexity of +emotions stirred Subrosa. Afraid to lunge forward, hating to walk +circumspectly, eager for the race yet dreading the discipline of rein +and whip, Subrosa yielded perforce to the inevitable. As his heels +flicked over the low doorsill he swung round and landed one final +kick against the log wall, threw up his head in anticipation of the +quirt, stepped on a dragging trace chain and jumped as though it +was a rattler. + +"None of that, you cantankerous brute! One of these days I'm going to +just naturally brain you, Sub. I'm getting good and tired of this +circus business. You settle down, now, and act human, or--" + +Subrosa kicked at the trace and flipped it up so that it struck him +smartly on the rump. He jumped straight forward at Belle, who dodged +and landed the quirt none too gently on his nose. Subrosa sat down +violently, and Belle straightway kicked him in the paunch by way of +hinting that she preferred him standing. Then they had it out, +rampaging all over the round-pole corral until Belle, breathing a bit +fast but sparkly-eyed and victorious, led Subrosa through the gate and +up to the post where she snubbed him fast. She was turning to go after +Rosa when a young voice called to her anxiously. + +"Oh, Mrs. Lorrigan! Quick, I'm in a hurry. I mustn't stay, because +they'll be here in a little while. But they're coming by the road and +I came down the trail, and that gave me time. I can't take any more +music lessons, Mrs. Lorrigan. Father is that angry wi' your +husband--and oh, Mrs. Lorrigan! If you have any hide that isna your +own, ye should hide it away at once! Because the shuriff--" + +Belle laid her palms on her hips and stared blankly up at Mary Hope, +who sat nervously on old Rab at the gate. + +"Heavens, child! My hide is my own--and at that it's pretty well +hidden. What about the sheriff? What's he got to say about it?" + +"It's the stealing, Mrs. Lorrigan. Father has the shuriff wi' him, and +they are going to search the ranch for the hides--" + +"Good Lord! _What_ hides?" + +"The hides of my father's cattle. And if you have any, put them away +quick, where the shuriff canna find them, Mrs. Lorrigan! It's ill I +should go against my father, but you have been so good to me with the +music lessons, and--" + +"Don't let the music lessons bother you, Hope. And I guess we're +entitled to all the cowhides we've got on the place, if that's what +you mean. What do you think we are--thieves, Hope Douglas?" + +"I dinna say it. I only came to warn ye, so that you may have time tae +put your hides way oot o' their sicht when they come. I dinna want +that your husband should go to prison, Mrs. Lorrigan. But father is +that angry--" + +"Well, say! Let me tell you something, Hope. If there's any talk of +stealing and prison for the Lorrigans, your dad had better keep outa +my Tom's sight. And outa mine," she added grimly. "There'll be no +searching for anything on this ranch when my Tom's not here to see +what goes on. You better go back and tell your dad I said it. If you +don't and he brings the sheriff on here, don't blame me if somebody +gets hurt." + +"Oh, but it's the law they're bringing on ye! Ye canna go contrary to +the law!" Mary Hope's voice quavered with fear. + +"Oh, can't I!" Belle gave her head a tilt. "You beat it, while the +going's good. I hear voices up on the road. If you don't want your dad +to come and catch you here--" + +That settled it. Terror drove Mary Hope into the Devil's Tooth trail +at Rab's best pace, which was a stiff-legged lope. Her last glance +backward showed her Belle Lorrigan taking her six-shooter belt off the +buckboard seat and buckling it around her waist so that the gun hung +well forward. Mary Hope shuddered and struck Rab with the quirt. + +Belle had led Rosa from the stable and was cautiously fastening the +neck yoke in place when the sheriff and Aleck Douglas rode around the +corner of the stable. Rosa shied and snorted and reared, and Belle +used the rein-ends for a whiplash until Rosa decided that she would +better submit to authority and keep her hide whole. She stood fairly +quiet after that, with little nipping dance-steps in one spot, while +Belle fastened buckles and snaps and trace chains. Subrosa, having had +his tantrum, contented himself with sundry head-shakings and snorts. +When the team was "hooked up" to Belle's satisfaction, she tied them +both firmly to the corral with short ropes, and finally turned her +attention to her visitors. + +"Howdy, Mr. Douglas? Fine day we're having," she greeted the dour +Scotchman amiably. + +The sheriff coughed behind his hand, looked sidelong at his companion, +rode a step or two nearer to Belle, swung a leg over the cantle of his +saddle. Perhaps he expected Aleck Douglas to introduce him, but he did +not wait for the formality. + +"Mrs. Lorrigan, I'm sheriff of the county," he began ingratiatingly, +when his two feet were on the ground. + +"You are?" Belle flashed a row of very white teeth. "You sure don't +look it. I'd have taken you for a regular human being." + +"Mr. Douglas, here, would like to take a look at some hides Mr. +Lorrigan has got curing. He thinks possibly--" + +"'Tis useless to cover the truth wi' saft words, shuriff," Douglas +interrupted glumly. "'Tis stolen cattle we are tracing, and 'tis here +we wad look for the hides of them. I hae guid reason--" + +"You'll find my husband at the round-up. Before you do any searching, +you had better go and have a talk with him. When he's gone strangers +don't go prowling around this ranch." + +"We'll have our talk with him after we've taken a look around," +the sheriff amended, grinning a little. "It's just a matter of +form--nothing you need to object to, one way or the other. I don't +suppose we'll find anything--" + +"No, I don't suppose you will. Not unless you find it on the road +back. I hate to seem unfriendly, but I'll just have to ask you to +crawl on your horse and go see Tom about it." + +"Now, we don't want any unpleasantness at all, Mrs. Lorrigan. But this +man has swore out a warrant--" + +"Shucks! What he does never did interest me one way or the other, and +does not now. I'm telling you there'll be no snooping around here +while Tom's away." + +"Oh, well, now!" The sheriff rather prided himself on his ability to +"handle folks peaceable," as he expressed it. He injected a little +more of the oil of persuasiveness into his voice. It was his standard +recipe for avoiding trouble with a woman. "You don't think for a +minute I'd take advantage of his absence, Mrs. Lorrigan? Nothing like +that at all. We just want to see if a certain cowhide is here. If it +isn't, then we won't need to bother Tom at all, maybe. Get down, Mr. +Douglas, and we'll just have a look around. Mrs. Lorrigan ain't going +to make no objections to that." + +Belle smiled. "Oh, yes, she is. She's going to do quite a lot of +objecting. You better stay right where you are, Scotty. You're a heap +safer." + +The sheriff began to lose patience. "Now, look here, Mrs. Lorrigan! +You're dealing with the law, you know. We can't have any nonsense." + +"We won't have," Belle assured him placidly. "That's what I've been +trying to beat into your head. Why, good Lord! Can't you take the hint +and see I'm trying not to have any trouble with yuh? I don't want to +have to _run_ you off the ranch--but as you say, there's not going to +be any nonsense. I said, _go_. I'm waiting to see if you've got sense +enough to do it." + +"Sa-ay! Just look here now! Do you know it's a State's prison offense +to resist an officer!" The sheriff's face was growing red. + +Belle laughed. "Sure. But I'm not. You--you're irresistible! And I +don't know you're an officer." + +This went over the sheriff's head and was wasted, though Aleck Douglas +pulled down his mouth at the corners as though he was afraid he might +smile if he were not careful. + +The sheriff took up his bridle reins, preparing to lead his horse over +to a post and tie him. He glanced at Belle and saw that she had a +six-shooter in her hand and a glitter in her eyes. Quite naturally he +hesitated. Then, at a perfectly plain signal from the gun, he turned +his palms toward her at a level with his shoulders. + +"You needn't tie up. Crawl into the saddle and drift." + +"I've got a search warrant--" + +"You can keep it and show it to Tom. And get off this ranch just as +quick as that horse can take you. I'll have you both arrested for +trespassing. I'm not taking your word for anything, you see. _I_ don't +know anything about your warrant--hey, Riley!" This to the cook, who +came, taking steps as long as his legs would let him, and swinging a +damp dishcloth in one moist red hand. + +"Riley, here's a man claims he's the sheriff and that he's got a +warrant to search the ranch. I don't believe a word of it, and I've +ordered him off the place. I wouldn't for the world resist an officer +of the law--put your hands up a little higher, Mr. Man!--but when Tom +ain't home no stranger is going to come snooping around here if I can +stop him. Ain't that right, Riley?" + +"That's right, Belle," Riley acquiesced, working his oversized Adam's +apple convulsively. (Riley, by the way, would just as readily have +approved of murder if Belle had asked for his approval.) + +"Well, you're a witness that I'm from Missouri. I've told this man to +go tell his troubles to Tom. If he's honest he'll do it. If he don't +go in about ten seconds, I'm going to throw a bullet through his hat. +_Then_ if he hangs around, I shall shoot him in his left leg just +about six inches above the knee. I can do it, can't I, Riley?" + +"Well, now, you shore can, Belle!" Riley nodded his head emphatically. +"If you say six, I'd shore gamble a year's wages it won't be five, +or seven. Six inches above his knee goes, if you say six." + +"All right. I'm just defending the ranch when Tom's gone. You hear me, +Mr. Man. Now, you git!" + +The sheriff turned and opened his mouth to protest, and Belle shot the +promised bullet through his hat crown. The sheriff ducked and made a +wild scramble for the stirrup. + +"Open your mouth again and I'll be awfully tempted to shoot that +crooked tooth out of it," Belle observed. "And in ten seconds, +remember, you're going to get--" + +The sheriff still had two of the ten seconds to spare when he left, +Aleck Douglas following him glumly. + +"It's him, all right. It's the sheriff, Belle," Riley informed her, +while they watched the two clatter up the road to where the real grade +began. "What's eatin' on 'em? Likely he did have a search warrant." + +"He can use it, after I'm through. Old Scotty is trailing some rustled +stock, they claim. They came here looking for hides. You keep an eye +out, Riley, and see if they keep going. I guess they will--they'll go +after Tom. I'm going to have a look at those cowhides in the old +shed." + +"Better let me," Riley offered. "It ain't any job for a woman nohow. +You watch the trail and I'll look." + +Belle would not even consider the proposition. The Lorrigan reputation +never had troubled her much,--but it sent her now to the shed where +hides were kept stored until the hide buyer made his next annual visit +through the country. She did not believe that she would find any brand +save the various combinations of the NL monogram, but she meant to +make sure before any stranger was given access to the place. + +The _job_ was neither easy nor pleasant, but she did it thoroughly. +Riley, roosting meditatively on the top rail of the corral where he +could watch the road down the bluff, craned his long neck inquiringly +toward her when she returned. + +"Nothing but NL stuff, just as I thought," said Belle, holding her +hands as far away from her face as possible. "I knew Tom wouldn't have +any stolen hides on the place--but it was best to make sure." + +"No ma'am, he wouldn't. I'm shore surprised they'd come and try to +find any. Looks bad to me, Belle. Looks to me like somebody is shore +tryin' to start somethin'. There's plenty in the Black Rim would like +to see Tom railroaded to the pen--plenty. Looks to me like they're +aimin' to pin something on him. No, sir, I don't like it. Uh course," +he went on, letting himself loose-jointedly to the ground, "they +couldn't get nothing on Tom--not unless they framed something. But I +wouldn't put it a-past 'em to do it. No, ma'am, I wouldn't." + +"Your bread's burning, Riley. I can smell it. Don't you never think +they'll frame on Tom. They may try it--but that's as far as they'll +get. They don't want to start anything with the Lorrigans!" + +"Well, I left the oven door open. She ain't burning to hurt. Yuh see, +Scotty Douglas, he's religious and he don't never pack a gun. Them +kind's bad to tangle up with; awful bad. There ain't nothing much a +man can do with them religious birds. Them not being armed, you can't +shoot--it's murder. And that kinda ties a man's hands, as yuh might +say. They always take advantage of it, invariable. No, ma'am, it looks +bad." + +"It'll look worse--for them that tries any funny business with this +outfit," Belle assured him. "Go along and 'tend to your baking. You +know I hate burnt bread. I'm going to drive over and see what they're +up to." + +She untied Rosa and Subrosa, and because she was in a hurry she +permitted Riley to hold them by the bits while she climbed in, got the +lines firmly in one hand and her blacksnake in the other. Not often +did she deign to accept assistance, and Riley was all aquiver with +gratified vanity at this mark of her favor. + +"Turn 'em loose--and get to that bread!" she cried, and circled the +pintos into the road. "You, Sub! Cut that out, now--settle down! Rosa! +Stead-dy, I ain't any Ben Hur pulling off a chariot race, remember!" + +At a gallop they took the first sandy slope of the climb, and Belle +let them go. They were tough--many's the time they had hit the level +on top of the ridge without slowing to a walk on the way up. They had +no great load to pull, and if it pleased them to lope instead of trot, +Belle would never object. + +As she sat jouncing on the seat of a buckboard with rattly spokes in +all of the four wheels and a splintered dashboard where Subrosa landed +his heels one day when he had backed before he kicked, one felt that +she would have made a magnificent charioteer. Before she had gone half +a mile her hair was down and whipping behind her like a golden +pennant. Her big range hat would have gone sailing had it not been +tied under her chin with buckskin strings. Usually she sang as she +hurtled through space, but to-day the pintos missed her voice. + +Five miles out on the range she overtook the sheriff and Aleck Douglas +riding to the round-up. Aleck Douglas seldom rode faster than a +jogging trot, and the sheriff was not particularly eager for his +encounter with Tom Lorrigan. For that matter, no sheriff had ever been +eager to encounter a Lorrigan. The Lorrigan family had always been +counted a hazard in the office of the sheriff, though of a truth the +present generation had remained quiescent so far and the law had not +heretofore reached its arm toward them. + +The two men looked back, saw Belle coming and parted to let her pass. +Belle yelled to her team and went by with never a glance toward +either, and the two stared after her without a word until she had +jounced down into a shallow draw and up the other side, the pintos +never slowing their lope. + +"Well, I'm darned!" ejaculated the sheriff. His name, by the way, was +Perry. "I've heard tell of Belle Lorrigan drivin' hell-whoopin' over +the country with a team of bronks, but I kinda thought they was +stretching the truth. I guess not, though, if that's a sample." + +"The woman hersel' is no so bad. 'Tis the men folk that are black wi' +sin. Drinkin', swearin', gamblin' thieves they be, and 'tis well they +should be taught a lesson." The Douglas head wagged self-righteously. + +"Maybe it would be a good idea to go back and search the ranch now, +while she's gone." The sheriff pulled up, considering. "I didn't want +any trouble with her; I never do quarrel with a woman if I can get +around it any way. She's a holy terror. I guess I'll just ride back +and take a look at them hides." + +Aleck Douglas eyed him sardonically, thinking perhaps of the +black-edged bullet hole that showed plainly in the sheriff's +hat-crown. + +"'Tis a deal safer wi' the woman oot of the way," he agreed drily. + +The sheriff nodded and turned back. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +THE NAME + + +Tom Lorrigan may have seen bigger fusses made over smaller matters +than the hide of a spotty yearlin', but his boys never had. + +No country is so isolated that gossip cannot find it out. The story of +the spotted yearling went speeding through the country. Men made thin +excuses to ride miles out of their way that they might air their +opinions and hear some fresh bit of news, some conjecture that grew to +a rumor and was finally repeated broadcast as truth. Children cringed +and wept while necks were scrubbed relentlessly, for a fever of +"visiting" attacked the women of the range. Miles they would travel to +visit a neighbor. And there they talked and talked and talked, while +the guest in neighborly fashion dried the dinner dishes for the +hostess in hot, fly-infested kitchens. + +Aleck Douglas, infuriated by the contemptuous attitude which Tom had +taken toward him and his spotty yearling, and by his failure to find +any incriminating evidence on the Devil's Tooth ranch, swore to a +good many suspicions which he called facts, and had Tom arrested. The +sheriff had taken two deputies along with him, because he fully +expected that the Lorrigans would "go on the warpath" as Belle had +done. He was vastly astonished and somewhat chagrined when Tom gave a +snort, handed over his gun, and turned to one of his boys. + +"Al," said Tom, "you go ahead with the round-up while I go in and fix +this up. May take a few days--depends on the gait I can get 'em to +travel. I'll have to rustle me a lawyer, too. But you know what to do; +keep 'er moving till I get back." + +Black Rim country talked and chortled and surmised, and wondered what +made Tom so darned meek about it. They did not accuse him of any lack +of nerve; being a Lorrigan, his nerve could scarcely be questioned. +Opinion was about evenly divided. A few declared that Tom had +something up his sleeve, and there would be a killing yet. Others +insisted that Tom knew when he was backed into a corner. Old Scotty +Douglas had him dead to rights, they said, and Tom knew better than to +run on the rope. Men and women assumed the gift of prophecy, and all +prophesied alike. Tom Lorrigan would go "over the road"; for how long +they could only guess according to their secret hopes. Some predicted +a fifteen-year term for Tom. Others thought that he might get off +lightly--say with five or six years. They based their opinion on the +fact that men have been sent to the penitentiary for fifteen years, +there to repent of stealing a calf not yet past the age of prime veal. +And it is not so long since men were hanged for stealing a horse; +witness Tom's brother, who would surely have been lynched had he not +been shot. Witness also divers other Lorrigans whose careers had been +shortened by their misdeeds. + +Much of the talk was peddled to Tom and the boys under the guise of +friendship. Having lived all of his life in the Black Rim country, Tom +knew how much the friendship was worth, knew that the Black Rim folk +had drawn together like a wolf pack, and were waiting only until he +was down before they rushed in to rend him and his family. Old grudges +were brought out and aired secretly. It would go hard with the +Lorrigan family if Tom were found guilty. Although he sensed the +covert malice behind the smiles men gave him, he would not yield one +inch from his mocking disparagement of the whole affair. He laid down +a law or two to his boys, and bade them hold their tongues and go +their way and give no heed to the clacking. + +"The show ain't over till the curtain's down for good," he said, +borrowing a phrase from Belle. "We got a long time yet to live in the +Black Rim. We'll be right here when the smoke lifts. Hang and rattle +now, and keep your mouths shut. This here's the law-sharp's job. I'm +payin' him darn good money for it, too. When he's through, then we'll +play. But mark this down in yore little red book, boys: The less yuh +say right now, the stronger we can play the game when we're ready." + +"If they do railroad yuh, dad, leave it to us. They'll be a sorry +looking bunch when we're through," said Lance, and meant every word of +it. + +"They won't railroad me." Tom snorted and laughed his contempt of the +whole affair. "I ain't ever used the law to fight with before--but +shucks! When a scrap gets outside of gun range, one club's about the +same as another to me." + +Optimism is a good thing, but it does not altogether serve, as Tom +discovered at the trial. + +Evidence was produced which astonished him. For instance, an AJ man +had seen him riding over by Squaw Butte, on the night after Douglas +had accused him of stealing the spotted yearling. The AJ man seemed +embarrassed at his sudden prominence in the case, and kept turning his +big range hat round and round on one knee as he sat in the chair +sacred to those who bore witness to the guilt or innocence of their +fellow men in Black Rim country. He did not often look up, and when he +did he swallowed convulsively, as though something stuck in his +throat. But his story sounded matter-of-fact and honest. + +He had ridden past Squaw Butte the night after Tom Lorrigan was +accused by Douglas. Yes, he knew it was that night, because next day +he heard about the fuss over at Devil's Tooth. He had been on his way +from Jumpoff and had cut across country because he was late. There was +a moon, and he had seen a man riding across an open space between the +creek and the willows. The man had gone in among the willows. The AJ +man had not thought much about it, though he did wonder a little, too. +It was late for a man to be riding around on the range. + +When he reached the place, he saw a man ride out of the brush farther +along, into clear moonlight. It was Tom Lorrigan; yes, he was sure of +that. He knew the horse that Tom was riding. It was a big, shiny black +that always carried its head up; a high-stepping horse that a man +could recognize anywhere. No, he didn't know of any other horse in the +country just like it. He admitted that if he hadn't been sure of the +horse he would not have been sure it was Tom. He did not think Tom saw +him at all. He was riding along next the bank, in the shadow. He had +gone on home, and the next day he heard that Scotty Douglas claimed +the Lorrigans had rustled a yearling from him. + +Later, Tom's lawyer asked him why he had not spoken to Tom. The AJ man +replied that he didn't know--he wasn't very close; not close enough +for talking unless he hollered. + +That was all very well, and Black Rim perked its ears, thinking that +the case looked bad for Tom. Very bad indeed. + +But Tom's lawyer proved very adroitly that the AJ man had not been in +Jumpoff at the time he claimed. He had been with his own outfit, and +if he had ridden past Squaw Butte that night he must have gone out +from the ranch and come back again. Which led very naturally to the +question, Why? + +On the other hand, why had Tom Lorrigan ridden to Squaw Butte that +night? He himself explained that later on. He said that he had gone +over to see if there was any hide in the willows as Douglas had +claimed. He had not found any. + +Thus two men admitted having been in the neighborhood of the stolen +hide on that night. Tom's lawyer was quick to seize the coincidence, +and make the most of it. Why, he asked mildly, might not the AJ outfit +have stolen the yearling? What was the AJ man doing there? Why not +suspect him of having placed the hide in the crevice where it had +later been found? That night the hide had been removed from the +willows where Douglas had first discovered it. Douglas had gone back +the next day after it, and it had been missing. It was not until +several days later that he had found it in the crevice. Why assume +that Tom Lorrigan had removed it? + +"If I'd set out to caché that hide," Tom here interposed, "I'd have +buried it. Only a darn fool would leave evidence like that laying +around in sight." + +For this the court reprimanded him, but he had seen several of the +jury nod their heads, unconsciously agreeing with him. And although +his remark was never put on record, it stuck deep in the minds of the +jury and had its influence later on. They remembered that the +Lorrigans were no fools, and they considered the attempt at concealing +the hide a foolish one--not to say childish. + +Tom's lawyer did not argue openly that a conspiracy had been hatched +against Tom Lorrigan, but he so presented the case in his closing +argument to the jury that each man believed he saw an angle to the +affair which the defense had overlooked. It appeared to the jury to be +a "frame-up." For instance, why had Cheyenne, a Lorrigan man, ridden +over to the Douglas ranch and remained outside by the corral for a +long time, talking with Aleck Douglas, before he went inside to call +on the Douglas girl? Sam Pretty Cow impassively testified to that. He +had been riding over to see a halfbreed girl that worked for the +Blacks, and he had cut through the Douglas ranch to save time. He saw +Cheyenne's horse at the corral. + +"Me, I dunno what she's doin' on that place. Cheyenne, he's in camp +when I'm go. I'm stop by the haystack. I'm see Cheyenne talk to +Scotty. That don't look good, you bet." + +A full week the trial lasted, while the lawyers wrangled over evidence +and technicalities, and the judge ruled out evidence and later ruled +it in again. A full week Tom slept in the county jail,--and for all +their bad reputation, it was the first time a Lorrigan had lain down +behind a bolted door to sleep, had opened his eyes to see the dawn +light painting the wall with the shadow of bars. + +There were nights when his optimism failed him, when Tom lay awake +trying to adjust himself to the harrying thought that long, caged +years might be his portion. Nights when he doubted the skill of his +"law-sharp" to free him from the deadweight of the Lorrigan reputation +and the malice of his neighbors. Of course, he would fight--to the +last dollar; but there were nights when he doubted the power of his +dollars to save him. + +It was during those nights that the lawless blood of the Lorrigans ran +swiftly through the veins of Tom, who had set himself to win a million +honestly. It was then that he remembered his quiet, law-abiding years +regretfully, as time wasted; a thankless struggle toward the regard of +his fellow men. Of what avail to plod along the path of uprightness +when no man would point to him and say, "There is an honest man." + +"They've give me the name, and I ain't got the game," cried Tom +bitterly, in the quiet of his cell. "Whether I go to the pen or +whether I don't, they better stand from under. They'll sure know a +Lorrigan's livin' in the Black Rim before I'm done." + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +THE GAME + + +At the long table in the living room of the Devil's Tooth ranch Tom +Lorrigan sat and sharpened an indelible pencil with the razor-edged +small blade of his jackknife. On the open space which Tom had cleared +with the sweep of his arm, a large-sized tablet of glazed and ruled +paper, with George Washington pictured in red and blue and buff on the +cover, received the wood parings from the pencil. It may have been +significant that Tom was careful in his work and made the pencil very +sharp. + +Across the room, Belle swung around on the piano stool and looked at +him. "Honey, if you're going to make out the order to Montgomery, +Ward, I'd like to send on for some more music. I've been going over +that new list--" + +"I ain't," said Tom, removing his cigarette from the corner of his +mouth and blowing the tiny, blue-painted shavings off George +Washington's face. "You go ahead and make out the order yourself." + +Belle eyed the pencil-sharpening and sent a keen glance at Tom's face. +"Well, honey, from the way you're squaring up to that tablet, I +thought you was going to send on for a new buckboard and mower." + +Tom bent his head and blew again, gave George a sardonic grin and +turned him face-down on the table, so that the ruled paper lay ready +to his hand. + +"Right now I'm going to figure up what that dang spotty yearlin' of +old Scotty's cost me," he stated grimly. "And there's some other Black +Rimmers I've got a bill against." + +"Hope you don't try holding your breath till you collect," Belle +retorted. "Honey, you'd best leave the Black Rimmers alone. I feel as +if we'd had enough excitement enough for a while. I wouldn't start +anything more right now, if I was you. Every last one of them is ready +to jump on your neck--and the Lord only knows why, unless it's because +you _didn't_ steal that darned spotted yearling! Some folks sure do +love to see the other fellow up to his eyebrows in trouble. They were +sitting there in that courtroom just _wishing_ you would be sent up. I +saw it in their faces, Tom. And that old rock-hearted Scotchman looked +as if he's just lost two bits when the jury said 'Not guilty.'" + +"Mh-m--hm-m--that's what I'm figuring on now," said Tom, and bent to +his problem. "My old dad woulda gone out and shot up a few, but times +are changed and we're all getting so damn civilized we've got to stack +the cards or quit the game. Belle, what do you reckon it's worth to a +man to be hauled into court and called a cow thief?" + +Belle's lips pressed together. "I don't know, Tom--but I know what it +would have cost 'em if they had sent you over the road. I had a gun on +me, and when that jury foreman stood up to give the verdict, it was +looking him in the eye through a buttonhole in my coat. Him and +Cheyenne and old Scotty and two or three more would sure have got +theirs, if he hadn't said, 'Not guilty.'" + +"Lord bless yuh, I knew it all the time. Next time we go to court +you'll leave the artillery at home, old girl. I like to got heart +failure there for a minute, till I seen you ease down and lay your +hand in your lap." He looked at her and laughed a little. "I've got a +bill of damages against several of the folks around here, but I ain't +fool enough to try and collect with a six-gun." + +He settled himself to his task, writing at the top of the page the +name of Aleck Douglas and after that "Dr." A full page he covered with +items set against the names of various neighbors. When he had finished +he folded the paper neatly and put it away with other important +memoranda, picked up his big gray Stetson and went over to kiss Belle +full on her red lips, and to smooth her hair, with a reassuring pat +on her plump shoulder as a final caress. + +"Don't you worry none about the Black Rimmers," he said, "and don't +you worry about me. I've got to ride high, wide and handsome now to +make up the time and money I lost on account of the spotty yearlin', +and maybe I won't be home so much. But I ain't quarreling with my +neighbors, nor getting into any kind of ruckus whatever." + +With the stilted, slightly stiff-legged gait born of long hours in the +saddle and of high-heeled riding boots, he walked unhurriedly to the +corral where the boys were just driving in a herd of horses. + +Few of them showed saddle marks, all of them snorted and tossed +untrimmed manes and tails as they clattered against the stout poles, +circling the big corral in a cloud of dust and a thunder of hoof +beats. Pulling his hat down over his black brows to secure it against +the wind, Tom climbed the corral fence and straddled the top rail that +he might scan the herd. + +"Pretty good-looking bunch, dad," said Al, reining up beside Tom. "We +had to ride some to get 'em in--they're sure snuffy. What you going to +do with 'em? Break out a few?" + +"Some. Did yuh take notice, Al, that Coaley come within an ace of +sending me over the road? That there AJ man swore to the horse when he +wouldn't never have swore to me, but they all took it as a cinch it +was me he saw, because nobody else ever rides Coaley. And by the Lord +John, Al, that's the last time any man's going to swear to me in the +dark by the horse I'm ridin'. The Devil's Tooth outfit is going to +have a lot more saddle horses broke gentle than what they've got now. +And just between me and you, Al, any more night-ridin' that's done in +this outfit ain't going to be done on cayuses that can be told a mile +off on a dark night!" + +"You're durn tootin', dad." Al grinned while he moistened the edge of +his rolled cigarette. "I thought at the time that Coaley was liable to +be a damn expensive horse for you to be ridin'." His eyes traveled +over the restless herd, singling out this horse and that for brief +study. "There's some right speedy stuff in that bunch," he said. +"They've got the look of stayers, some of 'em. Take that there bay +over there by the post: He's got a chest on him like a lion--and look +at them legs! There'd be a good horse for you, dad." + +"One, maybe." Tom spat into the dust and, impelled by Al's example, +drew his own cigarette papers from his shirt pocket. "I'm thinkin' of +breakin' all we've got time for this summer. Darn this here makin' one +horse your trademark!" + +Up at the house, Riley appeared in the kitchen doorway and gave a long +halloo while he wiped his big freckled hand on his flour-sack apron. +"Hoo-ee! Come an' git it!" He waited a moment, until he saw riders +dismounting and leading their horses into the little corral. Then he +turned back to pour the coffee into the big, thick, white cups +standing in single file around the long oil-cloth-covered table in the +end of the kitchen nearest the side door where the boys would +presently come trooping in to slide loose-jointedly into their places +on the long, shiny benches. + +Tom pinched out the blaze of his match and threw one long leg back +over the corral fence. His glance went to the riders beyond the big +corral. + +"Where's Lance at!" he called to Al, who was riding around to the +little corral. + +"You can search me. He quit us when we got the horses into the corral, +and rode off up the Slide trail. If I was to make a guess, I would say +that he went to meet Mary Hope. They been doing that right frequent +ever since she quit coming here. 'Tain't no skin off my nose--but +Lance, he's buildin' himself a mess uh trouble with old Scotty, sure +as you're a foot high." + +"Darn fool kid--let the old folks git to scrappin' amongst themselves, +and the young ones start the lovemakin'! I never knowed it to fail; +but you can skin me for a coyote if I know what makes 'em do it." +Grumbling to himself, Tom climbed down and followed Al. "You can +tell Riley I'll be late to dinner," he said, when he had come up +to where Al was pulling the saddle off his horse. "I ain't much +on buttin' into other folks' love affairs, but I reckon it maybe +might be a good idea to throw a scare into them two. I'm plumb sick +of Scotch--wouldn't take it in a highball right now if you was to +shove one under my nose!" + +Al laughed, looking over his shoulder at Tom while he loosened the +latigo. "If you can throw a scare into Lance, you sure are a dinger," +he bantered. "That youth is some heady." + +"Looks to me like it runs in the family," Tom retorted. "You're some +heady yourself, if you ever took notice. And I don't give a damn how +heady any of you kids are; you can't run any rannies on your dad, and +you want to put that down in your little red book so you won't forgit +it!" + +He led Coaley from the stable, mounted and rode away up the Slide +trail, more than half ashamed of his errand. To interfere in a love +affair went against the grain, but to let a Lorrigan make love to a +Douglas on the heels of the trial was a pill so bitter that he refused +to swallow it. + +He urged Coaley up the trail, his eyes somber with resentment whenever +he saw the fresh hoofprints of Lance's horse in the sandy places. Of +the three boys, Lance was his favorite, and it hurt him to think that +Lance had so little of the Lorrigan pride that he would ride a foot +out of his way to speak to any one of the Douglas blood. + +Up the Slide went Coaley, his head held proudly erect upon his high, +arched neck, his feet choosing daintily the little rough places in the +rock where long experience had taught him he would not slip. Big as +Tom was, Coaley carried him easily and reached the top without so much +as a flutter in the flanks to show that the climb had cost him an +effort. + +"It's a dang darn shame I got to straddle strange horses just because +there ain't another in the country like you, Coaley," he muttered, +leaning forward to smooth the silky hide under the crinkly mane. "It's +going to set hard, now I'm tellin' yuh, to throw my saddle on some +plain, ordinary cayuse. But it's a bet I can't afford to overlook; +they made that plain enough." + +Coaley pricked up his ears and looked, his big, bright eyes taking in +the shadow of a horse beside a clump of wild currant bushes that grew +in the very base of the Devil's Tooth. Tom grunted and rode over that +way, Coaley walking slowly, his knees bending springily like a dancer +feeling out his muscles. + +Lance stood with his back toward them. His hat was pushed far back on +his head, and he was looking at Mary Hope, who leaned against the rock +and stared down into the valley below. Her hair, Tom observed, was not +"slicked back" to-day. It had been curled a little, probably on rags +twisted in after she had gone to bed and taken out before she arose in +the morning, lest her mother discover her frivolity and lecture her +long,--and, worse still, make her wet a comb and take all of the curl +out. A loose strand blew across her tanned cheek, so that she reached +up absently and tucked it behind her ear, where it would not stay for +longer than a minute. + +"I am sure I didna know you would be here," she said, without taking +her eyes off the valley. "It is a view I like better than most, and I +have a right to ride where I please. And I have no wish to ride out of +my way to be friends with any one that tried to make my father out a +liar and an unjust man. He may be hard, but he is honest. And that is +more than some--" + +"More than some can say--us Lorrigans, for instance!" + +"I didna say that, but if the coat fits, you can put it on." + +Mary Hope bit her lip and lashed a weed with her quirt. "All of this +is none of my doing," she added, with a dullness in her voice that may +have meant either regret or resentment. "You hate my father, and you +are mad because I canna side with you and hate him too. I am sorry the +trouble came up, but I canna see how you expect me to go on coming to +see your mither when you know my father would never permit it." + +"You say that like you were speaking a piece. How long did you lay +awake last night, making it up? You can't make me swallow that, +anyway. Your father never permitted you to come in the first place, +and you know it. You made believe that old skate ran away with you +down the trail, and that you couldn't stop him. You've been coming +over to our place ever since, and you never asked old Scotty whether +he would permit it or not. I'm not saying anything about myself, but +it hurts Belle to have you throw her down right now. Under the +circumstances it makes her feel as if you thought we were thieves and +stole your dad's yearling." + +"I'm not saying anything like that." + +"Maybe you're not, but you sure are acting it. If you don't think +that, why don't you go on taking music lessons from Belle? What made +you stop, all of a sudden?" + +"That," said Mary Hope stiffly, "is my own affair, Lance Lorrigan." + +"It's mine, let me tell you. It's mine, because it hits Belle; and +what hits her hits me. If you think she isn't good enough for you to +visit, why in thunder have you been coming all this while? She isn't +any worse than she was two months ago, is she?" + +"I'm not saying that she is." + +"Well, you're acting it, and that's a darn sight worse." + +"You ought to know that with all this trouble between your father and +my father--" + +"Well, can you tell me when they ever did have any truck together? +Your father doesn't hate our outfit a darn bit worse than he ever +did. He found a chance to knife us, that's all. It isn't that he never +wanted to before." + +"I'll thank you, Lance Lorrigan, not to accuse my father of knifing +anybody. He's my father and--" + +"And that isn't anything to brag about, if you ask me. I'd rather have +my father doing time for stealing, than have him a darned, hide-bound +old hypocrite that will lie a man into the pen, and then go around and +pull a long face and call himself a Christian!" + +"My father doesna lie! And he is not a hypocrite either. If your +father was half as--" She stopped abruptly, her face going red when +she saw Tom sitting on his horse beyond the shoulder of rock, +regarding her with that inscrutable smile which never had failed to +make her squirm mentally and wonder what he thought of her. She stood +up, trembling a little. + +Lance turned slowly and met Tom's eyes without flinching. "Hello," he +said, on guard against the two of them, wondering what had brought his +dad to this particular point at this particular time. + +"Hello. How d'yuh do, Miss Douglas? Lance, dinner's getting cold +waiting for you." Tom lifted his hat to Mary Hope, turned, and rode +back whence he had come, never glancing over his shoulder but +nevertheless keenly alert for the sound of voices. + +He was not quite through the Slide when he heard the hoof beats of +Lance's horse come clicking down over the rocks. Tom smiled to himself +as he rode on, never looking back. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +A LITTLE SCOTCH + + +In the Black Rim country March is a month of raw winds and cold rains, +with sleet and snow and storm clouds tumbling high in the West and +spreading to the East, where they hang lowering at the earth and then +return to empty their burden of moisture upon the shrinking live +things below. + +In the thinly settled places March is also the time when children go +shivering to school, harried by weather that has lost a little of its +deadliness. In January and February their lives would not be safe from +sudden blizzards, but by the middle of March they may venture forth +upon the quest of learning. + +Black Rim country was at best but scantily supplied with schools, and +on the Devil's Tooth range seven young Americans--three of them +adopted from Sweden--were in danger of growing up in deplorable +ignorance of what learning lies hidden in books. A twelve-mile stretch +of country had neither schoolhouse, teacher nor school officers +empowered to establish a school. Until the Swedish family moved into a +shack on the AJ ranch there had not been children enough to make a +teacher worth while. But the Swedish family thirsted for knowledge of +the English language, and their lamenting awoke the father of four +purely range-bred products to a sense of duty toward his offspring. + +Wherefore Mary Hope Douglas, home from two winters in Pocatello, where +she had lived with a cousin twice removed and had gone to school and +had learned much, was one day invited to teach a school in the Devil's +Tooth neighborhood. + +True, there was no schoolhouse, but there was a deserted old shack on +the road to Jumpoff. A few benches and a stove and table would +transform it into a seat of learning, and there were an old shed and +corral where the pupils might keep their saddle horses during school +hours. She would be paid five dollars a month per head, Jim Boyle of +the AJ further explained. Seven "heads" at five dollars each would +amount to thirty-five dollars a month, and Mary Hope felt her heart +jump at the prospect of earning so much money of her own. Moreover, to +teach school had long been her secret ambition, the solid foundation +of many an air castle. She forthwith consented to become the very +first school-teacher in the Devil's Tooth neighborhood, which hoped +some day to become a real school district. + +She would have to ride five miles every morning and evening, and her +morning ride would carry her five miles nearer the Lorrigan ranch, +two of them along their direct trail to Jumpoff. Mary Hope would never +admit to herself that this small detail interested her, but she +thought of it the moment Jim Boyle suggested the old Whipple shack as +a schoolhouse. + +Tom Lorrigan, riding home from Jumpoff after two days spent in Lava, +pulled his horse down to a walk and then stopped him in the trail +while he stared hard at the Whipple shack. Five horses walked uneasily +around inside the corral, manes and tails whipping in the gale that +blew cold from out the north. From the bent stovepipe of the shack a +wisp of smoke was caught and bandied here and there above the +pole-and-dirt roof. It seemed incredible to Tom that squatters could +have come in and taken possession of the place in his short absence, +but there was no other explanation that seemed at all reasonable. + +Squatters were not welcome on the Devil's Tooth range. Tom rode up to +the shack, dismounted and let Coaley's reins drop to the ground. He +hesitated a minute before the door, in doubt as to the necessity for +knocking. Then his knuckles struck the loose panel twice, and he heard +the sound of footsteps. Tom pulled his hat down tighter on his +forehead and waited. + +When Mary Hope Douglas pulled open the door, astonishment held them +both dumb. He had not seen the girl for more than a year,--he was not +certain at first that it was she. But there was no mistaking those +eyes of hers, Scotch blue and uncompromisingly direct in their gaze. +Tom pulled loose and lifted the hat that he had just tightened, and as +she backed from the doorway he entered the shack without quite knowing +why he should do so. Comprehensively he surveyed the mean little room, +bare of everything save three benches with crude shelves before them, +a kitchen table and a yellow-painted chair with two-thirds of the +paint worn off under the incessant scrubbing of mother Douglas. The +three Swedes, their rusty overcoats buttoned to their necks, goggled +at him round-eyed over the tops of their new spelling books, then +ducked and grinned at one another. The four Boyle children, also +bundled in wraps, exchanged sidelong glances and pulled themselves up +alert and expectant in their seats. + +"School, eh?" Tom observed, turning as Mary Hope pushed the door shut +against the wind that rattled the small shack and came toward him +shivering and pulling her sweater collar closer about her neck. "When +did this happen?" + +"When I started teaching here, Mr. Lorrigan." Then, mindful of her +manners, she tempered the pertness with a smile. "And that was +yesterday. Will you sit down?" + +"No, thanks--I just stopped to see who was livin' here, and--" He +broke off to look up at the dirt roof. A clod the size of his fist had +been loosened by the shaking of the wind, and plumped down in the +middle of the teacher's desk. With the edge of his palm he swept clod +and surrounding small particles of dirt into his hat crown, and +carried them to the door. + +"There's an empty calf shed over at the ranch that would make a better +schoolhouse than this," he observed. "It's got a shingle roof." + +Mary Hope was picking small lumps of dirt out of her hair, which she +wore in a pompadour that disclosed a very nice forehead. "I just love +a roof with shingles on it," she smiled. + +"H'm." Tom looked up at the sagging poles with the caked mud showing +in the cracks between where the poles had shrunken and warped under +the weight. A fresh gust of wind rattled dust into his eyes, and the +oldest Swede chortled an abrupt "Ka-hugh!" that set the other six +tittering. + +"Silence! _Shame_ on you!" Mary Hope reproved them sternly, rapping on +the kitchen table with a foot rule of some soft wood that blazoned +along its length the name of a Pocatello hardware store. "Get to work +this instant or I shall be compelled to keep you all in at recess." + +"You better haze 'em all home at recess, and get where it's warm +before you catch your death of cold," Tom advised, giving first aid to +his eye with a corner of his white-dotted blue handkerchief. "This +ain't fit for cattle, such a day as this." + +"A north wind like this would blow through anything," Mary Hope +loyally defended the shack. "It was quite comfortable yesterday." + +"I wouldn't send a dog here to school," said Tom. "Can't they dig up +any better place than this for you to teach in?" + +"The parents of these children are paying out of their own pockets to +have them taught, as it is." + +"They'll be paying out of their own pockets to have them planted, if +they ain't careful," Tom predicted dryly. "How're you fixed for +firewood? Got enough to keep warm on a hot day?" + +Mary Hope smiled faintly. "Mr. Boyle hauled us a load of sage brush, +and the boys chop wood mornings and noons--it's a punishment when they +don't behave, or if they miss their lessons. But--the stove doesn't +seem to draw very well, in this wind. It smokes more than it throws +out heat." She added hastily, "It drew all right yesterday. It's this +wind." + +"What you going to do if this wind keeps up? It's liable to blow for a +week or two, this time of year." + +"Why--we'll manage to get along all right. They'd probably be out +playing in it anyway, if they weren't in school." + +"Oh. And what about you?" Tom looked at her, blinking rapidly with his +left eye that was growing bloodshot and watery. + +"I? Why, I've lived here all my life, and I ought to be used to a +little bad weather." + +"Hunh." Tom shivered in the draught. "So have I lived here all my +life; but I'll be darned if I would want to sit in this shack all day, +the way the wind whistles through it." + +"You might do it, though--if it was your only way of earning money," +Mary Hope suggested shrewdly. + +"Well, I might," Tom admitted, "but I sure would stop up a few +cracks." + +"We've hardly got settled yet," said Mary Hope. "I intend to stuff the +cracks with rags just as soon as possible. Is your eye still paining? +That dirt is miserable stuff to stick in a person's eye. Shall I try +and get it out? Yesterday I got some in mine, and I had an awful +time." + +She dismissed the children primly, with a self-conscious dignity and +some chagrin at their boorish clatter, their absolute ignorance of +discipline. "I shall ring the bell in ten minutes," she told them +while they scuffled to the door. "I shall give you two minutes after +the bell rings to get into your seats and be prepared for duty. Every +minute after that must be made up after school." + +"Ay skoll go home now, sen you skoll not keep me by school from tan +minootes," the oldest of the Swedes stopped long enough to bellow at +her from the doorway. "Ole og Helge skoll go med. Ve got long way from +school, og ve don't be by dark ven ve come by home!" + +He seized the square tobacco boxes, originally made to hold a pound +of "plug cut," and afterwards dedicated to whatever use a ranch man +might choose to put them. Where schools flourished, the tobacco boxes +were used for lunch. The Swedes carried three tied in flour sacks and +fastened to the saddles. The wind carried them at a run to the corral. +The two smaller boys, Ole and Helge, rode, one behind the other, on +one horse, a flea-bitten gray with an enlarged knee and a habit of +traveling with its neck craned to the left. Christian, the leader of +the revolt, considered himself well-mounted on a pot-bellied bay that +could still be used to round up cattle, if the drive was not more than +a couple of miles. Looking after them from the window that faced the +corral, Tom could not wonder that they were anxious to start early. + +"You better let the rest go, too," he advised the perturbed teacher, +looking out at the four Boyle children huddled in the shelter of the +shack, the skirts of the girl whipping in the wind like a pillowslip +on a clothesline in a gale. "There ain't any sense trying to teach +school in a place like this, in such weather. Don't you know them kids +have got all of twelve miles to ride, facing this wind most of the +way? And you've got to ride five miles; and when the sun drops it's +going to be raw enough to put icicles on your ribs under the skin. +Tell 'em to go home. Pore little devils, I wouldn't ask a cow-critter +to face this wind after sundown." + +"You do not understand that I must have discipline in this school, Mr. +Lorrigan. To-morrow I shall have to punish those Swedes for leaving +school without permission. I shall make an example of Christian, for +his impudence. I do not think he will want to disobey me again, very +soon!" Mary Hope took her handkerchief from her pocket, refusing to +consider for one moment the significance of its flapping in the wind +while the windows and doors were closed. + +"You're just plain stubborn," Tom said bluntly. "You've no business +hanging out in a place like this!" + +"I've the business of teaching school, Mr. Lorrigan. I suppose that is +as important to me as your business is to you. And I can't permit my +pupils to rebel against my authority. You would not let your men +dictate to you, would you?" + +"They would have a right to call for their time if I asked them to do +some damfool thing like sitting in this shack with the wind blowing +through it at forty miles an hour." + +"I am sorry, Mr. Lorrigan, that I must remind you that gentlemen do +not indulge in profanity before a lady." + +"Oh, hell! What have I said that was outa the way? I wasn't cussing; I +was telling you what your father and mother ought to tell you, and +what they would if they didn't think more of a few dollars than they +do of their kid's health. But I don't reckon it's my put-in; only +it's any man's business to see that women and kids don't freeze to +death. And by the humpin' hyenas--" + +With her lips in a straight line, her eyes very hard and bright and +with a consciousness of heaping coals of fire on the head of an enemy +of her house, Mary Hope had twisted a corner of her handkerchief into +a point, moistened it by the simple and primitive method of placing +the point between her lips, and was preparing to remove the dirt from +Tom's watering eye, the ball of which was a deep pink from irritation. +But Tom swung abruptly away from her, went stilting on his high heels +to the door, pulled it open with a yank and rounded the corner where +the four Boyle children stood leaning against the house, their chilled +fingers clasped together so that two hands made one fist, their teeth +chattering while they discussed the Swedes and tried to mimic +Christian's very Swedish accent. + +"_Og_ is _and_," said Minnie Boyle. "And _skoll_ is _shall_. Swede's +easy. And _med_ means _with_--" + +"Aw, it's just the way they try to say it in English," Fred Boyle +contradicted. "It ain't Swede--but gee, when the Scotch and the Swede +goes in the air to-morrow, I bet there'll be fun. If Mary Hope tries +to lick Chris--" + +"You kids straddle your cayuses and hit for home," Tom interrupted +them. "There ain't going to be any more school to-day. Them your +horses in the shed? Well, you hump along and saddle up and beat it. +Go!" + +He did not speak threateningly, at least he did not speak angrily. But +the four Boyle children gave him one affrighted glance and started on +a run for the corral, looking back over their shoulders now and then +as if they expected a spatter of bullets to follow them. + +At the corral gate Minnie Boyle stopped and turned as though she meant +to retrace her steps to the house, but Tom waved her back. So Minnie +went home weeping over the loss of a real dinner-bucket and a slate +sponge which she was afraid the Swedes might steal from her if they +came earlier to school than she. + +When Tom turned to reënter the shack for a final word with Mary Hope, +and to let her give first aid to his eye if she would, he found that +small person standing just behind him with set lips and clenched fists +and her hair blowing loose from its hairpins. + +"Mr. Tom Lorrigan, you can just call those children back!" she cried, +her lips bluing in the cold gale that beat upon her. "Do you think +that with all your lawlessness you can come and break up my school? +You have bullied my father--" + +"I'd do worse than bully him, if I had him in handy reach right now," +Tom drawled, and took her by the shoulder and pushed her inside. "Any +man that will let a woman sit all day in a place like this--and I +don't care a damn if you are earning money doing it!--oughta have his +neck wrung. I'm going to saddle your horse for yuh while you bundle +up. And then you're going home, if I have to herd yuh like I would a +white heifer. I always have heard of Scotch stubbornness--but there's +something beats that all to thunder. Git yore things on. Yore horse +will be ready in about five minutes." + +He bettered his estimate, returning in just four minutes to find the +door locked against him. "Don't you _dare_ come in here!" Mary Hope +called out, her voice shrill with excitement. "I--I'll _brain_ you!" + +"Oh, you will, will yuh?" Whereupon Tom heaved himself against the +door and lurched in with the lock dangling. + +Mary Hope had a stick of wood in her two hands, but she had not that +other essential to quick combat, the courage to swing the club on the +instant of her enemy's appearance. She hesitated, backed and +threatened him futilely. + +"All right--fine! Scotch stubbornness--and not a damn thing to back it +up! Where's your coat? Here. Git into it." Without any prelude, any +apology, he wrested the stick of wood from her, pulled her coat off a +nail near by, and held it outspread, the armholes convenient to her +hands. With her chin shivering, Mary Hope obeyed the brute strength of +the man. She dug her teeth into her lip and thrust her arms +spitefully into the coat sleeves. + +"Here's yo're hat. Better tie it on, if yuh got anything to tie it +with. Here." + +He twitched his big silk neckerchief from his neck, pulled her toward +him with a gentle sort of brutality, and tied the neckerchief over her +hat and under her chin. He did it exactly as though he was handling a +calf that he did not wish to frighten or hurt. + +"Got any mittens? Gloves? Put 'em on." + +Standing back in the corner behind the door, facing Tom's bigness and +his inexorable strength, Mary Hope put on her Indian tanned, beaded +buckskin gloves that were in the pockets of her coat. Tom waited until +she had tucked the coatsleeves inside the gauntlets. He took her by +the arm and pulled her to the door, pushed her through it and held her +with one hand, gripping her arm while he fastened the door by the +simple method of pulling it shut so hard that it jammed in the casing. +He led her to where her horse stood backed to the wind and tail +whipping between his legs, and his eyes blinking half shut against the +swirls of dust dug out of the dry sod of the grassland. Without any +spoken command, Tom took the reins and flipped them up over Rab's +neck, standing forward and close to the horse's shoulder. Mary Hope +knew that she must mount or be lifted bodily into the saddle. She +mounted, tears of wrath spilling from her eyes and making her cheeks +cold where they trickled down. + +The Boyle children, kicking and quirting their two horses--riding +double, in the Black Rim country, was considered quite comfortable +enough for children--were already on their way home. Mary Hope looked +at their hurried retreat and turned furiously, meaning to overtake +them and order them back. Tom Lorrigan, she reminded herself, might +force her to leave the schoolhouse, but he would scarcely dare to +carry his abuse farther. + +She had gone perhaps ten rods when came a pounding of hoofs, and +Coaley's head and proudly arched neck heaved alongside poor, +draggle-maned old Rab. + +"You're headed wrong. Have I got to haze yuh all the way home? Might +as well. I want to tell yore dad a few things." + +He twitched the reins, and Coaley obediently shouldered Rab out of the +trail and turned him neatly toward the Douglas ranch. Even Rab was +Scotch, it would seem. He laid his ears flat, swung his head +unexpectedly, and bared his teeth at Coaley. But Coaley was of the +Lorrigans. He did not bare his teeth and threaten; he reached out like +a rattler and nipped Rab's neck so neatly that a spot the size of a +quarter showed pink where the hair had been. Rab squealed, whirled and +kicked, but Coaley was not there at that particular moment. He came +back with the battle light in his eyes, and Rab clattered away in a +stiff-legged run. After him went Coaley, loping easily, with high, +rabbit jumps that told how he would love to show the speed that was in +him, if only Tom would loosen the reins a half inch. + +For a mile Tom kept close to Rab's heels. Then, swinging up alongside, +he turned to Mary Hope, that baffling half smile on his lips and the +look in his eyes that had never failed to fill her with trepidation. + +"I ain't blaming yuh for being Scotch and stubborn," he said, "but you +notice there's something beats it four ways from the jack. Yo go on +home, now, and don't yuh go back to that board cullender till the +weather warms up. And tell yore folks that Tom Lorrigan broke up yore +school for yuh, so they wouldn't have to break up a case of +pneumonia." + +Mary Hope was framing a sentence of defiance when Coaley wheeled and +went back the way they had come, so swiftly that even with shouting +she could not have made herself heard in that whooping wind. She +pulled Rab to a willing stand and stared after Tom, hating him with +her whole heart. Hating him for his domination of her from the moment +he entered the schoolhouse where he had no business at all to be; +hating him because even his bullying had been oddly gentle; hating him +most of all because he was so like Lance--and because he was not +Lance, who was away out in California, going to college, and had never +written her one line in all the time he had been gone. + +Had it been Lance who rode up to the schoolhouse door, she would have +known how to meet and master the situation. She would not have been +afraid of Lance, she told herself savagely. She wouldn't have been +afraid of Tom--but the whole Black Rim was afraid of Tom. Well, just +wait until she happened some day to meet Lance! At least she would +make him pay! For two years of silence and brooding over his hardihood +for taking her to task for her unfriendliness, and for this new and +unbearable outrage, she would make Lance Lorrigan pay, if the fates +ever let them meet again. + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +THE LORRIGAN WAY + + +The Lorrigan family was dining comfortably in the light of a huge lamp +with a rose-tinted shade decorated with an extremely sinuous wreath of +morning glories trailing around the lower rim. A clatter of pots and +pans told that Riley was washing his "cookin' dishes" in the lean-to +kitchen that had been added to the house as an afterthought, the fall +before. Belle had finished her dessert of hot mince pie, and leaned +back now with a freshly lighted cigarette poised in her fingers. + +"What have you got up your sleeve, Tom?" she asked abruptly, handing +Duke her silver matchbox in response to a gestured request for it. + +"My arm," Tom responded promptly, pushing back his wristband to give +her the proof. + +"Aw, cut out the comedy, Tom. You've been doing something that you're +holding out on us. I know that look in your eye; I ought, having you +and Lance to watch. You're near enough to double in a lead and not +even the manager know which is who. You've been doing something, and +Lance knows what it is. Now, I'll get it outa you two if I have to +shoot it out." + +Lance, just returned from Berkeley during Easter holidays, lifted one +eyebrow at Tom, lowered one lid very slowly, and gave his mother a +level, sidelong glance. + +"Your husband, my dear madame, has been engaged in a melodramatic role +created by himself. He is painfully undecided whether the hisses of +the orchestra attest his success as a villian; whether the whistling +up in the gallery demands an encore, or heralds an offering of +cabbages and ripe poultry fruit. I myself did not witness the +production, but I did chance to meet the star just as he was leaving +the stage. To me he confided the fact that he does not know whether it +was a one-act farce he put on, or a five-act tragedy played +accidentally hind-side before, with the villian-still-pursuing-her act +set first instead of fourth. I am but slightly versed in the drama as +played in the Black Rim the past two years. Perhaps if the star would +repeat his lines--" + +"For-the-Lord-sake, Lance! As a dramatic critic you're the punkest +proposition I ever slammed my door against. Talk the way you were +brought up to talk and tell me the truth. What did Tom do, and how did +he do it?" + +Lance drew his black eyebrows together, studying carefully the ethics +of the case. "Belle, you must remember that Dad is my father. Dad +must remember that you are my mother--technically speaking. By heck, +if it wasn't for remembering how you used to chase me up on the barn +every day or so with your quirt, I'd swear that you grew up with me +and are at this present moment at least two years younger than I am. +However, they _say_ you are my mother. And--do you want to know, +honestly, what dad has been doing?" + +"I'm _going_ to know," Belle informed him trenchantly. + +"Then let me tell you. I'll break it gently. Tom, your husband, the +self-confessed father of your offspring, to-day rode to an alleged +schoolhouse, threatened, ordered, and by other felonious devices hazed +three Swedes and the four Boyle kids out of the place and toward their +several homes and then when the schoolmarm very discreetly locked the +door and mildly informed him that she would brain him with a twig off +a sage-bush if he burst the lock, he straightway forgot that he was +old enough to have a son quite old enough to frighten, abduct and +otherwise lighten the monotonous life of said schoolmarm, and became a +bold, bad man. He bursted that door off its hinges--" + +"You're a liar. I busted the lock," Tom grunted, without removing the +cigarette from his lips. + +"He busted the lock of that door, madame; rushed in, wrested the sprig +of sage--" + +"It was a club the size of my arm." + +"Wrested the club from that schoolmarm, brutally and ferociously +forced her into her coat and hat, compelled her to mount her horse, +and then deliberately drove her away from that--" + +"Shut up, Lance. You remind me of one of those monstrosities they +serve in the Lava House, that they call a combination salad. It's +about two-thirds wilted lettuce and the rest beets and carrots. I +don't ever eat them, but if I did they'd taste just like you sound." + +"Oh, all right, then. With only two weeks' vacation I won't have time +for a real spree of Black Rim dialect and sober up in time for the +University. Let me mix it, Belle. I'll eat my own verbal combination +salad, if anybody has to. I won't ask you." + +"You'll eat 'em, all right," Tom stated briefly, lifting an eyebrow at +him. "All I done, Belle, was to ride up to the Whipple shack to see +who was camped there. It was that Douglas girl and the Boyle kids and +them Swedes that live over beyond Boyle's. They was all setting there +having school,--with their overcoats on, half froze, and the wind +howling through like it was a corral fence. So when the Douglas girl +got her Scotch up and said she wouldn't turn 'em loose to go home, I +turned 'em loose myself and told 'em to beat it. And then I hazed her +home. Seems like they think that shack is good enough for women and +kids; but I wouldn't keep pigs in it, myself, without doing a lot of +fixing on it first." + +"What dad seems to overlook is the attitude Boyle and old Scotty will +take, when they hear how Tom Lorrigan broke up school for 'em. +There'll be something drop, if you ask me--I hope it drops before I +have to leave." + +Belle looked at him meditatively. "And where were you, Lance? With +Mary Hope?" + +For answer, Lance smiled, with his mouth twisted a little to one side, +which made him resemble Tom more than ever. "A fellow sure does hate +to have his own father cut in--" + +"So that's what ails you! Well, you may just as well know first as +last that Mary Hope hasn't spoken to one of us since the time they had +Tom up in court for stealing that yearling. You know how they acted; +and if you'd come home last summer instead of fooling around in +California, you'd know they haven't changed a darn bit. It's a shame. +I used to like Mary Hope. She always seemed kinda lonesome and half +scared--" + +"She's got over it, then," Tom interrupted, chuckling. "She's got +spunk enough now for two of her size. Had that club lifted, ready to +brain me when I went in, just because I'd spoiled her rules for her. +If she had as much sense as she's got nerve--" + +"Why don't they build her a schoolhouse, if they want her to teach?" +Belle pushed back her chair. + +"Ever know the AJ to spend a cent they didn't have to?" Duke asked. +"Or old Scotty? The Swede ain't able. How're they paying her? This +ain't any school district." + +"So much a head," Tom answered. "Not much, I reckon. The girl's got +nerve. I'll say that much for her. She was dodgin' clods of dirt from +the roof, and shivering and teaching to beat hell when I got there." + +"They're going to be awful sore at you, Tom, for this," Belle +predicted. "They're going to say you did it because you hate the +Douglases, and it was Mary Hope teaching. Jim Boyle will side with old +Scotty, and there'll be the devil and all to pay. Did you tell those +kids why you sent 'em home?" + +"I told the girl. No, I never told the kids. The Swedes had sense +enough to beat it when she let 'em out for recess. She got fighty over +that, and wouldn't let the school out and wait for good weather, so I +went out and told the Boyle kids to hit for home. Humpin' cats, +_somebody_ had to do something! + +"So then the Scotch come out strong in the girl, and I made her go +home too. If I see 'em in that shack to-morrow, and the weather like +it is and like it's going to be, I'll send 'em home again. What in +thunder do I care what old Scotty and Jim Boyle says about it? If +they want a woman to learn their kids to read, they'd oughta give her +a better place than the Whipple shack to keep school in." + +"They won't," said Belle. "A roof and four walls is all you can expect +of them. It's a shame. I expect Mary Hope is tickled to death to be +earning the money, too. She was taking music all winter in Pocatello, +I heard, and she and her mother saved up the money in nickels--Lord +knows how, the way old Scotty watches them!--to pay for the lessons. +It's a shame." + +"What do they do for water? Old Man Whipple always hauled it in +barrels when he tried to hold down the camp." Al, tilting back his +chair, placidly picking his teeth, spoke for the first time. + +"I didn't see no water barrel," Tom answered. "I reckon they make dry +camp. They had a stove that smoked, and three benches with some kinda +shelf for their books, and the girl was using a strip of tar-paper for +a blackboard. But there was no water." + +"Say, what sort of country is this Black Rim, anyway?" Lance studied +the end of his cigarette, lifting his left eyebrow just as his father +had done five minutes before. "I hope to heck I haven't come home to +remodel the morals of the country, or to strut around and play +college-young-man like a boob; but on the square, folks, it looks to +me as though the Rim needs a lesson in citizenship. It doesn't mean +anything in our lives, whether there is a schoolhouse in the country +or not. Belle has looked out for us boys, in the matter of learning +the rudiments and a good deal besides. Say, Belle, do you know they +took my voice and fitted a glee club to it? I was the glee. And a +real, live professor told me I had technique. I told him I must have +caught it changing climates--but however, what you couldn't give us +with the books, you handed us with the quirt--and here and now I want +to say I appreciate it." + +"All right, I appreciate your appreciation, and I wish to heaven you +wouldn't ramble all over the range when you start to say a thing. +That's one thing you learned in school that I'd like to take outa you +with a quirt." + +"I was merely pointing out how we, ourselves, personally, do not need +a schoolhouse. But I was also saying that the Rim ought to have a +lesson in real citizenship. They call the Lorrigans bad. All right; +that's a fine running start. I'd say, let's give 'em a jolt. I'm game +to donate a couple of steers toward a schoolhouse--a _regular_ +schoolhouse, with the Stars and Stripes on the front end, and a bench +behind the door for the water bucket, and a blackboard up in front, +and a woodshed behind--with a door into it so the schoolmarm needn't +put on her overshoes and mittens every time she tells one of the +Swedes to put a stick of wood in the stove. I'd like to do that, and +not say a darn word until it's ready to move into. And then I'd like +to stick my hands in my pockets and watch what the Rim would do about +it. + +"I've wondered quite a lot, in the last two years, whether it's the +Black Rim or the Lorrigan outfit that's all wrong. I know all about +grandad and all the various and sundry uncles and forbears that earned +us the name of being bad; it makes darn interesting stuff to tell now +and then to some of the fellows who were raised in a prune orchard and +will sit and listen with watering mouths and eyes goggling. I've been +a hero, months on end, just for the things that my grandad did in the +seventies. Of course," he pulled his lips into their whimsical smile, +"I've touched up the family biography here and there and made heroes +of us all. But the fact remains there are degrees and differences in +badness. I've a notion that the Black Rim, taken by and large, is a +damn sight worse than the Devil's Tooth outfit. I'd like to try the +experiment of making the AJ and old Scotty ashamed of themselves. I'd +like to try a schoolhouse on 'em, and see if they're human enough to +appreciate it." + +Duke, turning his head slowly, glanced at Al, and from him to Tom. +Without moving a muscle of their faces the two returned his look. Al +slid his cigarette stub thoughtfully into his coffee cup and let his +breath out carefully in a long sigh that was scarcely audible. Tom +took a corner of his lower lip between his teeth, matching Lance, who +had the same trick. + +"Honey, that's fine of you! There aren't many that realize what a lot +of satisfaction there is in doing something big and generous and +making the other fellow ashamed of himself. And it would be a God's +mercy to Mary Hope, poor child. Leave it to the AJ and whatever other +outfit there is to send pupils, and Mary Hope could teach in the +Whipple shack till it rattled down on top of them. I know what the +place is. I put up there once in a hailstorm. It isn't fit for cattle, +as Tom says, unless they've fixed it a lot. I'll donate the furniture; +I'll make out the order right this evening for seats and blackboard +and a globe and everything, and make it a rush order!" Belle pushed +back her chair and came around to Lance, slipped her arms around his +neck and tousled his wavy mop of hair with her chin. "If the rest +won't come through you and I'll do it, honey--" + +"Who said we wouldn't?" Tom got up, stretching his arms high above his +head,--which was very bad manners, but showed how supple he still was, +and how well-muscled. "No one ever called me a piker--and let me hear +about it. Sure, we'll build a schoolhouse for 'em, seeing they're too +cussed stingy to build one themselves. There's the lumber I had hauled +out for a new chicken house; to-morrow I'll have it hauled up to some +good building spot, and we'll have it done before the AJ wakes up to +the fact that anything's going on." + +"I'll chip in enough to make her big enough for dances," volunteered +Duke. "Darn this riding fifteen or twenty miles to a dance!" + +"I'll paint 'er, if you let me pick out the color," said Al. "Where +are you going to set 'er?" + +"What's the matter with doing the thing in style, and giving a +house-warming dance, and turning it over to the neighborhood with a +speech?" bantered Lance, as they adjourned to the big living room, +taking the idea with them and letting it grow swiftly in enthusiasm. +"That would celebrate my visit, and I'd get a chance to size up the +Rim folks and see how they react to kindness. Lordy, folks, let's do +it!" + +"We might," Belle considered the suggestion, while she thumbed the +latest mail-order catalogue, the size of a family bible and much more +assiduously studied. "They'd come, all right!" she added, with a +scornful laugh. "Even old Scotty would come, if he thought it wouldn't +cost him anything." + +"Well, by heck, we won't _let_ it cost him anything!" Lance stood +leaning against the wall by the stove, his arms folded, the fingers of +his left hand tapping his right forearm. He did not know that this was +a Lorrigan habit, born of an old necessity of having the right hand +convenient to a revolver butt, and matched by the habit of carrying a +six-shooter hooked inside the trousers band on the left side. + +Tom, studying Lance, thought how much he resembled his grandfather on +the night Buck Sanderson was killed in a saloon in Salmon City. Old +Tom had leaned against the wall at the end of the bar, with his arms +folded and his fingers tapping his right forearm, just as Lance was +doing now. He had lifted one eyebrow and pulled a corner of his lip +between his teeth when Buck came blustering in. Just as Lance smiled +at Duke's chaffing, Tom's father had smiled when Buck came swaggering +up to him with bold eyes full of fight and his right thumb hooked in +his chap belt. Old Tom had not moved; he had remained leaning +negligently against the wall with his arms folded. But the strike of a +snake was not so quick as the drop of his hand to his gun. + +Tom was not much given to reminiscence; but to-night, seeing Lance +with two years of man-growth and the poise of town life upon him, he +slipped into a swift review of changing conditions and a vague +speculation upon the value of environment in the shaping of character. +Lance was all Lorrigan. He had turned Lorrigan in the two years of his +absence, which had somehow painted out his resemblance to Belle. His +hair had darkened to a brown that was almost black. His eyes had +darkened, his mouth had the Lorrigan twist. He had grown taller, +leaner, surer in his movements,--due to his enthusiasm for athletics +and the gym, though Tom had no means of knowing what had given him +that catlike quickness, the grace of perfect muscular coordination. +Tom thought it was the Lorrigan blood building Lance true to his +forbears as he passed naturally from youth to maturity. He wondered if +Lance, given the environment which had shaped his grandfather, would +have been a "killer," hated by many, feared by all. + +Even now, if it came to the point of fighting, would not Lance fight +true to the blood, true to that Lorrigan trick of the folded arms and +the tapping fingers? Would not Lance--? Tom pulled his thoughts away +from following that last conjecture to its logical end. There were +matters in which it might be best not to include Lance, just as he had +been careful not to include Belle. For Lance might still be a good +deal like Belle, in spite of his Lorrigan looks and mannerisms. And +there were certain Lorrigan traits which would not bear any mixture of +Belle in the fiber. + +"Well, now, that's all made out. I'll send to Salt Lake and get the +stuff quicker. Wake up, Tom, and tell us how long it will take to put +up the schoolhouse? Lance is going to give the dance--and there won't +be so much as a soggy chocolate cake accepted from the Rimmers. What +will you do, Lance? Put up a notice in Jumpoff?" + +"Surely! A mysteriously worded affair, telling little and saying much. +Music and refresh--no, by heck, that sounds too wet and not solid +enough. Music and supper furnished free. Everybody welcome. Can't +Riley drive the chuck-wagon over and have the supper served by a +camp-fire? Golly, but I've been hungry for that old chuck-wagon! That +would keep all the mess of coffee and sandwiches out of the nice, new +schoolhouse." + +"Who's going to hold their hat in front of the nice, new schoolhouse +till it's done and ready? And how're you going to let 'em know where +to come to, without giving away the secret?" Al, the practical, +stretched his long legs to the stove and thrust his hands deep into +his trousers pockets while he propounded these two conundrums. "Go on, +Lance. This is yore party." + +Lance unfolded his arms and disposed his big body on a bearskin +covered lounge where he could take Belle's hand and pat it and +playfully pinch a finger now and then. + +"To look at your hand, Belle, a fellow would swear that a blonde +manicure girl comes here twice a week," he said idly. "Where is the +schoolhouse going to be built? Why not put it just at the foot of the +ridge, at Cottonwood Spring? That's out of sight of the road, and if +the notice said 'Cottonwood Spring', folks would know where to head +for. It's close to the line of your land, isn't it, dad? A +yard--corral-size--fenced around the place would keep the cattle off +the doorstep, and they could water there just the same. If we're going +to do it, why not do it right?" + +"I guess we could get down there with a load," Tom assented easily. +"I'd ruther have it on my land anyways." + +"Don't think, Tom Lorrigan, that we'd ever take it back from Mary +Hope. No matter how Scotty acts up. But if they ever gave her the +double-cross and got some one else to teach--why it might be nice to +know it's our schoolhouse, on our land." Belle pulled her hand away +from Lance and went over to the piano. "It's all done but the +shingling," she said cheerfully. "Come on, Lance, see if you can sing +'Asleep in the Deep.' And then show me what you mean by saying you can +yodel now better than when I licked you the time you and Duke chased +the colt through the corral fence!" + +"All done but the shingling--and I ain't got 'em bought yet!" grumbled +Tom, but was utterly disregarded in the sonorous chords of Belle's +prelude to the song. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +LANCE RIDES AHEAD + + +At fifteen minutes to four on a certain Tuesday afternoon, the first +really pleasant day after the day of tearing, whooping wind that had +blown Tom into the role of school bully, Lance loped out upon the +trail that led past the Whipple shack a mile and a quarter farther on. +Ostensibly his destination was the town of Jumpoff, although it was +not the time of day when one usually started from the Devil's Tooth +ranch to the post-office, with three unimportant letters as an excuse +for the trip. + +As he rode Lance sang lustily a love song, but he was not thinking +especially of Mary Hope. In two years more than one California girl +had briefly held his fancy, and memory of Mary Hope had slightly +dimmed. In his pocket were two letters, addressed to two California +towns. One letter had Miss Helene Somebody inscribed upon it, and on +the other was Miss Mildred Somebody Else. The love song, therefore, +had no special significance, save that Lance was young and perfectly +normal and liked the idea of love, without being hampered by any +definite form of it concentrated upon one girl. + +For all that he had timed his trip so as to arrive at the Whipple +shack just about the time when Mary Hope would be starting home. He +was curious to see just how much or how little she had changed; to +know whether she still had that funny little Scotch accent that +manifested itself in certain phrasings, certain vowel sounds at +variance with good English pronunciation. He wanted to know just how +much Pocatello had done to spoil her. Beneath all was the primal +instinct of the young male dimly seeking the female whom his destiny +had ordained to be his mate. + +As a young fellow shut in behind the Rim, with the outside world a +vast area over which his imagination wandered vaguely, Mary Hope had +appealed to him. She was the one girl in the Black Rim country whom he +would ride out of his way to meet, whose face, whose voice, lingered +with him pleasantly for days after he had seen her and talked with +her. He reflected, between snatches of song, that he might have +thought himself in love with Mary Hope, might even have married her, +had Belle not suddenly decided that he should go beyond the Rim and +learn the things she could not teach him. Belle must have wanted him, +her youngest, to be different from the rest. He wondered with a sudden +whimsical smile, whether she was satisfied with the result of his two +years of exile. Tom, he suspected, was not,--nor were Duke and Al. +The three seemed to hold themselves apart from him, to look upon him +as a guest rather than as one of the family returned after an absence. +They did not include him in their talk of range matters and the +business of the ranch. He had once observed in them a secret +embarrassment when he appeared unexpectedly, had detected a swift +change of tone and manner and subject. + +Surely they could not think he had changed sufficiently to make him an +outsider, he meditated. Aside from his teasing of Belle, he had +dropped deliberately into the range vernacular, refraining only from +certain crudities of speech which grated on his ears. He had put on +his old clothes, he had tried to take his old place in the ranch work. +He had driven a four-horse team up the Ridge trail with lumber for the +schoolhouse, and had negotiated the rock descent to Cottonwood Spring +with a skill that pleased him mightily because it proved to him--and +to Tom and the boys--that his range efficiency had not lessened during +his absence. He had done everything the boys had done, except ride out +with them on certain long trips over the range. He had not gone simply +because they had made it quite plain that they did not want him. + +Nor did the hired cowboys want him with them,--ten of them in the bunk +house with a cook of their own, and this only the middle of March! In +two years the personnel of the bunk house had changed almost +completely. They were men whom he did not know, men who struck him as +"hard-boiled," though he could not have explained just wherein they +differed from the others. Sam Pretty Cow and Shorty he could hobnob +with as of yore,--Sam in particular giving him much pleasure with his +unbroken reserve, his unreadable Indian eyes and his wide-lipped grin. +The others were like Duke, Tom and Al,--slightly aloof, a bit guarded +in their manner. + +"And I suppose Mary Hope will be absolutely spoiled, with small-town +dignity laid a foot deep over her Scotch primness. Still, a girl that +has the nerve to lift a club and threaten to brain Tom Lorrigan--" + +He had forgotten the love song he was singing, and before he reached +farther in his musings he met the Swedes, who stared at him round-eyed +and did not answer his careless hello. A little farther, the Boyle +children rode up out of a dry wash, grinned bashfully at him and +hurried on. + +A saddlehorse was tied to a post near the Whipple shack. With long +legs swinging slightly with the stride of his horse, reins held +high and loose in one hand, his big hat tilted over his forehead, +Lance rode up and dismounted as if his errand, though important, was +not especially urgent. The door stood open. He walked up, tapped +twice with his knuckles on the unpainted casing, and entered, +pulling off his hat and turning it round and round in his gloved +fingers while he ducked his head, pressed his lips together with a +humorous quirk, shuffled his spurred feet on the dirty floor and +bowed again as awkwardly as he could. In this manner he hoped to +draw some little spark of individuality from Mary Hope, who sat behind +her yellow-painted table and stared at him over her folded arms. +But Mary Hope, he observed, had been crying, and compunction seized +him suddenly. + +"Well, what is it?" she asked him curtly, rubbing a palm down over one +cheek, with the motion obliterating a small rivulet of tears. + +"If you please, ma'am, I was sent to mend a lock on a door." + +"What lock? On what door?" Mary Hope passed a palm down her other +cheek, thus obliterating another rivulet that had ceased to flow tears +and was merely wet and itchy. + +"If you please, ma'am, you can search me." Lance looked at her +innocently. "I didn't bring any lock with me, and I didn't bring any +door with me. But I've got some screws and three nails and--lots of +good intentions." + +"Good intentions are very rare in this country," said Mary Hope, and +made meaningless marks on the bare tabletop with a blunt pencil. + +Lance heard a twang of Scotch in the "very rare" which pleased him. +But he kept his position by the doorway, and he continued bashfully +turning his big hat round and round against his chest,--though the +action went oddly with the Lorrigan look and the athletic poise of +him. "Yes, ma'am. Quite rare," he agreed. + +"In fact, I don't believe there is such a thing in the whole Black Rim +country," stated Mary Hope, plainly nonplussed at his presence and +behavior. + +"Could I show you mine?" Lance advanced a step. He was not sure, at +that moment, whether he wanted to go with the play. Mary Hope was +better looking than when he had seen her last. She had lost a good +deal of the rusticity he remembered her to have possessed, but she was +either too antagonistic to carry on the farce, or she was waiting for +him to show his hand, to betray some self-consciousness. But the fact +that she looked at him straight in the eyes and neither frowned nor +giggled, set her apart from the ordinary range-bred girl. + +"You talk like a country peddler. I'm willing to accept a sample, and +see if they are durable. Though I can't for the life of me see why +you'd be coming here with good intentions." + +"I'd be mending a lock on a door. Is this the door, ma'am? And is this +the lock?" + +Since the door behind him was the only door within five miles of them, +and since the lock dangled from a splintered casing, Mary Hope almost +smiled. "It is a door," she informed him. "And it is a lock that has +been broken by a Lorrigan." + +She was baiting him, tempting him to quarrel with her over the old +grudge. Because she expected a reply, Lance made no answer whatever. +He happened to have a dozen or so of nails in his coat pocket, +left-overs from his assiduous carpentry on the house being builded for +her comfort. The screws he possessed were too large, and he had no +hammer. But no man worries over a missing hammer where rocks are +plentiful, and Lance was presently pounding the lock into place, his +back to Mary Hope, his thoughts swinging from his prospective party to +the possible religious scruples of the Douglas family. + +Mary Hope used to dance--a very little--he remembered, though she had +not attended many dances. He recalled suddenly that a Christmas tree +or a Fourth of July picnic had usually been the occasions when Mary +Hope, with her skirts just hitting her shoe tops in front and sagging +in an ungainly fashion behind, had teetered solemnly through a +"square" dance with him. Mother Douglas herself had always sat very +straight and prim on a bench, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes +blinking disapprovingly at the ungodly ones who let out an exultant +little yip now and then when they started exuberantly through the +mazes of the "gran'-right-n-left." + +Would Mary Hope attend the party? Should he tell her about it and +ask her to come? Naturally, he could not peacefully escort her +partyward,--the feud was still too rancorous for that. Or was it? +At the Devil's Tooth they spoke of old Scotty as an enemy, but they +had cited no particular act of hostility as evidence of his enmity. +At the Devil's Tooth they spoke of the whole Black Rim country as +enemy's country. Lance began to wonder if it were possible that +the Lorrigans had adopted unconsciously the role of black sheep, +without the full knowledge or concurrence of the Black Rimmers. + +He did what he could to make a workable lock of one that had been +ready to fall to pieces before his father heaved against it; hammered +in the loosened screws in the hinges, tossed the rock out into the +scuffed sod before the shack, and picked up his hat. He had not once +looked toward Mary Hope, but he turned now as if he were going to say +good-by and take himself off; as if mending the lock had really been +his errand, and no further interest held him there. + +He surprised a strange, wistful look in Mary Hope's eyes, a trembling +of her lips. She seemed to be waiting, fearing that he meant to go +without any further overtures toward friendship. + +The Whipple shack was not large. Ten feet spanned the distance between +them. Impulsively Lance covered that distance in three steps. At the +table he stopped, leaned toward her with his palms braced upon the +table, and stared full into Mary Hope's disturbed eyes. + +"Girl," he said, drawing the word softly along a vibrant note in his +voice that sent a tremor through her, "Girl, you're more lonesome than +Scotch, and you're more Scotch than the heather that grows in your +front yard to make your mother cry for the Highlands she sees when her +eyes blur with homesickness. You were crying when I came--crying +because you're lonely. It's a big, wild country--the Black Rim. It's a +country for men to ride hell-whooping through the sage and camas +grass, with guns slung at their hips, but it's no country for a little +person like you to try and carry on a feud because her father made +one. You're--too little!" + +He did not touch her, his face did not come near her face. But in his +eyes, in his voice, in the tender, one-sided little smile, there was +something,--Mary Hope caught her breath, feeling as if she had been +kissed. + +"You little, lonesome girl! There's going to be a party at Cottonwood +Spring, a week from Friday night. It's a secret--a secret for you. And +you won't tell a soul that you were the first to know--and you'll +come, you girl, because it's your party. And not a soul will know it's +your party. If your father's Scotch is too hard for dancing--you'll +come just the same. You'll come, because the secret is for you. And--" +He thought that he read something in her eyes and hastened to +forestall her intention "--and you won't go near Cottonwood Spring +before the time of the party, because that wouldn't be playing fair. + +"Don't be lonely, girl. The world is full of pleasant things, just +waiting to pop out at you from behind every bush. If you're good and +kind and honest with life, the Fates are going to give you the best +they've got. Don't be lonely! Just wait for the pleasant things in +to-morrow and to-morrow--in all the to-morrows. And one of them, girl, +is going to show you the sweetest thing in life. That's love, you girl +with the tears back of your Scotch blue eyes. But wait for it--and +take the little pleasant things that minutes have hidden away in the +to-morrows. And one of the pleasant times will be hidden at Cottonwood +Spring, a week from Friday night. Wonder what it will be, girl. And if +any one tries to tell it, put your hands over your ears, so that you +won't hear it. Wait--and keep wondering, and come to Cottonwood Spring +next Friday night. Adios, girl." + +He looked into her eyes, smiling a little. Then, turning suddenly, he +left her without a backward glance. Left her with nothing to spoil +the haunting cadence of his voice, nothing to lift the spell of +tender prophecy his words had laid upon her soul. When he was quite +gone, when she heard the clatter of his horse's hoofs upon the arid +soil that surrounded the Whipple shack, Mary Hope still stared out +through the open doorway, seeing nothing of the March barrenness, +seeing only the tender, inscrutable, tantalizing face of Lance +Lorrigan,--tantalizing because she could not plumb the depths of his +eyes, could not say how much of the tenderness was meant for her, how +much was born of the deep music of his voice, the whimsical, +one-sided smile. + +And Lance, when he had ridden a furlong from the place, had dipped +into a shallow draw and climbed the other side, turned half around in +the saddle and looked back. + +"Now, why did I go off and leave her like that? Like an actor walking +off the stage to make room for the other fellow to come on and say his +lines. There's no other fellow--thank heck! And here are two miles we +might be riding together--and me preaching to her about taking the +little, pleasant things that come unexpectedly!" He swung his horse +around in the trail, meaning to ride back; retraced his steps as far +as the hollow, and turned again, shaking his head. + +"Anybody could stop at the schoolhouse just as school's out, and ride +a couple of miles down the road with the schoolma'am--if she let him +do it! Anybody could do that. But that isn't the reason, why I'm +riding on ahead. What the hell is the reason?" + +He stopped again on the high level where he could look back and see +the Whipple shack squatted forlornly in the gray stretch of sage with +wide, brown patches of dead grass between the bushes. + +"Lonesome," he named the wild expanse of unpeopled range land. "She's +terribly lonely--and sweet. Too lonely and sweet for me to play with, +to ride a few miles with--and leave her lonelier than I found her. I +couldn't. There's enough sadness now in those Scotch blue eyes. Damned +if I'll add more!" + +He saw Mary Hope come from the shack, pause a minute on the doorstep, +then walk out to where her horse was tied to the post. He lifted the +reins, pricked his horse gently with the spurs and galloped away to +Jumpoff, singing no more. + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +SHE WILL, AND SHE WON'T + + +Cottonwood Spring was a dished-out oasis just under the easy slope of +Devil's Tooth Ridge. From no part of the Jumpoff trail could it be +seen, and the surrounding slope did not offer much inducement to +cattle in March, when water was plentiful; wherefore riders would +scarcely wander into the saucer-like hollow that contained the +cottonwoods and the spring. A picnic had once been held there, but the +festivities had been marred by a severe thunderstorm that came just as +a wordy quarrel between two drunken cowpunchers was fast nearing the +gun-pulling stage. Lightning had struck the side hill just beyond the +grove, and the shock of it had knocked down and stunned the two +disputants, and three saddle horses standing in the muddy overflow +from the spring. For this reason, perhaps, and because it was on +Lorrigan land, the place had never thereafter been frequented save by +the stock that watered there. + +But from the head of the little basin a wide view was had of the +broken land beyond Devil's Tooth. The spring was clear and cold and +never affected by drouth. By following the easy slope around the point +of the main trail from Jumpoff to the Lorrigan ranch, no road-building +was necessary, and in summer the cottonwoods looked very cool and +inviting--though at certain times they harbored buffalo gnats and many +red ants that would bite, which rendered the shade less grateful than +it looked. But to the Lorrigans it seemed an ideal site for a +schoolhouse. + +Ten days after they had planned the deed, the schoolhouse stood ready +for the dance. In the lean-to shed, twelve shiny yellow desks that +smelled strongly of varnish were stacked in their heavy paper +swaddlings, waiting to be set in place when the dance was done. Belle +herself had hemmed scrim curtains for the windows, which Riley had +washed copiously. The blackboard, with the names of various Devil's +Tooth men and a "motto" or two scrawled upon it was in place; the +globe was on the teacher's desk, and the water bucket on its shelf in +the corner, with a shiny new tin dipper hanging on a nail above it. + +If you were to believe the frequent declarations, every puncher on the +ranch had done his durnedest to put 'er up, and put 'er up right. Sam +Pretty Cow had nailed a three-foot American flag to the front gable, +and had landed on a nail when he jumped from the eaves. On the night +of the dance he was hobbling around the chuck-wagon with half a pound +of salt pork bound to his foot, helping Riley, who had driven over to +the spring early, burdened with the importance of his share in the +entertainment. + +A dance in the Black Rim country has all the effect of a dog fight in +a small village with empty streets. No sooner does it start than one +wonders where all the people came from. + +At eight o'clock toiling horses drawing full loads of humanity began +to appear over the rim of the hollow, to pick their way carefully down +toward the lighted windows, urged by their drivers. Men on horseback +made the descent more swiftly, with a clatter of small rocks kicked +loose as they came. They encountered a four-wire fence, circled it to +where a lantern, hung on a post, revealed a gate that lay flat on the +ground to leave a welcoming space for teams and saddle horses to pass +through. + +Beside the schoolhouse, with two lanterns shedding a yellow glow on +his thin, sandy hair, Riley, at the chuck-wagon, arranged doughnuts, +sandwiches, pies and cakes to his liking, wiped his red hands +frequently on his clean flour-sack apron, and held carefully unprofane +conversation with the women who came fluttering over to him, their +arms burdened. + +"No, mom, sorry! I know I'm turnin' down something that's better than +anything I got here, but this here party's on the Lorrigans. No, mom, +I got orders not to take in s'much as a sour pickle from nobody. You +jest put it back in the rig, whatever you got there, and consider't +you got some Sat'day bakin' did up ahead. + +"Yes, mom, it's Lance's party. He's home for a visit, an' he kinda +wanted to have a dance an' meet the folks, seein' he's been away quite +a spell and kain't stay long. + +"Yes, mom, he's goin' back to college first the week. + +"Hey! I wisht you'd tie up yore cayuses other side the shack. Folks'll +be comin' around here for their supper, and they don't wanta git their +faces kicked off whilst they're huntin' grub to fill 'em. + +"No, mom, we ain't takin' any cakes or nothin' off nobody. Lance, he +wanted to give this dance an' give it _right_. Ain't goin' to cost +nobody a thing but sore corns, t'night!" + +Lance had hired an Italian violinist and his boy who played a harp +much taller than himself and people coming from Jumpoff had brought +them out. The Millers had come, with all their outfit. The AJ outfit +was there to a man. The Swedes were present, sitting together in the +corner by the water bucket, and the Conleys, who lived over by Camas +Creek beyond the AJ, had come. The Conleys had sheep, and were not +firmly settled in the Black Rim, sheepmen being looked at askance. +There were families from nearer Jumpoff,--one really did wonder where +they all came from, when the country seemed so wide and unpeopled. + +Lance was surprised to see how many were there who were total +strangers. Until the dancing began the men stood outside and smoked, +leaving the women and children to arrange themselves on benches along +the wall inside. Lance knew the custom well enough, and he did not go +in. But he tried to see who came with every load that was deposited +within the circle of light on the narrow platform that embellished the +front. + +At nine o'clock, when the musicians were trying their instruments +tentatively and even the most reluctant male was being drawn +irresistibly to the humming interior, Lance frankly admitted to +himself that he was not happy, and that his condition was the direct +result of not having seen Mary Hope enter the door. + +He sought out Tom, who was over at the chuck-wagon, taking an early +cup of coffee. Tom blew away the steam that rose on the chill night +air and eyed Lance. "Well, when do we make the speech? Or don't we?" +he demanded, taking a gulp and finding the coffee still too hot for +comfort. "Don't ask me to; I done my share when I built 'er. You can +tell the bunch what she's for." + +"Oh, what the heck do we want with a speech?" Lance remonstrated. +"They know it's a schoolhouse, unless they're blind. And I thought +maybe some one--you, probably, since you're the one who hazed her out +of the other place--would just tell Mary Hope to bring her books over +here and teach. And I thought, to cinch it, you could tell Jim Boyle +that you felt you ought to do something toward a school, and since you +couldn't furnish any kids, you thought you'd furnish the house. That +ought to be easy. It's up to you, I should say. But I wouldn't make +any speech." + +Tom grunted, finished his coffee and proceeded to remove all traces of +it from his lips with his best white handkerchief. "Where's Jim Boyle +at?" he asked, moving into the wide bar of dusk that lay between the +lights of the chuck-wagon and the glow from the two windows facing +that way. + +"I believe I'd speak about it first to Mary Hope," Lance suggested, +coming behind him. "But she hasn't come yet--" + +As if she heard and deliberately moved to contradict him, Mary Hope +danced past the window, the hand of a strange young man with a crisp +white handkerchief pressed firmly between her shoulder blades. Mary +Hope was dancing almost as solemnly as in the days of short skirts and +sleek hair, her eyes apparently fixed upon the shoulder of her partner +who gazed straight out over her head, his whole mind centered upon +taking the brunt of collisions upon the point of his upraised elbow. + +"I'll ketch her when she's through dancing," promised Tom. But Lance +had another thought. + +"Let me tell Mary Hope, dad. I'm going to dance with her, and it will +be easy." + +In the darkness Tom grinned and went on to find Jim Boyle standing in +a group of older men on the platform that served as a porch. Jim Boyle +was smoking a cheap cigar brought out from Jumpoff by the section +boss. He listened reflectively, looked at the glowing tip of the +evil-smelling cigar, threw the thing from him and reached for his +cigarette papers with an oath. + +"Now, that's damn white of yuh, Tom," he said. "I leave it to the +boys if it ain't damn white. Not having no school district I'm puttin' +up the money outa my own pocket to pay the teacher. And havin' four +kids to feed and buy clothes for, I couldn't afford to build no +schoolhouse, I tell yuh those. And uh course, I didn't like to go +round askin' fer help; but it's damn white of yuh to step in an' do +yore share towards making the Rim look like it was civilized. +Sederson, he'll feel the same way about it. And I'm gitting a +foreman that's got a kid, school age; we sure'n hell do need a +schoolhouse. Rim's settlin' up fast. I always said, Tom, that you +was white. I leave it to the boys here." + +Inside, Lance was not finding it so easy to make the announcement. +Last Tuesday, Mary Hope had not understood just why he had ridden +on ahead of her for two miles--she could see the small dust cloud +kicked up by his horse on the Jumpoff trail, so there could be no +mistake--when he knew perfectly well that she must ride that way, when +he could not have failed to see her horse saddled and waiting at +the door. It seemed to Mary Hope an obscure form of mockery to tell +her not to be lonely--to tell her in a caressing tone that left with +her all the effect of kisses--and then to ride away without one +backward glance, one word of excuse. Until she had mounted and had +seen him on the trail ahead, she had not realized how he had mocked +her. + +For days--until Friday, to be explicit--she had been quite determined +not to go near Cottonwood Spring. Then she had suddenly changed her +mind, dismissed school half an hour early, put old Rab in a lather on +the way home, dressed herself and announced to her mother that she +must ride into Jumpoff for school supplies, and that she would stay +all night with the Kennedys. It had taken two years and the dignity of +school-teacher to give Mary Hope the courage to announce things to her +mother. As it was, she permitted her mother to explain as best she +might to Hugh Douglas. Her courage did not reach to that long, +uncompromising upper lip of her father's. + +She had folded her prettiest dress carefully into a flat bundle, had +thrown it out of her window and left the house in her riding clothes. +There was a saddle horse, Jamie, a Roman-nosed bay of uncertain temper +and a high, rocking gait, which she sometimes used for long trips. She +saddled him now and hurried away, thankful to be gone with her +package and her guilty conscience before her father arrived. She was +very good friends with the Kennedys, at the section house. If there +was a dance within forty miles, the Kennedys might be counted upon to +attend; and that is how Mary Hope arrived at the schoolhouse with a +load from Jumpoff. She had seen Lance standing near the door, and +Lance had paid no attention to her, but had left an AJ man to claim +the first two-step. Wherefore Lance walked straight into trouble when +he went to Mary Hope and asked for the next dance with her. + +"So sorry--it's promised already," said Mary Hope, in her primmest +tone. + +"There's a dance after the next one," he hinted, looking down from his +more-than-six feet at her where she sat wedged between Mrs. Boyle and +Jennie Miller. + +"So sorry--but I think that one is promised also," said Mary Hope. + +Lance drew a corner of his lip between his teeth, let it go and lifted +his eyebrows whimsically at Jennie Miller, whom he had once heard +playing on her organ, and whom he had detested ever since with an +unreasoning animosity born solely of her musical inability and her +long neck that had on its side a brown mole with three coarse hairs in +it. + +"If Miss Douglas has two dances engaged in advance, it's quite +hopeless to hope for a dance with Miss Miller," he said, maliciously +drawing the sentence through certain vibrant tones which experience +had taught him had a certain pleasing effect upon persons. "Or is it +hopeless? Are you engaged for every dance to-night, Miss Miller? And +if you are, please may I stand beside you while you eat a sandwich at +midnight?" + +Jennie Miller giggled. "I ain't as popular as all that," she retorted, +glancing at Mary Hope, sitting very straight and pretty beside her. +"And if I was, I don't go and promise everybody that asks. I might +want to change my mind afterwards if some other fellow comes along I +liked better--and I've saw too many fights start over a girl +forgetting who she's promised to dance with." + +"You don't want to see a fight start now, do you?" Lance smiled down +at her without in the least degree betraying to Mary Hope that he +would like to pull Jennie Miller by force from that seat and occupy it +himself. + +"I never can see why men fight over things. I hate fights," Miss +Miller stammered, agitated by a wild feeling that perhaps she was +going to be made love to. + +"Then don't forget that you are going to dance with me." The music +just then started again, and he offered her his arm with a certain +import that made Mary Hope clench her hands. + +Mary Hope was punished for her lie. She had not promised that dance, +and so she sat on the plank bench and saw Lance and Jennie Miller +sway past her four times before a gawky youth who worked for her +father caught sight of her and came over from the water-bucket corner +to ask her for the dance. That was not the worst. On the fourth round +of Lance and Jennie, and just as the gawky one was bowing stiffly +before her, Lance looked at her over Jennie Miller's shoulder, and +smiled that tantalizing, Lorrigan smile that always left her uneasily +doubtful of its meaning. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +A WAY HE HAD WITH HIM + + +It was at the chuck-wagon at midnight, while Riley and Sam Pretty Cow +were serving tin cups of black coffee to a shuffling, too-hilarious +crowd, that Lance next approached Mary Hope. She was standing on the +outskirts of a group composed mostly of women, quite alone so far as +cavaliers were concerned, for the gawky youth had gone after coffee. +She was looking toward the sagebrush camp-fire around which a crowd of +men had gathered with much horseplay at which they were laughing +loudly, and she was wondering how best she could make Lance Lorrigan +aware of her absolute indifference to him, when his voice drawled +disconcertingly close to her ear: + +"You're not lonely now, you girl--and you did find a secret at +Cottonwood Spring. A pleasant little secret, wasn't it?" + +Mary Hope's hands became fists at her side, held close against her +best frock. "I think the fellows over by the fire have discovered your +pleasant secret," she said, and did not turn her face toward him. + +With his arms folded and his eyebrows pulled together and his lip +between his teeth, Lance stared down at her face, studying it in the +flicker of the distant firelight and the two lanterns. If her +combativeness roused in him any resentment, he did not permit it to +show in his voice. + +"Some of the fellows from Jumpoff brought a bottle or two. That's no +secret, except that I don't know where they have it cachéd. The +schoolhouse is your--" + +"I heard it was included in the Lorrigan refreshments." + +"The schoolhouse is ready for your pleasure Monday morning," Lance +spoke with that perfect impersonal courtesy that is so exasperating to +a person who listens for something to resent. "I knew of it, of +course--dad wanted it kept for a surprise. And he wanted me to tell +you. It's the Lorrigan expression of their appreciation of the need of +a school." + +The gawky youth came stumbling up, his outstretched hands carefully +holding two tin cups filled with coffee close to the boiling point. +Being a youth of good intentions, he tried very hard not to spill a +drop. Being gawky, he stubbed his toe as he was rounding the group of +women, and Mrs. Miller shrieked and swung back her hand, cuffing the +gawky one straight into the thickest of the crowd. Other women +screamed. + +Lance reached a long arm and plucked the youth out by the slack +of his coat, shook him and propelled him into the darkness, where +he collided violently with Sam Pretty Cow. Some one had been +over-generous with Sam Pretty Cow. A drunken Indian is never quite +safe. Sam Pretty Cow struck out blindly, yelling Piegan curses +hoarsely as he fought. The crowd of men around the camp-fire came +running. For a short space there was confusion, shouting, the shrill +voices of scalded women denouncing the accident as a deliberate +outrage. + +Mrs. Miller whirled on Lance. "You pushed him on me! If that ain't a +Lorrigan trick!--" + +"Yeah--what yuh mean? Throwin' bilin' hot coffee on--" + +"Who says it's a Lorrigan trick?" + +"Might 'a' known what to expect--" + +"Get back here, away from the crowd. There may be shooting," Lance +muttered to Mary Hope, and pulled her to the rear of the wagon and +around upon the farther side. She could not resist. His strength was +beyond any hope of combating it with her small strength. Mrs. Miller, +whose scalded shoulder led her to wild utterances without thought of +their effect upon others, shouted at him as he hustled Mary Hope +away: + +"Yeah--_run!_ You're the one that done it--now run! That's like a +Lorrigan--do your dirty work and then crawl out and let somebody else +take the blame! That kid never--" + +"Aw, come back and fight, you big sneak!" A drunken voice bellowed +hoarsely, and a gunshot punctuated the command. + +"Go on--get on the other side of the schoolhouse. Run! The fools will +all start to shooting now!" + +Mary Hope stopped stubbornly. "I will not!" she defied him; and Lance +without more argument lifted her from the ground, stooped and tossed +her under the wagon, much as he would have heaved a bag of oats out of +the rain. + +"Don't you move until I tell you to," he commanded her harshly, and +ran back, diving into the thick of the crowd as though he were +charging into a football scrimmage. + +"Who was it called me back to fight? Put up your guns,--or keep them +if you like. It's all one to me!" + +In the dim light he saw the gleam of a weapon raised before him, +reached out and wrenched it away from the owner, and threw it far over +his shoulder into the weeds. "Who said a Lorrigan run? I want that +man!" + +"I said it," bellowed a whisky-flushed man whose face was strange to +him. "I said it, and I say it agin. I say--a Lorrigan!" + +He lifted his gun above the pressure of excited men and women. Lance +sprung upward and forward, landed on some one's foot, lunged again and +got a grip on the hand that held the gun. With his left hand he +wrenched the gun away. With his right he pulled the man free of the +crowd and out where there was room. The crowd--men, now, for the women +had fled shrieking--surged that way. + +"Stand back there! I'll settle with this fellow alone." He held the +other fast, his arms as merciless as the grip of a grizzly, and called +aloud: + +"This is a Lorrigan dance, and the Lorrigans are going to have order. +Those of you who brought chips on your shoulders, and whisky to soak +the chips in, can drink your whisky and do your fighting among +yourselves, off the Lorrigan ranch. We all came here to have fun. +There's music and room to dance, and plenty of chuck and plenty of +coffee, and the dance is going right on without any fuss whatever. + +"This poor boob here who thinks he wants to fight me just because I'm +a Lorrigan, I never saw before. It wouldn't be a fair fight, because +he's too drunk to do anything but make a fool of himself. There's +nothing to fight about, anyway. A fellow was carrying two cups of +boiling hot coffee, and he stubbed his toe, and some one got scalded a +little. That's nothing to break up a dance over. The rest of you heard +the noise and jumped at the conclusion there was trouble afoot. There +isn't. I think you all want to go on with the dance and have a good +time, except perhaps a few who are drunk. They are at liberty to go +off somewhere and beat each other up to their hearts' content. Come +on, now, folks--get your partners for a square dance--and _everybody +dance!_" + +His voice had held them listening. His words were not the words of a +coward, yet they were a plea for peace, they seemed reasonable even to +the half-drunken ones who had been the readiest to fight. The old-time +range slogan, "_Everybody dance!_" sent three or four hurrying to find +the girls they wanted. The trouble, it would appear, had ended as +suddenly as it had begun and for a moment the tension relaxed. + +The drunken one was still cursing, struggling unavailingly to tear +himself away from Lance so that he could land a blow. Lance, looking +out across the crowd, caught Belle's glance and nodded toward the +schoolhouse. Belle hurried away to find the musicians and set them +playing, and a few couples strayed after her. But there were men who +stayed, pushing, elbowing to see what would happen when Lance Lorrigan +loosened his hold on the Jumpoff man. + +Lance did not loosen his hold, however. He saw Tom, Al, three or four +Devil's Tooth men edging up, and sent them a warning shake of his +head. + +"Who knows this fellow? Where does he belong? I think his friends had +better take care of him until he sobers up." + +"We'll take care of him," said another stranger, easing up to Lance. +"He won't hurt yuh; he was only foolin', anyway. Bill Kennedy, he +always gits kinda happy when he's had one or two." + +There was laughter in the crowd. Two or three voices were heard +muttering together, and other laughs followed. Some one produced a +bottle and offered the pugnacious one a drink. Lance let him go with a +contemptuous laugh and went to where the Devil's Tooth men now stood +bunched close together, their backs to the chuck-wagon. + +"We'll have to clean up this crowd, before it's over," Al was saying +to his father. "Might as well start right in and git 'er over with." + +"And have it said the Lorrigans can't give a dance without having it +end in rough-house!" Lance interrupted. "Cut out the idea of fighting +that bunch. Keep them out of the house and away from the women, and +let them have their booze down in the grove. That's where I've seen a +lot of them heading. Come on, boys; it takes just as much nerve not to +fight as it does to kill off a dozen men. Isn't that right, dad?" + +"More," said Tom laconically. "No, boys, we don't want no trouble +here. Come on in and dance. That's yore job--to keep 'er moving +peaceable. I'll fire any man I ketch drinking Jumpoff booze. We've got +better at the ranch. Come on!" + +He led the way and his men followed him,--not as though they were +particularly anxious to avoid trouble, but more like men who are +trained to obey implicitly a leader who has some definite purpose and +refuses to be turned from it. Lance, walking a few steps in the rear, +wondered at the discipline his father seemed to maintain without any +apparent effort. + +"And they say the Lorrigans are a tough outfit!" he laughed, when he +had overtaken Tom. "Dad, you've got the bunch trained like soldiers. I +was more afraid our boys would rough things up than I was worried over +the stews." + +"Shucks! When we rough things up, it's when _we_ want it rough. Al, he +was kinda excited. But at that, we may have to hogtie a few of them +smart Alecks from town, before we can dance peaceable." + +Mary Hope, Lance discovered, was already in the schoolhouse. Also, +several of the intoxicated were there, and the quadrille was being +danced with so much zest that the whole building shook. That in itself +was not unusual--Black Rim dances usually did become rather boisterous +after supper--but just outside the door a bottle was being circulated +freely, and two or three men had started toward the cottonwood grove +for more. Duke, coming up to Lance where he stood in the doorway, +pulled him to one side, where they could not be overheard. + +"There's going to be trouble here, sure's you're knee-high to a duck. +Dad won't let our bunch light into 'em, but they'll be fighting +amongst themselves inside an hour. You better slip it to the women +that the dance breaks up early. Give 'em a few more waltzes and +two-steps, Lance, and then make it Home-Sweet-Home, if you don't want +to muss up your nice city clothes," he added, with a laugh that was +not altogether friendly. + +"Mussing up nice city clothes is my favorite pastime," Lance retorted, +and went inside again to see who was doing all the whooping. The chief +whooper, he discovered, was Bill Kennedy, the man whom he had very +nearly thrashed. Mary Hope was looking her Scotch primmest. Lance +measured the primness, saw that there was a vacant space beside her, +and made his precarious way toward it, circling the dancers who swung +close to the benches and trod upon the toes of the wall flowers in +their enthusiasm. He reached the vacant space and sat down just in +time to receive Bill Kennedy in his lap. But Bill was too happy just +then to observe whose lap he landed in, and bounced up with a +bellowing laugh to resume his gyrations. + +"Don't dance any more, girl," Lance said, leaning so that he could +make himself heard without shouting in the uproar. "It's getting +pretty wild--and it will be wilder. They must have hauled it out in +barrels!" + +Mary Hope looked at him, but she did not smile, did not answer. + +"I'm sorry the secret is no nicer," Lance went on. "Now the floor will +have to be scrubbed before a lady girl can come out and teach school +here. I thought it would be great to have a house-warming dance,--but +they're making it too blamed warm!" + +Some one slipped and fell, and immediately there was a struggling heap +where others had fallen over the first. There were shrieks of laughter +and an oath or two, an epithet and then a loud-flung threat. + +Lance started up, saw that Tom and Al were heading that way, and took +Mary Hope by the arm. + +"It's time little girls like you went home," he said smiling, and +somehow got her to the door without having her trampled upon. "Where +are your wraps?" + +"There," said Mary Hope dazedly, and pointed to the corner behind +them, where cloaks, hoods, hats and two sleeping children were piled +indiscriminately. + +Through the doorway men were crowding, two or three being pushed out +only to be pushed in again by others eager to join the mêlée. In the +rear of the room, near the musicians, two men were fighting. Lance, +giving one glance to the fight and another to the struggling mass in +the doorway, pushed up the window nearest them, lifted Mary Hope and +put her out on the side hill. He felt of a coat or two, chose the +heaviest, found something soft and furry like a cap, and followed her. +Behind the door no one seemed to look. A solid mass of backs was +turned toward him when he wriggled through on his stomach. + +"Where's your horse?" he asked Mary Hope, while he slipped the coat on +her and buttoned it. + +"It does seem to me that a Lorrigan is _always_ making me put on a +coat!" cried Mary Hope petulantly. "And now, this isn't mine at all!" + +"A non-essential detail. It's a coat, and that's all that matters. +Where is your horse?" + +"I haven't any horse here--oh, they're killing each other in there! +The Kennedys brought me--and he's that drunk, now--" + +"Good heck! Bill Kennedy! Well, come on. You couldn't go back with +them, that's sure. I'll take you home, girl." He was leading her by +the arm to the fence behind the house. "Wait, I'll lift a wire; can +you crawl under?" + +"Now, I've torn it! I heard it rip. And it isn't my coat at all," said +Mary Hope. "Oh, they're murdering one another! I should think you'd be +ashamed, having a dance like--" + +"Coats can be bought--and murdered men don't swear like that. I'll +have to borrow Belle's pintos, but we don't care, do we? Come on. Here +they are. Don't get in until I get them untied and turned around. And +when I say get in, you'd better make it in one jump. Are you game?" + +"No Lorrigan will ever cry shame on a Douglas for a coward! You must +be crazy, taking this awful team." + +"I am. I'm crazy to get you away from here before they start shooting, +back there." He spoke to the team gruffly and with a tone of authority +that held them quiet, wondering at his audacity perhaps. He untied +them, got the lines, stepped in and turned them around, the pintos +backing and cramping the buckboard, lunging a little but too surprised +to misbehave in their usual form. + +"Get in--and hang on. There's no road much--but we'll make it, all +right." + +Like the pintos, Mary Hope was too astonished to rebel. She got in. + +The team went plunging up the hill, snorting now and then, swerving +sharply away from rock or bush that threatened them with vague horrors +in the clear starlight. Behind them surged the clamor of many voices +shouting, the confused scuffling of feet, a revolver shot or two, and +threading the whole the shrill, upbraiding voice of a woman. + +"That's Mrs. Miller," Mary Hope volunteered jerkily. "She's the one +that was scalded." + +"It wasn't her tongue that was hurt," Lance observed, and barely saved +the buckboard from upsetting on a rock as Rosa and Subrosa shied +violently and simultaneously at a rabbit scuttling from a bush before +them. + +He swung the pintos to the right, jounced down into some sort of +trail, and let them go loping along at their usual pace. + +"Belle has her own ideas about horse-training," Lance chuckled, +steadying Subrosa with a twitch of the rein. "They'll hit this gait +all the way to your ranch." + +Mary Hope gave a gasp and caught him by the arm, shaking it a little +as if she were afraid that otherwise he would not listen to her. "Oh, +but I canna go home! I've a horse and my riding clothes in Jumpoff, +and I must go for them and come home properly on horseback to-morrow! +It's because of the lie I told my mother, so that I could come to the +dance with the Kennedys. Set me down here anywhere, Lance Lorrigan, +and let me walk until the Kennedys overtake me! They'll be coming +soon, now--as soon as Bill Kennedy gets licket sober. You can stop the +horses--surely you can stop them and let me out. But please, _please_ +do not take me home to-night, in this party dress--and a coat that +isna mine at all!" + +"I'm not taking you home, girl. I'm taking you to Jumpoff. And it +won't matter to you whether Bill Kennedy is licked sober or not. And +to-morrow I'll find out who owns the coat. I'll say I found it on the +road somewhere. Who's to prove I didn't? Or if you disapprove of lying +about it, I'll bring it back and leave it beside the road." + +"It's a lot of trouble I'm making for you," said Mary Hope quite +meekly, and let go his arm. "I should not have told the lie and gone +to the dance. And I canna wear my own coat home, because it's there +in the pile behind the door, and some one else will take it. So after +all it will be known that I lied, and you may as well take me home now +and let me face it." + +To this Lance made no reply. But when the pintos came rattling down +the hill to where the Douglas trail led away to the right, he did not +slow them, did not take the turn. + +Mary Hope looked anxiously toward home, away beyond the broken +skyline. A star hung big and bright on the point of a certain hill +that marked the Douglas ranch. While she watched it, the star slid out +of sight as if it were going down to warn Hugh Douglas that his +daughter had told a lie and had gone to a forbidden place to dance +with forbidden people, and was even now driving through the night with +one of the Lorrigans,--perchance the wickedest of all the wicked +Lorrigans, because he had been away beyond the Rim and had learned the +wickedness of the cities. + +She looked wistfully at the face of this wickedest of the Lorrigans, +his profile seen dimly in the starlight. He did not look wicked. Under +his hat brim she could see his brows, heavy and straight and lifted +whimsically at the inner points, as though he were thinking of +something amusing. His nose was fine and straight, too,--not at all +like a beak, though her father had always maintained that the +Lorrigans were but human vultures. His mouth,--there was something in +the look of his mouth that made her catch her breath; something +tender, something that vaguely disturbed her, made her feel that it +could be terribly stern if it were not so tender. He seemed to be +smiling--not with his mouth, exactly, but away inside of his mind--and +the smile showed just a little bit, at the corner of his lips. His +chin was the Lorrigan chin absolutely; a nice chin to look at, with a +little, long dimple down the middle. A chin that one would not want to +oppose, would not want to see when the man who owned it was very +angry. + +Mary Hope had gone just so far in her analysis when Lance turned his +head abruptly, unexpectedly, and looked full into her eyes. + +"Don't be afraid, girl. Don't worry about the lie--about anything. It +was a sweet little lie--it makes you just human and young and--sweet. +Let them scold you, and smile, 'way down deep in your heart, and be +glad you're human enough to tell a lie now and then. Because if you +hadn't, we wouldn't be driving all these miles together to save you a +little of the scolding. Be happy. Be just a little bit happy to-night, +won't you, girl--you lonely little girl--with the blue, blue eyes!" + +There it was again, that vibrant, caressing note in his voice. It was +there in his eyes while he looked at her, on his lips while he spoke +to her. But the next moment he looked ahead at the trail, spoke to +Rosa who had flung her head around to bite pettishly at Subrosa, who +snapped back at her. + +Mary Hope turned her face to the starlit rangeland. Again she breathed +quickly, fought back tears, fought the feeling that she had been +kissed. All through the silent ride that followed she fought the +feeling, knew that it was foolish, that Lance knew nothing whatever +about that look, that tone which so affected her. He did not speak +again. He sat beside her, and she felt that he was thinking about her, +felt that his heart was making love to her--hated herself fiercely for +the feeling, fought it and felt it just the same. + +"It's just a way he has with him!" she told herself bitterly, when he +swung the team up in front of the section house and helped her down. +"He'd have the same way with him if he spoke to a--a rabbit! He doesna +mean it--he doesna know and he doesna care!" + +"Thank you, Mr. Lorrigan. It was very kind of you to bring me." Her +voice was prim and very Scotch, and gave no hint of all she had been +thinking. + +"I'm always kind--to myself," laughed Lance, and lifted his hat and +drove away. + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +IN WHICH LANCE FINISHES ONE JOB + + +In the Traffic saloon, whither Lance had gone to find a fire and an +easy chair and something cheering to drink while he waited for the +pinto team to rest and eat, he found a sleepy bartender sprawled +before the stove, a black-and-white dog stretched flat on its side and +growling while it dreamed, and an all-pervading odor of alcoholic +beverages that appealed to him. + +"A highball would make me happy, right now," he announced cheerfully, +standing over the bartender, rubbing his fingers numbed from the keen +air and from holding in the pintos, to which a slackened pull on the +bits meant a tacit consent to a headlong run. + +"Been to the dance?" The bartender yawned widely and went to mix the +highball. "I been kinda waitin' up--but shucks! No tellin' when the +crowd'll git in--not if they drink all they took with 'em." + +"They were working hard to do just that when I left." Lance stood back +to the stove. Having left in a hurry, without his overcoat, he was +chilled to the bone, though the night had been mild for that time of +the year. He hoped that the girl had not been uncomfortable--and +yawned while the thought held him. He drank his highball, warmed +himself comfortably and then, with some one's fur overcoat for a +blanket, he disposed his big body on a near-by pool table, never +dreaming that Mary Hope Douglas was remembering his tone, his words, +his silence even; analyzing, weighing, wondering how much he had +meant, or how little,--wondering whether she really hated him, whether +she might justly call her ponderings by any name save curiosity. Such +is the way of women the world over. + +What Lance thought does not greatly matter. Such is the way of men +that their thoughts sooner or later crystallize into action. The +bartender would tell you that he went straight to sleep, with the fur +coat pulled up over his ears and his legs uncovered, his modishly-shod +feet extending beyond the end of the table. The bartender dozed in his +chair, thinking it not worth while to close up, because the dance +crowd might come straying in at any time with much noise and a great +thirst, to say nothing of the possibility of thirsty men coming on the +midnight freight that was always four or five hours late, and was now +much overdue. + +The freight arrived. Three men entered the saloon, drank whisky, +talked for a few minutes and departed. The bartender took a long, +heat-warped poker and attacked the red clinkers in the body of the +stove, threw in a bucket of fresh coal, used the poker with good +effect on the choked draft beneath, and went back to his chair and his +dozing. + +During the clamor of the fire-building Lance turned over, drawing up +his feet and straightway extending them again; making a sleepy, futile +clutch at the fur coat, that had slipped off his shoulders when he +turned. The bartender reached out and flung the coat up on Lance's +shoulders, and bit off a chew of tobacco and stowed it away in his +cheek. Presently he dozed again. + +Dawn seeped in through the windows. Lance, lying flat on his stomach +with his face on his folded arms, slept soundly. The unpainted +buildings across the street became visible in the gloomy, lifeless +gray of a sunless morning. With the breeze that swept a flurry of gray +dust and a torn newspaper down the street, came the rattle of a wagon, +the sound of voices mingled in raucous, incoherent wrangling. + +"They're comin'," yawned the bartender, glancing at the sleeper on the +pool table. "Better wake up; they're comin' pickled and fighty, +judgin' by the sound." + +Lance sighed, turned his face away from the light and slept on, +untroubled by the nearing tumult. + +Galloping horses came first, _ka-lup, ka-lup, ka-lup_, a sharp +staccato on the frosted earth. The rattle of the wagon ceased, +resumed, stopped outside the saloon. Other galloping horsemen came up +and stopped. The door was flung open violently, letting in men with +unfinished sentences hot on their tongues. + +"Next time a Lorrigan dance comes off--" + +"What I'd a done, woulda--" + +"Fix them damn Lorrigans!" + +Detached phrases, no one man troubling to find a listener, the words +came jumbled to the ears of Lance, who fancied himself in the +bunk-house at home, with the boys just in from a ride somewhere. He +was wriggling into a freshly uncomfortable posture on the table when +the fur coat was pulled off him, letting the daylight suddenly into +his eyes as his brain emerged from the fog of sleep. + +"And here's the--guy that run away from me!" Bill Kennedy jerked off +his hat and brought it down with a slap on Lance's face. "Run off to +town, by jiminy, and hid! Run--" + +Half asleep as he was--rather, just shocked awake--Lance heaved +himself off the table and landed one square blow on Bill Kennedy's +purple jaw. Bill staggered, caught himself and came back, arms up and +fists guarding his face. Lance disentangled his feet from the fur +coat, kicked it out of his way and struck again just as Kennedy was +slugging at him. + +At the bar the long line of men whirled, glasses in hand, to watch the +fight. But it did not last long. Kennedy was drunk, and Lance was not. +So presently Kennedy was crawling on his knees amongst some overturned +chairs, and Lance was facing the crowd, every inch of him itching to +fight. + +"Who was it said he was going to fix them damn Lorrigans?" he +demanded, coming at them warily. "I'm not packing a gun, but I'd like +to lick a few of you fellows that tried to rough-house the dance I +gave. Didn't cost you a cent; music, supper, everything furnished for +you folks to have a good time--and the way you had it was to wreck the +place like the rotten-souled hoodlums you are. Now, who is it wants to +fix the damn Lorrigans?" + +"Me, for one; what yuh go'n take my girl away from me for?" a flushed +youth cried, and flung the dregs of his whisky glass at Lance. There +was not more than a half teaspoon in the glass, but the intent was +plain enough. + +Lance walked up and knocked that young man staggering half across the +room, slapped with the flat of his hand another who leered at him, +whirled to meet some one who struck him a glancing blow on the ear, +and flung him after the first. + +"You're all of you drunk--it's a one-sided fight all the way through," +he cried, parrying a blow from Kennedy, who had gotten to his feet and +came at him again mouthing obscenity. "But I'll lick you, if you +insist." + +His coat had hampered him until it obligingly slit up the back. He +wriggled out of the two halves, tore off his cuffs, and went after the +crowd with his bare fists. Some one lifted a chair threateningly, and +Lance seized it and sent it crashing through a window. Some one else +threw a beer mug, but he ducked in time and broke a knuckle on the +front teeth of the thrower. He saw a gap in the teeth, saw the man +edge out of the fray spitting blood while he made for the door, and +felt that the blow was worth a broken knuckle. + +It was not a pretty fight. Such fights never are pretty. Lance himself +was not a pretty sight, when he had finished. There had been +shooting--but even in Jumpoff one hesitated to shoot down an unarmed +man, so that the bar fixtures suffered most. Lance came out of it with +a fragment of shirt hanging down his chest like a baby's bib, a cut +lip that bled all over his chin, a cheek skinned and swelling rapidly, +the bad knuckle and the full flavor of victory. + +The saloon looked as though cattle had been driven through it. Bill +Kennedy lay sprawled over a card table, whimpering inarticulately +because he had lost his gun at the dance. The flushed youth who had +rashly claimed Mary Hope as his girl was outside with a washbasin +trying to stop his nose from bleeding. Others were ministering to +their hurts as best they might, muttering the thoughts that they dared +not express aloud. + +Lance looked up from examination of his knuckle, caressed his cut lip +with the tip of his tongue, pulled the fragment of shirt down as far +as possible, gently rubbed his swelling cheek, and turned to the +bartender. + +"I never licked a man yet and sent him home thirsty," he said. "Set it +out for the boys--and give me another highball. Then if you'll lend me +a coat and a pair of gloves, I'll go home." + +Peace was ratified in whisky drunk solemnly. Lance paid, and turned to +go. One of the vanquished wabbled up to him and held out his hand to +shake. + +"You damn Lorrigans, you got us comin' and goin'," he complained, "but +shake, anyway. I'm Irish meself, and I know a rale fight when I see +it. What we didn't git at the dance before we left, by heavins you +give us when we got into town--so I'm one that's game to say it was a +fine dance and not a dull momint anywhere!" + +"That's something," Lance grinned wryly and wriggled into the fur +overcoat which the bartender generously lent him. He rejected the +gloves when he found that his hands were puffed and painful, and went +out to find breakfast. + +Over a thick white cup of dubious coffee and a plate of sticky +hot-cakes he meditated glumly on the general unappreciativeness of the +world in general, and of the Black Rim in particular. What had +happened at the schoolhouse he could only surmise, but from certain +fragmentary remarks he had overheard he guessed that the schoolhouse +probably had suffered as much as the saloon. Black Rim, it would seem, +was determined that the Lorrigans should go on living up to their +reputations, however peacefully inclined the Lorrigans might be. + +Two disquieting thoughts he took with him to the stable when he went +after the pinto team: Mary Hope would say that it was not a pleasant +surprise which he had given her at Cottonwood Spring. And Belle,--he +was not at all sure whether he was too big for Belle's quirt to find +the tender places on his legs, but he was very sure that the Irishman +spoke the truth. There would still be no dull moments for Lance when +he confronted the owner of that pinto team. + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +HE TACKLES ANOTHER + + +Much to the disgust of Rosa and Subrosa, their new driver turned them +from the main trail just as they were beginning to climb joyously the +first grade of Devil's Tooth Ridge. Rosa and Subrosa were subdued, +plainly resentful of their subjection, and fretting to be in their own +stalls. Belle they could and did bully to a certain extent. They loved +to fight things out with Belle, they never missed an opportunity for +"acting up"--yet this morning they had been afraid to do more than nag +at each other with bared teeth; afraid to lope when this big man said, +"Hey--settle down, there!" with a grating kind of calm that carried +with it a new and unknown menace. + +Some one had exuberantly fired the Whipple shack, and the pintos +wanted to whirl short around in their tracks when they saw the smoking +embers. They had wanted to bolt straight out across the rocky upland +and splinter the doubletree, and perhaps smash a wheel or two, and +then stand and kick gleefully at the wreck. If head-shakings and +flattened ears meant anything, Rosa and Subrosa were two disgruntled +pintos that morning. They had not dared do more than cut a small +half-circle out of the trail when they passed the blackened spot that +had been the Whipple shack. + +Now they turned down the rocky, half-formed trail to Cottonwood +Spring, reluctantly but with no more than a half-hearted kick from +Subrosa to register their disgust. And to that Lance gave no heed +whatever. He did not so much as twitch a rein or yell a threat. He +drove surely--with one hand mostly because of the broken knuckle, +which was painful in the extreme--ignoring the pintos for the most +part. + +He was meditating rather gloomily upon the innate cussedness of human +nature as it was developed in Black Rim Country. He was thinking of +Mary Hope--a little; of her eyes, that were so obstinately blue, so +antagonistically blue, and then, quite unexpectedly, so wistfully +blue; of her voice, that dropped quite as unexpectedly into pure +Scottish melody; of her primness, that sometimes was not prim at all, +but quaintly humorous, or wistfully shy. + +He was thinking more often of the dance that had started out so well +and had ended--Lord knew how, except that it ended in a fight. He +remembered striking, in that saloon, faces that had been pummeled +before ever he sent a jab their way. There had been eyes already +closed behind purple, puffy curtains of bruised flesh. He had fought +animosity that was none of his creating. + +Thinking of the fight, he thought of the wrecked saloon when the fight +was over. Thinking of the wrecked saloon led him to think of the +probable condition of the nice new schoolhouse. Thinking of that +brought him back to Mary Hope,--to her face as it looked when she rode +up to the place on Monday morning. Ride up to it she must, if she +meant to go on teaching, for there was no more Whipple shack. + +"Rotten bunch of rough-necks," he summed up the men of Black Rim and +of Jumpoff. "And they'll blame the Devil's Tooth outfit--they'll say +the Lorrigans did it. Oh, well--heck!" + +So he drove down into the hollow, tied the pintos to the post where +they stood the night before, crawled through the wire fence where Mary +Hope had left a small three-cornered fragment of the coat that "wasna" +hers at all, and went over to the schoolhouse, standing forlorn in the +trampled yard with broken sandwiches and bits of orange peel and empty +whisky flasks accentuating the unsightliness and disorder. + +The door swung half open. The floor was scored, grimy with dirt +tracked in on heedless feet and ground into the wax that had been +liberally scattered over it to make the boards smooth for dancing. A +window was broken,--by some one's elbow or by a pistol shot, Lance +guessed. The planks placed along the wall on boxes to form seats were +pulled askew, the stovepipe had been knocked down and lay disjointed +and battered in a corner. It was not, in Lance's opinion, a pleasant +little surprise for the girl with the Scotch blue eyes. + +He pulled the door shut, picked up the empty whisky flasks and threw +them, one after the other, as far as he could send them into a rocky +gulch where Mary Hope would not be likely to go. Then he recrossed the +enclosure, crawled through the fence, untied the pintos and drove +home. + +The bunk house emanated a pronounced odor of whisky and bad air, and +much snoring, just as Lance expected. The horses dozed in the corral +or tossed listlessly their trampled hay; the house was quiet, deserted +looking, with the doors all closed and the blinds down in the windows +of the room that had been the birthplace of Belle's three boys. + +Lance knew that every one would be asleep to-day. The Devil's Tooth +ranch had always slept through the day after a dance, with certain +yawning intermissions at mealtimes. + +He unhitched the pintos, turned them loose in the corral, caught his +own horse, which one of the boys must have led home, and tied it to a +post. From the chuck-wagon, standing just where Riley had driven it to +a vacant spot beside the woodpile, Lance purloined a can of pork and +beans, a loaf of bread, and some butter. These things he put in a +bag. + +For a minute he stood scowling at the silent house, undecided, +wondering just how soundly Belle was sleeping. He was not afraid of +Belle; no real Lorrigan was ever afraid of anything, as fear is +usually defined. But he wanted to postpone for a time her reckoning +with him. He wanted to face her when he had a free mind, when she had +slept well, when her temper was not so edgy. He wanted other things, +however, and he proceeded to get those things with the least effort +and delay. + +He wanted soft cloths. On the clothesline dangled three undershirts, +three pair of drawers and several mismated socks. The shirts and +drawers were of the kind known as fleece-lined--which means that they +are fuzzy on the inside. They were Riley's complete wardrobe so far as +underwear went, but Lance did not trouble himself with unimportant +details. He took them all, because he had a swift mental picture of +the schoolhouse floor which would need much scrubbing before it would +be clean. + +He was ready to mount and ride away when he remembered something else +that he would need. "Lye!" he muttered, and retraced his steps to the +house. Now he must go into the kitchen shed for what he wanted, and +Riley slept in a little room next the shed. But Riley was snoring +with a perfect rhythm that bespoke a body sunk deep in slumber, so +Lance searched until he found what he wanted, and added a full box of +a much-advertised washing powder for good measure. He was fairly well +burdened when he finally started up the trail again, but he believed +that he had everything that he would need, even a lump of putty, and a +pane of glass which he had carefully removed from a window of the +chicken house, and which he hoped would fit. + +You may think that he rode gladly upon his errand; that the thought of +Mary Hope turned the work before him into a labor of love. It did not. +Lance Lorrigan was the glummest young man in the whole Black Rim, and +there was much glumness amongst the Rim folk that day, let me tell +you. He ached from fighting, from dancing, from sleeping on the pool +table, from hanging for hours to those darned pintos. His left hand +was swollen, and pains from the knuckle streaked like hot wires to his +elbow and beyond. His lips were sore--so sore he could not even swear +with any comfort--and even the pulling together of his black eyebrows +hurt his puffed cheek. And he never had scrubbed a floor in his life, +and knew that he was going to hate the work even worse than he hated +the men who had made the scrubbing necessary. + +While he went up the Slide trail he wished that he had never thought +of giving a dance. He wished he had gone down to Los Angeles for his +Easter holiday, as one of his pals had implored him to do. He wished +Mary Hope would quit teaching school; what did she want to stay in the +Black Rim for, anyway? Why didn't she get out where she could amount +to something? + +If there were any caressing cadences in the voice of Lance Lorrigan, +any provocative tilt to his eyebrows, any tenderness in his smile, +anything enigmatical in his personality, none of these things were +apparent when he set the first bucket of water on the stove to heat. +He had added to his charms a broad streak of soot across his forehead +and a scratch on his neck, acquired while putting up the stovepipe. He +had set his lip to bleeding because he forgot that it was cut, and +drew it sharply between his teeth when the stovepipe fell apart just +when he was sure it was up to stay. He had invented two new +cuss-words. What he had not done was weaken in his determination to +make that small schoolhouse a pleasant surprise for Mary Hope. + +He did the work thoroughly, though a woman might have pointed out wet +corners and certain muddy splashes on the wall. He lost all count of +the buckets of water that he carried from the spring, and it occurred +to him that Mary Hope would need a new broom, for the one Belle had +provided was worn down to a one-sided wisp that reminded him of the +beard of a billy goat. He used two cans of condensed lye and all of +the washing powder, and sneezed himself too weak too swear over the +fine cloud of acrid dust that filled his nostrils when he sprinkled +the powder on the floor. But the floor was clean when he finished, and +so was the platform outside. + +Of Riley's underwear there was left the leg of one pair of drawers, +which Lance reserved for dusting the desks and the globe that had by +some miracle escaped. While the floor was drying he took out the +broken windowpane, discovered that the one from the chicken house was +too short, and cut his thumb while he chipped off a piece of glass +from the other to fill the space. He did not make a very good job of +it. To hold the glass in place, he used shingle nails, which he had to +hunt for on the ground where they had dropped from the roof during +shingling, and when they had been driven into the frame--with the +handle of the screwdriver--they showed very plainly from the inside. +Then the putty did not seem to want to stick anywhere, but kept +crumbling off in little lumps. So Lance threw the putty at a gopher +that was standing up nibbling one of Riley's sandwiches, and went +after the desks. + +These took some time to unwrap and carry into place. There were only +twelve, but Lance would have sworn before a jury that he carried at +least fifty single desks into the schoolhouse that afternoon, and +screwed them to the floor, and unscrewed them because the darned +things did not line up straight when viewed from the teacher's desk, +and he had a vivid impression that blue, blue eyes can be very +critical over such things as a crooked line of desks! + +Perhaps it was because his head ached splittingly and his injured hand +throbbed until it was practically useless; at any rate the cleaning of +the schoolhouse, especially the placing of the desks, became fixed +afterward in his memory as the biggest, the most disagreeable incident +in his whole vacation. + +At four-thirty however the task was accomplished. At the spring, Lance +scrubbed the water bucket clean, washed the dipper, placed them behind +the door. He got wearily into the borrowed fur coat, took a last +comprehensive survey of the room from the doorway, went back to erase +certain sentences scrawled on the blackboard by some would-be +humorist, took another look at the work of his aching hands, and went +away with the coffeepot in his hand and the screwdriver showing its +battered wooden handle from the top of his pocket. He was too tired to +feel any glow of accomplishment, any great joy in the thought of Mary +Hope's pleasure. He was not even sure that she would feel any +pleasure. + +His chief emotion was a gloomy satisfaction in knowing that the place +was once more presentable, that it was ready for Mary Hope to hang up +her hat and ring her little bell and start right in teaching. That +what the Lorrigans had set out to do, the Lorrigans had done. + +At the ranch he found Riley at the bunk house wrangling with the boys +over his lost wardrobe. In Riley's opinion it was a darned poor idea +of a darned poor joke, and it took a darned poor man to perpetrate it. +Lance's arrival scarcely interrupted the jangle of voices. The boys +had bruises of their own to nurse, and they had scant sympathy for +Riley, and they told him so. + +Lance went into the house. He supposed he would have to replace +Riley's clothes, which he did, very matter-of-factly and without any +comment whatever, restitution being in this case a mere matter of +sorting out three suits of his own underwear, which were much better +than Riley's, and placing them on the cook's bed. + +"That you, Lance? Where in the world have you been all this while? I +came mighty near going gunning after the man that stole my team, let +me tell you--and I would have, if Tom hadn't found your horse tied up +to the fence and guessed you'd gone to take Mary Hope home. But I must +say, honey, you never followed any short cut!" + +This was much easier than Lance had expected, so he made shift to +laugh, though it hurt his lip cruelly. "Had to take her to Jumpoff, +Belle. Then I had to clean up that crowd of toughs that--" + +"You cleaned up Tom's leavin's, then!" Belle made grim comment through +Lance's closed door. "I didn't think there was enough left of 'em to +lick, by the time our boys got through. Haven't you been to bed yet, +for heaven's sake!" + +"I'm going to bed," mumbled Lance, "when I've had a bath and a meal. +And to-morrow, Belle, I think I'll hit the trail for 'Frisco. Hope you +don't mind if I leave a few days early. I've got to stop off anyway to +see a fellow in Reno I promised--any hot water handy?" + +There was a perceptible pause before Belle answered, and then it was +not about the bath water. She would not have been Belle Lorrigan +if she had permitted a quiver in her voice, yet it made Lance +thoughtful. + +"Honey, I don't blame you for going. I expect we are awful rough--and +you'd notice it, coming from civilized folks. But--you know, don't +you, that the Lorrigans never spoiled your party for you? It--it just +happened that the Jumpoff crowd brought whisky out from town. We +_tried_ to make it pleasant--and it won't happen again--" + +"Bless your heart!" Clad with superb simplicity in a bathrobe, Lance +appeared unexpectedly and gathered her into his arms. "If you think +I'm getting so darn civilized I can't stay at home, take a look at me! +By heck, Belle, I'll bet there isn't a man in the whole Black Rim that +got as much fun out of that scrap as I did! But I've got to _go_." He +patted her reassuringly on the head, laid his good cheek against hers +for a minute and turned abruptly away into his own room. He closed the +door and stood absent-mindedly feeling his swollen hand. "I've got to +go," he repeated under his breath. "I might get foolish if I stayed. +Darned if I'll make a fool of myself over any girl!" + + + + +CHAPTER SIXTEEN + +ABOUT A PIANO + + +In the lazy hour just after a satisfying dinner, Lance stood leaning +over an end of the piano, watching Belle while she played--he listened +and smoked a cigarette and looked as though he hadn't a thing on his +mind. + +"I remember you used to sing that a lot for the little Douglas girl," +he observed idly. "She used to sit and look at you--my word, but her +eyes were the bluest, the lonesomest eyes I ever saw! She seemed to +think you were next to angels when you sang. I saw it in her face, but +I was too much of a kid then to know what it was." He lighted a fresh +cigarette, placed it between Belle's lips so that she need not stop +playing while she smoked, and laughed as if he were remembering +something funny. + +"She always looked so horrified when she saw you smoking," he said. +"And so adoring when you sang, and so lonesome when she had to ride +away. She was a queer kid--and she's just as unexpected now--just as +Scotch. Didn't you find her that way, dad?" + +"She was Scotch enough," Tom mumbled from his chair by the fire. +"Humpin' hyenas! She was like handlin' a wildcat!" + +"The poor kid never did have a chance to be human," said Belle, and +ceased playing for a moment. "Good heavens, how she did enjoy the two +hours I gave her at the piano! She's got the makings of a musician, if +she could keep at it." + +"We-ell--" Having artfully led Belle to this point, Lance quite as +artfully edged away from it. "You gave her all the chance you could. +And she ought to be able to go on, if she wants to. I suppose old +Scotty's human enough to get her something to play on." + +"Him? _Human!_" Tom shifted in his chair. "If pianos could breed and +increase into a herd, and he could ship a carload every fall, Scotty +might spend a few dollars on one." + +"It's a darned shame," Belle exclaimed, dropping her fingers to the +keys again. "Mary Hope just _starves_ for everything that makes life +worth living. And that old devil--" + +"Say--don't make me feel like a great, overgrown money-hog," Lance +protested. "A girl starving for music, because she hasn't a piano to +play on. And a piano costs, say, three or four hundred dollars. Of +course, we've got the money to buy one--I suppose I could dig up the +price myself. I was thinking I'd stake our schoolhouse to a library. +That's something it really needs. But a piano--I wish you hadn't said +anything about starving. I know I'd hate to go hungry for music, +but--" + +"Well, humpin' hyenas! I'll buy the girl a piano. I guess it won't +break the outfit to pay out a few more dollars, now we've started. +We're outlaws, anyway--might as well add one more crime to the list. +Only, it don't go to the Douglas shack--it goes into the schoolhouse. +Lance, you go ahead and pick out some books and ship 'em on to the +ranch, and I'll see they get over there. Long as we've started fixin' +up a school, we may as well finish the job up right. By Henry, I'll +show the Black Rim that there ain't anything small about the +Lorrigans, anyway!" + +"Dad, I think you're showin' yourself a real sport," Lance laughed. +"We-ell, if you're game to buy a piano, I'm game to buy books. We +staked Black Rim to a school, so we'll do the job right. And by the +way, Belle, if you're going to get me to Jumpoff in time for that +evening train, don't you think it's about time you started?" + +That is how it happened that Mary Hope walked into the schoolhouse one +Monday and found a very shiny new piano standing across one corner of +the room where the light was best. On the top was a pile of music. In +another corner of the room stood a bookcase and fifty volumes; she +counted them in her prim, frugal way that she had learned from her +mother. They were books evidently approved by some Board of Education +for school libraries, and did not interest her very much. Not when a +piano stood in the other corner. + +She was early, so she opened it and ran her fingers over the keys. She +knew well enough who had brought it there, and her mouth was pressed +into a straight line, her eyes were troubled. + +The Lorrigans--always the Lorrigans! Why did they do these things when +no one expected goodness or generosity from them? Why had they built +the schoolhouse--and then given a dance where every one got drunk and +the whole thing ended in a fight? Every one said it was the Lorrigans +who had brought the whisky. Some one told her they had a five-gallon +keg of it in the shed behind the schoolhouse, and she thought it must +be true, the way all the men had acted. And why had they burned the +Whipple shack and all the school books, so that she could not have +school until more books were bought?--an expense which the Swedes, at +least, could ill afford. + +Why had Lance taken her to Jumpoff, away from the fighting, and then +gone straight to the saloon and gotten so drunk that he fought every +one in town before he left in the morning? Why had he never come near +her again? And now that he was back in California, why did he ignore +her completely, and never send so much as a picture postal to show +that he gave her a thought now and then? + +Mary Hope would not play the piano that day. She was more stern than +usual with her pupils, and would not so much as answer them when they +asked her where the piano and all the books had come from. Which was a +foolish thing to do, since the four Boyle children were keen enough to +guess, and sure to carry the news home, and to embellish the truth in +true range-gossip style. + +Mary Hope fully decided that she would have the piano hauled back to +the Lorrigans. Later, she was distressed because she could think of no +one who would take the time or the trouble to perform the duty, and a +piano she had to admit is not a thing you can tie behind the cantle of +your saddle, or carry under your arm. The books were a different +matter. They were for the school. But the piano--well, the piano was +for Mary Hope Douglas, and Mary Hope Douglas did not mean to be +patronized in this manner by Lance Lorrigan or any of his kin. + +But she was a music-hungry little soul, and that night after she was +sure that the children had ridden up over the basin's brim and were +out of hearing, Mary Hope sat down and began to play. When she began +to play she began to cry, though she was hardly conscious of her +tears. She seemed to hear Lance Lorrigan again, saying, "Don't be +lonely, you girl. Take the little pleasant things that come--" She +wondered, in a whispery, heart-achey way, if he had meant the piano +when he said that. If he had meant--just a piano, and a lot of books +for school! + +The next thing that she realized was that the light was growing dim, +and that her throat was aching, and that she was playing over and over +a lovesong that had the refrain: + + "Come back to me, sweetheart, and love me as before-- + Come back to me, sweetheart, and leave me nevermore!" + +Which was perfectly imbecile, a song she had always hated because of +its sickly sentimentality. She had no sweetheart, and having none, she +certainly did not want him back. But she admitted that there was a +certain melodious swing to the tune, and that her fingers had probably +strayed into the rhythm of it while she was thinking of something +totally different. + +The next day she played a little at noontime for the children, and +when school was over she played for two hours. And the next day after +that slipped away--she really had meant to ride over to the AJ, or +send a note by the children, asking Jim Boyle if he could please +remove the piano and saying that she felt it was too expensive a gift +for the school to accept from the Lorrigans. + +On the third day she really did send a prim little note to Jim Boyle, +and she received a laconic reply, wholly characteristic of the Black +Rim's attitude toward the Devil's Tooth outfit. + + "Take all you can git and git all you can without going to jale. + That's what the Lorrigans are doing, Yrs truly, + + "J. A. Boyle." + +It was useless to ask her father. She had known that all along. When +Alexander Douglas slipped the collars up on the necks of his horses, +he must see where money would be gained from the labor. And there was +no money for the Douglas pocket in hauling a piano down the Devil's +Tooth Ridge. + +But the whole Black Rim was talking about it. Mary Hope felt sure that +they were saying ill-natured things behind her back. Never did she +meet man or woman but the piano was mentioned. Sometimes she was +asked, with meaning smiles, how she had come to stand in so well with +the Devil's Tooth. She knew that they were all gossiping of how Lance +Lorrigan had taken her home from the dance, with Belle Lorrigan's +bronco team. She had been obliged to return a torn coat to Mrs. +Miller, and to receive her own and a long lecture on the wisdom of +choosing one's company with some care. She had been obliged to beg +Mrs. Miller not to mention the matter to her parents, and the word had +gone round, and had reached Mother Douglas--and you can imagine how +pleasant that made home for Mary Hope. + +Because she was lonely, and no one seemed willing to take it away, she +kept the piano. She played it, and while she played she wept because +the Rim folk simply would not understand how little she wanted the +Lorrigans to do things for her. And then, one day, she hit upon a plan +of redeeming herself, for regaining the self-respect she felt was +slipping from her with every day that the piano stood in the +schoolhouse. + +She would give a series of dances--they would be orderly, well-behaved +dances, with no refreshments stronger than coffee and lemonade!--and +she would sell tickets, and invite every one she knew, and beg them to +come and help to pay for the school piano. + +Even her mother approved that plan, though she did not approve dances. +"But the folk are that sinfu' they canna bide wi' any pleasure save +the hoppin' aboot wi' their arms around the waist of a woman," she +sighed. "A church social wad be far more tae my liking, Hope--if we +had only a church!" + +"Well, since there isn't any church, and people won't go to anything +but a dance, I shall have to get the money with dances," Mary Hope +replied with some asperity. The subject was beginning to wear her +nerves. "Pay for it I shall, if it takes all my teacher's salary for +five years! I wish the Lorrigans had minded their own business. I've +heard nothing but piano ever since it came there. I hate the +Lorrigans! Sometimes I almost hate the piano." + +"Ye shud hae thought on all that before ye accepit a ride home wi' +young Lance, wi' a coat ye didna own on your back, and disobedience in +your heart. 'Tis the worst of them a' ye chose to escort ye, Hope, and +if he thought he could safely presume to gi' ye a present like yon +piano, ye hae but yersel' tae blame for it." + +"He didn't give it!" cried Mary Hope, her eyes ablaze with resentment. +"He wasna here when it came. I havena heard from him and I dinna want +to hear from him. It was Belle Lorrigan gave the piano, as I've said a +million times. And I shall pay for it--" + +"Not from your ain pocket will ye pay. Ye can give the dance--and if +ye make it the Fourth of July, with a picnic in the grove, and a dance +in the schoolhouse afterwards, 'tis possible Jeanie may come up from +Pocatello wi' friends--and twa dollars wad no be too much to ask for a +day and a night of entertainment." + +"Well, mother! When you do--" Mary Hope bit her tongue upon the +remainder of the sentence. She had very nearly told her mother that +when she did choose to be human she had a great head for business. + +It was a fine, practical idea, and Mary Hope went energetically about +its development. She consulted Mrs. Kennedy. Mrs. Kennedy also had +friends in Pocatello, and she obligingly gave the names of them all. +She strongly advised written invitations, with a ticket enclosed and +the price marked plainly. She said it was a crying shame the way the +Lorrigans had conducted their dance, and that Mary Hope ought to be +very careful and not include any of that rough bunch in this dance. + +"Look how that young devil, Lance Lorrigan, abused my Bill, right +before everybody!" she cited, shifting her youngest child, who was +teething, to her hip that she might gesticulate more freely. "And look +how they all piled into our crowd and beat 'em up! Great way to +do--give a dance and then beat up the folks that come to it! And look +at what Lance done right here in town--as if it wasn't enough, what +they done out there! Bill's got a crick in his back yet, where Lance +knocked him over the edge of a card table. You pay 'em for the piano, +Hope; I'll help yuh scare up a crowd. But don't you have none of the +Lorrigans, or there'll be trouble sure!" + +Mary Hope flushed. "I could hardly ask the Lorrigans to come and help +pay for their own present," she pointed out in her prim tone. "I had +never intended to ask the Lorrigans." + +"Well, maybe not. But if you did ask them, I know lots of folks that +wouldn't go a step--and my Bill's one," said Mrs. Kennedy. + +So much depends upon one's point of view. Black Rim gossip, which +persisted in linking Mary Hope's name with Lance Lorrigan, grinned +among themselves while they mentioned the piano, the schoolhouse, and +the library as evidence of Lance's being "stuck on her." The Boyle +children had frequently tattled to Mary Hope what they heard at home. +Lance had done it all because he was in love with her. + +Denial did not mend matters, even if Mary Hope's pride had not +rebelled against protesting that the gossip was not true. Lance +Lorrigan was not in love with her. Over and over she told herself so, +fiercely and with much attention to evidence which she considered +convincing. Only twice she had seen him in the two weeks of his visit. +Once he had come to mend the lock his father had broken, and he had +taken her home from the dance because of the fighting. Never had he +made love to her.... Here she would draw a long breath and wonder a +little, and afterwards shake her head and say to herself that he +thought no more of her than of Jennie Miller. He--he just had a way +with him. + +Mary Hope's point of view was, I think, justifiable. Leaving out the +intolerable implication that Lance had showered benefits upon her, she +felt that the Lorrigans had been over-generous. The schoolhouse and +the books might be accepted as a public-spirited effort to do their +part. But the piano, since it had not been returned, must be paid for. +And it seemed to Mary Hope that the Lorrigans themselves would deeply +resent being invited to a dance openly given for the purpose of +raising money to repay them. It would never do; she could not ask them +to come. + +Moreover, if the Lorrigans came there would be trouble, whether there +was whisky or not. At the house-warming dance the Lorrigans had +practically cleaned out the crowd and sent them home long before +daylight. There had been no serious shooting--the Lorrigans had fought +with their fists and had somehow held the crowd back from the +danger-line of gun-play. But Mary Hope feared there would be a killing +the next time that the Jumpoff crowd and the Lorrigans came together. + +She tried to be just, but she had heard only one side of the +affair,--which was not the Lorrigan side. Whispers had long been going +round among the Black Rim folk; sinister whispers that had to do with +cattle and horses that had disappeared mysteriously from the Rim +range. Mary Hope could not help hearing the whispers, could not help +wondering if underneath them there was a basis of truth. Her father +still believed, in spite of Tom's exoneration, that his spotty +yearling had gone down the gullets of Devil's Tooth men. She did not +know, but it seemed to her that where every one hinted at the same +thing, there must be some truth in their hints. + +All of which proves, I think, that Mary Hope's point of view was the +only one that she could logically hold, living as she did in the camp +of the enemy; having, as she had, a delicate sense of propriety, and +wanting above all things to do nothing crude and common. As she saw +it, she simply could _not_ ask any of the Lorrigans to her picnic and +dance on the Fourth of July. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVENTEEN + +THE LORRIGAN VIEWPOINT + + +I have said that much depends upon one's point of view. Mary Hope's +viewpoint was not shared by the Devil's Tooth. They had one of their +own, and to them it seemed perfectly logical, absolutely justifiable. + +They heard all about the Fourth of July picnic and dance, to be held +at Cottonwood Spring and in the schoolhouse of their own building. +Immediately they remembered that Cottonwood Spring was on Lorrigan +land, that Lorrigan money had paid for the material that went into the +schoolhouse, that Lorrigan labor had built it, Lorrigan generosity had +given it over to the public as represented by Mary Hope Douglas and +the children who came to her to be taught. In their minds loomed the +fact that Lorrigan money had bought books for the school, and that Tom +Lorrigan himself had paid close to four hundred dollars for the +piano. + +They heard that invitations were being sent broadcast, that a crowd +was coming from Pocatello, from Lava, from Jumpoff--invited to come +and spend a day and night in merry-making. Yet no invitation came to +the Devil's Tooth ranch, not a word was said to them by Mary Hope, not +a hint that they were expected, or would be welcome. + +Belle met Mary Hope in the trail one day, just a week before the +Fourth. Mary Hope was riding home from school; Belle was driving out +from Jumpoff. It is the custom of the outland places for acquaintances +to stop for a bit of friendly conversation when they meet, since +meetings are so far between. But, though Belle slowed the pintos to a +walk, Mary Hope only nodded, said, "How do you do," and rode on. + +"She looked guilty," Belle reported wrathfully to Tom and the boys at +the supper table. "Guilty as sin. She seemed to be afraid I was going +to ask her if I couldn't come to her dance. The little fool! Does she +think for a minute I'd _go?_ She hasn't so much as thanked you for +that piano, Tom. She hasn't said one word." + +"Well, I didn't put my name and _ad_-dress on it," Tom palliated the +ingratitude while he buttered a hot biscuit generously. "And there +wasn't any name on the books to show who bought 'em. Maybe she +thinks--" + +"I don't care what she thinks! It's the way she acts that counts. +Everybody in Jumpoff has got invitations to her picnic and dance. They +say it's to pay us for the piano--and they think she's doing some +wonderful stunt. And we're left out in the cold!" + +"We never was in where it was right warm, since I can remember," said +Al. "Except when we made it warm ourselves." + +"Sam Pretty Cow was saying yesterday--" and Duke repeated a bit of +gossip that had a gibe at the Lorrigans for its point. "He got it over +to Hitchcocks. It come from the Douglases. I guess Mary Hope don't +want nothing of us--except what she can get out of us. We been a good +thing, all right--easy marks." + +Duke had done the least for her and therefore felt qualified to say +the most. His last sentence did its work. Tom pulled his eyebrows +together, drew his lip between his teeth and leaned back in his chair, +thinking deeply, his eyes glittering between his half-closed lids. + +"Easy marks, ay?" he snorted. "The Lorrigans have been called plenty +of things, fur back as I can remember, but by the humpin' hyenas, they +never was called easy marks before!" + +That was Tom's last comment on the subject. Belle, not liking the look +on his face, because she knew quite well what it portended, passed him +two kinds of preserves and changed the subject. Al and Duke presently +left for the bunk house. Mary Hope's party and her evident intention +to slight the Lorrigans was not mentioned again for days. + +But Tom's wrath was smoldering. He was not hasty. He waited. He +himself met Mary Hope in the trail one day, lifted his hat to her +without a word and rode on. Mary Hope let him go with a chilly nod and +a murmured greeting which was no more than an empty form. Certainly +she did not read Tom's mind, did not dream that he was thinking of the +piano,--and from an angle that had never once presented itself to +her. + +So, now that you see how both were justified in their opinions, as +formed from different points of view, let me tell you what happened. + +Mary Hope had her picnic, with never a thunderstorm to mar the day. +Which is unusual, since a picnic nearly always gets itself rained +upon. She had sent out more than a hundred invitations--tickets two +dollars, please--and there were more who invited themselves and had to +be supplied with tickets cut hastily out of pasteboard boxes that had +held sandwiches. + +Mary Hope was jubilant. Mother Douglas, as official hostess, moved +here and there among the women who fussed over the baskets and +placated with broken pieces of cake their persistent offspring. Mother +Douglas actually smiled, though her face plainly showed that it was +quite unaccustomed to the expression, and tilted the smile downward at +the corners. Mother Douglas was a good woman, but she had had little +in her life to bring smiles, and her habitual expression was one of +mournful endurance. + +It was sultry, and toward evening the mosquitoes swarmed out of the +lush grass around the spring and set the horses stamping and moving +about uneasily. But it was a very successful picnic, with all the +chatter, all the gourmandizing, all the gossip, all the childish +romping in starched white frocks, all the innocuous pastimes that one +expects to find at picnics. + +Mary Hope wondered how in the world they were all going to find room +inside the schoolhouse to dance. She had been frugal in the matter of +music, dreading to spend any money in hiring professional musicians, +lest she might not have enough people to justify the expense. Now she +wished nervously that she had done as Lance Lorrigan had done, and +brought musicians from Lava. Of course, there had been no piano when +Lance gave his party, which was different. She herself meant to play, +and Art Miller had brought his fiddle, and Jennie had volunteered to +"chord" with him. But, Mary Hope felt much nervous apprehension lest +these Pocatello and Lava people should think it was just Scotch +stinginess on her part. + +Late in the afternoon a few of the ranchers rode hastily homeward to +"do the chores," but the Lava and Pocatello crowd remained, and began +to drift up to the schoolhouse and drum on the piano that was actually +going to pay for itself and free Mary Hope's pride from its burden. + +By sundown a dozen energetic couples were waltzing while a +Pocatello dentist with a stiff, sandy pompadour chewed gum and played +loudly, with much arm movement and very little rhythm; so very +little rhythm that the shuffling feet frequently ceased shuffling, +and expostulations rose high above his thunderous chords. + +By dusk the overworked ranch women had fed the last hungry mouth and +put away the fragments of home-baked cakes and thick sandwiches, and +were forming a solid line of light shirtwaists and dark skirts along +the wall. The dance was really beginning. + +As before, groups of men stood around outside and smoked and slapped +at mosquitoes--except that at Lance's party there had been no +mosquitoes to slap--and talked in undertones the gossip of the ranges. +If now and then the name of Lorrigan was mentioned, there was no +Lorrigan present to hear. At intervals the "floor manager" would come +to the door and call out numbers: "Number one, and up to and including +sixteen, git your pardners fer a two-step!" Whereupon certain men +would pinch out the glow of their cigarettes and grind the stubs into +the sod under their heels, and go in to find partners. With that +crowd, not all could dance at once; Mary Hope remembered pridefully +that there had been no dancing by numbers at the party Lance Lorrigan +gave. + +What a terrible dance that had been! A regular rowdy affair. And this +crowd, big as it was, had as yet shown no disposition to rowdyism. It +surely did make a difference, thought Mary Hope, what kind of people +sponsored an entertainment. With the Devil's Tooth outfit as the +leaders, who could expect anything but trouble? + +Then she caught herself thinking, with a vague heaviness in her heart, +how Lance had taken her away from that other dance; of that long, +wonderful, silent ride through the starlight; how careful he had been +of her--how tender! But it was only the way he had with him, she later +reminded herself impatiently, and smiled over her shoulder at the +whirling couples who danced to the music she made; and thought of the +money that made her purse heavy as lead, the money that would wipe out +her debt to the Lorrigans,--to Lance, if it really were Lance who had +bought the piano. + +A faint sound came to her through the open window, the rattle of a +wagon coming down the hill in the dark. More people were coming to the +dance, which meant more money to give to the Lorrigans. Mary Hope +smiled again and played faster; so fast that more than one young man +shook his head at her as he circled past, and puffed ostentatiously, +laughing at the pace she set. She had a wild vision of other dances +which she would give--Labor Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New +Year's--and pay the Lorrigans for everything they had done; for the +books, for the schoolhouse, everything. She felt that then, and then +only, could she face Lance Lorrigan level-eyed, cool, calm, feeling +herself a match for him. + +The rattle of the wagon sounded nearer, circled the yard, came in at +the gate. Mary Hope was giving the dancers the fastest two-step she +could play, and she laughed aloud. More people were coming to the +dance, and there might not be coffee and sandwiches enough at +midnight,--she had over three hundred dollars already. + +The dancers whirled past, parted to right and left, stopped all at +once. Mary Hope, still playing, looked over her shoulder--into the +dark, impenetrable gaze of Tom Lorrigan, standing there in his working +clothes, with his big, black Stetson on his head and his six-shooter +in its holster on his hip. Behind him Mary Hope saw Al and Duke and +Belle, and behind them other Devil's Tooth men, cowboys whom she only +knew slightly from meeting them sometimes in the trail as she rode to +and from school. The cowboys seemed to be facing the other way, +holding back the crowd near the door. + +Mary Hope looked again into Tom's face, looked at Belle. Her fingers +strayed uncertainly over the keys, making discords. She half rose, +then sat down again. The room, all at once, seemed very still. + +"I'm sorry to disturb yuh," Tom said, touching his hat brim and +lifting his eyebrows at her, half smiling with his lips pulled to one +side, like Lance--oh, maddeningly like Lance!--"but I've come after +the piano." + +Mary Hope gasped. Her arms went out instinctively across the keyboard, +as if she would protect the instrument from his defaming touch. + +"I'll have to ask yuh to move," said Tom. "Sorry to disturb yuh." + +"I--I'm going to pay for it," said Mary Hope, finding her voice faint +and husky. She had an odd sensation that this was a nightmare. She had +dreamed so often of the dance and of the Lorrigans. + +"I paid for it long ago. I bought the piano--I've come after it." + +Mary Hope slid off the stool, stood facing him, her eyes very blue. +After all, he was not Lance. "You can't have it!" she said. "I won't +let you take it. I'm raising money to pay you for it, and I intend to +keep it." She reached for her purse, but Tom restrained her with a +gesture. + +"It ain't for sale," he said, with that hateful smile that always made +her wonder just what lay behind it. "I own it, and I ain't thinking of +selling. Here's the shipping bill and the guarantee and all; I brought +'em along to show you, in case you got curious about whose piano it +is. You see the number on the bill--86945. You'll find it tallies with +the number in the case, if you want to look. Pete, Ed, John, take it +and load it in the wagon." + +"Well, now, see here! This is an outrage! How much is the darn thing +worth, anyway? This crowd is not going to stand by and see a raw deal +like this pulled off." It was the Pocatello dentist, and he was very +much excited. + +"You saw a raw deal, and stood for it, when you saw the Lorrigans +cold-shouldered out of the dance," Belle flashed at him. "We've stood +for a lot, but this went a little beyond our limit." + +"We're not going to stand for anything like this, you know!" Another +man--also from Lava--shouldered his way up to them. + +"Git outa the way, or you'll git tromped on!" cried Pete over his +shoulder as he backed, embracing the piano and groping for handholds. + +The Lava man gripped Pete, trying to pull him away. Pete kicked back +viciously with a spurred heel. The Lava man yelled and retreated, +limping. + +Just how it happened, no two men or women afterward agreed in the +telling. But somehow the merrymakers, who were merry no longer, went +back and back until they were packed solidly at the sides and near +the door, a few squeezing through it when they were lucky enough to +find room. Behind them came four of the Devil's Tooth men with +six-shooters, looking the crowd coldly in the eyes. Behind these came +the piano, propelled by those whom Tom had named with the tone of +authority. + +The crowd squeezed closer against the wall as the piano went past +them. There was not so much noise and confusion as one would expect. +Then, at the last, slim, overworked, round-shouldered Mother Douglas, +who had done little save pray and weep and work and scold all her +life, walked up and slapped Belle full on the cheek. + +"Ye painted Jezebel!" she cried, her eyes burning. "Long have I wanted +to smack ye for your wickedness and the brazen ways of ye--ye painted +Jezebel!" + +Blind, dazed with anger, Belle struck back. + +"Don't you touch my mother! Shame on you! Shame on you all! I didna +ask you for your favors, for any gifts--and you gave them and then you +come and take them--" This was the voice of Mary Hope, shrill with +rage. + +"You gave a dance in a house built for you by the Lorrigans, on +Lorrigan land, and you danced to the music of a Lorrigan piano--and +the Lorrigans were not good enough to be asked to come! Get outa my +way, Hope Douglas--and take your mother with you. Call _me_ a painted +Jezebel, will she?" + +The piano was outside, being loaded into the wagon, where Riley sat on +the seat, chewing tobacco grimly and expectorating copiously, without +regard for those who came close. Outside there was also much clamor of +voices. A lantern held high by a Devil's Tooth man who had a gun in +the other, lighted the platform and the wagon beside it. + +At the last, Tom Lorrigan himself went back after the stool, and the +room silenced so that his footsteps sounded loud on the empty floor. +He looked at Mary Hope, looked at her mother, looked at the huddled, +whispering women, the gaping children. He swung out of his course and +slipped one arm around Belle and so led her outside, the stool +swinging by one leg in the other hand. + +"A painted Jezebel!" Belle said under her breath when they were +outside the ring of light. "My God, Tom, think of that!" + +Mary Hope had never in her life suffered such humiliation. It seemed +to her that she stood disgraced before the whole world, that there was +no spot wherein she might hide her shame. Her mother was weeping +hysterically because she had been "slappit by the painted Jezebel" and +because Aleck was not there to avenge her. The Pocatello and Lava +crowd seemed on the point of leaving, and were talking very fast in +undertones that made Mary Hope feel that they were talking about her. +The rattle of the Lorrigan wagon hauling the piano away, the click of +the horses' feet as the Devil's Tooth riders convoyed the instrument, +made her wince, and want to put her palms over her ears to shut out +the sound of it. + +But she was Scotch, and a Douglas. There was no weak fiber that would +let her slump before this emergency. She went back to the little +platform, stood beside the desk that held the globe and the +dictionary and a can of flowers, and rapped loudly with the ruler from +the Pocatello hardware store. By degrees the room ceased buzzing with +excited talk, the shuffling feet stood still. + +"I am very sorry," said Mary Hope clearly, "that your pleasure +has--has been interrupted. It seems there has been a misunderstanding +about the piano. I thought that I could buy it for the school, and for +that reason I gave this dance. But it seems--that--I'm terribly sorry +the dance has been spoiled for you, and if the gentlemen who bought +tickets will please step this way, I will return your money." + +She had to clench her teeth to keep her lips from trembling. Her hands +shook so that she could scarcely open her handbag. But her purpose +never faltered, her eyes were blue and sparkling when she looked out +over the crowd. She waited. Feet scuffled the bare floor, voices +whispered, but no man came toward her. + +"I want to return your money," she said sharply, "because without the +piano I suppose you will not want to dance, and--" + +"Aw, the dickens!" cried a big, good-natured cowpuncher with a +sun-peeled nose and twinkly gray eyes. "I guess we all have danced +plenty without no piano music. There's mouth harps in this crowd, and +there's a fiddle. Git yore pardners for a square dance!" And under his +breath, to his immediate masculine neighbors he added: "To hell with +the Lorrigans and their piano!" + +Mary Hope could have hugged that cowpuncher who hastily seized her +hand and swung her into place as the first couple in the first set. + +When the three sets were formed he called the dance figures in a +sonorous tone that swept out through the open windows and reached the +ears of the Lorrigans as they rode away. + + "_Honor_ yore pardner--and the lady on your _left!_ + _Join_ eight hands, an' a-circle to the _left!_ + Break an _Indian_ trail home in the Indian _style_, with the + lady in the _lead!_ + Swing the lady _behind_ you once in a while!-- + The lady _behind_ you once in a while!-- + _Now_ your pardner, and go hog _wild!_" + +The fiddle and two mouth harps were scarcely heard above the rhythmic +stamping of feet, the loud chant of the caller, who swung Mary Hope +clear of the floor whenever he put his arm around her. + + "A--_second_ couple out, and a-cir-cle _four!_ + _Lay_-dees do ce _do!_ + _You_ swing me, an' I'll swing _you_-- + And _we'll_ all dance in the same ole _shoe!_ + + "_Same_ four on to the _next!_--dance the ocean _wave!_ + The _same_ ole boys, the _same_ ole trail, + _Watch_ that possum walk the _rail!_ + _Cir_-cle six, and a-do ce _do!_ + Swing, _every_ one swing, and a--promenade _home!_" + +"_Who_ wants a piano? Couldn't hear it if yuh' had it!" he cried, +while the twelve couples paused breathless. Then he wiped his face +frankly and thoroughly with his handkerchief, caught Mary Hope's hand +in his, lifted his voice again in his contagious sing-song: + + "_Cir_-cle eight, till you get straight! + _Swing_ them ladies, like swingin' on a _gate!_ + _Left_ foot up, and-a-right foot _down_-- + _Make_ that big foot jar the _ground!_ + Prom-e-_nade!_ + _Swing_ yore corner, if you ain't too _slow!_ + _Now_ yore pardner, and around you _go!_ + For the--_last_ time--and a-_long_ time-- + _You_ know where, and a-I don't _care!_" + +The dance was saved by the big cowpuncher with the peeling nose and +the twinkly gray eyes. Mary Hope had never seen him before that day, +but whenever she looked at him a lump came in her throat, a warm rush +of sheer gratitude thrilled her. She did not learn his name--two or +three men called him Burt, but he seemed to be a stranger in the +country. Burt saved her dance and kept things moving until the sky +was streaked with red and birds were twittering outside in the +cottonwoods. + +She wanted to thank him, to tell him a little of her gratitude. But +when she went to look for him afterwards he was gone, and no one +seemed to know just where he belonged. Which was strange, when you +consider that in the Black Rim country every one knows everybody. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHTEEN + +PEDDLED RUMORS + + +In the smoking compartment of a Pullman car that rocked westward from +Pocatello two days after the Fourth, Lance sprawled his big body on a +long seat, his head joggling against the dusty window, his mind +sleepily recalling, round by round, a certain prize fight that had +held him in Reno over the Fourth and had cost him some money and much +disgust. The clicking of the car trucks directly underneath, the +whirring of the electric fan over his head, the reek of tobacco smoke +seemed to him to last for hours, seemed likely to go on forever. Above +it all, rising stridently now and then in a disagreeable monotone, the +harsh, faintly snarling voice of a man on the opposite seat blended +unpleasantly with his dozing discomfort. For a long time the man had +been talking, and Lance had been aware of a grating quality of the +voice, that yet seemed humorous in its utterances, since his two +listeners laughed frequently and made brief, profane comment that +encouraged the talker to go on. Finally, as he slowly returned from +the hazy borderland of slumber, Lance became indifferently aware of +the man's words. + +From under the peak of his plaid traveling cap Lance lifted his +eyelids the length of his black lashes, measured the men with a +half-minute survey and closed his eyes again. The face matched the +voice. A harsh face, with bold blue eyes, black eyebrows that met over +his nose, a mouth slightly prominent, hard and tilted downward at the +corners. Over the harshness like a veil was spread a sardonic kind of +humor that gave attraction to the man's personality. In the monotone +of his voice was threaded a certain dry wit that gave point to his +observations. He was an automobile salesman, it appeared, and his +headquarters were in Ogden, and he was going through to Shoshone on +business connected with a delayed shipment of cars. But he was +talking, when Lance first awoke to his monologue, of the sagebrush +country through which the fast mail was reeling drunkenly, making up +time that had been lost because of a washout that had held the train +for an hour while two section crews sweated over a broken culvert. + +"--And by gosh! the funniest thing I ever saw happened right up here +in a stretch of country they call the Black Rim. If I was a story +writer, I sure would write it up. Talk about the West being +tame!--why, I can take you right now, within a few hours' ride, to +where men ride with guns on 'em just as much as they wear their pants. +Only reason they ain't all killed off, I reckon, is because they +_all_ pack guns. + +"Hard-boiled? Say, there's a bunch up there that's never been curried +below the knees--and never will be. They pulled off a stunt the Fourth +that I'll bet ain't ever been duplicated anywhere on earth, and never +will be. I was in Pocatello, and I went on up with the crowd from +there, and got in on the show. And sa-ay, it was some show! + +"They've got a feud up there that's rock-bottomed as any feud you ever +heard of in Kentucky. It's been going on for years, and it'll keep +going on till the old folks all die off or move away--or land in the +pen. Hasn't been a killing in there for years, but that's because +they're all so damn tough they know if one starts shooting it'll +spread like a prairie fire through dry grass. + +"There's an outfit in there--the Devil's Tooth outfit. Far back as the +country was settled--well, they say the first Lorrigan went up in +there to get away from the draft in the Civil War, and headed a gang +of outlaws that shot and hung more white men and Injuns than any +outfit in the State--and that's going some. + +"They were killers from the first draw. Other settlers went in, and +had to knuckle under. The Devil's Tooth gang had the Black Rim in its +fist. Father to son--they handed down the disposition--I could tell +yuh from here to Boise yarns about that outfit. + +"Now, of course, things have tamed down. As I say, there hasn't been a +Devil's Tooth killing for years. But it's there, you know--it's in the +blood. It's all under the surface. They're a good-hearted bunch, but +it'll take about four generations to live down the reputation they've +got, if they all turned Methodist preachers. And," the grating voice +paused for a minute, so that one caught the full significance of his +hint, "if all yuh hear is true, religion ain't struck the Devil's +Tooth yet. It ain't my business to peddle rumors, and the time's past +when you can hang a man on suspicion--but if you read about the +Devil's Tooth outfit some time in the paper, remember I said it's +brewing. The present Tom Lorrigan ain't spending _all_ his time +driving his cows to water. He was hauled up a few years ago, on a +charge of rustling. An old Scotchman had him arrested. Tom was +cleared--he had the best lawyer in the West--brought him from Boise, +where they need good lawyers!--and got off clear. And since then he's +been laying low. That's the one mistake he's made, in my opinion. He +never did a damn thing, never tried to kill the Scotchman, never acted +up at all. And when you think of the breed of cats he is you'll see +yourself that the Black Rim is setting on a volcano. + +"Tom Lorrigan has got more men working for him than any outfit in that +country. He runs his own round-up and won't have a rep--that's a +representative--from any other outfit in his camp. His own men haze +outside stock off his range. He's getting rich. He ships more cattle, +more horses than anybody in the country. He don't have any truck with +any of his neighbors, and his men don't. They're outside men, mostly. +There ain't a thing anybody can swear to--there ain't a thing said out +loud about the Devil's Tooth. But it's hinted and it's whispered. + +"So all this preamble prepares you for the funniest thing I ever saw +pulled. But I guess I'm about the only one who saw how funny it was. I +know the Black Rim don't seem to see the joke, and I know the Devil's +Tooth don't. + +"You see, it's so big and neighbors are so far apart that there ain't +any school district, and a few kids were getting school age, and no +place to send 'em. So a couple of families got together and hired the +daughter of this old Scotchman to teach school. I ain't calling her by +name--she's a nice kid, and a nervy kid, and I can see where she +thought she was doing the right thing. + +"Well, she taught in a tumble-down little shack for a while, and one +day this Tom Lorrigan come along, and saw how the girl and the kids +were sitting there half froze, and he hazed 'em all home. Broke up the +school. Being a Lorrigan, all he'd have to do would be to tell 'em to +git--but it made a little stir, all right. The schoolma'am, she went +right back the next morning and started in again. Like shooing a +setting hen off her nest, it was. + +"Well, next thing they knew, the Devil's Tooth had built a schoolhouse +and said nothing about it. Tom's a big-hearted cuss--I know +Tom--tried to sell him a car, last fall. Darn near made it stick, too. +I figured that Tom Lorrigan was maybe ashamed of busting up the +school and making talk, so he put up a regular schoolhouse. Then one +of his boys had been away to college--only one of the outfit that +ever went beyond the Rim, as far as I know--and he gave a dance; a +regular house-warming. + +"Well, I wasn't at that dance. I wish I had been. They packed in +whisky by the barrel. Everybody got drunk, and everybody got to +fighting. This young rooster from college licked a dozen or so, and +then took the schoolma'am and drove clear to Jumpoff with her, and +licked everybody in town before he left. Sa-ay, it musta been some +dance, all right! + +"Then--here comes the funny part. Everybody was all stirred up over +the Lorrigans' dance, and right in the middle of the powwow, blest if +the Lorrigans didn't buy a brand new piano and haul it to the +schoolhouse. They say it was the college youth, that was stuck on the +schoolma'am. Well, everybody out that way got to talking and +gossiping--you know how it goes--until the schoolma'am, just to settle +the talk, goes and gives a dance to raise money to pay for the piano. +She's all right--I don't think for a minute she's anything but +_right_--and it might have been old Tom himself that bought the piano. +Anyway, she went and sent invitations all around, two dollars per +invite, and got a big crowd. Had a picnic in the grove, and everything +was lovely. + +"But sa-ay! She forgot to invite the Lorrigans! Everybody in the +country there, except the Devil's Tooth outfit. I figure that she was +afraid they might rough things up a little--and maybe she didn't like +to ask them to pay for something they'd already paid for--but anyway, +just when the dance was going good, here came the whole Devil's Tooth +outfit with a four-horse team, and I'm darned if they didn't walk +right in there, in the middle of a dance, take the piano stool right +out from under the schoolma'am, and haul the piano home! They--" + +A loud guffaw from his friends halted the narrative there. Before the +teller of the tale went on, Lance pulled his cap down over his eyes, +got up and walked out and stood on the platform. + +"They hauled the piano _home!_" He scowled out at the reeling line of +telegraph posts. "They--hauled--that piano--home!" + +He lighted a cigar, took two puffs and threw the thing out over the +rail. "She didn't ask the Lorrigans--to her party. And dad--" + +He whirled and went back into the smoking compartment. He wanted to +hear more. The seat he had occupied was still empty and he settled +into it, his cap pulled over his eyes, a magazine before his face. The +others paid no attention. The harsh-voiced man was still talking. + +"Well, they can't go on forever. They're bound to slip up, soon or +late. And now, of course, there's a line-up against them. It's in the +blood and I don't reckon they can change--but the country's changing. +I know of one man that's in there now, working in the dark, trying to +get the goods--but of course, it's not my business to peddle that kind +of stuff. I was tickled about the piano, though. The schoolma'am was +game. She offered to give us back our two dollars per, but of course +nobody was piker enough to take her up on it. We went ahead and had +the dance with harmonicas and a fiddle, and made out all right. Looks +to me like the schoolma'am's all to the good. She's got the dance +money--" + +It was of no use. Lance found he could not listen to that man talking +about Mary Hope. To strike the man on his fish-like, hard-lipped mouth +would only make matters worse, so he once more left the compartment +and stood in the open doorway of the vestibule just beyond. The train, +slowing to a stop at a tank station, jarred to a standstill. In the +compartment behind him the man's voice sounded loud and raucous now +that the mechanical noises had ceased. + +"Well, I never knew it to fail--what's in the blood will come out. +They've lived there for three generations now. They're killers, +thieves at heart--human birds of prey, and it don't matter if it is +all under the surface. I say it's _there_." + +At that moment, Lance had the hunger to kill, to stop forever the +harsh voice that talked on and on of the Lorrigans and their ingrained +badness. He stepped outside, slamming the door shut behind him. The +voice, fainter now, could still be heard. He swung down to the +cinders, stood there staring ahead at the long train, counting the +cars, watching the fireman run with his oil can and climb into the +engine cab. He could no longer hear the voice, but he felt that he +must forget it or go back and kill the man who owned it. + +In the car ahead a little girl leaned out of the window, her curls +whipping across her face. Jubilantly she waved her hand at him, +shrilled a sweet, "Hello-oh. Where _you_ goin'? I'm goin' to my +grandma's house!" + +The rigor left Lance's jaw. He smiled, showing his teeth, saw that a +brakeman was down inspecting a hot box on the forward truck of that +car, and walked along to the window where the little girl leaned and +waited, waving two sticky hands at him to hurry. + +"Hello, baby. I know a grandma that's going to be mighty happy, before +long," he said, standing just under the window and looking up at her. + +"D'you know my gran'ma? S'e lives in a green house an' s'e's got +five--hundred baby kittens for me to see! An' I'm goin' to bring one +home wis me--but I _do'no_ which one. D'you like yellow kittens, or +litty gray kittens, or black ones?" + +Gravely Lance studied the matter, his eyebrows pulled together, his +mouth wearing the expression which had disturbed Mary Hope when he +came to mend the lock on her door. + +"I'd take--now, if your grandma has one that's all spotted, you might +take that, couldn't you? Then some days you'd love the yellow spots, +and some days you'd love the black spots, and some days--" + +"Ooh! And I could call it _all_ the nice names I want to call it!" The +little girl pressed her hands together rapturously. "When my kitty's +got its yellow-spotty day, I'll call him Goldy, and when--" + +The engine bell clanged warning, the wheels began slowly to turn. + +"Ooh! You'll get left and have to walk!" cried the little girl, in +big-eyed alarm. + +"All right, baby--you take the spotted one!" Lance called over his +shoulder as he ran. He was smiling when he swung up the steps. No +longer did he feel that he must kill the harsh-voiced man. + +He went forward to his own section, sat down and stared out of the +window. As the memory of the little girl faded he drifted into +gloomily reviewing the things he had heard said of his family. Were +they really pariahs among their kind? Outlawed because of the blood +that flowed in their veins? + +Away in the back of his mind, pushed there because the thought was not +pleasant, and because thinking could not make it pleasant, had been +the knowledge that he was returning to a life with which he no longer +seemed to be quite in tune. Two weeks had served to show him that he +had somehow drifted away from his father and Duke and Al, that he had +somehow come to look at life differently. He did not believe in the +harsh man's theory of their outlawry; yet he felt a reluctance toward +meeting again their silent measurement of himself, their intangible +aloofness. + +The harsh-voiced man had dragged it all to the surface, roughly +sketching for the delectation of his friends the very things which +Lance had been deliberately covering from his own eyes. He had done +more. He had told things that made Lance wince. To humiliate Mary Hope +before the whole Black Rim, as they had done, to take away the piano +which he had wanted her to have--for that Lance could have throttled +his dad. It was like Tom to do it. Lance could not doubt that he had +done it. He could picture the whole wretchedly cheap retaliation for +the slight which Mary Hope had given them, and the picture tormented +him, made him writhe mentally. But he could picture also Mary Hope's +prim disapproval of them all, her deliberate omission of the Lorrigans +from her list of invited guests, and toward that picture he felt a +keen resentment. + +The whole thing maddened him. The more, because he was in a sense +responsible for it all. Just because he had not wanted that lonely +look to cloud the blue eyes of her, just because he had not wanted her +to be unhappy in her isolation, he had somehow brought to the surface +all those boorish qualities which he had begun to hate in his family. + +"Cheap--cheap as dirt!" he gritted once, and he included them all in +the denunciation. + +Furiously he wished that he had gone straight home, had not stopped in +Reno for the fight. But on the heels of that he knew that he would +have made the trouble worse, had he been at the Devil's Tooth on the +day of the Fourth. He would have quarreled with Tom, but there was +scant hope that he could have prevented the piano-moving. Tom +Lorrigan, as Lance had plenty of memories to testify, was not the man +whom one could prevent from doing what he set out to do. + +At a little junction Lance changed to the branch line, still dwelling +fiercely upon his heritage, upon the lawless environment in which that +heritage of violence had flourished. He was in the mood to live up to +the Lorrigan reputation when he swung off the train at Jumpoff, but no +man crossed his trail. + +So Lance carried with him the full measure of his rage against Mary +Hope and the Devil's Tooth, when he rode out of Jumpoff on a +lean-flanked black horse that rolled a wicked eye back at the rider +and carried his head high, looking for trouble along the trail. + + + + +CHAPTER NINETEEN + +MARY HOPE HAS MUCH TROUBLE + +Mary Hope, still taking her own point of view, had troubles in plenty +to bear. In her own way she was quite as furious as was Lance, felt +quite as injured as did the Devil's Tooth outfit, had all the +humiliation of knowing that the Black Rim talked of nothing but her +quarrel with the Lorrigans, and in addition had certain domestic +worries of her own. + +Her mother harped continually on the piano quarrel and the indignity +of having been "slappit" by the painted Jezebel. But that was not what +worried Mary Hope most, for she was long accustomed to her mother's +habit of dwelling tearfully on some particular wrong that had been +done her. Mary Hope was worried over her father. + +On the day of the Fourth he had stayed at home, tinkering up his +machinery, making ready for haying that was soon to occupy all his +waking hours,--and they would be as many as daylight would give him. +He had been doing something to an old mower that should have gone to +the junk heap long ago, and with the rusty sickle he had managed to +cut his hand very deeply, just under the ball of the thumb. He had not +taken the trouble to cleanse the cut thoroughly, but had wrapped his +handkerchief around the hand and gone glumly on with his work. Now, on +the third day, Mary Hope had become frightened at the discoloration of +the wound and the way in which his arm was swelling, and had begged +him to let her drive him to Jumpoff where he could take the train to +Lava and a doctor. As might be expected, he had refused to do anything +of the kind. He would not spend the time, and he would not spend the +money, and he thought that a poultice would draw out the swelling well +enough. Mary Hope had no faith in poultices, and she was on the point +of riding to Jumpoff and telegraphing for a doctor when her father +cannily read her mind and forbade her so sternly that she quailed +before him. + +There was another thing, which she must do. She must take the money +she had gotten from the dance and with it pay Tom Lorrigan for the +schoolhouse, or stop the school altogether. Jim Boyle, when she had +ridden over to the AJ to tell him, had said that she could do as she +pleased about paying for the schoolhouse; but if she refused to teach +his kids, he would get some one else who would. Jim Boyle seemed to +feel no compunctions whatever about accepting favors from the Devil's +Tooth. As to Sederson, the Swede, he was working for Boyle, and did +what his boss said. So the matter was flung back upon Mary Hope for +adjustment according to the dictates of her pride or conscience, call +it which you will. + +Her mother advised her to keep the money and buy another piano. But +Mary Hope declared that she would not use the schoolhouse while it was +a Lorrigan gift; whereupon Mother Douglas yielded the point grudgingly +and told her to send Hugh, the gawky youth, to the Devil's Tooth with +the three hundred dollars and a note saying what the money was for. +But her father would not permit Hugh to go, reiterating feverishly +that he needed Hugh on the ranch. And with the pain racking him and +making his temper something fearful to face, Mary Hope dared not argue +with him. + +So she herself set out with her money and her hurt pride and +all her troubles, to pay the Devil's Tooth outfit for the +schoolhouse--approximately, since she had only a vague idea of +the cost of the building--and then be quit of the Lorrigan +patronage forever. + +It happened that she found Tom at home and evidently in a temper not +much milder than her father's. Two of the Devil's Tooth men were at +the stable door when she rode up, and to them Tom was talking in a +voice that sent shivers over Mary Hope when she heard it. Not loud and +declamatory, like her father's, but with a certain implacable calm +that was harder to face than stormy vituperation. + +But she faced it, now that she was there and Tom had been warned of +her coming by Coaley, who pointed his ears forward inquiringly when +she neared the stable. The two cowpunchers gave Tom slanting glances +and left, muttering under their breaths to each other as they led +their sweaty horses into a farther corral. + +Tom lifted his hand to his hat brim in mute recognition of her +presence, gave her a swift inquiring look and turned Coaley into the +stable with the saddle on. Mary Hope took one deep breath and, +fumbling at a heavy little bag tied beside the fork of her saddle, +plunged straight into her subject. + +"I've brought the money I raised at the dance, Mr. Lorrigan," she +said. "Since you refused to take it for the piano, I have brought it +to pay you for the schoolhouse--with Mr. Boyle's approval. I have +three hundred and twelve dollars. If that is not enough, I will pay +you the balance later." She felt secretly rather well satisfied with +the speech, which went even better than her rehearsals of it on the +way over. + +Then, having untied the bag, she looked up, and her satisfaction +slumped abruptly into perturbation. Tom was leaning back against the +corral rails, with his arms folded--and just _why_ must he lift his +eyebrows and smile like Lance? She was going to hand him the bag, but +her fingers bungled and she dropped it in the six-inch dust of the +trail. + +Tom unfolded his arms, moved forward a pace, picked up the bag and +offered it to her. "You've got the buying fever, looks like to me," he +observed coldly. "I haven't got any schoolhouse to sell." + +"But you have! You built it, and--" + +"I did build a shack up on the hill, awhile back," Tom admitted in the +same deliberate tone, "but I turned it over to Jim Boyle and the Swede +and whoever else wanted to send their kids there to school." Since +Mary Hope refused to put out her hand for the bag, Tom began very +calmly to retie it on her saddle. But she struck his hand away. + +"I shall not take the money. I shall pay for the schoolhouse, Mr. +Lorrigan. Unless I can pay for it I shall never teach school there +another day!" Her voice shook with nervous tension. One did not +lightly and unthinkingly measure wills with Tom Lorrigan. + +"That's your business, whether you teach school or not," said Tom, +holding the bag as though he still meant to tie it on the saddle. + +"But if I don't they will hire another teacher, and that will drive me +away from home to earn money--" Mary Hope had not in the least +intended to say that, which might be interpreted as a bid for +sympathy. + +"Well, Belle, she says no strange woman can use that schoolhouse. +They might not find anything to teach school in, if they tried that." + +"You've got to keep that money." Mary Hope turned the Roman-nosed +horse half away, meaning to leave Tom there with the money in his +hand. + +Tom reached calmly out and caught the horse by the bridle. + +"I want to tell you something," he drawled, in the voice which she had +heard when she came up. "I haven't _'got'_ to do anything. But I tell +you what I _will_ do. If you don't take this money back and go ahead +with your school-teaching as if nothing had happened, I'll burn that +schoolhouse to the last chip in the yard. And this money I'll take and +throw down that crevice under the Tooth, up there. The money won't do +nobody any good, and the schoolhouse won't be nothing at all but a +black spot. You can suit yourself--it's up to you." + +Mary Hope looked at him, opened her lips to defy him, and instead gave +a small sob. Her Scotch blood chilled at the threat of such wanton +destruction of property and money, but it was not that which made her +afraid at that moment of Tom Lorrigan,--held her silent, glaring +impotently. + +She trembled while he tied the money to the saddle fork again, using a +knot she had never seen tied before. She wanted to tell him how much +she hated him, how much she hated the whole Lorrigan family, how she +would die before she ever entered the door of that schoolhouse again +unless it was paid for and she could be free of obligation to him. + +But when his head was bent, hiding all of his face but the chin, she +had a wild fleeting notion that he was Lance, and that he would lift +his head and smile at her. Yet when he lifted his head he was just Tom +Lorrigan, with a hardness in his face which Lance did not have, and a +glint in his eye that told her his will was inexorable, that he would +do exactly what he said he would do, and perhaps more, if she opposed +him. + +Without a word she turned back, crushed under the sense of defeat. +Useless destruction of property and money did not seem to mean +anything at all to a Lorrigan, but to her the thought was horrible. +She could not endure the thought of what he would do if she refused to +use the schoolhouse. Much less could she endure the thought of +entering the place again while it remained a Lorrigan gift. + +Blindly fighting an hysterical impulse to cry aloud like a child over +her hurt, she reined Jamie into the shortcut trail of the Slide. +Coming down she had followed the wagon road, partly because the longer +trail postponed a dreaded meeting, and partly because Jamie, being +uncertain in his temper and inclined to panicky spells when things did +not go just right with him, could not safely be trusted on the Slide +trail, which was strange to him. + +Until she reached the narrow place along the shale side hill she did +not realize what trail she was taking. Then, because she could not +leave the trail and take the road without retracing her steps almost +to the stable, she went on, giving Jamie an impatient kick with her +heel and sending him snorting over the treacherous stuff in a high +canter. + +"Go on and break your neck and mine too, if ye like," she sobbed. "Ye +needn't think I'll give an inch to _you;_ it's bad enough." When +Jamie, still snorting, still reckless with his feet, somehow managed +to pass over the boulder-strewn stretch without breaking a leg, Mary +Hope choked back the obstreperous lump in her throat and spoke again +in a quiet fury of resentment. "Burn it he may if he likes; I shall +_not_ put my foot again inside a house of the Lorrigans!" + +Whereat Jamie threw up his head, shied at a white rock on the steep +slope beneath, loped through the sagebrush where the trail was almost +level, scrambled up a steep, deep-worn bit of trail, turned the sharp +corner of the switch-back and entered that rift in the cap-rock known +as the Slide. + +Mary Hope had traveled that trail many times on Rab, a few years ago. +She had always entered the Slide with a little thrill along her spine, +knowing it for a place where Adventure might meet her face to +face--where Danger lurked and might one day spring out at her. To-day +she thought nothing about it until Jamie squatted and tried to whirl +back. Then she looked up and saw Adventure, Danger and Lance Lorrigan +just ahead, where the Slide was steepest. + +Lance pulled up his hired horse, his thoughts coming back with a jerk +him dazed and sick for a second or two, and before the skipper could get +around the little table Robertson had swung out of the door. A clamor +broke out, and men ran aft along the deck as he headed for the rail; but +as he laid his hands on it Jimmy reeled out of the room beneath the +bridge with the blood trickling down his face. The engineer swung +himself over, and Jimmy, who shook off the skipper's grasp, sped aft +with uneven strides and leaped from the taffrail. + +The cold of that icy water steadied him when he came up again, and he +saw that the stream of tide was carrying the other man down toward the +_Shasta_ and strained every muscle to come up with him. It was, however, +five or six minutes before he did it, and when Robertson grappled with +him they both went under. Jimmy waited, knowing that they must come up +again, and when that happened there was a splash of oars close by. Then +he struck with all his strength at a livid face, and just as he felt +himself being drawn down once more an oar grazed his head and a hand +grabbed his shoulder. + +"Lay hold of him!" he gasped, and the boat swayed down level with the +water while he and Robertson were dragged on board. + +"Keep still!" said somebody, who struck the latter hard with the pommel +of an oar. + +Then Jimmy scrambled to his feet with the water draining from him. "Back +to the _Adelaide_," he said, "as fast as you can." + +It was, however, half an hour later when Robertson was once more thrust +into the skipper's room, and collapsed, with all the fight gone out of +him, on a settee. He seemed to have fallen to pieces physically, but it +was evident that his mind was clear, though there was now only abject +fear in his eyes. + +"Well," he said, "what do you want from me?" + +Jimmy still felt a trifle dazed, and his head was throbbing painfully, +but he roused himself with an effort. + +"I'll tell you in a minute; but first of all I should like you to +realize how you stand," he said. "The _Oleander_ is a British ship, +Vancouver is a Canadian town, and if I put the police on to the two men +I mentioned they will have a tolerably clear case against you. You +needn't expect anything from Merril; he will certainly go back on you." + +Robertson's face grew vindictive. "He held the thing over me, but we +never meant to kill the man. He tried to knife one of us, and, anyway, +it was his heart that made an end of him. We didn't know until afterward +that it was wrong. But go on." + +"Well," said Jimmy dryly, "I'm not going to make a bargain with you, but +at the same time I'm not quite sure how far it's my duty to work the +case up for the police. In the meanwhile, I want a plain written +statement as to your connection with Merril." + +The man made a sign of acquiescence, though there was malice in his +eyes. "I can get even with him, anyway, and it's a sure thing he'd have +sent me up out of the way if he could. Get me some paper." + +Jimmy turned to the skipper. "Call one of the prospectors. We want an +outsider to hear the thing." + +A miner was led in, and Robertson, who had been handed pen and paper, +commenced to write. The skipper read aloud what he had written, and all +of them signed it. Then Jimmy put the document into his pocket, and two +seamen led the engineer to his room. Early next morning, when the breeze +had fallen, a steward roused the skipper. + +"I took in Mr. Robertson's coffee, but his room was empty," he said. + +The skipper was on deck in a few minutes, but there was nothing to show +what had become of the engineer. The _Adelaide_ had, however, now swung +with her stern somewhat near the shore, and a man who had kept anchor +watch remembered having seen a big Siwash canoe slipping out to sea a +few hours earlier. + +"There was a man in her who didn't look quite like an Indian," he said. + +"Well," said the skipper dryly, "if he's drowned it won't matter. +Anyway, I'm not going to worry." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +AN EYE FOR AN EYE + + +The _Shasta_ lay safely tied up to a buoy in Vancouver Inlet, and a +quartermaster stood at her gangway with instructions to see that no +stranger got on board, when Jimmy sat talking to his sister and Jordan +in the room beneath her bridge. It was an hour since she had steamed in, +and except for an occasional clinking in her engine-room, where Fleming +was still busy, there was silence on board her, though the scream of +saws and the rattle of freight-car wheels came off faintly across the +still water. The two ports were open wide, but none of those who sat in +the little room noticed that the light was fading. Jordan and Eleanor +were listening with close attention while Jimmy concisely related how he +had fallen in with and towed Merril's steamer. At last he broke off with +an abrupt movement when a splash of oars grew louder. + +"Another boat!" he said. "We'll have every curious loafer in the city +pulling off by and by." + +Then the voice of the quartermaster reached them as he answered somebody +who called to him from the approaching boat. + +"No," he said, "you can't see Captain Wheelock--he's busy. Keep her off +that ladder." + +There was evidently another question asked, and the man answered +impatiently: "I can't tell you anything about the _Adelaide_ 'cept that +she's coming along under easy steam. Should be here in a day or two." + +Jordan glanced at Jimmy. "The men you brought down are talking already, +and we haven't much time for fixing our program. When do you expect +her?" + +"I don't exactly know. We came away before she did when the breeze fell, +but her second engineer seemed quite confident he could bring her along +at seven or eight knots. He wasn't sure whether his high-pressure engine +would stand anything more." + +Then it was significant that both of them looked at Eleanor, who had +insisted on coming with Jordan, and who was apparently waiting to take +her part in the discussion. One could have fancied from their faces that +they would have preferred to be alone just then and were a trifle uneasy +concerning the course their companion might think fit to pursue. She +leaned back in her chair watching them, with a little hard smile which +seemed to suggest that she knew what they were thinking. Still, she said +nothing, and Jordan spoke again. + +"You are sure of the _Adelaide_'s skipper and that miner fellow?" he +asked. "They wouldn't go back on you if Merril tried to buy them off?" + +"I think I can be sure of them," said Jimmy reflectively. "The skipper +is not the kind of man I would take to, but, in some respects, at least, +he's straight; and, anyway, he's bitter enough against Merril to back us +in anything we may decide to do. You see, the man who gets his boat +ashore is practically done for nowadays, whether it's his own fault or +not; and I fancy we can count on the miner, too. After what those +fellows had to go through to get the gold they were bringing home, +they're not likely to have much sympathy with Merril. In fact, if the +others understood how near they came to seeing it go down in the +_Adelaide_, it would be a little difficult to keep them from laying +hands on him. In any case, there's the engineer's statement--one can't +get over that." + +Eleanor stretched out her hand for the paper, and there was a vindictive +sparkle in her eyes as she glanced at it. + +"Charley," she said with portentous quietness, "it seems to me that the +possession of this document places Merril absolutely in your hands. You +are not afraid to make the utmost use of it?" + +Jordan glanced at Jimmy in a fashion the latter understood. There was +something deprecatory in it, and it appeared to suggest that he wished +his comrade to realize that he was under compulsion and could not help +himself. Then he turned to the girl with a certain air of resolution. + +"No," he said, "I don't think I am afraid, but I want you to understand +that I am manager of the _Shasta_ Company, and have first of all to +consider the interests of my associates, the men who put their money +into the concern. There is Jimmy, too." + +"Jimmy!" and Eleanor laughed a little, bitter laugh, which had a trace +of contempt in it. "Pshaw! Jimmy's love affairs don't count now. I think +he feels that, too. After all, there is a trace of our mother's temper +in him if one can awaken it." + +She turned and looked at her brother, who closed one hand tightly. "Oh, +I know; the girl has graciously condescended to smile on you, and no +doubt you are almost astonished, as well as grateful, that she should go +so far. Still, where did the money that made her a dainty lady of +station come from? Must I tell you that a second time, Jimmy?" + +She stopped a moment, and gripped the paper hard in firm white fingers. +"This is mine. I bought it. You know what it cost me, Charley; and what +has Jimmy done in comparison with that? Do you think anything would +induce me to spare Merril now that I have this in my hands?" + +Jimmy looked up sharply, and saw the flush of color in her cheek, and +that the blood had crept into his comrade's face. His own grew suddenly +hot. + +"Ah!" he said, with a thrill of anger in his voice, "I begin to +understand. She got the information you acted on out of that brute, +Carnforth. You knew that, Charley, and you--you countenanced it." + +He half rose from his seat with a brown hand stretched out as if to tear +the paper from the girl, but while Jordan swung around toward him +Eleanor laughed. + +"Sit down," she said imperiously, "you simple-minded fool! Do you think +I would let Charley's opinion influence me in an affair of this kind?" + +Jordan made a gesture of resignation. "She would not," he said. "That's +the simple fact. But go on, Eleanor--or shall I tell him? Anyway, it +must be done." + +The girl silenced him, and though the next two or three minutes were, +perhaps, as unpleasant as any Jimmy had ever spent in his life, it was +with a certain deep relief that he heard his sister out. Before she +stopped she held up a white hand. + +"Once," she said, "once only, he held my wrist. That was all, Jimmy; but +I feel it left a mark. If it could be removed that way, I would burn it +out. Now you know what the thing cost me--but I did it." + +The men would not look at each other, and if Eleanor had left them then +it would have been a relief to both. Her suppressed passion had stirred +and shaken them, and they realized that the efforts they had made were, +after all, not to be counted in comparison with what the girl had done. + +It was Jordan who spoke first. "Well," he said, with the air of one +anxious to get away from a painful subject, "we have got to be +practical. The question is, how are we to strike Merril? Seems to me, in +the first case, we'll hand him a salvage claim. I'll fix it at half her +value, anyway, and he'll never fight us when he hears of the engineer's +statement. So far as I know, he can't recover under his policy, and we +could head him off from going to the underwriters if he can. The next +point is--are the miner fellow and the _Adelaide_'s skipper likely to +take any independent action on their own account? I don't think that's +very probable." + +"Nor do I," said Jimmy. "It isn't wise of a skipper to turn around on a +man like Merril, unless it's in a court where he has the law behind him, +and the prospector would scarcely attempt to do anything alone. Besides, +without the document to produce, they would have very little to go +upon--and what is more to the purpose, both of them promised to let me +handle the thing." + +Jordan nodded as if satisfied. "That," he said, "makes it easier. We're +going to collect our money on the salvage claim, and when Merril has +raised it he'll have strained his resources, so he won't count very much +as an opponent of the _Shasta_ Company. The man's crippled already." + +The fact that his comrade was apparently not desirous of proceeding to +extremities afforded Jimmy a vast relief, but it vanished suddenly when +Eleanor broke in. + +"Can't you understand that the affair must be looked at from another +point of view as well as the commercial one?" she asked. + +It was a difficult question, and when neither of them answered her the +girl went on: + +"It doesn't seem to occur to you that what you suggest amounts to +covering up a conspiracy and allowing a scoundrel to escape his +deserts," she said. "There is another point, too. You will have to +inform the police about the Robertson affair, Jimmy, and his connection +with Merril is bound to appear when they lay hands on him." + +"That," said Jimmy, with a trace of dryness, "is hardly likely. The man +will be heading for the diggings by this time if he isn't drowned, and +there's very little probability of the police getting hold of him +there." + +Eleanor laughed, a very bitter laugh, as she fixed her eyes on him. + +"So you are quite content with Charley's plan--to extort so many +dollars from Merril?" she said. "It has one fatal defect; it does not +satisfy me." + +"Now----" commenced Jordan, but the girl checked him with a gesture. + +"I want him crushed, disgraced, imprisoned, ruined altogether." + +"Anyway, I owe it to my associates to make sure of the money first." + +"And after that you feel you have to stand by Jimmy?" + +The man winced when she flung the question at him; but when he did not +answer she appeared to rouse herself for an effort, leaning forward a +trifle with a gleam in her eyes and the red flush plainer in her cheek. + +"Still," she said, "if Jimmy is what I think him, he will not ask it of +you. I want him to go back six years to the time he came home--from +Portland, wasn't it, Jimmy?--and stayed a few weeks with us. Was there +any shadow upon us then, though your father was getting old? I want you +to remember him as he was when you went away, a simple, kindly, +abstemious, and fearless man. It surely can't be very hard." + +Jimmy face grew furrowed, and he set his lips tight; but he said +nothing, and the girl went on: + +"It was not so the next time you came back. Something had happened in +the meanwhile. The bondholder had laid his grasp on him. He was +weakening under it, and the lust of drink was crushing the courage out +of him. Still, you must remember that it was his one consolation. Then +came the awful climax of the closing scene. I had to face it with +Charley--you were away--but you must realize the horror it brought me." + +Jordan turned toward her abruptly. "Eleanor," he said, with a trace of +hoarseness in his voice, "let it drop. You can't bear the thing a second +time." + +She stopped him with a frown. "I want you to picture him deluding +Prescott with one of the pitiful, cunning excuses that drunkards make. +Wasn't it horrible in itself that he should have sunk to that? Then it +shouldn't be very hard to imagine him bribing a lounger outside to buy +him the whisky, and the carousal afterward with a stranger, a dead-beat +and outcast low enough to profit by his evident weakness. Still, he was +your father, Jimmy. Then there was the groping for matches and the +upsetting of the lamp. Somebody brought Charley, and when he came your +father lay with the clothes charred upon his burned limbs, still +half-crazed with drink and mad with pain. Must I tell you once more what +I saw when Charley brought me? I am willing, if there is nothing else +that will rouse you. You have heard it before, but I want to burn it +into your brain, so that however hard you try you can't blot out that +scene." + +Jimmy's face was grim and white, but while he sat very still his comrade +rose resolutely. + +"Eleanor," he said, "if you attempt to recall another incident of that +horrible night I shall carry you by main force out of the room." + +The girl turned to him with a little gesture. "Then I suppose I must +submit. You have a man's strength and courage in you--or I think you +would be afraid to marry me; but one could fancy that Jimmy has none. +The daughter of the man who ruined his father has condescended to be +gracious to him. Still, I have a little more to say. She is his +daughter, his flesh and blood, Jimmy, and his pitiless, hateful nature +is in her. That is the woman you wish to marry. The mere notion of it is +horrible. Still, you can't marry her, Jimmy. You must crush her father, +and drag him to his ruin. After all, there is a little manhood somewhere +in you. You will take the engineer's statement to the underwriters and +the police. You must--you have to." + +Jimmy stood up slowly, with the veins swollen on his forehead and a gray +patch in his cheek. "Eleanor," he said hoarsely, "I believe there is a +devil in you; but I think you are right in this. Jordan, will you hand +me that paper?" + +He stood still for at least a minute when his comrade passed it to him, +and the girl watched him with a little gleam in her eyes. His face was +furrowed, and looked worn as well as very hard. There was not a sound in +the little room, and the splash of the ripples on the _Shasta_'s plates +outside came in through the open ports with a startling distinctness. +Jordan felt that the tension was becoming almost unendurable. Then Jimmy +turned slowly toward his sister, and though the pain was still in his +face it had curiously changed. There was a look in his blue eyes that +sent a thrill of consternation through her. They were very steady, and +she knew that she had failed. + +"I can't do it. It was not the girl's fault, and she shall not be +dragged through the mire," he said. Then he looked at his comrade. "What +I am going to do may cost you a good deal of money, and my appointment +to the _Shasta_ is, of course, in your hands. I am going straight from +here to Merril's house." + +"Well," said Jordan simply, "it may cost us both a good deal, but I +guess I must face it. If I were fixed as you are, that is just what I +should do." + +Jimmy said nothing, but he went out swiftly, and Eleanor turned to her +companion with a very bitter smile when the door closed behind him. + +"Ah!" she said, "has that girl beguiled you too? You had Merril in your +hands, and instead of crushing him you are going to smooth his troubles +away." + +"No," said Jordan dryly, "I don't quite think Jimmy will do that. In +some respects, I understand him better than you do. He wants to save the +girl all the sorrow and disgrace he can, but he is going to run her +father out of this city. Jimmy's not exactly clever, and it's quite +likely he'll mix up things when he meets Merril; but, for all that, I +guess he'll carry out just what he means to do. Somehow, he generally +does. That's the kind of man he is." + +He stopped a moment, and a smile crept into his eyes. "I don't know what +the result will be, and it may be the break-up of the _Shasta_ Company; +but I can't blame Jimmy." + +"Ah!" said Eleanor, "you, the man I counted on, are turning against me +as well as my brother." + +Then the sustaining purpose seemed to die out of her, and she sank back +suddenly in her chair with her face hidden from him. Jordan crossed the +little room, and stooping beside her slipped an arm about her. + +"My dear," he said, "you can count on me always and in everything but +this. It's because of what you are to me that I'm standing by Jimmy." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +MERRIL CAPITULATES + + +Merril was not in his house when Jimmy reached it, but it appeared that +he was expected shortly, and the latter, who resolved to wait for him, +was shown into a big artistically furnished room. He sat there at least +ten minutes, alone and grim in face, with a growing disquietude, for his +surroundings had their effect on him. The house was built of wood, but +expense had not been spared, and those who have visited the Western +cities know how beautiful a wooden dwelling can be made. Jimmy looked +out through the open windows on to a wide veranda framed with a slender +colonnade of wooden pillars supporting fretted arches of lace-like +delicacy. The floor of the room, which was choicely parquetted in +cunningly contrasted wood, also caught his eye, and there were +Indian-sewn rugs of furs on it of a kind that he knew was rarely +purchased in the north, except on behalf of Russian princes and American +railroad kings. The furniture, he fancied by the timber, was +Canadian-made, but it had evidently been copied from artistic European +models; and though he was far from being a connoisseur in such things, +they had all a painful significance to him just then. + +They suggested wealth and taste and luxury; and it seemed only fitting +that the woman he loved should have such a dwelling, while he realized +that it was his hand which must deprive her of all the artistic +daintiness to which she had grown accustomed and no doubt valued. He, a +steamboat skipper of low degree, had, like blind Samson, laid a brutal +grasp upon the pillars of the house, and he could feel the trembling of +the beautiful edifice. This would have afforded him a certain grim +satisfaction, had it not been for the fact that it was impossible to +tell whether the woman he would have spared every pain might not be +overwhelmed amid the ruin when he exerted his strength. It must be +exerted. In that he could not help himself. + +While he sat there with a hard, set face, she came in, dressed, as he +realized, in harmony with her surroundings. Her gracious patrician +quietness and her rich attire troubled him, and he felt, in spite of all +Eleanor had said, that it would be a vast relief if he could abandon +altogether the purpose that had brought him there, though to do so +would, it was evident, set the girl further apart from him than ever, +since her father's station naturally stood as a barrier between them. +Still, he remembered what he owed the men who had sent him on board the +_Shasta_--Jordan, Forster, old Leeson, and two or three more; he could +not turn against them now. + +Anthea stood still just inside the door, looking at him half-expectant, +but with something that was suggestive of apprehension in her manner, +and Jimmy felt the hot blood creep into his face when he moved quietly +forward and kissed her. In view of what he had to do, it would, he +felt, have been more natural if she had shrunk from him in place of +submitting to his caress. She appeared to recognize the constraint that +was upon him, for she turned away and sat down a little distance from +him. + +"Jimmy," she said, "I'm glad to see you back. I have been lonely without +you--and a little uneasy. Indeed, though I don't know exactly why, I am +anxious now." + +Then she looked at him steadily. "It is the first time you have been +here. Something unusual must have brought you. Jimmy, is it war?" + +The man made a deprecatory gesture. "I'm afraid it is," he said. "I +don't think there can be any compromise." + +"Ah!" said the girl, with a start, "you don't look like a man who has +come to offer terms." + +Jimmy was still standing, and he leaned somewhat heavily on the back of +a chair. "I have to do something that I shrink from, but it must be +done. If there were no other reason, I daren't go back on the men who +have confidence in me; that is--not altogether, though in a way--I am +now betraying them. Anthea, you will not let this thing stand between +us?" + +"No;" and the girl's voice was steady, though a trifle strained. "At +least, not always. Still, I have felt that some day I should have to +choose whom I should hold to--my father or you. It is very hard to face +that question, Jimmy." + +"Yes," said Jimmy gravely; "I am afraid you must choose to-night. You +know how much I want you, but I have sense enough to recognize that I +may bring trouble on both of us if I urge you to do what you might +afterward regret." + +Anthea said nothing for almost a minute, and because of the restraint he +had laid upon himself Jimmy understood the cost of her quietness. It +seemed necessary that both should hold themselves in hand. Then she +turned to him again. + +"You are quite sure there can be no compromise?" + +"It is for many reasons out of the question. In fact, I think the +decisive battle will be fought to-night. I have strained every point to +make it easier for you, or I should not have come at all, and it is very +likely that my comrades will discard me when they hear what I have done. +I am willing to face their anger, but, to some extent, at least, I must +keep my bargain with them." + +He moved a pace or two, and stood close by her chair looking down at +her. "If you understood everything, you would not blame me." + +Anthea glanced at him a moment, and he fancied that a shiver ran through +her. "I do not blame you now, though it is all a little horrible. I +cannot plead with you, and if I did I see that you would not listen. You +must do what you feel you have to." + +Neither of them spoke for a while, though Jimmy felt the tension was +almost unendurable. It was evident that the girl felt it too, for he +could see the signs of strain in her face. So intent were they that +neither heard the door open, and Jimmy turned with a little start when +the sound of a footstep reached them. Merril was standing not far away, +little, portly, and immaculately dressed, regarding them with an +inscrutable face. + +"I understand you wish to see me, Mr. Wheelock," he said. "Anthea, you +will no doubt allow us a few minutes." + +The girl rose and moved toward the door, but before she went out she +turned for a moment and glanced at Jimmy. Then it closed softly, and he +saw that Merril was regarding him with a sardonic smile. + +"I heard that you had made my daughter's acquaintance, but I was not +aware that it had gone as far as I have some grounds for supposing now," +he said. + +"That," said Jimmy quietly, "is a subject I may mention by and by. In +the meanwhile I have something to say that concerns you at least as +closely. As it has a bearing on the other question, we might discuss it +first." + +"I am at your service for ten minutes;" and Merril pointed to a chair. + +Jimmy sat down, but said nothing for a few moments. Apart from the +trouble that he must bring upon Anthea, he felt that it was a big and +difficult thing he had undertaken. He was a steamboat skipper, and the +man in front of him one skilled in every art of commercial trickery +whose ability was recognized in that city. Still, he felt curiously +steady and sure of himself, for Jimmy, like other simple-minded men, as +a rule appeared to advantage when forced suddenly to face a crisis. He +felt, in fact, much as he had done when he stood grimly resolute on the +_Shasta_'s bridge while the _Adelaide_, sheering wildly, dragged her +toward the spouting surf. Then he turned to Merril. + +"I called on you once before to make a request," he said. + +"And your errand is much the same now, though one could fancy that you +feel you have something to back it?" his companion suggested dryly. + +"No," said Jimmy, "I have nothing to ask you for this time. Instead, I +am simply going to mention certain facts, and leave you to act on the +information in the only way open to you; that is, to get out of +Vancouver as soon as possible. I am giving you the opportunity in order +to save Miss Merril the pain of seeing you prosecuted. You are in our +hands now." + +Merril scarcely moved a muscle. "You are prepared to make that assurance +good?" + +"I am;" and Jimmy's voice had a little ring in it. "If you will give me +your attention I'll try to do it. You have no news of the _Adelaide_ +yet, and, to commence with, you will have to face the fact that she is +not on the rocks. She was just ready to steam south with a derangement +of her high-pressure engine when I last saw her." + +Though his companion's face was almost expressionless, Jimmy fancied +that this shot had reached its mark, and he proceeded to relate what had +happened since he fell in with the _Adelaide_. He did it with some +skill, for this was a subject with which he was at home, and he made the +feelings of her skipper and second engineer perfectly clear. Then, +though he had not mentioned Robertson's confession, he sat still, +wondering at Merril's composure. + +"It sounds probable," said the latter, with a little smile. "You expect +the skipper and the second engineer to bear you out? No doubt they +promised, but when they get here the thing will wear another aspect. In +fact, in all probability it will look too big for them. You see, they +have merely put a certain construction upon one or two occurrences. It's +quite likely they will be willing to admit that it is, after all, the +wrong one." + +"Since we intend to claim half the value of the _Adelaide_, they would +have to answer on their oath in court." + +Merril shook his head. "Half her value! I commence to understand," he +said. "An appeal to the court is, as a rule, expensive, as I guess you +know. It is generally wiser to be reasonable and make a compromise." + +The suggestion was so characteristic of the man that Jimmy lost a little +of his self-restraint. + +"There will be no compromise in this case," he said. "If it were +necessary we would drag you through every court in the land; but, as a +matter of fact, there will be no need for that. You made a mistake in +your opinion of the courage of your skipper and your second engineer. +You also made a more serious one in putting the screw too hard on +Robertson.". + +"Ah!" said Merril sharply, at last, "there is something more?" + +Jimmy took a paper from his pocket, and gravely handed it to him. "I am +quite safe in allowing you to look at it. It wouldn't be advisable for +you to make any attempt to destroy it. You will excuse my mentioning +that." + +Merril unfolded the document, and Jimmy noticed that the +half-contemptuous toleration died out of his face as he read it. Then he +quietly handed it back, and sat very still for at least a minute before +he turned to his companion again. + +"That rather alters the case. You have something to go upon. Do you mind +telling me what course you purpose to take?" + +"As I mentioned, I don't purpose to take any. Still, the _Shasta_ +Company will send in a claim for salvage to-morrow, and afterward sue +you--or whoever you entrust with your affairs--unless it is met. The +_Adelaide_ should also be here in the course of the next day or two, and +you will have your skipper and second engineer, as well as the miner who +witnessed the statement, to face. They appear determined on raising as +much unpleasantness as possible, though they were willing to hold back +until I had taken the first steps." + +He stopped a moment, and then leaned forward in his chair with a little +forceful gesture. "Though it would please me to see you prosecuted and +disgraced, I will at least take no steps to prevent your getting out of +this city quietly." + +"Ah!" said Merril, "you no doubt expect something for that concession?" + +"No," and Jimmy stood up, "I expect nothing. It would hurt me to make a +bargain of any kind with you, and it would, I think, be illegal. Still, +I have the honor of informing you that I purpose to marry Miss Merril as +soon as it appears convenient to her, in spite of any opposition that +you may think fit to offer." + +Merril showed neither astonishment nor anger. Instead he smiled quietly, +and his companion surmised that he had already with characteristic +promptness decided on his course of action. + +"You have no objections to my sending for her?" + +Jimmy said he had none, and five minutes later Anthea appeared. She +stood near the door looking at the men, and saw that Jimmy's face was +darkly flushed. Her father, however, appeared almost as composed as +usual. Jimmy felt that he dare not look at her, and the tense silence, +which lasted a few moments, tried his courage hard. It cost him an +effort to hold himself in hand when Merril turned to the girl. + +"I understand from Mr. Wheelock that you are willing to marry him. Is +that the case?" he said. + +"Yes," replied Anthea simply, while the blood crept into her cheeks. +"That is, I shall be willing when circumstances permit." + +"Then, in the meanwhile, at least, you would consider my wishes?" + +Anthea glanced at Jimmy. "I think he understands that." + +Merril said nothing for almost half a minute, and sat still regarding +them with a sardonic smile, though his eyes were gentler than usual. + +"Well," he said at last, "that is no more than one would have expected +from you. Mr. Wheelock is, however, quite prepared to disregard my +opposition. In fact, one could almost fancy that he will be a little +grieved when I say that I do not mean to offer any." + +Jimmy was certainly astonished, for he had at least expected that the +man would make an attempt to play upon the girl's feelings. However, he +said nothing, and Merril turned to her again. + +"Well, I fancy that he has shown himself capable of looking after you, +and there is a certain forceful simplicity in his character that, when +I consider him as my daughter's husband, somewhat pleases me. With +moderate good fortune it may carry him a long way." + +It seemed an almost incomprehensible thing to Jimmy that the man should +show no trace of vindictiveness, and perhaps the latter guessed it, for +he laughed softly. + +"Mr. Wheelock," he said, "as you have no doubt guessed, I never had much +faith in the conventional code of morality, but since you seem +determined to marry Anthea, I am in one respect glad that you evidently +have, though that is perhaps not a very logical admission. I was out +after money, and allowed no other consideration to influence me. It is +probable that I should have accumulated a good deal of it had not +everything gone against me lately. Well, if I showed no pity, I at least +seldom allowed any rancor to betray me into injudicious action when +other people treated me as I should have treated them; but, after all, +that is not the question, and we will be practical. You will not see or +write to Anthea for six months from to-day, and then if neither of you +has changed your mind you can understand that you have my good-will. She +will advise you of her address--in Toronto--in the meanwhile. It is not +a great deal to promise." + +Jimmy glanced at the girl, and turned again to Merril when she nodded. + +"I pledge myself to that," he said. + +"Then," said Merril, "you will leave us now. I have a good deal to say +to Anthea." + +Jimmy moved away without a word, and went down the corridor with every +nerve in him tingling. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +ELEANOR RELENTS + + +Jordan, who waited some time on board the _Shasta_, saw no more of Jimmy +that night. This was, however, in one respect a relief to him, since +Eleanor, who was evidently very angry with her brother, insisted on +remaining as long as possible in the expectation that he would come back +again. It was, in fact, only when the hour at which she had arranged to +meet Mrs. Forster arrived that she very reluctantly permitted Jordan to +take her ashore, and he felt easier when he handed her into Forster's +wagon. It did not seem to him that a further meeting between her and her +brother would be likely to afford much pleasure to anybody. He had been +at work some little time in his office next morning when Jimmy walked +in, and, sitting down, looked at him quietly. + +"I have no doubt that you know why I have kept out of your way so long," +he said. + +"Well," replied Jordan dryly, "I can guess. What did you say to Merril?" + +"I told him what had happened, and left him to act upon it. Now I'm +quite prepared to resign the command of the _Shasta_." + +"If it's necessary, we'll talk about that later. In the meanwhile we'll +get our salvage claim in. Leeson should be here at any moment. I saw him +last night." + +He set to work, but there were two or three points it was necessary to +discuss with Jimmy, and he was still busy when there was a rattle of +wheels in the street outside, which was followed by the sound of voices +on the stairway. Jordan laid down his pen with a gesture of +embarrassment and dismay. + +"It's Forster, and he has brought Eleanor along," he said. "I'm 'most +afraid you're going to have trouble, Jimmy." + +"It's more than probable," and Jimmy smiled somewhat grimly. "I'm quite +prepared for it." + +Then the door opened, and Eleanor, Forster and Leeson came in. The girl +sat down without a glance at her brother, and the rancher turned to +Jordan. + +"Miss Wheelock has acquainted me with the substance of what Jimmy told +you yesterday, and I came to ask what course you expect to take," he +said. "I may say that she seems as anxious to hear it as I am." + +Eleanor smiled. "It is not exactly Mr. Forster's fault that I am here," +she said. "The fact is, I insisted on coming. He was perfectly willing +to leave me behind." + +Jordan's face was more expressive of resignation than pleasure, but he +took up his pen again. + +"This is a statement of the services rendered the _Adelaide_, and a +claim in respect of them," he said. "I am going to take it along to +Merril's office in a few minutes, and one or more of you can come with +me." + +They went out together, but when they reached Merril's office Jordan and +Jimmy alone went in. They found a good many other people waiting there, +and had some little difficulty in securing attention, while the clerk to +whom Jordan spoke appeared anxious and embarrassed. + +"Mr. Merril is not here," he said. "He went out of town last night, and +executed a trust deed before he left. Mr. Cathcart, one of the trustees, +is now inside." + +Jordan looked at Jimmy. "I don't mind admitting that I expected this," +he said. Then he turned to the clerk: "Take our names in." + +They were shown into the inner office, where a gray-haired gentleman +listened gravely to what they had to say. Then he took the salvage claim +from Jordan, and laid it beneath a pile of other papers. + +"It will be considered in its turn," he said. "I do not know whether we +shall attempt to contest it, or whether there will be funds to meet it, +but I may be able to tell you more to-morrow, and would ask you to take +no further steps until you have seen me. I am at liberty to say that Mr. +Merril's affairs appear to be considerably involved." + +Jordan promised to wait, and when he turned toward the door, the +trustee, who took up an envelope, made a sign to Jimmy. + +"I was instructed to hand you this, Captain Wheelock, and to tell you +that Miss Merril leaves for Toronto by to-day's express, on the +understanding that you make no attempt to communicate with her. It +contains her address." + +Jimmy went out with his thoughts confused. All that had come about was, +he felt, the result of his action, but he realized that in any case the +crisis could not have been much longer delayed. They found the others +awaiting them, and when Forster had quietly but firmly insisted on +escorting Eleanor into a dry-goods store and leaving her there, they +went back together to Jordan's office, where the latter related what he +had heard. + +"To be quite straight, I must admit that I had a notion of what Jimmy +meant to do last night, and took no steps to restrain him," he said. "If +I had done so, Merril would not have got away. We are both in your +hands, but, while you may think differently, I am not sure that what has +happened is a serious misfortune from a business point of view." + +Forster said nothing, and there was a few moments' awkward silence until +old Leeson spoke. + +"Considering everything, I guess you're right," he said. "Cathcart's a +straight man, and as they can't sell the _Adelaide_ without permission +from us, we'll get some of our money, although it's hardly likely the +estate will realize enough to go around. Seems to me that's more than we +should have done if Merril had kept hold. Well, it's not my proposition +that we turn you out." + +He stopped a moment, and glanced at Jimmy with a little dry smile. +"Captain Wheelock has gone 'way further than he should have done without +our sanction, but I guess it will meet the case if we leave him to his +sister. It's a sure thing Miss Wheelock is far from pleased with him. +Now, there's a point or two I want to mention." + +The others seemed relieved at this, and when Leeson had said his say +Forster went away with him. Then Jordan glanced at Jimmy with +apprehension in his eyes as Eleanor came in. She stood still, looking +at them with the portentous red flush burning in her cheek. + +"What I foresaw all along has happened. Jimmy has betrayed you to save +that girl," she said. + +Then she turned to Jimmy, flicking her glove in her hand as though she +would have struck him with it. "Jimmy," she said incisively, "you are no +longer a brother of mine. Neither Charley nor I will speak to you +again." + +Jordan straightened himself resolutely. "Stop there, Eleanor!" he said. +"If you won't speak to him I can't compel you to, but, in this one +thing, at least, you can't compel me. Jimmy was my friend before I met +you, and I'm standing by him now. Anyway, what has he done?" + +"Ah!" said the girl, with an audible indrawing of her breath, "he has +spoiled everything. If he hadn't played the traitor Merril would never +have got away. Oh!" and her anger shook her, "I can never forgive him!" + +Once more she turned to her brother. "There is no longer any tie between +us. You have broken it, and that is the last and only thing I have to +say to you." + +Jimmy rose, and quietly reached for his hat. "Then," he said, "there is +nothing to be gained by pointing out what my views are. We can only wait +until you see things differently." + +He went out, and Eleanor sank somewhat limply into a chair. + +"Charley," she said, "it's a little horrible, but he is a weak coward, +and I hate him. You had better break off our engagement; I'm not fit to +marry anybody." + +"That's the one thing that holds in spite of everything," and Jordan +looked at her gravely with trouble in his face. "Go quietly, Eleanor. It +will straighten out in time." + +The girl sat still for a while saying nothing, and then she rose with a +little shiver. "Find Forster, and if he is not going back, get a team," +she said. "I want Mrs. Forster. I can't stay in the city." + +Jordan went out with her, and, though he had a good deal to do, was not +sorry when he failed to find Forster and it became necessary for him to +drive her back to the ranch. Eleanor, however, said very little to him +during the journey, and he had sense enough to confine his attention to +his team. He had also little time to think of anything that did not +concern his business when he returned to the city, for the _Shasta_ had +to be got ready to go back to sea, and the _Adelaide_ arrived early on +the following day. The skipper went with him to interview Merril's +trustee, and the latter announced that no steps would be taken to +contest the salvage claim when he heard what he had to say. However, he +added dryly that it would probably be advisable for the _Shasta_ Company +to consider the compromise proposition he would shortly make. Jordan, +who fancied he was right in this, went away without having found it +necessary to hand him the engineer's confession, and was glad he had not +offered to produce it when he ransacked his office for it a few days +later. + +"I certainly had the thing the morning Forster and Eleanor were here," +he said. "Jimmy laid it down, and I don't remember having seen him take +it up again. Still, I suppose he must have done so." + +Jimmy had, however, gone north again by that time, and the compromise +had been agreed to before he came back again. The _Shasta_ had also made +several other successful trips when he had occasion to call at Victoria +on his southward run, and seeing the _Sorata_ in the harbor rowed off to +her. He spent that evening in her little forecastle with Valentine, who +was busy with deep-water fishing-lines. The latter wore an old blue +shirt and canvas trousers stained with paint and grease, and he laid +down a big hank of line when at length Jimmy, who had been whipping on +hooks for him, inquired what plans he had. + +"So you're not going back to the West Coast to drum up cargo for us?" he +said. + +"No," said Valentine. "Although they didn't intimate it, I don't think +your people have any more use for me. They have the trade in their +hands, and the boat they put on instead of yours is coming down full +every time. In fact, I believe they're buying another one, as well as a +big passenger carrier for your northern trip." + +Jimmy looked astonished. "It's the first I've heard of it--but, of +course, it's a little while since I was in Vancouver. Where did they +raise the money?" + +"I believe they got some of it from Cathcart on the salvage claim, and +Leeson and two or three of his friends raised the rest. The _Adelaide_ +and Merril's house were sold at auction. I heard it from Jordan, who was +over here a week ago, and it's scarcely necessary to say that he's going +to send you in the new boat. He seems to have some notion of trying to +get into the South Sea trade, too, and I shouldn't wonder if eventually +you're made general supervisor of the _Shasta_ Company's growing fleet." + +Jimmy was sensible of a thrill of satisfaction, but he changed the +subject. "You have given up your chartering?" + +"I have," said Valentine, with a curious smile. "The people who hired my +boat had an unsettling effect on me, and now I'm going to try the +halibut fishing with a couple of Siwash hands. Austerly's was my last +charter--I don't think I shall ever take another." + +Jimmy nodded, for he felt that he understood. "Well," he said, "in one +way it wouldn't be nice to see anybody else occupying that after-cabin. +Of course, the notion is a fanciful one, but I shouldn't like to think +of it myself." + +Again the curious little smile flickered into Valentine's eyes. "It is +scarcely likely to happen. I think you will understand my views when I +show you the room." + +Jimmy went aft with him through the saloon, and Valentine, unlocking a +door beneath the companion slide, opened it gently. The fashion in which +he did it had its significance, and Jimmy understood altogether as he +looked into the little room. It was immaculate. Bulkhead and paneling +gleamed with snowy paint, the berths with their varnished ledges were +filled with spotless linen, and there was not a speck on the deck +beneath. A few fresh sprays of balsam that hung beneath the beams +diffused a faint aromatic fragrance. + +"Those," said Valentine gravely, "are to keep out the smell of the +halibut. I shouldn't like it to come in here. She had the lower berth. +The top one was Miss Merril's." + +Jimmy felt the blood rise to his face. Valentine's manner was very +quiet, and there was not the slightest trace of sentimentality in it, +but Jimmy felt that he knew what he was thinking. Besides, Anthea had +slept in that little snowy berth. They turned away without a word, when +Valentine carefully fastened the door, and the latter had sat down again +in the forecastle before Jimmy spoke. + +"Have you heard anything of Miss Austerly lately?" he asked. + +Valentine lighted the lamp beneath the beams, for it was growing dark, +and taking something from a box in the upper berth stood still a moment +with it in his hands. They were scarred and hardened by physical toil, +and the man was big and bronzed and very quiet, though every line of his +face and figure was stamped with the wholesome vigor of the sea. + +"I see you do not know," he said. "This is the letter Austerly sent me. +As you will notice, it was at her request. She would not have minded +your reading it." + +Jimmy started as he saw that the envelope had a broad black edge, and +his companion nodded gravely. + +"Yes," he said, "there is neither tide nor fog where she has gone. +There, at least, we are told, the sea is glassy." + +Jimmy took the letter out of the envelope, and once or twice his eyes +grew a trifle hazy as he read. Then he handed it back to Valentine, +almost reverently. + +"I am sorry," was all he said. + +Valentine looked at him with the little grave smile still in his eyes. +"I do not think there is any need for that. What had this world but pain +to offer her? She has slipped away, but she has left something +behind--something one can hold on by. What there is out yonder we do not +know--but perhaps we shall not be sorry when we slip out beyond the +shrouding mists some day." + +Neither of them said much more, and shortly afterward Jimmy went back to +the _Shasta_. Next morning he stood on his bridge watching the _Sorata_ +slide out of harbor. Valentine, sitting at her tiller, waved his hat to +him, and Jimmy was glad that he had hurled a blast of the whistle after +him when some months later he heard that the _Sorata_ and her skipper +had gone down together in a wild westerly gale. + +In the meanwhile he proceeded to Vancouver, and after an interview with +Jordan, who formally offered him command of the big new boat, took the +first east-going train and reached Toronto five days later. An hour +after he got there he hired a pulling skiff at the water-front, and +drove her out with sturdy strokes into the blue lake across which a +little cutter was creeping a mile or so away. He came up with her, hot +and breathless, and the girl at the tiller rose quietly when he swung +himself on deck, though there was a depth of tenderness in her eyes. + +"Jimmy!" she said, "why didn't you tell me?" + +Jimmy laughed. "You should have expected me," he said. "The six months +are up." + +Anthea turned to the young man and the girl who were sitting in the +cockpit. "Captain Wheelock. My cousin Muriel, and Graham Hoyle." + +The young man smiled at Jimmy, who was, however, conscious that the girl +was surveying him with critical curiosity. Then she asked him a question +concerning his journey, and they discussed the Canadian railroads for +the next ten minutes, until she flashed a suggestive glance at the young +man. + +"What a beautiful morning for a row!" she said. + +Hoyle rose to his feet. "I dare say I could pull you ashore in Captain +Wheelock's boat," he said. "There's just wind enough to bring the yacht +after us if he gets the topsail up." + +Jimmy did not get the topsail up when they rowed away, but sat down on +the coaming with his arm around Anthea's shoulder. + +"I have just two weeks before I go north in our big new boat," he said. +"It isn't very long, but I want to take you with me." + +He was some little time overruling Anthea's objections one by one, and +then she turned and looked up at him with a flush in her face. + +"Jimmy," she said, "I suppose you realize that I haven't a dollar. Some +provision was to have been made for me--but I felt I couldn't profit by +the arrangement." + +Jimmy laughed. "If it's any consolation to you, I haven't very much, +either. Still, I think I'm going to get it. I was creeping through the +blinding fog six months ago, but the mists have blown away and the sky +is brightening to windward now." + +Then he turned and pointed to the strip of dusky blue that moved across +the gleaming lake. "If anything more is wanted, there's the fair wind." + +They ran back before it under a blaze of sunshine with the little frothy +ripples splashing merrily after them, and then Jimmy had to exert +himself again before he could induce Anthea's aunt to believe that it +was possible for her niece to be married at two weeks' notice. Still, he +accomplished it, and on the fifteenth day he and Anthea Wheelock stood +on the platform of a big dusty car as the Pacific express ran slowly +into the station at Vancouver. + +Leeson stood waiting with Forster, and Jordan was already running toward +the car, but Jimmy's lips set tight when he saw Eleanor with Mrs. +Forster. In a moment or two Jordan handed Anthea down, and then stood +aside as Eleanor came impulsively forward. To her brother's +astonishment, she laid her hand on Anthea's shoulder and kissed her on +each cheek. + +"Now," she said, "you will have to forgive me." + +Jimmy did not hear what his wife said, for Mrs. Forster was greeting +him, and then Leeson and the rancher seized him; but five minutes later +Eleanor stood at his side. + +"Yes," she said, "Anthea and I are going to be friends, and you daren't +be angry any longer, Jimmy." + +They had dropped a little behind the others, who were moving along the +wharf, and Jimmy looked at her with a dry smile. + +"I'm not," he said. "In fact, I don't think it was my temper that made +things unpleasant all the time. Still----" + +"You didn't expect me to change?" + +Her brother said nothing, and she looked up at him with a softness in +her eyes he never remembered seeing there. + +"I'm going to marry Charley very soon," she said. "I couldn't have done +that while I hated anybody, and, after all, it was Merril who +roused--the wild cat--in me, and we have done with him altogether. They +wouldn't have him back in Vancouver, but there's a land-boom somewhere +in California, and Charley hears that he is already piling up money." + +She stopped a moment, and thrust a folded paper into his hand. "That's +yours, but Anthea must never see it. Charley didn't know I had it, and I +meant to keep it in case Merril got rich again; but I don't want it now. +Please destroy it, Jimmy." + +Jimmy glanced at the paper, and his expression changed when he saw that +it was the engineer's confession; but he laid his hand on his sister's +arm and pressed it, for he understood what the fact that she had parted +with that document signified. Then Leeson, who was a few paces in front +of them, turned and pointed to a big steamer with a tier of white +deck-houses lying out in the Inlet. + +"The boat's waiting at the landing, and we'll go off," he said. "There's +a kind of wedding-lunch ready on board her." + +Jimmy said they had purposed going straight to the house he had +commissioned Jordan to take for him, but the latter laughed, and Leeson +chuckled dryly. + +"We held a meeting over the question, and fixed it up that the house you +wanted hadn't quite tone enough for the man who's to be Commodore of the +_Shasta_ fleet very soon," he said. "That's why we decided to put you +into my big one on the rise. Guess there's not a prettier house around +this city, but it has never been really lived in. I'm out most of every +day, and only want two rooms. Now, there's no use protesting; it's all +fixed ready, and you're going right in." + +He turned, and touched Anthea's arm. "You'll stand by me. You can't +afford to have your husband kick against the man with the most money in +the _Shasta_ Company." + +Jimmy's protests were very feeble. It had been his one trouble that +Anthea would have to live in a very different fashion from the one she +had been accustomed to, and he was relieved when she thanked the old +man. + +Leeson smiled at her in a very kindly fashion. "Well," he said, "I've +been lonely for the last eight years since the boy who should have had +that house went down with my smartest boat, and I want to feel that +there's somebody under the same roof with me who will keep me from +growing too hard and old." + +Then he stopped, and chuckled in his usual dry manner. "I was going to +make Jordan the proposition--only I got to thinking and my nerve failed +me. Guess I made my money hard in the free sealing days when we had +trouble with everybody all the time, but I felt I'd sooner not offend +Mrs. Jordan, and I might do it if I didn't fix things just as she told +me. She's a clever woman--but I don't want to have her on my trail." + +Eleanor only glanced at him in whimsical reproach, and they moved on, +laughing, toward the waiting boat. + + +END + + + + +Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the +original edition have been corrected. + +In Chapter II, =the Tyee slowly crept on= was changed to =the _Tyee_ slowly +crept on=. + +In Chapter VIII, a missing quotation mark was added before =I was there +two years=, and =the others gazed at the Sorata expressionlessly= was +changed to =the others gazed at the _Sorata_ expressionlessly=. + +In Chapter XIV, a quotation mark was deleted after =Heave!=. + +In Chapter XXII, =the Shasta did not move at all= was changed to =the +_Shasta_ did not move at all=, and =the Shasta heaved and rolled viciously= +was changed to =the _Shasta_ heaved and rolled viciously=. + +In Chapter XXVIII, a duplicate quotation mark was removed after =that's +the only thing to put a move on you.= + +In Chapter XXX, =Then I suppose I must sumbit= was changed to =Then I +suppose I must submit=. + + + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: "LINES OF BLACK BARGES" (WATERLOO BRIDGE)] + + + + + Our House + And London out of Our Windows + + BY Elizabeth Robins Pennell + + + _With Illustrations by + Joseph Pennell_ + + [Illustration: WATERLOO BRIDGE] + + Boston and New York + Houghton Mifflin Company + The Riverside Press Cambridge + 1912 + + COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY ELIZABETH ROBINS PENNELL + + COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY JOSEPH PENNELL + + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + _Published October 1912_ + + + + +[Illustration: THE BIG, LOW, HEAVY ENGLISH CLOUDS"] + + _To + Augustine_ + + + + +[Illustration: DOWN TO ST. PAUL'S] + + + + +[Illustration: "THERE IS MOVEMENT AND LIFE" (THE UNDERGROUND +STATION AND CHARING-CROSS BRIDGE)] + + + + +Contents + + + INTRODUCTION xi + + I. 'ENRIETTER 1 + + II. TRIMMER 33 + + III. LOUISE 79 + + IV. OUR CHARWOMEN 119 + + V. CLÉMENTINE 153 + + VI. THE OLD HOUSEKEEPER 201 + + VII. THE NEW HOUSEKEEPER 227 + + VIII. OUR BEGGARS 251 + + IX. THE TENANTS 289 + + X. THE QUARTER 339 + + + + +[Illustration: "AT NIGHT MYRIADS OF LIGHTS COME OUT"] + + + + +List of Illustrations + + + + "LINES OF BLACK BARGES" (WATERLOO BRIDGE) _BASTARD TITLE_ + + DOWN TO ST. PAUL'S _FRONTISPIECE_ + + WATERLOO BRIDGE _TITLE-PAGE_ + + "THE BIG, LOW, HEAVY ENGLISH CLOUDS" _DEDICATION_ + + "THERE IS MOVEMENT AND LIFE" (THE UNDERGROUND + STATION AND CHARING-CROSS BRIDGE) _CONTENTS_ + + "AT NIGHT MYRIADS OF LIGHTS COME OUT" _LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS_ + + "IN WINTER THE GREAT WHITE FLIGHTS OF GULLS" 1 + + "AND THE WONDER GROWS WITH THE NIGHT" 33 + + "TUMBLED, WEATHER-WORN, RED-TILED ROOFS" 79 + + "UP TO WESTMINSTER" 119 + + "WHEN THERE IS A SUN ON A WINTER MORNING" 153 + + "A WILDERNESS OF CHIMNEY-POTS" 201 + + THE SPIRE OF ST. MARTIN-IN-THE-FIELDS 227 + + CLEOPATRA'S NEEDLE FROM OUR WINDOWS 251 + + THE LION BREWERY 289 + + OPPOSITE TO SURREY 339 + + + + +Introduction + + +Our finding Our House was the merest chance. J. and I had been hunting +for it during weeks and months, from Chelsea to Blackfriars, when one +day, on the way to take a train on the Underground, we saw the notice +"To Let" in windows just where they ought to have been,--high above the +Embankment and the River,--and we knew at a glance that we should be +glad to spend the rest of our lives looking out of them. But something +depended on the house we looked out from, and, while our train went +without us, we hurried to discover it. We were in luck. It was all that +we could have asked: as simple in architecture, its bricks as +time-stained, as the courts of the Temple or Gray's Inn. The front door +opened into a hall twisted with age, the roof supported by carved +corbels, the upper part of another door at its far end filled with +bull's-eye glass, while three flights of time-worn, white stone stairs +led to the windows with, behind them, a flat called Chambers, as if we +were really in the Temple, and decorated by Adam, as if to bring Our +House into harmony with the younger houses around it. For Our House it +became on that very day, now years ago. Our House it has been ever +since, and I hope we are only at the beginning of our adventures in it. +Of some of the adventures that have already fallen to our share within +Our House, I now venture to make the record, for no better reason +perhaps than because at the time I found them both engrossing and +amusing. The adventures out of Our Windows--adventures of cloud and +smoke and sunshine and fog--J. has been from the beginning, and is +still, recording, because certainly he finds them the most wonderful of +all. If my text shows the price we pay for the beauty, the reproductions +of his paintings, all made from Our Windows, show how well that beauty +is worth the price. + + + + +'Enrietter + +[Illustration: "IN WINTER THE GREAT WHITE FLIGHTS OF GULLS"] + + + + +Our House + +And London out of Our Windows + + + + +I + +'ENRIETTER + + +Since my experience with 'Enrietter, the pages of Zola and the De +Goncourts have seemed a much more comfortable place for "human +documents" and "realism" than the family circle. Her adventures in our +London chambers make a thrilling story, but I could have dispensed with +the privilege of enjoying the thrill. When your own house becomes the +scene of the story you cannot help taking a part in it yourself, and the +story of 'Enrietter was not precisely one in which I should have wanted +to figure had it been a question of choice. + +It all came of believing that I could live as I pleased in England, and +not pay the penalty. An Englishman's house is his castle only when it +is run on the approved lines, and the foreigner in the country need not +hope for the freedom denied to the native. I had set out to engage the +wrong sort of servant in the wrong sort of way, and the result +was--'Enrietter. I had never engaged any sort of servant anywhere +before, I did not much like the prospect at the start, and my first +attempts in Registry Offices, those bulwarks of British conservatism, +made me like it still less. That was why, when the landlady of the +little Craven Street hotel, where we waited while the British Workman +took his ease in our chambers, offered me 'Enrietter, I was prepared to +accept her on the spot, had not the landlady, in self-defence, +stipulated for the customary formalities of an interview and references. + +The interview, in the dingy back parlour of the hotel, was not half so +unpleasant an ordeal as I had expected. Naturally, I do not insist upon +good looks in a servant, but I like her none the less for having them, +and a costume in the fashion of Whitechapel could not disguise the fact +that 'Enrietter was an uncommonly good-looking young woman; not in the +buxom, red-cheeked way that my old reading of Miss Mitford made me +believe as inseparable from an English maid as a pigtail from a +Chinaman, nor yet in the anæmic way I have since learned for myself to +be characteristic of the type. She was pale, but her pallor was of the +kind more often found south of the Alps and the Pyrenees. Her eyes were +large and blue, and she had a pretty trick of dropping them under her +long lashes; her hair was black and crisp; her smile was a +recommendation. And, apparently, she had all the practical virtues that +could make up for her abominable cockney accent and for the name of +'Enrietter, by which she introduced herself. She did not mind at all +coming to me as "general," though she had answered the landlady's +advertisement for parlour maid. She was not eager to make any bargain as +to what her work was, and was not, to be. Indeed, her whole attitude +would have been nothing short of a scandal to the right sort of servant. +And she was willing with a servility that would have offended my +American notions had it been a shade less useful. + +As for her references, it was in keeping with everything else that she +should have made the getting them so easy. She sent me no farther than +to another little private hotel in another little street leading from +the Strand to the river, within ten minutes' walk. It was kept by two +elderly maiden ladies who received me with the usual incivility of the +British hotel-keeper, until they discovered that I had come not for +lodging and food, which they would have looked upon as an insult, but +merely for a servant's character. They unbent still further at +'Enrietter's name, and were roused to an actual show of interest. They +praised her cooking, her coffee, her quickness, her talent for hard +work. But--and then they hesitated and I was lost, for nothing +embarrasses me more than the Englishwoman's embarrassed silence. They +did manage to blurt out that 'Enrietter was not tidy, which I regretted. +I am not tidy myself, neither is J., and I have always thought it +important that at least one person in a household should have some sense +of order. But then they also told me that 'Enrietter had frequently been +called upon to cook eighteen or twenty breakfasts of a morning, and +lunches and dinners in proportion, and it struck me there might not have +been much time left for her to be tidy in. After this, there was a fresh +access of embarrassment so prolonged that I could not in decency sit it +out, though I would have liked to make sure that it was due to their own +difficulty with speech, and not to unspeakable depravity in 'Enrietter. +However, it saves trouble to believe the best, when to believe the worst +is to add to one's anxieties, and as soon as I got home I wrote and +engaged 'Enrietter and cheerfully left the rest to Fate. + +There was nothing to regret for a fortnight. Fate seemed on my side, and +during two blissful weeks 'Enrietter proved herself a paragon among +"generals." She was prettier in her little white cap than in her big +feathered hat, and her smile was never soured by the friction of daily +life. Her powers as a cook had not been over-estimated; the excellence +of her coffee had been undervalued; for her quickness and readiness to +work, the elderly maiden ladies had found too feeble a word. There +wasn't anything troublesome she wouldn't and didn't do, even to +providing me with ideas when I hadn't any and the butcher's, or +green-grocer's, boy waited. And it was the more to her credit because +our chambers were in a chaotic condition that would have frightened away +a whole staff of the right sort of servants. We had just moved in, and +the place was but half furnished. The British Workman still lingered, as +I began to believe he always would,--there were times, indeed, when I +was half persuaded we had taken our chambers solely to provide him a +shelter in the daytime. My kitchen utensils were of the fewest. My china +was still in the factory in France where they made it, and I was eating +off borrowed plates and drinking out of borrowed cups. I had as yet next +to no house-linen to speak of. But 'Enrietter did not mind. She worked +marvels with what pots and pans there were, she was tidy enough not to +mislay the borrowed plates and cups, she knew just where to take +tablecloths and napkins and have them washed in a hurry when friends +were misguided enough to accept my invitation to a makeshift meal. If +they were still more misguided and took me by surprise, she would run +out for extra cutlets, or a salad, or fruit, and be back again serving +an excellent little lunch or dinner before I knew she had gone. This was +the greater comfort because I had just then no time to make things +better. I was deep, beyond my habit, in journalism. A sister I had not +seen for ten years and a brother-in-law recovering from nervous +prostration were in town. Poor man! What he saw in our chambers was +enough to send him home with his nerves seven times worse than when he +came. J., fortunately for him, was in the South of France, drawing +cathedrals. That was my one gleam of comfort. He at least was spared the +tragedy of our first domestic venture. + +Upon the pleasure of that fortnight there fell only a single shadow, but +it ought to have proved a warning, if, at the moment, I had not been +foolish enough to find it amusing. I had gone out one morning directly +after breakfast, and when I came home, long after lunch-time, the +British Workman, to my surprise, was kicking his heels at my front +door, though his rule was to get comfortably on the other side of it +once his business at the public house round the corner was settled. He +was more surprised than I, and also rather hurt. He had been ringing for +the last ten minutes, he said reproachfully, and nobody would let him +in. After I had rung in my turn for ten minutes and nobody had let me +in, I was not hurt, but alarmed. + +It was then that, for the first and last time in my knowledge of him, +the British Workman had an inspiration: Why shouldn't he climb the +ladder behind our outer front door,--we can "sport our oak" if we +like,--get through the trap-door at the top to the leads, and so enter +our little upper story, which looks for all the world like a ship's +cabin drifted by mistake on to a London roof. + +I was to remember afterwards, as they say in novels, how, as I watched +him climb, it struck me that the burglar or the house-breaker had the +way made straight for him if our chambers ever seemed worth burgling or +breaking into. The British Workman's step is neither soft nor swift, +but he carried through his plan and opened the door for me without any +one being aroused by his irregular proceedings, which added considerably +to my alarm. But the flat is small, and my suspense was short. +'Enrietter was in her bedroom, on her bed, sleeping like a child. I +called her: she never stirred. I shook her: I might as well have tried +to wake the Seven Sleepers, the Sleeping Beauty, Barbarossa in the +Kyfhaüser, and all the sleepers who have slept through centuries of myth +and legend rolled into one. I had never seen anything like it. I had +never heard of anything like it except the trance which leads to +canonization, or the catalepsy that baffles science. To have a +cataleptic "general" to set off against the rapping nurse-maid of an +acquaintance, who wanted me to take her in and watch her in the cause of +Psychology, would be a triumph no doubt, but for all domestic purposes +it was likely to prove a more disturbing drawback than untidiness. + +However, 'Enrietter, when she appeared at the end of an hour, did not +call her midday sleep by any name so fine. She had been scrubbing very +hard--she suddenly had a faintness--she felt dazed, and, indeed, she +looked it still--the heat, she thought, she hardly knew--she threw +herself on her bed--she fell asleep. What could be simpler? And her +smile had never been prettier, her blue eyes never cast down more +demurely. I spoke of this little incident later to a friend, and was +rash enough to talk some nonsense about catalepsy. One should never go +to one's friends for sympathy. "More likely drink," was the only answer. + +Of course it was drink, and I ought to have known it without waiting for +'Enrietter herself to destroy my illusions, which she did at the end of +the first fortnight. The revelation came with her "Sunday out." To +simplify matters, I had made it mine too. 'Enrietter, according to my +domestic regulations, was to be back by ten o'clock, but to myself +greater latitude was allowed, and I did not return until after eleven. I +was annoyed to see the kitchen door wide open and the kitchen gas +flaring,--the worst of chambers is, you can't help seeing everything, +whether you want to or not. 'Enrietter had been told not to wait up for +me, and excess of devotion can be as trying as excess of neglect. If +only that had been my most serious reason for annoyance! For when I went +into the kitchen I found 'Enrietter sitting by the table, her arms +crossed on it, her head resting on her arms, fast asleep; and what makes +you laugh at noon may by midnight become a bore. I couldn't wake her. I +couldn't move her. Again, she slept like a log. In the end I lost my +temper, which was the best thing I could have done, for I shook her with +such violence that, at last, she stirred in her sleep. I shook harder. +She lifted her head. She smiled. + +"Thash a'right, mum," she said, and down went her head again. + +Furious, I shook her up on to her unsteady feet. "Go to bed," I said +with a dignity altogether lost upon her. "Go at once, and in the dark. +In your disgusting condition you are not fit to be trusted with a +candle." + +'Enrietter smiled. "Thash a'right, mum," she murmured reassuringly as +she reeled up the stairs before me. + +I must say for her that drink made her neither disagreeable nor +difficult. She carried it off light-heartedly and with the most perfect +politeness. + +I had her in for a talk the next morning. I admit now that this was +another folly. I ought to have sent her off bag and baggage then and +there. But it was my first experience of the kind; I didn't see what was +to become of me if she did go; and, as I am glad to remember, I had the +heart to be sorry for her. She was so young, so pretty, so capable. The +indiscretion of her Sunday out meant for me, at the worst, temporary +discomfort; for her, it might be the beginning of a life's tragedy. Her +explanation was ready,--she was as quick at explaining as at everything +else. I needn't tell her what I thought of her, it seemed; it was +nothing to what she thought of herself. There was no excuse. She was as +disgusted as I could be. It was all her sister's fault. Her sister would +make her drink a drop of brandy just before she left her home at +Richmond. It was very wrong of her sister, who knew she wasn't used to +brandy and couldn't stand it. + +The story would not have taken in a child, but as it suited me to give +her another trial, it was easier to make-believe to believe. Before the +interview was over I ventured a little good advice. I had seen too often +the draggled, filthy, sexless creatures drink makes of women in London, +and 'Enrietter was worth a better end. She listened with admirable +patience for one who was already, as I was only too quickly to learn, so +far on the way to the London gutter that there was no hope of holding +her back, as much as an inch, by words or kindness. + +The next Sunday 'Enrietter stayed in and went to bed sober. It was the +day after--a memorable Monday--that put an end to all compromise and +make-believe. I had promised to go down to Cambridge, to a lunch at one +of the colleges. At the English Universities time enters so little into +the scheme of existence that one loses all count of it, and I was pretty +sure I should be late in getting home. I said, however, that I should be +back early in the afternoon, and I took every latch-key with me,--as if +the want of a latch-key could make a prison for so accomplished a young +woman as 'Enrietter! The day was delightful, the weather as beautiful as +it can be in an English June, and the lunch gay. And afterwards there +was the stroll along the "Backs," and, in the golden hour before sunset, +afternoon tea in the garden, and I need not say that I missed my train. +It was close upon ten o'clock when I turned the key in my front door. +The flat was in darkness, except for the light that always shines into +our front windows at night from the lamps on the Embankment and Charing +Cross Bridge. There was no sign of 'Enrietter, and no sound of her until +I had pulled my bell three or four times, and shouted for her in the +manner I was taught as a child to consider the worst sort of form, not +to say vulgar. But it had its effect. A faint voice answered from the +ship's cabin upstairs, "Coming, mum." + +"Light the gas and the lamp," I said when I heard her in the hall. + +The situation called for all the light I could get. From the methodical +way she set about lighting the hall gas I knew that, at least, she +could not be reeling. Then she came in and lit the lamp, and I saw her. + +It was a thousand times worse than reeling, and my breath was taken away +with the horror of it. For there she stood, in a flashy pink +dressing-gown that was a disgrace in itself, her face ghastly as death, +and all across her forehead, low down over one of the blue eyes, a +great, wide, red gash. + +Before I had time to pull myself together 'Enrietter had told her +story,--so poor a story it showed how desperate now was her case. She +had been quiet all morning--no one had come--she had got through the +extra work I left with her. About three the milkman rang. A high wind +was blowing. The door, when she opened it, banged in her face and cut +her head open. And it had bled! She had only just succeeded in stopping +it. One part of her story, anyway, was true beyond dispute. That +terrible, gaping wound spoke for itself. + +I did not know what to do. I was new in the neighbourhood, and my +acquaintance with doctors anywhere is slight. But I could not turn her +into the street, I could not even leave her under my own roof all +night, like that. Something had to be done, and I ran downstairs to +consult the old Housekeeper, who, after her half century in the Quarter, +might be expected to know how to meet any emergency. + +More horrors awaited me in her room,--like Macbeth, I was supping full +with horrors,--for she had another story to tell, and, as I listened, +the ghastly face upstairs, with the gaping red wound, became a mere item +in an orgy more appropriate to the annals of the Rougon-Macquarts than, +I devoutly trust, to ours. I cannot tell the story as the Housekeeper +told it. She had a trick of going into hysterics at moments of +excitement, and as in all the years she had been in charge she had never +seen such goings on, it followed that in all those years, she had never +been so hysterical. She gasped and sobbed out her tale of horrors, and, +all the while, her daughter, who was in _the_ profession, sat apart, +and, in the exasperating fashion of the chorus of a Greek play, kept up +a running commentary emphasizing the points too emphatic to need +emphasis. + +To tell the story in my own way: I was hardly out of the house when +'Enrietter had a visit from a "gentleman,"--that was the Housekeeper's +description of him, and, as things go in England, he was a gentleman, +which makes my story the more sordid. How 'Enrietter had sent him word +the coast was clear I do not pretend to say, though I believe the London +milkman has a reputation as the Cupid's Postman of the kitchen, and I +recalled afterwards two or three notes 'Enrietter had received from her +sister by district messenger,--the same sister, no doubt, who gave her +the drop of brandy. Towards noon 'Enrietter and her gentleman were seen +to come downstairs and go out together. Where they went, what they did +during the three hours of their absence, no one knew,--no one will ever +know. Sometimes, in looking back, the greatest horrors to me are the +unknown chapters in the story of that day's doings. They were seen to +return, about three, in a hansom. The gentleman got out, unsteadily. +'Enrietter followed and collapsed in a little heap on the pavement. He +lifted her, and staggered with her in by the door and up the three long +flights of stairs to our chambers. + +And then--I confess, at this point even now my anger gets the better of +me. Every key for my front door was in my pocket,--women were still +allowed pockets in those days. There was no possible way in which they +could have got in again, had not that gentleman climbed the ladder up +which I had watched the British Workman not so many days before, and, +technically, broken into my place, and then come down the little +stairway and let 'Enrietter in. A burglar would have seemed clean and +honest compared to the gentleman housebreaking on such an errand. My +front door was heard to bang upon them both, and I wish to Heaven it had +been the last sound heard from our chambers that day. For a time all was +still. Then, of a sudden, piercing screams rang through the house and +out through the open windows into the scandalized Quarter. There was a +noise of heavy things falling or thrown violently down, curses filled +the air; as the Housekeeper told it to me, it was like something out of +Morrison's "Mean Streets" or the "Police-Court Gazette," and the +dreadful part of it was that, no doubt, I was being held responsible for +it! At last, loud above everything else, came blood-curdling cries of +"Murder! Murder! Help! Murder!" There was not a window of the many +over-looking my back rooms that was not filled with terrified +neighbours. The lady in the chambers on the floor below mine set up a +cry of her own for the police. The clerks from the Church League and +from the Architect's office were gathered on the stairs. A nice +reputation I must be getting in the house before my first month in it +was up! + +The Housekeeper, with a new attack of hysterics, protested that she had +not dared to interfere, though she had a key, nor could she give it to a +policeman without my authority--she knew her duty. The Greek Chorus +repeated, without hysterics but with careful elocution, that the +Housekeeper could not go in nor fetch the police without my +authority--she knew her duty. And so, the deeds that were done within my +four walls on that beautiful June afternoon must remain a mystery. The +only record is the mark 'Enrietter will carry on her forehead with her +to the grave. + +The noise gradually ceased. The neighbours, one by one, left the +windows, the lady below disappeared into her flat. The clerks went back +to work. And the Housekeeper crept into her rooms for the cup of tea +that saves every situation for the Englishwoman. She had not finished +when there came a knock at the door. She opened it, and there stood a +gentleman--_the_ gentleman--anyone could see he was a gentleman by his +hat--and he told her his story: the third version of the affair. He was +a medical student, he said. He happened to be passing along the Strand +when, just in front of Charing Cross, a cab knocked over a young lady. +She was badly hurt, but, as a medical student, he knew what to do. He +put her into another cab and brought her home; he saw to her injuries; +but now he could stay no longer. She seemed to be quite alone up there. +Her condition was serious; she should not be left alone. And he lifted +his hat and was gone. But the Housekeeper daren't intrude, even then; +she knew her place and her duty. She knew her place and her duty, the +Greek Chorus echoed, and the end of her story brought me to just where I +was at the beginning. Upon one point the gentleman was right, and that +was the condition of the "young lady" as long as that great wide gash +still gaped open. The Housekeeper, practical for all her hysterics, +sobbed out "The Hospital." "The Hospital!" echoed the Greek Chorus, and +I mounted the three flights of stairs for 'Enrietter. + +I tied up her head. I made her exchange the shameless pink dressing-gown +for her usual clothes. I helped her on with her hat, though I thought +she would faint before she was dressed. I led her down the three flights +of stairs into the street, across the Strand, to the hospital. By this +time it was well past eleven. + +So far I hadn't had a chance to think of appearances. But one glance +from the night-surgeon at the hospital, and it was hard to think of +anything else. He did not say a word more than the case demanded, but +his behaviour to me was abominable all the same. And I cannot blame him. +There was I, decently dressed I hope, for I had put on my very best for +Cambridge, in charge of a young woman dressed anyhow and with a broken +head. It was getting on toward midnight. The Strand was a stone's throw +away. Still, in his place, I hope I should have been less brutal. + +As for 'Enrietter, she had plenty of pluck, if she had no morals. She +bore the grisly business of having her head sewn up with the nerve of a +martyr. She never flinched, she never moaned; she was heroic. When it +was over, the night-surgeon told her--he never addressed himself to me +if he could help it--that it was a nasty cut and must be seen to again +the next day. The right eye had escaped by miracle, it might yet be +affected. What was most important at this stage was perfect quiet, +perfect repose. It was essential that she should sleep,--she must take +something to make her sleep. When I asked him meekly to give me an +opiate for her, he answered curtly that that was not his affair. There +was a chemist close by, I could get opium pills there, and he turned on +his heel. + +I took 'Enrietter home. I saw her up the three long flights of stairs +to our chambers, the one little stairway to her bedroom, and into her +bed. I walked down the little stairway and the three long flights. I +went out into the night. I hurried to the chemist's. It was past +midnight, an hour when decent women are not expected to wander alone in +the Strand, and now I was conscious that things might look queer to +others. I skulked in the darkest shadows like a criminal. I bought the +pills. I came home. For the fourth time I toiled up the three long +flights of stairs and the one little stairway. I gave 'Enrietter her +pills. I put out her light. I shut her in her room. + +And then? Why, then, I hadn't taken an opium pill. I wasn't sleepy. I +didn't want to sleep. I wanted to find out. I did what I have always +thought no self-respecting person would do. But to be mixed up in +'Enrietter's affairs was not calculated to strengthen one's +self-respect. And without a scruple I went into the kitchen and opened +every drawer, cupboard, and box, and read every letter, every scrap of +paper, I could lay my hands on. There wasn't much all told, but it was +enough. For I found out that the medical student, the gentleman, was a +clerk in the Bank of England,--I should like him to read this and to +know that I know his name and have his reputation in my hands. I found +out that 'Enrietter was his "old woman," and a great many other things +she ought not to have been. I found out that I had not dined once with +my friends that he had not spent the evening with her. I found out that +he had kept count of my every engagement with greater care than I had +myself. I found out that he had spent so many hours in my kitchen that +the question was what time he had left for the Bank of England. And I +found such an assortment of flasks and bottles that I could only marvel +how 'Enrietter had managed to be sober for one minute during the three +weeks of her stay with me. + +I sent for a charwoman the next morning. She was of the type now rapidly +dying out in London, and more respectable, if possible, than the +Housekeeper. Her manner went far to restore my self-respect, and this +was the only service I could ask of her, her time being occupied +chiefly in waiting upon 'Enrietter. In fairness, I ought to add that +'Enrietter was game to the last. She got up and downstairs somehow, she +cooked the lunch, she would have waited on the table, bandaged head and +all, had I let her. But the less I saw of her, the greater her chance +for the repose prescribed by the night-surgeon. Besides, she and her +bandaged head were due at the hospital. This time she went in charge of +the charwoman, whose neat shabby shawl and bonnet, as symbols of +respectability, were more than sufficient to keep all the night or day +surgeons of London in their place. They returned with the cheerful +intelligence that matters were much worse than was at first thought, +that 'Enrietter's eye was in serious danger, and absolute quiet in a +darkened room was essential, that lotions must be applied and medicines +administered at regular intervals,--in a word, that our chambers, as +long as she remained in them, must be turned into a nursing home, with +myself as chief nurse, which was certainly not what I had engaged her +for. + +I went upstairs, when she was in bed again, and told her so. She must +send for some one, I did not care whom, to come and take her off my +hands at once. My temper was at boiling-point, but not for the world +would I have shown it or done anything to destroy 'Enrietter's repose +and so make matters worse, and not be able to get rid of her at all. As +usual, her resources did not fail her; she was really wonderful all +through. There was an old friend of her father's, she said, who was in +the Bank of England--I knew that friend; he could admit her into a +hospital of which he was a patron--Heaven help that hospital! But I held +my peace. I even wrote her letter and sent it to the post by the +charwoman. 'Enrietter's morals were beyond me, but my own comfort was +not. + +I do not know whether the most astonishing thing in all the astonishing +episode was not the reappearance of the old friend of her father's in +his other rôle of medical student. I suppose he did not realize how +grave 'Enrietter's condition was. I am sure he did not expect anything +less than that I should open the door for him. But this was what +happened. His visit was late, the charwoman had gone for the night, and +I was left to do all 'Enrietter's work myself. He did not need to tell +me who he was,--his face did that for him,--but he stammered out the +wretched fable of the medical student, the young lady, and the cab. She +was quite alone when he left her, he added, and he was worried, and, +being in the neighbourhood, he called in passing to enquire if the young +lady were better, and if there were now some one to take care of her. +His self-confidence came back as he talked. + +"Your story is extremely interesting," I told him, "and I am especially +glad to hear it, because my cook"--with a vindictive emphasis on the +cook--"has told me quite a different one as to how she came by her +broken head. Now--" + +He was gone. He threw all pretence to the winds and ran downstairs as if +the police were at his heels, as I wished they were. I could not run +after him without making a second scandal in the house; and if I had +caught him, if I had given him in custody for trespass, as I was told +afterwards I might have done, how would I have liked figuring in the +Police Courts? + +Curiously, he did have influence with the hospital, which shall be +nameless. He did get a bed there for 'Enrietter the next morning. It may +be that he had learned by experience the convenience to himself of +having a hospital, as it were, in his pocket. But the arrangements were +by letter; he did not risk a second meeting, and I asked 'Enrietter no +questions. For my own satisfaction, I went with her to the hospital: a +long, melancholy drive in a four-wheeler, 'Enrietter with ghastly face, +more dead than alive. I delivered her into the hands of the nurses. I +left her there, a bandaged wreck of the pretty 'Enrietter who had been +such an ornament to our chambers. And that was the last I saw of her, +though not the last I heard. + +A day or two later her sister came to pack up her belongings,--a young +woman with a vacant smile, a roving eye, and a baby in her arms. I had +only to look at her to know that she wasn't the sort of sister to force +anything on anybody, much less on 'Enrietter. And yet I went to the +trouble of reading her a little lecture. 'Enrietter's morals were beyond +me, but I am not entirely without a conscience. The sister kept on +simpering vacantly, while her eyes roved from print to print on the +walls of the dining-room where the lecture was delivered, and the baby +stared at me with portentous solemnity. + +Then, about three weeks after the sister's visit, I heard from +'Enrietter herself. She wrote with her accustomed politeness. She begged +my pardon for troubling me. She had left the hospital. She was at home +in Richmond, and she had just unpacked the trunk the sister had packed +for her. Only one thing was missing. She would be deeply obliged if I +would look in the left-hand drawer of the kitchen dresser and send her +the package of cigarettes I would find there. And she was mine, "Very +respectfully." + +This is the story of 'Enrietter's adventures in our chambers, and I +think whoever reads it will not wonder that I fought shy afterwards of +the English servant who was not well on the wrong side of forty and +whose thirst could not be quenched with tea. The real wonder is that I +had the courage to risk another maid of any kind. Women have been +reproached with their love of gossiping about servants since time +immemorial, and I do not know for how long before that. But when I +remember 'Enrietter, I do not understand how we have the heart ever to +gossip about anything else. What became of her, who can say? Sometimes, +when I think of her pretty face and all that was good in her, I can only +hope that the next orgy led to still worse things than a broken head, +and that Death saved her from the London streets. + + + + +_Trimmer_ + +[Illustration: "AND THE WONDER GROWS WITH THE NIGHT"] + + + + +II + +TRIMMER + + +Until I began my search for an elderly woman who never drank anything +stronger than tea, I had supposed it was the old who could find nobody +to give them work. But my trouble was to find somebody old enough to +give mine to. The "superior domestics" at the Registry Offices were much +too well trained to confess even to middle age, and probably I should be +looking for my elderly woman to this day, had not chance led Trimmer one +afternoon to an office which I had left without hope in the morning. As +her years could supply no possible demand save mine, she was sent at +once to our chambers. + +To tell the truth, as soon as I saw her, I began to doubt my own wisdom. +I had never imagined anybody quite so respectable. In her neat but rusty +black dress and cape, her hair parted and brought carefully down over +her ears, her bonnet tied under her chin, her reticule hanging on her +arm, she was the incarnation of British respectability; "the very type," +the "old Master Rembrandt van Rijn, with three Baedeker stars," I could +almost hear Mr. Henry James describing her; and all she wanted was to +belong "beautifully" to me. But then she looked as old as she looked +respectable,--so much older than I meant her to look,--old to the point +of fragility. She admitted to fifty-five, and when mentally I added four +or five years more, I am sure I was not over generous. Her face was +filled with wrinkles, her skin was curiously delicate, and she had the +pallor that comes from a steady diet of tea and bread and sometimes +butter. The hands through the large, carefully mended black gloves +showed twisted and stiff, and it was not easy to fancy them making our +beds and our fires, cooking our dinners, dusting our rooms, opening our +front door. We needed some one to take care of us, and it was plain that +she was far more in need of some one to take care of her,--all the +plainer because of her anxiety to prove her capacity for work. There +was nothing she could not do, nothing she would not do if I were but to +name it. "I can cut about, mum, you'll see. Oh, I'm bonny!" And the +longer she talked, the better I knew that during weeks, and perhaps +months, she had been hunting for a place, which at the best is wearier +work than hunting for a servant, and at the worst leads straight to the +workhouse, the one resource left for the honest poor who cannot get a +chance to earn their living, and who, by the irony of things, dread it +worse than death. + +With my first doubt I ought to have sent her away. But I kept putting +off the uncomfortable duty by asking her questions, only to find that +she was irreproachable on the subject of alcohol, that she preferred +"beer-money" to beer, that there was no excuse not to take her except +her age, and this, in the face of her eagerness to remain, I had not the +pluck to make. My hesitation cost me the proverbial price. Before the +interview was over I had engaged her on the condition that her +references were good, as of course they were, though she sent me for +them to the most unexpected place in the world, a corset and petticoat +shop not far from Leicester Square. Through the quarter to which all +that is disreputable in Europe drifts, where any sort of virtue is +exposed to damage beyond repair, she had carried her respectability and +emerged more respectable than ever. + +She came to us with so little delay that I knew better than ever how +urgent was her case. Except for the providentially short interval with +'Enrietter, this was my first experience of the British servant, and it +was enough to make me tremble. It was impossible to conceive of anything +more British. Her print dress, changed for a black one in the afternoon, +her white apron and white cap, became in my eyes symbolic. I seemed, in +her, to face the entire caste of British servants who are so determined +never to be slaves that they would rather fight for their freedom to be +as slavish as they always have been. She knew her place, and what is +more, she knew ours, and meant to keep us in it, no matter whether we +liked or did not like to be kept there. I was the Mistress and J. was +the Master, and if, with our American notions, we forgot it, she never +did, but on our slightest forgetfulness brought us up with a round turn. +So correct, indeed, was her conduct, and so respectable and venerable +was her appearance, that she produced the effect in our chambers of an +old family retainer. Friends would have had us train her to address me +as "Miss Elizabeth," or J. as "Master J.," and pass her off for the +faithful old nurse who is now so seldom met out of fiction. + +For all her deference, however, she clung obstinately to her prejudices. +We might be as American in our ways as we pleased, she would not let us +off one little British bit in hers. She never presumed unbidden upon an +observation and if I forced one from her she invariably begged my pardon +for the liberty. She thanked us for everything, for what we wanted as +gratefully as for what we did not want. She saw that we had hot water +for our hands at the appointed hours. She compelled us to eat Yorkshire +pudding with our sirloin of beef, and bread-sauce with our fowl,--in +this connection how can I bring myself to say chicken? She could never +quite forgive us for our indifference to "sweets"; and for the daily +bread-and-butter puddings and tarts we would not have, she made up by an +orgy of tipsy cakes and creams when anybody came to dine. How she was +reconciled to our persistent refusal of afternoon tea, I always +wondered; though I sometimes thought that, by the stately function she +made of it in the kitchen, she hoped to atone for this worst of our +American heresies. + +Whatever she might be as a type, there was no denying that as a servant +she had all the qualities. She was an excellent cook, despite her +flamboyant and florid taste in sweets; she was sober, she was obliging, +she had by no means exaggerated her talent for "cutting about," and I +never ceased to be astonished at the amount she accomplished. The fire +was always burning when we got down in the morning, breakfast always +ready. Beds were made, lunch served, the front door opened, dinner +punctual. I do not know how she did it all, and I now remember with +thankfulness our scruples when we saw her doing it, and the early date +at which we supplied her with an assistant in the shape of a snuffy, +frowzy old charwoman. The revelation of how much too much remained for +her even then came only when we lost her, and I was obliged to look +below the surface. While she was with us, the necessity of looking below +never occurred to me; and as our chambers had been done up from top to +bottom just before she moved into them, they stood her method on the +surface admirably. + +This method perhaps struck me as the more complete because it left her +the leisure for a frantic attempt to anticipate our every wish. She +tried to help us with a perseverance that was exasperating, and as her +training had taught her the supremacy of the master in the house, it was +upon J. that her efforts were chiefly spent. I could see him writhe +under her devotion, until there were times when I dreaded to think what +might come of it, all the more because my sympathies were so entirely +with him. If he opened his door, she rushed to ask what he wanted. A spy +could not have spied more diligently; and as in our small chambers the +kitchen door was almost opposite his, he never went or came that she did +not know it. He might be as short with her as he could, and in British +fashion order her never to come into the studio, but it was no use; she +could not keep out of it. Each new visitor, or letter, or message, was +an excuse for her to flounder in among the portfolios on the floor and +the bottles of acid in the corner, at the risk of his temper and her +life. On the whole, he bore it with admirable patience. But there was +one awful morning when he hurried into my room, slammed the door after +him, and in a whisper said,--he who would not hurt a fly,--"If you don't +keep that woman out of my room, I'll wring her neck for her!" + +I might have spared myself any anxiety. Had J. offered to her face to +wring her neck, she would have smiled and said, "That's all right, sir! +Thank you, sir!" For, with Trimmer, to be "bonny" meant to be cheerful +under any and all conditions. So long as her cherished traditions were +not imperilled, she had a smile for every emergency. It was +characteristic of her to allow me to christen her anew the first day she +was with us, and not once to protest. We could not bring ourselves to +call her Lily, her Christian name, so inappropriate was it to her +venerable appearance. Her surname was even more impossible, for +she was the widow of a Mr. Trim. She herself--helpful from the +beginning--suggested "cook." But she was a number of things besides, and +though I did not mind my friends knowing that she was as many persons in +one as the cook of the Nancy Bell, it would have been superfluous to +remind them of it on every occasion. When, at my wits' end, I added a +few letters and turned the impossible Trim into Trimmer, she could not +have been more pleased had I made her a present, and from that moment +she answered to the new name as if born to it. + +The same philosophy carried her through every trial and tribulation. It +was sure to be all right if, before my eyes and driving me to tears, she +broke the plates I could not replace without a journey to Central +France, or if in the morning the kitchen was a wreck after the night +Jimmy, our unspeakable black cat, had been making of it. Fortunately he +went out as a rule for his sprees, realizing that our establishment +could not stand the wear and tear. When he chanced to stay at home, I +have come down to the kitchen in the morning to find the clock ticking +upside down on the floor, oranges and apples rolling about, spoons and +forks under the table, cups and saucers in pieces, and Jimmy on the +table washing his face. But Trimmer would meet me with a radiant smile +and would put things to rights, while Jimmy purred at her heels, as if +both were rather proud of the exploit, certain that no other cat in the +world could, "all by his lone" and in one night, work such ruin. + +After all, it was a good deal Trimmer's fault if we got into the habit +of shifting disagreeable domestic details on to her shoulders, she had +such a way of offering them for the purpose. It was she who, when +Jimmy's orgies had at last undermined his health and the "vet" +prescribed a dose of chloroform as the one remedy, went to see it +administered, coming back to tell us of the "beautiful corpse" he had +made. It was she who took our complaints to the Housekeeper downstairs, +and met those the other tenants brought against us. It was she who +bullied stupid tradesmen and stirred up idle workmen. It was she, in a +word, who served as domestic scapegoat. And she never remonstrated. I am +convinced that if I had said, "Trimmer, there's a lion roaring at the +door," she would have answered, "That's all right, mum! thank you, mum!" +and rushed to say that we were not at home to him. As it happens, I know +how she would have faced a burglar, for late one evening when I was +alone in our chambers, I heard some one softly trying to turn the knob +of the door of the box-room. What I did was to shut and bolt the door at +the foot of our little narrow stairway, thankful that there was a door +there that could be bolted. What Trimmer did, when she came home ten +minutes later and I told her, "There's a burglar in the box-room," was +to say, "Oh, is there, mum? thank you, mum. That's all right. I'll just +run up and see"; and she lit her candle and walked right up to the +box-room and unlocked and opened the door. Out flew William Penn, +furious with us because he had let himself be shut in where nobody had +seen him go, and where he had no business to have gone. He was only the +cat, I admit. But he might have been the burglar for all Trimmer knew, +and--what then? + +As I look back and think of these things, I am afraid we imposed upon +her. At the time, we had twinges of conscience, especially when we +caught her "cutting about" with more than her usual zeal. She was not +designed by nature to "cut about" at all. To grow old with her meant "to +lose the glory of the form." She was short, she had an immense breadth +of hip, and she waddled rather than walked. When, in her haste, her cap +would get tilted to one side, and she would give a smudge to her nose or +her cheek, she was really a grotesque little figure, and the twinges +became acute. To see her "cutting about" so unbecomingly for us at an +age when she should have been allowed, unburdened, to crawl towards +death, was to shift the heaviest responsibility to our shoulders and to +make us the one barrier between her and the workhouse. We could not +watch the tragedy of old age in our own household without playing a more +important part in it than we liked. + +Her cheerfulness was the greater marvel when I learned how little reason +life had given her for it. In her rare outbursts of confidence, with +excuses for the liberty, she told me that she was London born and bred, +that she had gone into service young, and that she had married before +she was twenty. I fancy she must have been pretty as a girl. I know she +was "bonny," and "a fine one" for work, and I am not surprised that Trim +wanted to marry her. He was a skilled plasterer by trade, got good +wages, and was seldom out of a job. They had a little house in some +far-away mean street, and though the children who would have been +welcome never came, there was little else to complain of. + +Trim was good to her, that is, unless he was in liquor, which I gathered +he mostly was. He was fond of his glass, sociable-like, and with his +week's wages in his pocket, could not keep away from his pals in the +public. Trimmer's objection to beer was accounted for when I discovered +that Trim's fondness for it often kept the little house without bread +and filled it with curses. There were never blows. Trim was good, she +reminded me, and the liquor never made him wicked,--only made him leave +his wife to starve, and then curse her for starving. She was tearful +with gratitude when she remembered his goodness in not beating her; but +when her story reached the day of his tumbling off a high ladder--the +beer was in his legs--and being brought back to her dead, it seemed to +me a matter of rejoicing. Not to her, however, for she had to give up +the little house and go into service again, and she missed Trim and his +curses. She did not complain. She always found good places, and she +adopted a little boy, a sweet little fellow, like a son to her, whom she +sent to school and started in life, and had never seen since. But young +men will be young men, and she loved him. She was very happy at the +corset and petticoat shop, where she lived while he was with her. After +business hours she was free, for apparently the responsibility of being +alone in a big house all night was as simple for her as braving a +burglar in our chambers. The young ladies were pleasant, she was well +paid. Then her older brother's wife died and left him with six children. +What could she do but go and look after them when he asked her? + +He was well-to-do, and his house and firing and lighting were given him +in addition to high wages. He did not pay her anything, of course,--she +was his sister. But it was a comfortable home, the children were fond of +her,--and also of her cakes and puddings,--and she looked forward to +spending the rest of her days there. But at the end of two years he +married again, and when the new wife came, the old sister went. This was +how it came about that, without a penny in her pocket, and with nothing +save her old twisted hands to keep her out of the workhouse, she was +adrift again at an age which made her undesirable to everybody except +foolish people like ourselves, fresh from the horrors of our experience +with 'Enrietter. It never occurred to Trimmer that there was anything to +complain of. For her, all had always been for the best in the best of +all possible worlds. That she had now chanced upon chambers and two +people and one dissipated cat to take care of, and more to do than ought +to have been asked of her, was but another stroke of her invariable good +luck. + +She had an amazing faculty of turning all her little molehills into +mountains of pleasure. I have never known anything like the joy she got +from her family, though I never could quite make out why. She was +inordinately proud of the brother who had been so ready to get rid of +her; the sister-in-law who had replaced her was a paragon of virtue; the +nieces were so many infant phenomena, and one Sunday when, with the +South London world of fashion, they were walking in the Embankment +Gardens, she presumed so far as to bring them up to our chambers to show +them off to me, and the affectionate glances she cast upon their +expansive lace collars explained that she still had her uses in the +family. There was also a cousin whom, to Trimmer's embarrassment, I +often found in our kitchen; but much worse than frequent visits could +be forgiven her, since it was she who, after Jimmy's inglorious end, +brought us William Penn, a pussy then small enough to go into her +coat-pocket, but already gay enough to dance his way straight into our +hearts. + +Trimmer's pride reached high-water mark when it came to a younger +brother who travelled in "notions" for a city firm. His proprietor was +the personage the rich Jew always is in the city of London, and was made +Alderman and Lord Mayor, and knighted and baroneted, during the years +Trimmer spent with us. She took enormous satisfaction in the splendour +of this success, counting it another piece of her good luck to be +connected, however remotely, with anybody so distinguished. She had +almost an air of proprietorship on the 9th of November, when from our +windows she watched his Show passing along the Embankment; she could not +have been happier if she herself had been seated in the gorgeous +Cinderella coach, with the coachman in wig and cocked hat, and the +powdered footmen perched up behind; and when J. went to the Lord +Mayor's dinner that same evening at the Guildhall, it became for her +quite a family affair. I often fancied that she thought it reflected +glory on us all to have the sister of a man who travelled in "notions" +for a knight and a Lord Mayor, living in our chambers; though she would +never have taken the liberty of showing it. + +Trimmer's joy was only less in our friends than in her family, which was +for long a puzzle to me. They added considerably to her already heavy +task, and in her place, I should have hated them for it. It might amuse +us to have them drop in to lunch or to dinner at any time, and to gather +them together once a week, on Thursday evening. But it could hardly +amuse Trimmer, to whose share fell the problem of how to make a meal +prepared for two go round among four or six, or how to get to the front +door and dispose of hats and wraps in chambers so small that the weekly +gathering filled even our little hall to overflowing. There was always +some one to help her on Thursdays, and she had not much to do in the way +of catering. "Plain living and high talking" was the principle upon +which our evenings were run, and whoever wanted more than a sandwich or +so could go elsewhere. But whatever had to be done, Trimmer insisted on +doing, and, moreover, on doing it until the last pipe was out and the +last word spoken; and as everybody almost was an artist or a writer, and +as there is no subject so inexhaustible as "shop," I do not like to +remember how late that often was. It made no difference. She refused to +go to bed, and in her white cap and apron, with her air of old retainer +or family nurse, she would waddle about through clouds of tobacco-smoke, +offering a box of cigarettes here, a plate of sandwiches there, radiant, +benevolent, more often than not in the way, toward the end looking as if +she would drop, but apparently enjoying herself more than anybody, until +it seemed as if the unkindness would be not to let her stay up in it. + +More puzzling to me than her interest in all our friends was her choice +of a few for her special favour. I could not see the reason for her +choice, unless I had suspected her of a sudden passion for literature +and art. Certainly her chief attentions were lavished on the most +distinguished among our friends, who were the very people most apt to +put her devotion to the test. She adored Whistler, though when he was in +London he had a way not only of dropping in to dinner, but sometimes of +dropping in so late that it had to be cooked all over again. She was so +far from minding that, at the familiar sound of his knock and ring, her +face was wreathed in smiles, she seemed to look upon the extra work as a +privilege, and I have known her, without a word, trot off to the +butcher's or the green-grocer's, or even to the tobacconist's in the +Strand for the little Algerian cigarettes he loved. She went so far as +to abandon certain of her prejudices for his benefit, and I realized +what a conquest he had made when she resigned herself to cooking a fowl +in a casserole and serving it without bread-sauce. She discovered the +daintiness of his appetite, and it was delightful to see her hovering +over him at table and pointing out the choice bits in every dish she +passed. She was forever finding an excuse to come into any room where +he might be. Altogether, it was as complete a case of fascination as if +she had known him to be the great master he was; and she was his slave +long before he gave her the ten shillings, which was valued +sentimentally as I really believe a tip never was before or since by a +British servant. + +Henley was hardly second in her esteem, and this was the more +inexplicable because he provided her with so many more chances to prove +it. Whistler then lived in Paris, and appeared only now and then. Henley +lived in London half the week, and rarely missed a Thursday. For it was +on that evening that the "National Observer," which he was editing, went +to press, and the printers in Covent Garden were conveniently near to +our chambers. His work done, the paper put to bed, about ten or eleven +he and the train of young men then in attendance upon him would come +round; and to them, in the comfortable consciousness that the rest of +the week was their own, time was of no consideration. Henley exulted in +talk: if he had the right audience he would talk all night; and the +right audience was willing to listen so long as he talked in our +chambers. But Trimmer, in the kitchen, or handing round sandwiches, +could not listen, and yet she lingered as long as anybody. It might be +almost dawn before he got up to go, but she was there to fetch him his +crutch and his big black hat, and to shut the door after him. Whatever +the indiscretion of the hour one Thursday, she welcomed him as cordially +the next, or any day in between when inclination led him to toil up the +three long flights of stairs to our dinner-table. + +Phil May was no less in her good graces, and his hours, if anything, +were worse than Henley's, since the length of his stay did not depend on +his talk. I never knew a man of less conversation. "Have a drink," was +its extent with many who thought themselves in his intimacy. This was a +remark which he could scarcely offer to Trimmer at the front door, where +Whistler and Henley never failed to exchange with her a friendly +greeting. But all the same, she seemed to feel the charm which his +admirers liked to attribute to him, and to find his smile, when he +balanced himself on the back of a chair, more than a substitute for +conversation, however animated. The flaw in my enjoyment of his company +on our Thursdays was the certainty of the length of time he would be +pleased to bestow it upon us. Trimmer must have shared this certainty, +but to her it never mattered. She never failed to return his smile, +though when he got down to go, she might be nodding, and barely able to +drag one tired old foot after the other. + +She made as much of "Bob" Stevenson, whose hours were worse than +anybody's. We would perhaps run across him at a press view of pictures +in the morning and bring him back to lunch, he protesting that he must +leave immediately after to get home to Kew and write his article before +six o'clock. And then he would begin to talk, weaving a romance of any +subject that came up,--the subject was nothing, it was always what he +made of it,--and he would go on talking until Trimmer, overjoyed at the +chance, came in with afternoon tea; and he would go on talking until +she announced dinner; and he would go on talking until all hours the +next morning, long after his last train and any possibility of his +article getting into yesterday afternoon's "Pall Mall." But early as he +might appear, late as he might stay, he was never too early or too late +for Trimmer. + +These were her favourites, though she was ready to "mother" Beardsley, +who, she seemed to think, had just escaped from the schoolroom and ought +to be sent back to it; though she had a protecting eye also for George +Steevens, just up from Oxford, evidently mistaking the silence which was +then his habit for shyness; though, indeed, she overflowed with kindness +for everybody who came. It was astonishing how, at her age, she managed +to adapt herself to people and ways so unlike any she could ever have +known, without relaxing in the least from her own code of conduct. + +Only twice can I remember seeing her really ruffled. Once was when Felix +Buhot, who, during a long winter he spent in London, was often with us +on Thursdays, went into the kitchen to teach her to make coffee. The +inference that she could not make it hurt her feelings; but her real +distress was to have him in the kitchen, which "ladies and gentlemen" +should not enter. Between her desire to get him back to the dining-room +and her fear lest he should discover it, she was terribly embarrassed. +It was funny to watch them: Buhot, unconscious of wrong and of English, +intent upon measuring the coffee and pouring out the boiling water; +Trimmer fluttering about him with flushed and anxious face, talking very +loud and with great deliberation, in the not uncommon conviction that +the foreigner's ignorance of English is only a form of deafness. + +On the other occasion she lost her temper, the only time in my +experience. It was a Sunday afternoon, and Whistler, appearing while she +was out and staying on to supper, got Constant, his man, to add an onion +soup and an omelet to the cold meats she had prepared, for he would +never reconcile himself to the English supper. She was furious when she +got back and found that her pots and pans had been meddled with, and her +larder raided. She looked upon it as a reproach; as if she couldn't +serve Mr. Whistler as well as any foreign servant,--she had no use for +foreign servants anyhow,--she would not have them making their foreign +messes in any kitchen of hers! It took days and careful diplomacy to +convince her that she had not been insulted. + +I was the more impressed by this outbreak of temper because, as a rule, +she gave no sign of seeing, or hearing, or understanding anything that +went on in our chambers. She treated me as I believe royalty should be +treated, leaving it to me to open the talk, or to originate a topic. I +remember once, when we were involved in a rumpus which had been +discussed over our dinner-table for months beforehand, and which at the +time filled the newspapers and was such public property that everybody +in the Quarter--the milkman, the florist at the Temple of Pomona in the +Strand, the Housekeeper downstairs, the postman--congratulated us on our +victory, Trimmer alone held her peace. I could not believe that she +really did not know, and at last I asked her:-- + +"I suppose you have heard, Trimmer, what has been going on these days?" + +"What, mum?" was her answer. + +Then, exasperated, I explained. + +"Why yes, mum," she said. "I beg your pardon, mum, I really couldn't +'elp it. I 'ave been reading the pipers, and the 'ousekeeper she was +a-talking to me about it before you come in, and the postman too, and I +was sayin' as 'ow glad I was. I 'ope you and the Master won't think it a +liberty, mum. Thank you, mum!" + +I remember another time, when some of our friends took to running away +with other friends' wives, and things became so complicated for +everybody that our Thursday evenings were brought to a sudden end, +Trimmer kept the same stolid countenance throughout, until, partly to +prevent awkwardness, partly out of curiosity, I asked her if she had +seen the papers. + +"Oh, I beg your pardon, mum," she hesitated, "thank you, mum, I'm sure. +I know it's a liberty, but you know, mum, they've all been 'ere so often +I couldn't help noticing there was somethink. And I'm very sorry, mum, +if you'll excuse the liberty, they all was such lidies and gentlemen, +mum." + +And so, I should never have known there was another reason, besides the +natural kindness of her heart, for her interest in our friends and her +acceptance of their ways, if, before this, I had not happened to say to +her one Friday morning,-- + +"You seem, Trimmer, to have a very great admiration for Mr. Phil May." + +"I 'ope you and Master won't think it a liberty, mum," she answered, in +an agony of embarrassment, "but I do like to see 'im, and they allus so +like to 'ear about 'im at 'ome. They're allus asking me when I 'ave last +seen 'im or Mr. Whistler." + +Then it came out. Chance had bestowed upon her father and one of the +great American magazines the same name, with the result that the +magazine was looked upon by her brothers and herself as belonging +somehow to the family. The well-to-do brother subscribed to it, the +other came to his house to see each new number. Through the +illustrations and articles they had become as familiar with artists and +authors as most people in England are with the "winners," and their +education had reached at least the point of discovery that news does not +begin and end in sport. Judging from Trimmer, I doubt if at first their +patronage of art and literature went much further, but this was far +enough for them to know, and to feel flattered by the knowledge, that +she was living among people who figured in the columns of art and +literary gossip as prominently as "all the winners" in the columns of +the Sporting Prophets, though they would have been still more flattered +had her lot been cast among the Prophets. In a few cases, their interest +soon became more personal. + +It was their habit--why, I do not suppose they could have said +themselves--to read any letter Whistler might write to the papers at a +moment when he was given to writing, though what they made of the letter +when read was more than Trimmer was able to explain; they also looked +out for Phil May's drawings in "Punch"; they passed our articles round +the family circle,--a compliment hardly more astonishing to Trimmer +than to us. As time went on they began to follow the career of several +of our other friends to whom Trimmer introduced them; and it was a +gratification to them all, as well as a triumph for her, when on Sunday +afternoon she could say, "Mr. Crockett or Mr. 'Arold Frederic was at +Master's last Thursday." Thus, through us, she became for the first time +a person of importance in her brother's house, and I suspect also quite +an authority in Brixton on all questions of art and literature. Indeed, +she may, for all I know, have started another Carnegie Library in South +London. + +It is a comfort now to think that her stay with us was pleasant to her; +wages alone could not have paid our debt for the trouble she spared us +during her five years in our chambers. I have an idea that, in every +way, it was the most prosperous period of her life. When she came, she +was not only without a penny in her pocket, but she owed pounds for her +outfit of aprons and caps and dresses. Before she left, she was saving +money. She opened a book at the Post Office Savings Bank; she +subscribed to one of those societies which would assure her a +respectable funeral, for she had the ambition of all the self-respecting +poor to be put away decent, after having, by honest work, kept off the +parish to the end. Her future provided for, she could make the most of +whatever pleasures the present might throw in her way,--the pantomime at +Christmas, a good seat for the Queen's Jubilee procession; above all, +the two weeks' summer holiday. No journey was ever so full of adventure +as hers to Margate, or Yarmouth, or Hastings, from the first preparation +to the moment of return, when she would appear laden with presents of +Yarmouth bloaters or Margate shrimps, to be divided between the old +charwoman and ourselves. + +If she had no desire to leave us, we had none to have her go; and as the +years passed, we did not see why she should. She was old, but she bore +her age with vigour. She was hardly ever ill, and never with anything +worse than a cold or an indigestion, though she had an inconvenient +talent for accidents. The way she managed to cut her fingers was little +short of genius. One or two were always wrapped in rags. But no matter +how deep the gash, she was as cheerful as if it were an accomplishment. +With the blood pouring from the wound, she would beam upon me: "You 'ave +no idea, mum, what wonderful flesh I 'as fur 'ealin'." Her success in +falling down our little narrow stairway was scarcely less remarkable. +But the worst tumble of all was the one which J. had so long expected. +He had just moved his portfolios to an unaccustomed place one morning, +when a letter, or a message, or something, sent her stumbling into the +studio with her usual impetuosity, and over she tripped. It was so bad +that we had to have the doctor, her arm was so seriously strained that +he made her carry it in a sling for weeks. We were alarmed, but not +Trimmer. + +"You know, mum, it _is_ lucky; it might 'ave been the right harm, and +that would 'ave been bad!" + +She really thought it another piece of her extraordinary good luck. + +Poor Trimmer! It needed so little to make her happy, and within five +years of her coming to us that little was taken from her. All she asked +of life was work, and a worse infirmity than age put a stop to her +working for us, or for anybody else, ever again. At the beginning of her +trouble, she would not admit to us, nor I fancy to herself, that +anything was wrong, and she was "bonny," though she went "cutting about" +at a snail's pace and her cheerful old face grew haggard. Presently, +there were days when she could not keep up the pretence, and then she +said her head ached and she begged my pardon for the liberty. I +consulted a doctor. He thought it might be neuralgia and dosed her for +it; she thought it her teeth, and had almost all the few still left to +her pulled out. And the pain was worse than ever. Then, as we were on +the point of leaving town for some weeks, we handed over our chambers to +the frowzy old charwoman, and sent Trimmer down to the sea at Hastings. +She was waiting to receive us when we returned, but she gave us only the +ghost of her old smile in greeting, and her face was more haggard and +drawn than ever. For a day she tottered about from one room to another, +cooking, dusting, making beds, and looking all the while as if she were +on the rack. She was a melancholy wreck of the old cheerful, bustling, +exasperating Trimmer; and it was more than we could stand. I told her +so. She forgot to beg my pardon for the liberty in her hurry to assure +me that nothing was wrong, that she could work, that she wanted to work, +that she was not happy when she did not work. + +"Oh, I'm bonny, mum, I'm bonny!" she kept saying over and over again. + +Her despair at the thought of stopping work was more cruel to see than +her physical torture, and I knew, without her telling me, that her fear +of the pain she might have still to suffer was nothing compared to her +fear of the workhouse she had toiled all her life to keep out of. She +had just seven pounds and fifteen shillings for her fortune; her family, +being working people, would have no use for her once she was of no use +to them; our chambers were her home only so long as she could do in them +what she had agreed to do; there was no Workmen's Compensation Act in +those days, no old-age pensions, even if she had been old enough to get +one. What was left for a poor woman, full of years and pain, save the +one refuge which, all her life, she had been taught to look upon as +scarcely less shameful than the prison or the scaffold? + +Well, Trimmer had done her best for us; now we did our best for her, +and, as it turned out, the best that could be done. Through a friend, we +got her into St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Her case was hopeless from the +first. A malignant growth so close to the brain that at her age an +operation was too serious a risk, and without it she might linger in +agony for months,--this was what life had been holding in store for +Trimmer during those long years of incessant toil, and self-sacrifice, +and obstinate belief that a drunken husband, a selfish brother, an empty +purse, were all for the best in our best of all possible worlds. + +She did not know how ill she was, and her first weeks at the hospital +were happy. The violence of the pain was relieved, the poor tired old +body was the better for the rest and the cool and the quiet; she who had +spent her strength waiting on others enjoyed the novel experience of +being waited on herself. There were the visits of her family on visiting +days, and mine in between, to look forward to; some of our friends, who +had grown as fond of her as we, sent her fruit and flowers, and she +liked the consequence all this gave her in the ward. Then, the hospital +gossip was a distraction, perhaps because in talking about the +sufferings of others she could forget her own. My objection was that she +would spare me not a single detail. But in some curious way I could not +fathom, it seemed a help to Trimmer, and I had not the heart to cut her +stories short. + +After a month or so, the reaction came. Her head was no better, and what +was the hospital good for if they couldn't cure her? She grew +suspicious, hinting dark things to me about the doctors. They were +keeping her there to try experiments on her, and she was a respectable +woman, and always had been, and she did not like to be stared at in her +bed by a lot of young fellows. The nurses were as bad. But once out of +their clutches she would be "bonny" again, she knew. Probably the +doctors and nurses knew too, for the same suspicion is more often than +not their reward; and indeed it was so unlike Trimmer that she must have +picked it up in the ward. Anyway, in their kindness they had kept her +far longer than is usual in such cases, and when they saw her grow +restless and unhappy, it seemed best to let her go. At the end of four +months, and to her infinite joy, Trimmer, five years older than when she +came to us, in the advanced stage of an incurable disease, with a +capital of seven pounds and fifteen shillings, was free to begin life +again. + +I pass quickly over the next weeks,--I wish I could have passed over +them as quickly at the time. My visits were now to a drab quarter on the +outskirts of Camden Town, where Trimmer had set up as a capitalist. She +boarded with her cousin, many shillings of her little store going to pay +the weekly bill; she found a wonderful doctor who promised to cure her +in no time, and into his pockets the rest of her savings flowed. There +was no persuading her that he could not succeed where the doctors at the +hospital had failed, and so long as she went to him, to help her would +only have meant more shillings for an unscrupulous quack who traded on +the ignorance and credulity of the poor. Week by week I saw her grow +feebler, week by week I knew her little capital was dribbling fast away. +She seemed haunted by the dread that her place would be taken in our +chambers, and that, once cured, she would have to hunt for another. That +she was "bonny" was the beginning and end of all she had to say. One +morning, to prove it, she managed to drag herself down to see us, +arriving with just strength enough to stagger into my room, her arms +outstretched to feel her way, for the disease, by this time, was +affecting both eyes and brain. Nothing would satisfy her until she had +gone into the studio, stumbling about among the portfolios, I on one +side, on the other J., with no desire to wring her neck for it was grim +tragedy we were guiding between us,--tragedy in rusty black with a +reticule hanging from one arm,--five years nearer the end than when +first the curtain rose upon it in our chambers. We bundled her off as +fast as we could, in a cab, with the cousin who had brought her. She +stopped in the doorway. + +"Oh, I'm bonny, mum. I can cut about, you'll see!" And she would have +fallen, had not the cousin caught and steadied her. + +After that, she had not the strength to drag herself anywhere, not even +to see the quack. A week later she took to her bed, almost blind, her +poor old wits scattered beyond recovery. I was glad of that: it spared +her the weary waiting and watching for death while the shadow of the +grim building she feared still more drew ever nearer. I hesitated to go +and see her, for my mere presence stirred her into consciousness, and +reminded her of her need to work and her danger if she could not. Then +there was a day when she did not seem to know I was there, and she paid +no attention to me, never spoke until just as I was going, when of a +sudden she sat bolt upright:-- + +"Oh, I'm bonny, mum, I'm bonny. You'll see!" she wailed, and sank back +on her pillows. + +These were Trimmer's last words to me, and I left her at death's door, +still crying for work, as if in the next world, as in this, it was her +only salvation. Very soon, the cousin came to tell me that the little +capital had dribbled entirely away, and that she could not keep Trimmer +without being paid for it. Could I blame her? She had her own fight +against the shadow hanging all too close now over Trimmer. Her 'usband +worked 'ard, she said, and they could just live respectable, and +Trimmer's brothers, they was for sending Trimmer to the workus. They +might have sent her, and I doubt if she would have been the wiser. But +could we see her go? For our own comfort, for our own peace of mind, we +interfered and arranged that Trimmer should board with her cousin until +a bed was found in another hospital. It was found, mercifully, almost at +once, but, before I had time to go there, the Great Release had come for +her; and we heard with thankfulness that the old head was free from +suffering, that the twisted hands were still, that fear of the workhouse +could trouble her no more. Life's one gift to Trimmer had been toil, +pain her one reward, and it was good to know that she was at rest. + +The cousin brought us the news. But I had a visit the same day from the +sister-in-law, the paragon of virtue, a thin, sharp-faced woman of +middle age. I said what I could in sympathy, telling her how much we +missed Trimmer, how well we should always remember her. But this was not +what she had come to hear. She let me get through. She drew the sigh +appropriate for the occasion. Then she settled down to business. When +did I propose to pay back the money Trimmer had spent on the doctor in +Camden Town? I didn't propose to at all, I told her: he was a miserable +quack and I had done my best to keep Trimmer from going to him; besides, +fortunately for her, she was beyond the reach of money that was not +owing to her. The sister-in-law was indignant. The family always +understood I had promised, a promise was a promise, and now they +depended on me for the funeral. I reminded her of the society to which +Trimmer had subscribed solely to meet that expense. But she quickly let +me know that the funeral the society proposed to provide fell far short +of the family's standard. To them it appeared scarcely better than a +pauper's. The coffin would be plain, there would be no oak and brass +handles,--worse, there would be no plumes for the horses and the hearse. +To send their sister to her grave without plumes would disgrace them +before their neighbours. Nor would there be a penny over for the family +mourning,--could I allow them, the chief mourners, to mourn without +crape? + +I remembered their willingness to let Trimmer die as a pauper in the +workhouse. After all, she would have the funeral she had provided for. +She would lie no easier in her grave for oak and brass handles, for +plumes and crape. Her family had made use of her all her life; I did not +see why I should help them to make use of her after her death, that +their grief might be trumpeted in Brixton and Camden Town. I brought the +interview to an end. But sometimes I wonder if Trimmer would not have +liked it better if I had helped them, if plumes had waved from the heads +of the horses that drew her to her grave, if her family had followed +swathed in crape. She would have looked upon it as another piece of her +extraordinary good luck if, by dying, she had been of service to +anybody. + +I do not know where they buried her. Probably nobody save ourselves +to-day has as much as a thought for her. But, if self-sacrifice counts +for anything, if martyrdom is a passport to heaven, then Trimmer should +take her place up there by the side of St. Francis of Assisi, and Joan +of Arc, and St. Vincent de Paul, and all those other blessed men and +women whose lives were given for others, and who thought it was +"bonny." + + + + +_Louise_ + +[Illustration: "TUMBLED, WEATHER-WORN, RED-TILED ROOFS"] + + + + +III + +LOUISE + + +For the third time since we had taken our chambers, I was servantless, +and I could not summon up courage to face for the third time the scorn +which the simple request for a "general" meets in the English Registry +Office. That was what sent me to try my luck at a French _Bureau_ in +Soho, where, I was given to understand, it was possible to inquire for, +and actually obtain, a good _bonne à tout faire_ and escape without +insult. + +Louise was announced one dull November morning, a few days later. I +found her waiting for me in our little hall,--a woman of about forty, +short, plump, with black eyes, blacker hair, and an enchanting smile. +But the powder on her face and the sham diamonds in her ears seemed to +hang out danger signals, and my first impulse was to show her the door. +It was something familiar in the face under the powder, above all in +the voice when she spoke, that made me hesitate. + +"Provençale?" I asked. + +"Yes, from Marseilles," she answered, and I showed her instead into my +room. + +I had often been "down there" where the sun shines and skies are blue, +and her Provençal accent came like a breath from the south through the +gloom of the London fog, bringing it all back to me,--the blinding white +roads, the gray hills sweet with thyme and lavender, the towns with +their "antiquities," the little shining white villages,--M. Bernard's at +Martigues, and his dining-room, and the Marseillais who crowded it on a +Sunday morning, and the gaiety and the laughter, and Désiré in his white +apron, and the great bowls of _bouillabaisse_.... + +It was she who recalled me to the business of the moment. Her name was +Louise Sorel, she said; she could clean, wash, play the lady's maid, +sew, market, cook--but cook! _Té--au mouins_, she would show _Madame_; +and, as she said it, she smiled. I have never seen such perfect teeth in +woman or child; you knew at a glance that she must have been a radiant +beauty in her youth. A Provençal accent, an enchanting smile, and the +remains of beauty, however, are not precisely what you engage a servant +for; and, with a sudden access of common sense, I asked for references. +Surely, _Madame_ would not ask the impossible, she said reproachfully. +She had but arrived in London, she had never gone as _bonne_ anywhere; +how, then, could she give references? She needed the work and was +willing to do it: was not that sufficient? I got out of it meanly by +telling her I would think it over. At that she smiled again,--really, +her smile on a November day almost warranted the risk. I meant to take +her; she knew; _Madame_ was kind. + +I did think it over,--while I interviewed slovenly English "generals" +and stray Italian children, dropped upon me from Heaven knows where, +while I darned the family stockings, while I ate the charwoman's chops. +I thought it over indeed, far more than I wanted to, until, in despair, +I returned to the Soho _Bureau_ to complain that I was still without a +servant of any kind. The first person I saw was Louise, disconsolate, on +a chair in the corner. She sprang up when she recognized me. Had she not +said _Madame_ was kind? she cried. _Madame_ had come for her. I had done +nothing of the sort. But there she was, this charming creature from the +South; at home was the charwoman, dingy and dreary as the November +skies. To look back now is to wonder why I did not jump at the chance of +having her. As it was, I did take her,--no references, powder, sham +diamonds, and all. But I compromised. It was to be for a week. After +that, we should see. An hour later she was in my kitchen. + +A wonderful week followed. From the start we could not resist her charm, +though to be on such terms with one's servant as to know that she has +charm, is no doubt the worst possible kind of bad form. Even William +Penn, the fastidious, was her slave at first sight,--and it would have +been rank ingratitude if he had not been, for, from the ordinary London +tabby average people saw in him, he was at once transformed into the +most superb, the most magnificent of cats! And we were all superb, we +were all magnificent, down to the snuffy, tattered old Irish charwoman +who came to make us untidy three times a week, and whom we had not the +heart to turn out, because we knew that if we did, there could be no one +else foolish enough to take her in again. + +And Louise, though her southern imagination did such great things for +us, had not overrated herself. She might be always laughing at +everything, as they always do laugh "down there,"--at the English she +couldn't understand, at _Mizé Boum_, the nearest she came to the +charwoman's name, at the fog she must have hated, at the dirt left for +her to clean. But she worked harder than any servant I have ever had, +and to better purpose. She adored the cleanliness and the order, it +seemed, and was appalled at the dirt and slovenliness of the English, as +every Frenchwoman is when she comes to the land that has not ceased to +brag of its cleanliness since its own astonished discovery of the +morning tub. Before Louise, the London blacks disappeared as if by +magic. Our wardrobes were overhauled and set to rights. The linen was +mended and put in place. And she could cook! Such _risotto_!--she had +been in Italy--Such _macaroni_! Such _bouillabaisse_! Throughout that +wonderful week, our chambers smelt as strong of _ail_ as a Provençal +kitchen. + +In the face of all this, I do not see how I brought myself to find any +fault. To do myself justice, I never did when it was a question of the +usual domestic conventions. Louise was better than all the +conventions--all the prim English maids in prim white caps--in the +world. Just to hear her talk, just to have her call that disreputable +old _Mizé Boum ma belle_, just to have her announce as _La Dame de la +bouillabaisse_ a friend of ours who had been to Provence and had come to +feast on her masterpiece and praised her for it,--just each and every +one of her charming southern ways made up for the worst domestic crime +she could have committed, I admit to a spasm of dismay when, for the +first meal she served, she appeared in her petticoat, a dish-cloth for +apron, and her sleeves rolled up above her elbows. But I forgot it with +her delightful laugh at herself when I explained that, absurdly it might +be, we preferred a skirt, an apron, and sleeves fastened at the wrists. +It seemed she adored the economy too, and she had wished to protect her +dress and even her apron. + +These things would horrify the model housewife; but then, I am not a +model housewife, and they amused me, especially as she was so quick to +meet me, not only half, but the whole way. When, however, she took to +running out at intervals on mysterious errands, I felt that I must +object. Her first excuse was _les affaires_; her next, a friend; and, +when neither of these would serve, she owned up to a husband who, +apparently, spent his time waiting for her at the street corner; he was +so lonely, _le pauvre_! I suggested that he should come and see her in +the kitchen. She laughed outright. Why, he was of a shyness _Madame_ +could not figure to herself. He never would dare to mount the stairs and +ring the front door-bell. + +In the course of this wonderful week, there was sent to me, from the +Soho _Bureau_, a Swiss girl with as many references as a Colonial Dame +has grandfathers. Even so, and despite the inconvenient husband, I might +not have dismissed Louise,--it was so pleasant to live in an atmosphere +of superlatives and _ail_. It was she who settled the matter with some +vague story of a partnership in a restaurant and work waiting for her +there. Perhaps we should have parted with an affectation of indifference +had not J. unexpectedly interfered. Husbands have a trick of pretending +superiority to details of housekeeping until you have had all the +bother, and then upsetting everything by their interference. She had +given us the sort of time we hadn't had since the old days in Provence, +he argued; her smile alone was worth double the money agreed upon; +therefore, double the money was the least I could in decency offer her. +His logic was irreproachable, but housekeeping on such principles would +end in domestic bankruptcy. However, Louise got the money, and my reward +was her face when she thanked me--she made giving sheer +self-indulgence--and the _risotto_ which, in the shock of gratitude, +she insisted upon coming the next day to cook for us. + +But, in the end, J.'s indiscretion cost me dear. As Louise was +determined to magnify all our geese, not merely into swans, but into the +most superb, the most magnificent swans, the few extra shillings had +multiplied so miraculously by the time their fame reached the +_Quartier_, that _Madame_ of the _Bureau_ saw in me a special Providence +appointed to relieve her financial difficulties, and hurried to claim an +immediate loan. Then, her claim being disregarded, she wrote to call my +attention to the passing of the days and the miserable pettiness of the +sum demanded, and to assure me of her consideration the most perfect. +She got to be an intolerable nuisance before I heard the last of her. + +We had not realized the delight of having Louise to take care of us, +until she was replaced by the Swiss girl, who was industrious, sober, +well-trained, with all the stolidity and surliness of her people, and as +colourless as a self-respecting servant ought to be. I was immensely +relieved when, after a fortnight, she found the work too much for her. +It was just as she was on the point of going that Louise reappeared, her +face still white with powder, the sham diamonds still glittering in her +ears, but somehow changed, I could not quite make out how. She had come, +she explained to present me with a ring of pearls and opals and of +surpassing beauty, at the moment pawned for a mere trifle,--here was the +ticket; I had but to pay, add a smaller trifle for interest and +commission, and it was mine. As I never have worn rings I did not care +to begin the habit by gambling in pawn tickets, much though I should +have liked to oblige Louise. Her emotion when I refused seemed so out of +proportion, and yet was so unmistakably genuine, that it bewildered me. + +But she pulled herself together almost at once and began to talk of the +restaurant which, I learned, was marching in a simply marvellous manner. +It was only when, in answer to her question, I told her that the +_Demoiselle Suisse_ was marching not at all and was about to leave me, +that the truth came out. There was no restaurant, there never had +been,--except in the country of Tartarin's lions; it was her invention +to spare me any self-reproach I might have felt for turning her adrift +at the end of her week's engagement. She had found no work since. She +and her husband had pawned everything. _Tiens_, and she emptied before +me a pocketful of pawn tickets. They were without a sou. They had had +nothing to eat for twenty-four hours. That was the change. I began to +understand. She was starving, literally starving, in the cold and gloom +and damp of the London winter, she who was used to the warmth and +sunshine, to the clear blue skies of Provence. If the aliens who drift +to England, as to the Promised Land, could but know what awaited them! + +Of course I took her back. She might have added rouge to the powder, she +might have glittered all over with diamonds, sham or real, and I would +not have minded. J. welcomed her with joy. William Penn hung rapturously +at her heels. We had a _risotto_, golden as the sun of the _Midi_, +fragrant as its kitchens, for our dinner. + +There was no question of a week now, no question of time at all. It did +not seem as if we ever could manage again, as if we ever could have +managed, without Louise. And she, on her side, took possession of our +chambers, and, for a ridiculously small sum a week, worked her miracles +for us. We positively shone with cleanliness; London grime no longer +lurked, the skeleton in our cupboards. We never ate dinners and +breakfasts more to our liking, never had I been so free from +housekeeping, never had my weekly bills been so small. Eventually, she +charged herself with the marketing, though she could not, and never +could, learn to speak a word of English; but not even the London +tradesman was proof against her smile. She kept the weekly accounts, +though she could neither read nor write: in her intelligence, an +eloquent witness to the folly of general education. She was, in a word, +the most capable and intelligent woman I have ever met, so that it was +the more astounding that she should also be the most charming. + +Most astounding of all was the way, entirely, typically Provençale as +she was, she could adapt herself to London and its life and people. +Though she wore in the street an ordinary felt hat, and in the house the +English apron, you could see that her hair was made for the pretty +Provençal ribbon, and her broad shoulders for the Provençal fichu. _Té_, +_vé_, and _au mouins_ were as constantly in her mouth as in Tartarin's. +Provençal proverbs forever hovered on her lips. She sang Provençal songs +at her work. She had ready a Provençal story for every occasion. Her +very adjectives were Mistral's, her very exaggerations Daudet's. And yet +she did everything as if she had been a "general" in London chambers all +her life. Nothing came amiss to her. After her first startling +appearance as waitress, it was no time before she was serving at table +as if she had been born to it, and with such a grace of her own that +every dish she offered seemed a personal tribute. People who had never +seen her before would smile back involuntarily as they helped +themselves. It was the same no matter what she did. She was always gay, +however heavy her task. To her even London, with its fogs, was a +_galéjado_, as they say "down there." And she was so appreciative. We +would make excuses to give her things for the pleasure of watching the +warm glow spread over her face and the light leap to her eyes. We would +send her to the theatre for the delight of having her come back and tell +us about it. All the world, on and off the stage, was exalted and +transfigured as she saw it. + +But frank as she was in her admiration of all the world, she remained +curiously reticent about herself. "My poor grandmother used to say, you +must turn your tongue seven times in your mouth before speaking," she +said to me once; and I used to fancy she gave hers a few extra twists +when it came to talking of her own affairs. Some few facts I gathered: +that she had been at one time an _ouvreuse_ in a Marseilles theatre; at +another, a tailoress,--how accomplished, the smart appearance of her +husband in J.'s old coats and trousers was to show us; and that, always, +off and on, she had made a business of buying at the periodical sales of +the _Mont de Piété_ and selling at private sales of her own. I gathered +also that they all knew her in Marseilles; it was Louise here, Louise +there, as she passed through the market, and everybody must have a word +and a laugh with her. No wonder! You couldn't have a word and a laugh +once with Louise and not long to repeat the experience. But to her life +when the hours of work were over, she offered next to no clue. + +Only one or two figures flitted, pale shadows, through her rare +reminiscences. One was the old grandmother, whose sayings were full of +wisdom, but who seemed to have done little for her save give her, +fortunately, no schooling at all, and a religious education that bore +the most surprising fruit. Louise had made her first communion, she had +walked in procession on feast days. _J'adorais ça_, she would tell me, +as she recalled her long white veil and the taper in her hand. But she +adored every bit as much going to the Salvation Army meetings,--the +lassies would invite her in, and lend her a hymn-book, and she would +sing as hard as ever she could, was her account. Her ideas on the +subject of the Scriptures and the relations of the Holy Family left me +gasping. But her creed had the merit of simplicity. The _Boun Diou_ was +intelligent, she maintained; _il aime les gens honnêtes_. He would not +ask her to hurry off to church and leave all in disorder at home, and +waste her time. If she needed to pray, she knelt down where and as she +was, and the _Boun Diou_ was as well pleased. He was a man like us, +wasn't He? Well then, He understood. + +There was also a sister. She occupied a modest apartment in Marseilles +when she first dawned upon our horizon, but so rapidly did it expand +into a palatial house in town and a palatial villa by the sea, both with +cellars of rare and exquisite vintages and stables full of horses and +carriages, that we looked confidently to the fast-approaching day when +we should find her installed in the Elysée at Paris. Only in one respect +did she never vary by a hair's breadth: this was her hatred of Louise's +husband. + +Here, at all events, was a member of the family about whom we learned +more than we cared to know. For if he did not show himself at first, +that did not mean his willingness to let us ignore him. He persisted in +wanting Louise to meet him at the corner, sometimes just when I most +wanted her in the kitchen. He would have her come back to him at night; +and to see her, after her day's hard work, start out in the black sodden +streets, seldom earlier than ten, often as late as midnight; to realize +that she must start back long before the sun would have thought of +coming up, if the sun ever did come up on a London winter morning, made +us wretchedly uncomfortable. The husband, however, was not to be moved +by any messages I might send him. He was too shy to grant the interview +I asked. But he gave me to understand through her that he wouldn't do +without her, he would rather starve, he couldn't get along without her. +We did not blame him: we couldn't, either. That was why, after several +weeks of discomfort to all concerned, it occurred to us that we might +invite him to make our home his; and we were charmed by his +condescension when, at last conquering his shyness, he accepted our +invitation. The threatened deadlock was thus settled, and M. Auguste, +as he introduced himself, came to us as a guest for as long as he chose +to stay. There were friends--there always are--to warn us that what we +were doing was sheer madness. What did we know about him, anyway? +Precious little, it was a fact: that he was the husband of Louise, +neither more nor less. We did not even know that, it was hinted. But if +Louise had not asked for our marriage certificate, could we insist upon +her producing hers? + +It may have been mad, but it worked excellently. M. Auguste as a guest +was the pattern of discretion. I had never had so much as a glimpse of +him until he came to visit us. Then I found him a good-looking man, +evidently a few years younger than Louise, well-built, rather taller +than the average Frenchman. Beyond this, it was weeks before I knew +anything of him except the astonishing adroitness with which he kept out +of our way. He quickly learned our hours and arranged his accordingly. +After we had begun work in the morning, he would saunter down to the +kitchen and have his coffee, the one person of leisure in the +establishment. After that, and again in the afternoon, he would stroll +out to attend to what I take were the not too arduous duties of a +horse-dealer with neither horses nor capital,--for as a horse-dealer he +described himself when he had got so far as to describe himself at all. +At noon and at dinner-time, he would return from Tattersall's, or +wherever his not too exhausting business had called him, with a small +paper parcel supposed to contain his breakfast or his dinner, our +agreement being that he was to supply his own food. The evenings he +spent with Louise. I could discover no vice in him except the, to us, +disturbing excess of his devotion to her. You read of this sort of +devotion in French novels and do not believe in it. But M. Auguste, in +his exacting dependence on Louise, left the French novel far behind. As +for Louise, though she was no longer young and beauty fades early in the +South, I have never met, in or out of books, a woman who made me +understand so well the reason of the selfishness some men call love. + +M. Auguste's manners to us were irreproachable. We could only admire +the consideration he showed in so persistently effacing himself. J. +never would have seen him, if on feast days--Christmas, New Year's, the +14th of July--M. Auguste had not, with great ceremony, entered the +dining-room at the hour of morning coffee to shake hands and wish J. the +compliments of the season. With me his relations grew less formal, for +he was not slow to discover that we had one pleasant weakness in common. +Though the modest proportions of that brown-paper parcel might not +suggest it, M. Auguste knew and liked what was good to eat; so did I. +Almost before I realized it, he had fallen into the habit of preparing +some special dish for me, or of making my coffee, when I chanced to be +alone for lunch or for dinner. I can still see the gleam in his eyes as +he brought me in my cup, and assured me that he, not Louise, was the +artist, and that it was something of extra--but of extra!--as it always +was. Nor was it long before he was installed _chef_ in our kitchen on +the occasion of any little breakfast or dinner we might be giving. The +first time I caught him in shirt-sleeves, with Louise's apron flapping +about his legs and the bib drawn over his waistcoat, he was inclined to +be apologetic. But he soon gave up apology. It was evident there were +few things he enjoyed more than cooking a good dinner,--unless it was +eating it,--and his apron was put on early in the day. In the end, I +never asked any one to breakfast or dinner without consulting him, and +his _menus_ strengthened the friendliness of our relations. + +After a while he ran my errands and helped Louise to market. I found +that he spoke and wrote very good English, and was a man of some +education. I have preserved his daily accounts, written in an unusually +neat handwriting, always beginning "Mussy: 1 penny"; and this reminds me +that not least in his favour was his success in ingratiating himself +with William Penn,--or "Mussy" in Louise's one heroic attempt to cope +with the English. M. Auguste, moreover, was quiet and reserved to a +degree that would not have discredited the traditional Englishman. Only +now and then did the _Midi_ show itself in him: in the gleam of his eye +over his gastronomic masterpieces; in his pose as horse-dealer and the +scale on which the business he never did was schemed,--_Mademoiselle_, +the French dressmaker from Versailles, who counted in tens and thought +herself rich, was dazzled by the way M. Auguste reckoned by thousands; +and once, luckily only once, in a frenzied outbreak of passion. + +He was called to Paris, I never understood why. When the day came, he +was seized with such despair as I had never seen before, as I trust I +may never have to see again. He could not leave Louise, he would not. +No! No! No! He raved, he swore, he wept. I was terrified, but Louise, +when I called her aside to consult her, shrugged her shoulders. "We play +the comedy in the kitchen," she laughed, but I noticed that her laughter +was low. I fancy when you played the comedy with M. Auguste, tragedy was +only just round the corner. With the help of _Mademoiselle_ she got him +to the station; he had wanted to throw himself from the train as it +started, was her report. And in three days, not a penny the richer for +the journey, he had returned to his life of ease in our chambers. + +Thus we came to know M. Auguste's virtues and something of his temper, +but never M. Auguste himself. The months passed, and we were still +conscious of mystery. I did not inspire him with the healthy fear he +entertained for J., but I cannot say he ever took me into his +confidence. What he was when not in our chambers; what he had been +before he moved into them; what turn of fate had stranded him, +penniless, in London with Louise, to make us the richer for his coming; +why he, a man of education, was married to a woman of none; why he was +M. Auguste while Louise was Louise Sorel--I knew as little the day he +left us as the day he arrived. J. instinctively distrusted him, +convinced that he had committed some monstrous crime and was in hiding. +This was also the opinion of the French Quarter, as I learned +afterwards. It seems the _Quartier_ held its breath when it heard he was +our guest, and waited for the worst, only uncertain what form that worst +would take,--whether we should be assassinated in our beds, or a +bonfire made of our chambers. M. Auguste, however, spared us and +disappointed the _Quartier_. His crime, to the end, remained as baffling +as the identity of the Man in the Iron Mask, or the secret of Kaspar +Hauser. + +That he was honest, I would wager my own reputation for honesty, even if +it was curious the way his fingers gradually covered themselves with +rings, a watch-chain dangled from his waistcoat pocket, a pin was stuck +jauntily in his necktie. Her last purchases at the _Mont de Piété_, +pawned during those first weeks of starving in London and gradually +redeemed, was Louise's explanation; and why should we have suspected M. +Auguste of coming by them unlawfully when he never attempted to rob us, +though we gave him every opportunity? He knew where I kept my money and +my keys. He was alone with Louise in our chambers, not only many a day +and evening, but once for a long summer. + +We had to cycle down into Italy and William Penn could not be left to +care for himself, nor could we board him out without risking the +individuality of a cat who had never seen the world except from the top +of a four-story house. Louise and M. Auguste, therefore, were retained +to look after him, which, I should add, they did in a manner as +satisfactory to William as to ourselves. Every week I received a report +of his health and appetite from M. Auguste, in whom I discovered a new +and delightful talent as correspondent. "_Depuis votre départ_," said +the first, "_cette pauvre bête a miaulé après vous tous les jours, et il +est constamment à la porte pour voir si vous ne venez pas. Il ne +commence vraiment à en prendre son parti que depuis hier. Mais tous ces +soucis de chat_ [for that charming phrase what would one not have +forgiven M. Auguste?], _mais tous ces soucis de chat ne l'empêchent pas +de bien boire son lait le matin et manger sa viande deux fois par +jour._" Nor was it all colour of rose to be in charge of William. +"_Figurez-vous_," the next report ran, "_que Mussy a dévoré et abîmé +complêtement une paire de bas tout neufs que Louise s'est achetée hier. +C'est un vrai petit diable, mais il est si gentil qu'on ne peut vraiment +pas le gronder pour cela._" It was consoling to hear eventually that +William had returned to normal pursuits. "_Mussy est bien sage, il a +attrapé une souris hier dans la cuisine--je crois bien que Madame ne +trouvera jamais un aussi gentil Mussy._" And so the journal of William's +movements was continued throughout our absence. When, leaving J. in +Italy, I returned to London,--met at midnight at the station by M. +Auguste with flattering enthusiasm,--Mussy's condition and behaviour +corroborated the weekly bulletins. And not only this. Our chambers were +as clean as the proverbial new pin: everything was in its place; not so +much as a scrap of paper was missing. The only thing that had +disappeared was the sprinkling of gray in Louise's hair, and for this M. +Auguste volubly prepared me during our walk from the station; she had +dyed it with almost unforeseen success, he told me, so triumphantly that +I put down the bottle of dye to his extravagance. + +If I know M. Auguste was not a thief, I do not think he was a murderer. +How could I see blood on the hands of the man who presided so joyously +over my pots and pans? If he were a forger, my trust in him never led +to abuse of my cheque book; if a deserter, how came he to be possessed +of his _livret militaire_ duly signed, as my own eyes are the witness? +how could he venture back to France, as I know he did for I received +from him letters with the Paris postmark? An anarchist, J. was inclined +to believe. But I could not imagine him dabbling in bombs and fuses. To +be a horse-dealer, without horses or money, was much more in his line. + +Only of one thing were we sure: however hideous or horrible the evil, M. +Auguste had worked "down there," under the hot sun of Provence, Louise +had no part in it. She knew--it was the reason of her curious +reticences, of her sacrifice of herself to him. That he loved her was +inevitable. Who could help loving her? She was so intelligent, so +graceful, so gay. But that she should love M. Auguste would have been +incomprehensible, were it not in the nature of woman to love the man who +is most selfish in his dependence upon her. She did all the work, and he +had all the pleasure of it. He was always decently dressed, there was +always money in his pocket, though she, who earned it, never had a penny +to spend on herself. No matter how busy and hurried she might be, she +had always the leisure to talk to him, to amuse him when he came in, +always the courage to laugh, like the little Fleurance in the story. +What would you? She was made like that. She had always laughed, when she +was sad as when she was gay. And while she was making life delightful +for him, she was doing for us what three Englishwomen combined could not +have done so well, and with a charm that all the Englishwomen in the +world could not have mustered among them. + +She had been with us about a year when I began to notice that, at +moments, her face was clouded and her smile less ready. At first, I put +it down to her endless comedy with M. Auguste. But, after a bit, it +looked as if the trouble were more serious even than his histrionics. It +was nothing, she laughed when I spoke to her; it would pass. And she +went on amusing and providing for M. Auguste and working for us. But by +the time the dark days of November set in, we were more worried about +her than ever. The crisis came with Christmas. + +On Christmas Day, friends were to dine with us, and we invited +_Mademoiselle_, the French dressmaker, to eat her Christmas dinner with +Louise and M. Auguste. We were very staid in the dining-room,--it turned +out rather a dull affair. But in the kitchen it was an uproarious feast. +Though she lived some distance away, though on Christmas night London +omnibuses are few and far between, _Mademoiselle_ could hardly be +persuaded to go home, so much was she enjoying herself. Louise was all +laughter. "You have been amused?" I asked, when _Mademoiselle_, finally +and reluctantly, had been bundled off by J. in a hansom. + +"_Mais oui, mais oui_," M. Auguste cried, pleasure in his voice. "_Cette +pauvre Mademoiselle!_ Her life, it is so sad, she is so alone. It is +good for her to be amused. We have told her many stories,--_et des +histoires un tout petit peu salées, n'est-ce pas? pour égayer cette +pauvre Mademoiselle?_" + +It was the day after the feast that Louise had to give in. She confessed +she had been in torture while she served our dinner and _Mademoiselle_ +was there. She could hardly eat or drink. But why make it sad for all +the world because she was in pain? and she had laughed, she had laughed! + +We scolded her first. Then we sent her to a good doctor. It was worse +than we feared. The trouble was grave, there must be an operation +without delay. The big tears rolled down her cheeks as she said it. She +looked old and broken. Why, she moaned, should this sorrow come to her? +She had never done any harm to any one: why should she have to suffer? +Why, indeed? Her mistake had been to do too little harm, too much good, +to others, to think too little of herself. Now, she had to pay for it as +one almost always does pay for one's good deeds. She worried far less +over the pain she must bear than over the inconvenience to M. Auguste +when she could no longer earn money for him. + +We wanted her to go into one of the London hospitals. We offered to take +a room for her where she could stay after the operation until she got +back her strength. But we must not think her ungrateful, the mere idea +of a hospital made her desperate. And what would she do in a room _avec +un homme comme ça_. Besides, there was the sister in Marseilles, and, in +the hour of her distress, her sister's horses and carriages multiplied +like the miraculous loaves and fishes, the vintages in the cellar +doubled in age and strength. And she was going to die; it was queer, but +one knew those things; and she longed to die _là-bas_, where there was a +sun and the sky was blue, where she was at home. We knew she had not a +penny for the journey. M. Auguste had seen to that. Naturally, J. gave +her the money. He would not have had a moment's comfort if he had +not,--the drain upon your own emotions is part of the penalty you pay +for having a human being and not a machine to work for you,--and he +added a little more to keep her from want on her arrival in Marseilles, +in case the sister had vanished or the sister's fortunes had dwindled to +their original proportions. He exacted but one condition: M. Auguste +was not to know there was more than enough for the journey. + +Louise's last days with us were passed in tears,--poor Louise! who until +now had laughed at fate. It was at this juncture that M. Auguste came +out strong. I could not have believed he had it in him. He no longer +spent his time dodging J. and dealing in visionary horses. He took +Louise's place boldly. He made the beds, cooked all our meals, waited on +us, dusted, opened the door, while Louise sat, melancholy and forlorn, +in front of the kitchen fire. On the last day of all--she was not to +start until the afternoon Continental train--she drew me mysteriously +into the dining-room, she shut the door with every precaution, she +showed me where she had sewed the extra sovereigns in her stays. M. +Auguste should never know. "_Je pars pour mon long voyage_," she +repeated. "_J'ai mes pressentiments._" And she was going to ask them to +let her wear a black skirt I had given her, and an old coat of J.'s she +had turned into a bodice, when the time came to lay her in her coffin. +Thus something of ours would go with her on the long journey. How could +she forget us? How could we forget her? she might better have asked. I +made a thousand excuses to leave her; Louise playing "the comedy" had +never been so tragic as Louise in tears. But she would have me back +again, and again, and again, to tell me how happy she had been with us. + +"Why, I was at home," she said, her surprise not yet outworn. "_J'étais +chez moi, et j'étais si tranquille._ I went. I came. _Monsieur_ entered. +He called me. '_Louise._'--'_Oui, Monsieur._'--'_Voulez-vous faire ceci +ou cela?_'--'_Mais oui, Monsieur, de suite._' And I would do it and +_Monsieur_ would say, '_Merci, Louise_,' and he would go. And me, I +would run quick to the kitchen or upstairs to finish my work. _J'étais +si tranquille!_" + +The simplicity of the memories she treasured made her story of them +pitiful as I listened. How little peace had fallen to her lot, that she +should prize the quiet and homeliness of her duties in our chambers! + +At last it was time to go. She kissed me on both cheeks. She gave J. one +look, then she flung herself into his arms and kissed him too on both +cheeks. She almost strangled William Penn. She sobbed so, she couldn't +speak. She clutched and kissed us again. She ran out of the door and we +heard her sobbing down the three flights of stairs into the street. J. +hurried into his workroom. I went back to my desk. I don't think we +could have spoken either. + +Two days afterwards, a letter from M. Auguste came to our chambers, so +empty and forlorn without Louise. They were in Paris. They had had a +dreadful crossing,--he hardly thought Louise would arrive at Boulogne +alive. She was better, but must rest a day or two before starting for +the _Midi_. She begged us to see that Mussy ate his meals _bien +régulièrement_, and that he "made the dead" from time to time, as she +had taught him; and, would we write? The address was Mr. Auguste, +Horse-Dealer, Hotel du Cheval Blanc, Rue Chat-qui-pèche-â-la-ligne, +Paris. + +Horse-dealer! Louise might be at death's door, but M. Auguste had his +position to maintain. Then, after ten long days, came a post-card, also +from Paris: Louise was in Marseilles, he was on the point of going, once +there he would write. Then--nothing. Had he gone? Could he go? + +If I were writing a romance it would, with dramatic fitness, end here. +But if I keep to facts, I must add that, in about eight months, Louise +and M. Auguste reappeared; that both were in the best of health and +spirits, M. Auguste a mass of jewelry; that all the sunshine of Provence +seemed let loose in the warmth of their greeting; that horse-dealing for +the moment prospered too splendidly for Louise to want to return to +us,--or was this a new invention, I have always wondered, because she +found in her place another Frenchwoman who wept at the prospect of being +dismissed to make room for her? + +Well, anyway, for a while, things, according to Louise, continued to +prosper. She would pay me friendly visits and ask for sewing,--her +afternoons were so long,--and tell me of M. Auguste's success, and of +Provence, though there were the old reticences. By degrees, a shadow +fell over the gaiety. I fancied that "the comedy" was being played +faster than ever in the Soho lodgings. And, of a sudden, the fabric of +prosperity collapsed like a house of cards. She was ill again, and again +an operation was necessary. There was not a penny in her pockets nor in +M. Auguste's. What happened? Louise had only to smile, and we were her +slaves. But this time, for us at least, the end had really come. We +heard nothing more from either of them. No letters reached us from +Paris, no post-cards. Did she use the money to go back to Marseilles? +Did she ever leave London? Did M. Auguste's fate overtake him when they +crossed the Channel? Were the Soho lodgings the scene of some tremendous +_crime passionel_? For weeks I searched the police reports in my morning +paper. But neither then nor to this day have I had a trace of the woman +who, for over a year, gave to life in our chambers the comfort and the +charm of her presence. She vanished. + +I am certain, though, that wherever she may be, she is mothering M. +Auguste, squandering upon him all the wealth of her industry, her +gaiety, her unselfishness. She couldn't help herself, she was made that +way. And the worst, the real tragedy of it, is that she would rather +endure every possible wrong with M. Auguste than, without him, enjoy all +the rights women not made that way would give her if they could. She has +convinced me of the truth I already more than suspected: it is upon the +M. Augustes of this world that the Woman Question will eventually be +wrecked. + + + + +_Our Charwomen_ + +[Illustration: "UP TO WESTMINSTER"] + + + + +IV + +OUR CHARWOMAN + + +I took over the charwoman with our chambers, and a great piece of luck I +thought it; for charwomen never advertise, and are unheard of in +Registry Offices. It was certain I could not get into the chambers +without one, and at that early stage of my housekeeping in London I +should not have known where in the world to look for her. + +Mrs. Maxfielde was the highly respectable name of the woman who had +"done" for the previous tenant, and had she heard of Mr. Shandy's theory +of names she could not have been more successful in adapting her person +and her manner to her own. She was well over sixty, and thin and gaunt +as if she had never had enough to eat; but age and hunger had not +lessened her hold upon the decencies of life. Worthiness oozed from her. +Victorian was stamped all over her,--it was in her black shawl and +bonnet, in the meekness of her pose, in the little curtsy she bobbed +when she spoke. I remember Harold Frederic seeing her once and, with the +intuition of the novelist, placing her: "Who is your old Queen +Victoria?" he asked. Her presence lost nothing when she took off her +shawl and bonnet. In the house and at work she wore a black dress and a +white apron, surprisingly clean considering the dirt she exposed it to, +and her grey hair was drawn tight back and rolled into a little hard +knob, the scant supply and "the parting all too wide" painfully exposed +to view. I longed for something to cover the old grey head that looked +so grandmotherly and out of keeping as it bent over scrubbing-brushes +and dustpans and the kitchen range, but it would have been against all +the conventions for a charwoman to appear in a servant's cap. There is a +rigid line in these English matters, and to attempt to step across is to +face the contempt of those who draw it. The British charwoman must go +capless, such is the unwritten law; also, she must remain "Miss" or +"Mrs.," though the Empire would totter were the British servant called +by anything but her name; and while the servant would "forget her place" +were she to know how to do any work outside her own, the charwoman is +expected to meet every emergency, and this was in days when housekeeping +for me was little more than a long succession of emergencies. + +Mrs. Maxfielde was equal to all. She saw me triumphantly through one +domestic crisis after another. She was the most accomplished of her +accomplished class, and the most willing. She was never discouraged by +the magnitude of the tasks I set her, nor did she ever take advantage of +my dependence upon her. On the contrary, she let me take advantage of +her willingness. She cleaned up after the British Workman had been in +possession for a couple of months, and one of the few things the British +Workman can do successfully is to leave dirt to be cleaned up. She +helped me move in and settle down. She supported me through my trying +episode with 'Enrietter. And after 'Enrietter's disappearance she saved +me from domestic chaos, though the work and the hours involved would +have daunted a woman half her age and outraged every trade-union in the +country. She arrived at seven in the morning, and I quickly handed over +to her the key of the front door, that I might indulge in the extra hour +of sleep of which she was so much more in need; she stayed until eight +in the evening, or, at my request, until nine or later; and in between +she "did" for me in the fullest sense of that expressive word. There +were times when it meant "doing" also for my friends whom I was +inconsiderate enough to invite to come and see me in my domestic +upheaval, putting their friendship to the test still further by inducing +them to share the luncheons and dinners of Mrs. Maxfielde's cooking. +Many as were her good points, I cannot in conscience say that cooking +was among them. Hers might have been the vegetables of which Heine wrote +that they were brought to the table just as God made them, hers the +gravies against which he prayed Heaven to keep every Christian. But I +thought it much to be thankful for that she could cook at all when, to +judge from the amount she ate, she could have had so little practice in +cooking for herself. She did not need to go through any "fast cure," +having done nothing but fast all her life. She had got out of the way of +eating and into the way of starving; the choicest dish would not have +tempted her. The one thing she showed the least appetite for was her +"'arf pint" at noon, and that she would not do without though she had to +fetch it from the "public" round the corner. I cannot say with greater +truth that Mrs. Maxfielde's talent lay in waiting, but she never allowed +anything or anybody to hurry her, and she was noiseless in her +movements, both excellent things in a waitress. I cannot even say that +in her own line of scrubbing she was above suspicion, but she handled +her brushes and brooms and dusters with a calm and dignity which, in my +troubles, I found very soothing. Her repose may have been less a virtue +than the result of want of proper food, but in any case it was a great +help in the midst of the confusion she was called to struggle with. +There was only one drawback. It had a way of deserting her just when I +was most in need of it. + +We are all human, and Mrs. Maxfielde was not without her weakness: she +was afflicted with nerves. In looking back I can see how in character +her sensibility was. It belonged to the old shawl and the demure bonnet, +to the meekness of pose, to the bobbing of curtsies,--it was Victorian. +But at the time I was more struck by its inconvenience. A late milkman +or a faithless butcher would bring her to the verge of collapse. She +would jump at the over-boiling of the kettle. Her hand went to her heart +on the slightest provocation, and stayed there with a persistency that +made me suspect her of seeking her dissipation in disaster. On the +morning after our fire, though she had been at home in her own bed +through all the danger of it, she was in such a flutter that I should +have had to revive her with salts had not a dozen firemen, policemen, +and salvage men been waiting for her to refresh them with tea. It was +only when one of the firemen took the kettle from her helpless hand, +saying he was a family man himself, and when I stood sternly over her +that, like an elderly Charlotte, she fell to cutting bread and butter, +and regained the calm and dignity becoming to her. But I never saw her +so agitated as the day she met a rat in the cellar. I had supposed it +was only in comic papers and old-fashioned novels that a rat or a mouse +could drive a sensible woman into hysterics. But Mrs. Maxfielde showed +me my mistake. From that innocent encounter in the cellar she bounded up +the four flights of stairs, burst into my room, and, breathless, livid, +both hands on her heart, sank into a chair: a liberty which at any other +time she would have regarded as a breach of all the proprieties. "Oh, +mum!" she gasped, "in the cellar!--a rat!" And she was not herself again +until the next morning. + +After her day's work and her excitement in the course of it, it seemed +as if Mrs. Maxfielde could have neither time nor energy for a life of +her own outside our chambers. But she had, and a very full life it was, +and with the details as she confided them to me, I got to know a great +deal about "how the poor live," which I should have preferred to learn +from a novel or a Blue Book. She had a husband, much older, who had +been paralyzed for years. Before she came to me in the morning she had +to get him up for the day, give him his breakfast, and leave everything +in order for him, and as she lived half an hour's walk from our chambers +and never failed to reach them by seven, there was no need to ask how +early she had to get herself up. For a few pence a friendly neighbour +looked in and attended to him during the day. After Mrs. Maxfielde left +me, at eight or nine or ten in the evening, and after her half hour's +walk back, she had to prepare his supper and put him to bed; and again I +did not have to ask how late she put her own weary self there too. Old +age was once said to begin at forty-six; we are more strenuous now; but +according to the kindest computations, it had well overtaken her. And +yet she was working harder than she probably ever had in her youth, with +less rest and with the pleasing certainty that she would go on working +day in and day out and never succeed in securing the mere necessities of +life. She might have all the virtues, sobriety, industry, economy,--and +she had,--and the best she could hope was just to keep soul and body +together for her husband and herself, and a little corner they could +call their own. She did not tell me how the husband earned a living +before paralysis kept him from earning anything at all, but he too must +have been worthy of his name, for now he was helpless, the parish +allowed him "outdoor relief" to the extent of three shillings and +sixpence, or about eighty cents a week; it was before old-age pensions +had been invented by a vote-touting Government. This munificent sum, +paid for a room somewhere in a "Building," one of those gloomy barracks +with the outside iron stairway in common, where clothes are forever +drying in the thick, soot-laden London air, and children are forever +howling and shrieking. For everything else Mrs. Maxfielde had to +provide. If she worked every day except Sunday, her earnings amounted to +fifteen shillings, or a little less than four dollars, a week. But there +were weeks when she could obtain only one day's work, weeks when she +could obtain none, and she and her husband had still to live, had still +to eat something, well as they had trained themselves, as so many must, +in the habit of not eating enough. Here was an economic problem +calculated to bewilder more youthful and brilliant brains than hers. But +she never complained, she never grumbled, she never got discouraged. She +might fly before a rat, but in the face of the hopeless horrors of life +she retained her beautiful placidity, though I, when I realized the full +weight of the burden she had to bear, began to wonder less how, than +why, the poor live. + +Mrs. Maxfielde came in the early spring. By the time winter, with its +fogs, set in, age had so far overtaken her that she could not manage to +attend to her husband and his wants and then drag her old body to our +chambers by seven o'clock in the morning. It was she who gave notice; I +never should have had the courage. We parted friends, and she was so +amiable as not to deprive me of her problems with her services. When she +could not work for me, she visited me, making it her rule to call on +Monday afternoon; a rule she observed with such regularity that I +fancied Monday must be her day for collecting the husband's income from +the parish and her own from private sources. She rarely allowed a week +to pass without presenting herself, always appearing in the same +Victorian costume and carrying off the interview with the same Victorian +manner. She never stooped to beg, but her hand was ready for the coin +which I slipped into it with the embarrassment of the giver, but which +she received with enviable calmness and a little curtsy. The hour of her +visit was so timed that, when her talk with me was over, she could +adjourn to the kitchen for dinner and, under Augustine's rule, a glass +of wine, which, though beer would have been more to her taste, she drank +as a concession to the poor foreigner who did not know any better. + +Before a second winter had passed, Mrs. Maxfielde was forced to admit +that she was too old for anybody to want her, or to accept a post if +anybody did. But, all the same, the paralytic clung to his shadow of +life with the obstinate tenacity of the human derelict, and she clung to +her idea of home, and they starved on in the room the parish paid for +until it was a positive relief to me when, after more years of +starvation than I cared to count, she came to announce his death. It was +no relief to her. She was full of grief, and permitted nothing to +distract her from the luxury she made of it. The coin which passed from +my hand to hers on the occasion of this visit, doubled in token of +condolence, was invested in an elaborate crape bonnet, and she left it +to me to worry about her future. I might have afforded to accept her +trust with a greater show of enthusiasm, for, at once and with +unlooked-for intelligence, the parish decided to allow her the same +weekly sum her husband had received, and Mrs. Maxfielde, endowed with +this large and princely income, became a parent so worthy of filial +devotion that a daughter I had never heard of materialized, and +expressed a desire to share her home with her mother. + +The daughter was married, her husband was an unskilled labourer, and +they had a large and increasing family. It is likely that Mrs. Maxfielde +paid in more than money for the shelter, and that her own +flesh-and-blood was less chary than strangers would have been in +employing her services, and less mindful of the now more than seventy +years she had toiled to live. Perhaps her visits at this period were a +little more frequent, perhaps her dinners were eaten and her wine drunk +with a little more eagerness. But she refrained from any pose, she +indulged in no heroics, she entertained me with no whinings, no railings +against the ingratitude sharper than a serpent's tooth. However she got +her ease, it was not in weeping, and what she had to bear from her +daughter she bore in silence. Her Victorian sense of propriety would +have been offended by a display of feeling. She became so pitiful a +figure that I shrank from her visits. But she was content, she found no +fault with life, and wealth being a matter of comparison, I am sure she +was, in her turn, moved to pity for the more unfortunate who had not +kept themselves out of the workhouse. Had she had her way, she would +have been willing to slave indefinitely for her daughter and her +daughter's children. But Death was wiser and brought her the rest she +deserved so well and so little craved. + +A couple of years or so after the loss of her husband, and after she had +failed to appear, much to my surprise, on three or four Mondays in +succession, a letter came from her daughter to tell me that never again +would Monday bring Mrs. Maxfielde to my chambers. There had been no +special illness. She had just worn out, that was all. Her time had come +after long and cruel days of toil and her passing was unnoted, for hers +was a place easily filled,--that was the grisly thing about it. J. and I +sent a wreath of flowers for the funeral, knowing that she would have +welcomed it as propriety's crown of propriety, and it was my last +communication with the Maxfielde family. I had never met the daughter, +and I was the more reluctant to go abroad in search of objects of +charity because they had such an inconsiderate way of seeking me out in +my own kitchen. I was already "suited" with another old woman in Mrs. +Maxfielde's place. I was already visited by one or two others. In fact, +I was so surrounded by old women that Augustine, when she first came to +the rescue, used to laugh with the insolence of youth at _les vieilles +femmes de Madame_. + +My new old woman was Mrs. Burden. Had I hunted all London over, I could +not have found a more complete contrast to Mrs. Maxfielde. She was +Irish, with no respect for Victorian proprieties, but as disreputable +looking an old charwoman as you would care to see; large and floppy in +figure, elephantine in movement, her face rough and dug deep by the +trenches of more than fifty winters, her hair frowzy, her dress ragged, +with the bodice always open at the neck and the sleeves always rolled up +above the elbows, her apron an old calico rag, and her person and her +clothes profusely sprinkled with snuff. In the street she wrapped +herself in a horrible grey blanket-shawl, and on top of her disorderly +old head set a little battered bonnet with two wisps of strings dangling +about. When I knew her better I discovered that she owned a black shawl +with fringe, and a bonnet that could tie under the chin, and in these +made a very fine appearance. But they were reserved for such ceremonial +occasions as Mass on Sunday or the funeral of a friend, and at other +times she kept to the costume that so shamefully maligned her. For, if +she looked like one of the terrible harpies who hang about the public +house in every London slum, she was really the most sober creature in +the world and never touched a drop, Mr. Burden, who drank himself into +an early grave, having drunk enough for two. + +I cannot remember now where Mrs. Burden came from, or why, when I had +seen her once, I ever consented to see her again. But she quickly grew +into a fixture in our chambers, and it was some eight or nine years +before I was rid of her. In the beginning she was engaged for three +mornings, later on for every morning, in the week. Her hours were from +seven to twelve, during which time my chief object was to keep her +safely shut up in the kitchen, for no degree of pretending on my part +could make me believe in her as an ornament or a credit to our house. It +mortified me to have her show her snuffy old face at the front door, and +I should never have dared to send her on the many messages she ran for +me had she not been known to everybody in the Quarter; but once Mrs. +Burden was known it was all right, for she was as good as she was sober. +Hers, however, was the goodness of the man in the Italian proverb who +was so good that he was good for nothing. She was willing to do +anything, but there was nothing she could do well, and most things she +could not do at all. She made no pretence to cook, and if she had I +could not have eaten anything of her cooking, for I knew snuff must +flavour everything she touched. To have seen her big person and frowzy +head in the dining-room would have been fatal to appetite had I ever had +the folly, under any circumstances, to ask her to wait. Nor did she +excel in scrubbing and dusting. She was successful chiefly in leaving +things dirtier than she found them, and Augustine, whose ideal is high +in these matters, insisted that Mrs. Burden spent the morning making the +dirt she had to spend the afternoon cleaning up. There were times when +they almost came to blows, for the temper of both was hot, and more than +once I heard Mrs. Burden threaten to call in the police. But the old +woman had her uses. She was honesty itself, and could be trusted with no +matter what,--from the key of our chambers, when they were left empty, +to the care of William Penn, when no other companion could be secured +for him; she could be relied upon to pay bills, post letters, fetch +parcels; and she was as punctual as Big Ben at Westminster. I do not +think she missed a day in all the years she was with me. I became +accustomed, too, to seeing her about, and there was the dread--or +conviction would be nearer the truth--that if I let her go nobody else +in their senses would take her in. + +Mrs. Burden did not improve with time. She never condescended to borrow +qualities that did not belong to her. She grew more unwieldy and larger +and floppier, a misfortune she attributed to some mysterious malady +which she never named, but gloated over with the pride the poor have in +their diseases. And she grew dirtier and more disorderly, continuing to +scorn my objection to her opening the front door with the shoe she was +blacking still on her hand, or to her bringing me a letter wrapped in +an apron grimier than her grimy fingers. Nothing would induce her not to +call me "Missis," which displeased me more, if for other reasons, than +the "Master" she as invariably bestowed upon J. She bobbed no curtsies. +When, on Saturdays, coins passed from my hand to hers, she spat on them +before she put them in her pocket, to what purpose I have not to this +day divined. Her best friend could not have accused her of any charm of +manner, but, being Irish, she escaped the vulgarity bred in the London +slums. In fact, I often fancied I caught gleams of what has been called +the Celtic Temperament shining through her. She had the warmth of +devotion, the exaggeration of loyalty, the power of idealizing, peculiar +to her race. She was almost lyrical in her praise of J., who stood +highest in her esteem, and "Master good! Master good!" was her constant +refrain when she conversed with Augustine in the language fitted for +children and rich in gesture, which was her well-meant substitute for +French. She saw him glorified, as the poets of her country see their +heroes, and in her eyes he loomed a splendid Rothschild. "Master, plenty +money, plenty money!" she would assure Augustine, and, holding up her +apron by the two corners, and well out from her so as to represent a +capacious bag, add, "apron full, full, full!" + +She had also the Celtic lavishness of hospitality. I remember Whistler's +delight one morning when, after an absence from London, he received at +our front door a welcome from Mrs. Burden, whom he had never seen before +and now saw at her grimiest: "Shure, Mr. Whistler, sir, an it's quite a +stranger ye are. It's glad I am to see ye back, sir, and looking so +well!" Her hospitality was extended to her own friends when she had the +chance. She who drank nothing could not allow Mr. Pooley, the sweep, who +was her neighbour and cleaned our chimneys, to leave our chambers after +his professional services without a drop of whiskey to hearten him on +his sooty way. And, though you would still less have suspected it, +romance had kept its bloom fresh in her heart. The summer the Duke of +York was married I could not understand her interest in the wedding, as +until then she had not specially concerned herself with the affairs of +royalty. But on the wedding-day this interest reached a point when she +had to share it with somebody. "Shure, Missis, and I knows how it is +meself. Wasn't I after marrying Burden's brother and he older than +Burden, and didn't he go and die, God bless him! and leave me to Burden. +And shure thin it's me that knows how the poor Princess May, Lord love +her! is feeling this blessed day!" + +Not only the memory, but her pride in it, had survived the years which +never brought romance to her again. The one decent thing Burden did was +to die and rid the world of him before Mrs. Burden had presented him and +society with more than one child, a boy. He was a good son, she said, +which meant that he spent his boyhood picking up odd jobs and, with +them, odd pence to help his mother along, so that at the age when he +should have been able to do something, he knew how to do nothing, and +had not even the physical strength to fit him for the more profitable +kinds of unskilled labour. He thought himself lucky when, in his +twentieth year, he fell into a place as "washer-up" in a cheap +restaurant which paid eighteen shillings a week; and he was so dazzled +by his wealth that he promptly married. His wife's story is short: she +drank. Mercifully, like Burden, she did the one thing she could do with +all her might and drank herself to death with commendable swiftness, +leaving no children to carry on the family tradition. Mrs. Burden was +once more alone with her son. Between them they earned twenty-eight +shillings a week and felt themselves millionaires. Augustine, for some +reason, went at this period once or twice to her room, over the dingy +shop of a cheap undertaker, and reported it fairly clean and provided +with so much comfort as is represented by blankets on the bed and a +kettle on the hob. But after a bit the son died, the cause, as far as I +could make out, a drunken father and years of semi-starvation; and Mrs. +Burden had to face, as cheerfully as she could, an old age to be lived +out in loneliness and in the vain endeavour to make both ends meet on +eight shillings a week, or less if she lost her job with me. + +She did lose it, poor soul. But what could I do? She really got to be +intolerably dirty. Not that I blamed her. I probably should have been +much dirtier under the same circumstances. But a time came when it +seemed as if we must give up either Mrs. Burden or our chambers, and to +give our chambers up when we had not the least desire to, would have +been a desperate remedy. She had one other piece of regular work; when I +spoke to her about going, she assured me that her neighbours had been +waiting for years to get her to do their washing, and she would be glad +to oblige them; and, on my pressing invitation, she promised to run in +and see me often. At this new stage in our relations she showed a rare +delicacy of feeling. Mrs. Maxfielde, no longer in my service, was eager +to pay me visits, and her hand, if not held out to beg, was open to +receive. Mrs. Burden did not keep her promise to come, she gave me no +opportunity to know whether her hand was open in need or shut on plenty. +She was of the kind that would rather starve than publish their +destitution. I might have preserved an easy conscience in her regard but +for Mr. Pooley, the sweep. The first time he returned in his +professional capacity after her departure and found himself deprived of +the usual refreshment, he was indignant, and, in consequence, he was +very gruff and short with me when I inquired after Mrs. Burden. She +hadn't any work, not she, and he supposed, he did, that she might starve +for all some people cared. + +I could scarcely ignore so broad a hint, and I had her round that same +morning, for her slum was close by. I learned from her that Mr. Pooley, +if gruff, was truthful. She had no work, had not had any for weeks. She +was in arrears to her landlord, her shawl with the fringe and her +blankets were in pawn, she hadn't a farthing in her pocket. J., to whom +I refer all such matters, and who was in her debt for the splendour of +wealth with which she had endowed him, said "it was all nonsense,"--by +"it" I suppose he meant this sorry scheme of things,--and he would not +let her go without the money to pay her landlord, not only for arrears, +but in advance, and also to redeem her possessions. I do not think she +was the less grateful if, instead of bobbing humbly, she spat upon the +coins before her first "Shure and may God bless ye, Master." Nor was J. +comfortable until provisions had followed her in such quantities that he +would not have to be bothered by the thought of her starving to death, +at any rate for some days. Even after that, she scrupulously kept away. +Not Christmas, that in London brings everybody with or without excuse +begging at one's door, could induce her to present herself. It was we +who had to send for her, and, in a land where begging comes so easily, +we respected her for her independence. + +I doubt if she ever got more work to do. She never received outdoor +relief, according to her because of some misunderstanding between the +parish church and hers, for, being Irish, she was a devout Roman +Catholic. I do not know how she lived, though perhaps they could have +told me in her slum, nobody, they say, being as good to the poor as the +poor themselves. But it was part of her delicacy to take herself off +our hands and conscience within less than a year of her leaving us, and +to die in her room peacefully of pneumonia, when she might have made us +uncomfortable by dying of starvation, or lingering on in the workhouse. +Mr. Pooley, the sweep, brought this news too. She was buried decent, he +volunteered; she had taken care of that, though as poor as you want to +see. A good old woman, he added, and it was all the obituary she had. He +was right. She was of the best, but then she was only one "of the +millions of bubbles" poured into existence to-day to vanish out of it +to-morrow, of whom the world is too busy to keep count. + +After Mrs. Burden, I went to the _Quartier_--the French Quarter in +Soho--for a charwoman. Had I been tempted, as I never was, to believe in +the _entente cordiale_, of which England was just then beginning to make +great capital, affairs in my own kitchen would have convinced me of the +folly of it. Things there had come to a pass when any pretence of +cordiality, except the cordial dislike which France and England have +always cherished for each other and always will, had been given up, and +if I hoped to escape threats of police and perpetual squabbles on the +subject of cleanliness, there was nothing for it but to adopt a +single-race policy. When it came to deciding which that race should be, +I did not hesitate, having found out for myself that the French are as +clean as the English believe themselves to be. The _Quartier_ could not +be more French if it were in the heart of France. There is nothing +French that is not to be had in it, from snails and _boudin_ to the +_Petit Journal_ and the latest thing in _apéritifs_. The one language +heard is French, when it is not Italian, and the people met there have +an animation that is not a characteristic of Kensington or Bayswater. +The only trouble is that if the snails are of the freshest and the +_apéritifs_ bear the best mark, the quality of the people imported into +the _Quartier_ is more doubtful. Many have left their country for their +country's good. When I made my mission known, caution was recommended to +me by _Madame_ who presides _chez le patissier_, and _Monsieur le Gros_, +as he is familiarly known, who provides me with groceries, and M. +Edmond from whom I buy my vegetables and salads at the _Quatre Saisons_. +England, in the mistaken name of liberty, then opened her door to the +riff-raff of all nations, and French prisons were the emptier for the +indiscriminate hospitality of Soho, or so I was assured by the decent +French who feel the dishonour the _Quartier_ is to France. + +Caution served me well in the first instance, for I began my experience +in French charwomen with Marie, a little Bretonne, young, cheerful, and +if, like a true Bretonne, not over clean by nature, so willing to be +bullied into it that she got to scrub floors and polish brasses as if +she liked it. She never sulked, never minded a scolding from Augustine +who scolds us all when we need it, did not care how long she stayed over +time, had a laugh that put one in good humour to hear it, and such a +healthy appetite that she doubled my weekly bill at the baker's. Even +Augustine found no fault. But one fault there was. She was married. In +the course of time a small son arrived who made her laugh more gaily +than ever, though he added a third to the family of a not too brilliant +young man with an income of a pound a week, and I was again without a +charwoman. + +Marie helped me to forget caution, and I put down the stories heard in +the _Quartier_ to libel. But I had my awakening. She was succeeded by +another Bretonne, a wild, frightened-looking creature, who, on her +second day with me, when I went into the kitchen to speak to her, sat +down abruptly in the fireplace, the fire by good luck still unlit, and I +did not have to ask an explanation, for it was given me by the empty +bottle on the dresser. Her dull, sottish face haunted me for days +afterwards, and I was oppressed, as I am sure she never was, by the +thought of the blundering fate that had driven her from the windswept +shores of her own Brittany to the foul slums of London. + +But I could not take over the mysteries and miseries of Soho with its +charwomen; it was about as much as I could do to keep up with the +procession that followed her. There was no variety of _femme de ménage_ +in the _Quartier_ that I did not sample, nor one who was not the heroine +of a tragedy or romance, too often not in retrospection or +anticipation, but at its most psychological moment. I remember another +Marie, good-looking, but undeniably elderly, whose thoughts were never +with the floor she was scrubbing or the range she was black-leading, +because they were absorbed in the impecunious youth, half her age, with +whom she had fallen in love in the fashion of to-day, and for whom she +had given up a life of comparative ease with her husband, a well-paid +_chef_. I remember a Marthe, old and withered, whose tales of want were +so heartrending that Augustine lavished upon her all the old clothes of +the establishment and all the "cold pieces" in the kitchen, but who, we +learned afterwards, had a neat little bank-account at the _Crédit +Lyonnais_ and a stocking stuffed to overflowing in the bare garret where +she shivered and starved. I remember a trim Julie, whose debts left +behind in France kept her nose to the grindstone, but who found it some +compensation to work for J.: she felt a peculiar sympathy for all +artists, she said, for the good reason, which seemed to us a trifle +remote, that her husband's mother had been foster-mother to _le grand +maître, M. Detaille_. And there was a Blanche, abandoned by her husband, +and left with three small children to feed, clothe, and bring up +somehow. And there were I have forgotten how many more, each with a +story tragic or pitiful, until it came to Clémentine, and her story was +so sordid that when I parted with her I shook the dust of Soho from off +my feet, and imported from the Pas-de-Calais a little girl whose +adventures I hoped were still in the future which, if I could manage it, +would be postponed indefinitely. It may be true that every woman has one +good novel in her life, but I did not see why I should keep on engaging +charwomen to prove it. + + + + +_Clémentine_ + +[Illustration: "WHEN THERE IS A SUN ON A WINTER MORNING"] + + + + +V + +CLÉMENTINE + + +She drifted in from the _Quartier_, but the slovenliness and shabby +finery of her dress made it hard to believe she was French. It was +harder to believe she was grown up when she began to talk, for her voice +was that of a child, a high shrill treble, with a babyish lisp, losing +itself in giggles. And she was so short, so small, that she might easily +have passed herself off as a little girl, but for the marks experience +had left upon her face. I suppose she was not much under thirty when she +first came to me. + +How cruel this experience had been she took immediate care to explain. +With her first few words she confided to me that she was hungry, and, in +my embarrassment on hearing it, I engaged her before it occurred to me +to ask for references. Hunger does not exactly qualify a woman, however +willing, for the rough work that must be done in a house, and that it +is so surprising anybody ever should be willing to do. I engaged her to +scrub the floors, black the shoes, clean the fireplaces, polish the +brasses,--to pass every morning, except Sunday, from seven to two, in +fighting the London dirt for me, and struggling through all those +disagreeable and tiresome tasks that not any amount of money would +induce me to struggle through for myself. + +As her duties were of a kind usually kept in the domestic background, +and as she brought to them an energy her hunger had not prepared me for, +an occasional _bon jour_ when we met might have been the extent of my +personal relations with her, had it not been for my foolish anxiety as +to the state of her appetite. I had kept house long enough to understand +the mistake of meddling with the affairs of my servants, but Clémentine, +with her absurd little voice and giggle, seemed much less a servant than +a child making believe to be one. Besides, I found that, though I can +hear of unknown thousands starving in London without feeling called upon +to interfere, it is another matter to come face to face with a hungry +individual under my own roof. + +Augustine, who was then, as she is now, the prop and mainstay of our +life, reassured me; Clémentine, it seemed, from the moment of her +arrival, had been eating as voraciously as if she were bent not only on +satisfying the present, but on making up for the past and providing +against the future. She could not pass the interval between eight +o'clock coffee and the noonday lunch without _un petit goûter_ to +sustain her. At all hours she kept munching bits of crust, and after the +heartiest meal she would fall, famished, upon our plates as they came +from the dining-room, devouring any odd scraps left on them, feasting on +cheese-rinds and apple-parings, or, though I regret to have to record +it, licking up the gravy and grease, if there was nothing better. +Indeed, her condition was one of such chronic hunger that Augustine grew +alarmed and thought a doctor should be consulted. I put it down to the +long succession of her lean years, and before the facts convinced me +that Clémentine was "all stomach and no soul," her appetite was a great +deal on my mind, and made me far more preoccupied with her than was +wise. + +My inquiries into the state of Clémentine's appetite were the reason for +many conversations. I have no doubt that at first I encouraged her +confidence, so unfailing was my delight in the lisping prattle, +interrupted by giggles, with which they were made. Even J., who as a +rule is glad to leave all domestic matters to me, would stop and speak +to her for the sake of hearing her talk. And she was a child in so many +other ways. She had the vanity as well as the voice of a little girl. +She was pretty after a fashion, but it always amazed me that anybody who +was so hungry could be so vain. When I am hungry I am too demoralized to +care how I look. But Clémentine's respect for her appearance was, if +anything, stronger than her craving for food. She would have gone +without a meal rather than have appeared out of the fashion set by her +London slum. Her hair might be half combed,--that was a question of +personal taste,--but she could not show herself abroad unless it was +brought down over her forehead in the low wave required by the mode of +the moment, and hidden at the back under a flat, overgrown jockey-cap +fastened on with long pins. Her skirt might be--or rather was--frayed at +the bottom, and her jacket worn to shreds, but she could never neglect +to tie round her neck a bit of white tulle or ribbon, however soiled or +faded. Nor could she be persuaded to run the shortest errand before this +tulle or ribbon, taken off for work, had been tied on again, the low +wave of hair patted well in place, and the jockey-cap stuck at the +correct angle. + +It was useless to try and hurry her. She did not care how urgent the +errand was to us, her concern was entirely for what people in the street +might think of her if any one detail of her toilet was neglected. +Augustine, who for herself was disdainful of the opinion of _ces sales +Anglais_ and ran her errands _en cheveux_ as if she were still in +France, would scold and thunder and represent to Clémentine that people +in the street had something better to do than to think of her at all. +When Augustine scolds, I am always, to be honest, a little afraid. But +Clémentine would listen giggling, and refuse to budge an inch until the +last touch had been given to her hair and to her dress. After working +time she could not start for home until she had spent half an hour and +more before the glass in the kitchen arranging her rags. In her own +country her vanity would have been satisfied only by the extreme +neatness and simplicity of her dress. In England she had borrowed the +untidiness and tawdriness that degrade the English poor. But if the +educated French, who ought to know that they are the most civilized +people in the world, grow more English than the English when they become +Anglicized at all, I could scarcely blame Clémentine for her weakness. + +To one form of her untidiness, however, I objected though, had I known +what was to come of my objection, I would have borne with worse in +silence. She never wore an apron, and, in her stained and tattered +dress, her appearance was disreputable even for a charwoman. She might +be as slovenly as she chose in the street, that was her affair; but it +was mine once she carried her slovenliness inside my four walls, +especially as in chambers servants at work are more apt to be stumbled +across than in a house, and as it was her duty at times to open the +front door. I spoke to her on the subject, suggesting the value of +aprons, if only as defences. The words were scarcely out of my mouth +than I would have given worlds to take them back again. For when +Clémentine began to talk the difficulty was to stop her, and long before +she finished explaining why she wore no aprons, I had learned a great +deal more about her than I bargained for: among other things, that her +previous places had been chiefly _chez les femmes_; that she wanted to +give up working for them; that, after leaving her last place, she could +get nothing to do in any _maison bourgeoise_; that she had no money and +was very hungry,--what Clémentine's hunger meant she did not have to +tell me; that her little Ernest was also hungry, and also _la vieille +grandmère_; that her little Ernest was her son,--"_Oui, Madame, je +serais franche, j'ai un fils mais pas un mari_"; that _la vieille +grandmère_ was an old woman she had taken in, partly to look after him, +partly out of sheer shiftlessness; that they could not starve; and +that--well--all her aprons were _au clou_. + +This sudden introduction of her little Ernest was a trifle +disconcerting, but it was none of my business how many people depended +on Clémentine, nor how many of her belongings were in pawn. I had vowed +never again to give sympathy, much less help, to anybody who worked for +me, since I knew to my cost the domestic disaster to which benevolence +of this sort may lead. I gave her advice instead. I recommended greater +thrift, and insisted that she must save from her wages enough to get her +aprons out of pawn immediately, though I left it to a more accomplished +political economist than I to show how, with three to provide for, she +could save out of what barely provided for one. However, she agreed. She +said, "_Oui, Madame, Madame a raison_"; and for the next week or two I +did my best to shut my eyes to the fact that she still went apronless. + +At this juncture, her little Ernest fell ill; now that I had heard of +him, he took good care that I should not forget him. For three days +there was no sign of Clémentine; I had no word from her. At the end of +the first day, I imagined a horrid tragedy of starvation; by the second, +I was reproaching myself as an accessory; by the evening of the third, I +could stand it no longer, and Augustine was despatched to find out what +was wrong. The child's illness was not very serious, but, incidentally, +Augustine found out a good deal besides. Clémentine's room, in an +unlovely Workmen's Building, was unexpectedly clean, but to keep it +clean was the easier because it was so bare. Her bed, which she shared +with her little Ernest, was a mattress on the floor in one corner, with +not a sheet or a blanket to cover it; _la vieille grandmère_ slept in a +nest of newspapers in another corner, with a roll of rags for a pillow. +Bedsteads, sheets, covers, had gone the way of the aprons,--they, too, +were _au clou_. The thrift I had advised scarcely met so acute a case of +poverty. I was not at all anxious to burden myself with Clémentine's +destitution in addition to her hunger, and to get it out of my mind, I +tried, with my usual generosity, to hand over the difficulty to J. I +cannot say that he accepted it as unconditionally as I could have +wished, for if he was positive that something must be done at once, he +had as little doubt that it was for me to discover the way of doing it. + +What I did was simple, though I dare say contrary to every scientific +principle of charity. I told her to bring me her pawn-tickets and I +would go over them with her. She brought them, a pocketful, the next +day, throwing them down on the table before me and sorting them as if +for a game of cards, with many giggles, and occasional cries of +"_Tiens!_ this is my old blue apron"; or, "_Mon Dieu!_ this is my nice +warm grey blanket." Her delight could not have been greater had it been +the apron or the blanket itself. All told, her debts amounted to no very +ruinous sum, and I arranged to pay them off and give her a fresh start +if, on her side, she was prepared to work harder and practise stricter +economy. I pointed out that as I did not need her in the afternoon, she +had a half day to dispose of, and that she should hunt for something to +fill it. She promised everything I asked, and more, and I hoped that +this was the last of my sharing her burdens. + +It might have been, but for her little Ernest. I do believe that child +was born for no other end than my special annoyance. His illness was +only the beginning. When he was well, she brought him to see me one +afternoon, nominally that he might thank me, but really, I fear, in hope +of an extra sixpence or shilling. He was five years old and fairly large +and well developed for his age, but there could never have been, there +never could be, a less attractive child. His face had none of the +prettiness of his mother's, though all the shrewdness: in knowledge of +the gutter he looked fifty. Then and afterwards, ashamed as I was of it, +I instinctively shrank from him. Anywhere, except in the comic ballad, a +"horribly fast little cad" of a baby is as tragic a figure as I care to +encounter, and to me the little Ernest was all the more so because of +the repugnance with which he inspired me. Clémentine made a great +pretence of adoring him. She carried a sadly battered photograph of him +in her pocket, and would pull it out at intervals when anybody was +looking, and kiss it rapturously. Otherwise her admiration took the form +of submitting to his tyranny. She could do far less with him than he +with her, and _la vieille grandmère_ was as wax in his rough little +hands. His mornings, while his mother was at work, were spent in the +grimy London courts and streets, where children swarm like vermin and +babies grow old in vice. In the afternoon, after she left our chambers, +he dragged her through the _Quartier_, from shop to shop, she with her +giggling "_Bon jour, M. Edmond_" or "_Comment ça va, Madame +Pierre_"--for though we live in London we are not of it, but of +France,--he with his hand held out for the cakes and oranges and pennies +he knew would drop into it: a pair of the most accomplished beggars in +London. + +As time went on, and Clémentine did not find the extra work for her +afternoons that she had promised to find, I realized that she would keep +on wasting her free half day, and that he would go from bad to worse if +he were not got away from her and out of the streets. I should have +known better than to occupy myself with him, but his old shrewd face +haunted me until I remonstrated with Clémentine, and represented to her +the future she was preparing for him. If she could not take care of him, +she should send him to school where there were responsible people who +could. I suggested a charitable institution of some kind in France where +he would be brought up among her people. But this she fought against +with a determination I could not understand, until it came out that she +had profited by the English law which forces a father to contribute to +his illegitimate child's support, and from Ernest's she received weekly +three shillings and sixpence. She much preferred to risk her little +Ernest's morals than an income that came of itself, and she feared she +could no longer claim it if he were beyond the reach of the English +courts. She was as doubtful of the result if he were got into a charity +school in England, for if he cost her nothing the father might not be +compelled to pay. She could be obstinate on occasions, and I was in +despair. But by some fortunate chance, a convent at Hampstead was heard +of where the weekly charge would just be covered by the father's +allowance, and as Clémentine could find no argument against it, she had +to give in. + +I breathed freely again, but I was not to be let off so easily. It was +simpler to get mixed up in Clémentine's affairs than to escape from +them. At the convent, the nuns had learned wisdom, and they demanded to +be paid weekly in advance. I must have waited until Judgment Day if I +had depended upon Clémentine to be in advance with anything, and in +self-defence I offered to pay the first month. But this settled, at once +there was another obstacle to dispose of. A trousseau was required with +the little Ernest, and he had no clothes except those on his back. I +provided the trousseau. Then the little Ernest rebelled and refused to +hear of school unless he was supplied with a top, a mechanical boat, a +balloon, and I scarcely remember what besides. I supplied them. +Clémentine, on her side, began to look harassed and careworn, and I +never ventured to ask what conditions he exacted of her, but it was a +relief to everybody when, after much shopping and innumerable coaxings +and bribes and scenes, at last she got her little Ernest off her hands. + +But if he was off hers, she was more than ever on mine. He gave her a +perpetual subject of conversation. There were days when I seemed to hear +her prattling in the kitchen from the moment she came until the moment +she left, and to a good deal of her prattle I had to listen. She made it +her duty to report his progress to me, and the trouble was that she +could never get through without confiding far more about her own, in the +past as in the present. She might begin innocently with the fit of his +new clothes, but as likely as not she would end with revelations of +unspeakable horror. At least I could not find fault with Clémentine's +confidences for their mildness or monotony. In her high, shrill, lisping +treble, as if she were reciting a lesson, and with the air of a naughty +girl trying to keep back her giggles, she would tell me the most +appalling details of her life. + +I had not dreamed that out of Zola or Defoe a woman could go through +such adventures, or that, if she could, it would be possible for her to +emerge a harmless charwoman doing the commonplace work of a household +which I flatter myself is respectable, for a few shillings a week. Of +poverty, of evil, of shame, of disgrace, there was nothing she had not +known; and yet as I saw her busy and happy over her scrubbing and +washing and polishing in our chambers, I could have believed she had +never done anything less guileless in all her thirty years. She had a +curiously impersonal way of relating these adventures, as if they were +no concern of hers whatever. The most dramatic situations seemed to have +touched her as little as the every-day events in her sordid struggle for +bread, though she was not without some pride in the variety of her +experience. When Augustine warned her that her idleness was preparing +for her a bed on the Embankment and daily food in a soup-kitchen, "_Eh +bien?_ why not?" she giggled; "I have been on the streets, I have been +in prison, I have been in the workhouse, I have seen everything--_j'ai +tout vu, moi!_ Why not that too?" + +With her, there was no shrinking from the workhouse, as with the +respectable poor, "_Ce n'est pas fait pour les chiens_," she reasoned, +and looked upon it as an asylum held in reserve. + +Her boast that she had seen everything was no exaggeration, her +everything meaning the hideous side of life which those who see only the +other try so hard to shut their eyes to. "What would you have?" she +asked me more than once, "I was a bastard and a foundling"; as if with +such a beginning, it would have been an inconsistency on her part to +turn out any better than she was. That she had started life as a little +lost package of humanity, left at the door of a house for _les enfants +trouvés_ not far from Boulogne, never caused her shame and regret. From +a visit paid by her mother to the Institution during her infancy, there +could remain no doubt of her illegitimacy, but it was a source of +pleasure to her, and also of much agreeable speculation. + +"How can I be sure," she said to me, "that, though my mother was a cook, +my father might not have been a _préfet_, or even a prince?" + +For practical purposes she knew no parents save the peasants who brought +her up. The State in France, thrifty as the people, makes the children +abandoned to it a source of profit to the hard-working poor. Clémentine +was put out to nurse. The one spark of genuine affection she ever showed +was for the woman to whose care she fell, and of whom she always spoke +as _ma mère_, with a tenderness very different from her giggling +adoration of the little Ernest. Incessant labour was the rule in _ma +mère's_ house, and food was not too abundant, but of what there was +Clémentine had her share, though I fancy the scarcity then was the +origin of the terrible hunger that consumed her throughout her life. +About this hunger her story revolved, so that, while she talked of the +past, I could seldom get far away from it. She recalled little else of +the places the Institution found for her as servant. The State in France +is as wise as it is thrifty, and does not demoralize its foundlings by +free gifts, but, when the time comes, makes them work, appropriating +their wages until it has been paid back the money they have cost it. + +Clémentine went into service young. She also went into it hungry, and +life became a never-ending struggle for food. In one place she was +reduced to such straits that she devoured a dish of poisoned meat +prepared for the stray cats of the neighbourhood, and, though it brought +her almost to death's door, she could still recall it as a feast. In +another, a small country grocery store, she would steal down in the +night, trembling with fear, to hunt for bits of candy and crackers, and, +safe in bed again, would have to fight for them with the rats that +shared her garret. And her tale of this period grew more miserable and +squalid with every new stage, until she reached the dreadful climax +when, still a child herself, she brought a little girl into the world to +share her hunger. She had the courage to laugh when she told me of her +wandering, half-starved, back to _la bonne mère_, who took her in when +her time came, and kept the baby. She could laugh, too, when she +recalled the wrath of _M. le Directeur_ at the Institution, who sent for +her, and scolded her, giving her a few sharp raps with his cane. + +If to Clémentine her tragedy was a laughing matter, it was not for me to +weep over it. But I was glad when she got through with this period and +came to the next, which had in it more of pure comedy than enlivened +most of her confidences. For once she was of age, and her debt to the +Institution settled in full, she was free not only to work for herself, +but to claim a percentage of the money she had been making during the +long years of apprenticeship; and this percentage amounting to five +hundred francs, and Clémentine never having seen so much money before, +her imagination was stirred by the vastness of her wealth, and she +insisted on being paid in five-franc pieces. She had to get a basket to +hold them all, and with it on her arm she started off in search of +adventure. This, I think, was the supreme moment in her life. + +Her adventures began in the third-class carriage of a train for +Boulogne, which might seem a mild beginning to most people, but was full +of excitement for Clémentine. She dipped her hands into the silver, and +jingled it, and displayed it to everybody, with the vanity of a child +showing off its new frock. The only wonder was that any of the +five-franc pieces were still in the basket when she got to Boulogne. +There they drew to her a group of young men and women who were bound for +England to make their fortunes, and who persuaded her to join them. Her +head was not completely turned by her wealth, for she crossed with them +on the _bâteau aux lapins_, which she explained as the cheapest boat +upon which anything but beasts and vegetables could find passage. At +Folkestone, where they landed, she had no difficulty in getting a place +as scullery maid. But washing up was as dull in England as in France, a +poor resource for anybody with a basketful of five-franc pieces. One of +the young men who had crossed with her agreed that it was a waste of +time to work when there was money to spend, and they decided for a life +of leisure together. The question of marriage apparently did not enter +into the arrangement. They were content to remain _des unis_, in M. +Rod's phrase, and their union was celebrated by a few weeks of riotous +living. The chicken their own Henry IV wished for all his subjects +filled the daily pot, beer flowed like water, they could have paid for +cake had bread failed; for the first time in her life Clémentine forgot +what it was to be hungry. + +It was delightful while it lasted, and I do not believe that she ever +regretted having had her fling when the chance came. But the basket grew +lighter and lighter, and all too soon barely enough five-franc pieces +were left in it to carry them up to London. There, naturally, they found +their way to the _Quartier_. The man picked up an odd job or two, +Clémentine scrubbed, washed, waited, did any and everything by which a +few pence could be earned. The pot was now empty, beer ceased to flow, +bread sometimes was beyond their means, and she was hungrier than ever. +In the course of the year her little Ernest was added to the family, and +there was no _bonne mère_ in London to relieve her of the new burden. +For a while Clémentine could not work; when she could, there was no work +to be had. Nor could the man get any more jobs, though I fancy his hunt +for them was not too strenuous. Life became a stern, bread-hunting sort +of business, and I think at moments Clémentine almost wished herself +back in the garret with the rats, or in the garden where dishes of +poisoned meat were sometimes to be stolen. The landlord threatened, +starvation stared them in the face. Hunger is ever the incentive to +enterprise, and Ernest's father turned Clémentine on the streets. + +I must do her the justice to say that, of all her adventures, this was +the one least to her liking. That she had fallen so low did not shock +her; she looked upon it as part of the inevitable scheme of things: but +left to herself, she would have preferred another mode of earning her +living. After I had been told of this period of horrors, I could never +hear Clémentine's high, shrill treble and giggle without a shudder, for +they were then part of her stock-in-trade, and she went on the streets +in short skirts with her hair down her back. For months she wallowed in +the gutter, at the mercy of the lowest and the most degraded, insulted, +robbed, despised, and if she attempted to rebel, bullied back to her +shameful trade by a man who had no thought save for the few pitiful +pence she could bring to him out of it. The only part of the affair that +pleased her was the ending--in prison after a disgraceful street brawl. +She was really at heart an adventuress, and the opportunity to see for +the first time the inside of the _panier à salade_, as she called the +prison van, was welcomed by her in the light of a new and exciting +adventure. Then, in prison itself, the dress with the arrows could be +adjusted becomingly, warders and fellow prisoners could be made to laugh +by her antics, and if she could have wished for more to eat, it was a +great thing not to have to find the means to pay for what she got. + +She was hardly out of prison when Ernest's father chanced upon a woman +who could provide for him more liberally, and Clémentine was again a +free agent. The streets knew her no more, though for an interval the +workhouse did. This was the crisis when, with the shrewdness acquired in +the London slums, she learned something of the English law to her own +advantage, and through the courts compelled the father to contribute to +the support of his son. The weekly three shillings and sixpence paid for +a room. For food she had to work. With prison behind her, she was afraid +to ask for a place in respectable houses, and I should not care to +record the sinks of iniquity and squalid dens where her shrill treble +and little girl's giggle were heard. Ernest was dumped down of a morning +upon any friendly neighbour who would keep an eye on him, until, somehow +or other, _la vieille grandmère_ appeared upon the scene and Clémentine +once more had two to feed and the daily problem of her own hunger to +face. + +Her responsibilities never drove her to work harder than was absolutely +necessary. "We must all toil or steal," Carlyle says. But Clémentine +knew better. She could have suggested a third alternative, for she had +reduced begging to a fine art. Her scent was as keen for charitable +associations as a pig's for truffles, and she could tell to a minute the +appointed time of their alms-giving, and to a penny the value of their +alms. She would, no matter when, drop regular work at the risk of losing +it, to rush off after a possible charity. There was a _Société_--I never +knew it by any other name--that, while she was with me, drew her from my +kitchen floor or my luncheon dishes as surely as Thursday came round, +and the clock struck one. Why it existed she never made quite clear to +me,--I doubt if she had an idea why, herself. It was enough for her that +the poor French in London were under its special charge, and that, when +luck was with her, she might come away with a loaf of bread, or an order +for coals, or, if she played the beggar well, as much as a shilling. + +She kept up a brisk correspondence with "_Madame la Baronne de +Rothschild_," whose sole mission in life she apparently believed was to +see her out of her difficulties. _La Baronne_, on one occasion, gave her +a sovereign, Heaven knows why, unless as a desperate measure to close +the correspondence; but a good part of it went in postage for letters +representing why the bestowal of sovereigns upon Clémentine should +become habitual. Stray agents, presumably from _la Baronne_, would pay +me mysterious visits, to ask if Clémentine were a deserving object of +benevolence, and I was exposed to repeated cross-examination in her +regard. She made a point of learning the hours when the _chefs_ left the +kitchens of the big hotels and restaurants near the _Quartier_, and +also of finding out who among them might be looked to for a few odd +pence for the sake of Ernest's father, at one time a washer of dishes, +or who, after a _coup de vin_ or an _absinthe_, grew generous with their +money. She had gauged the depth of every tender heart in the _Quartier_ +and the possibility of scraps and broken meats at every shop and +eating-place. And no one understood better how to beg, how to turn on +the limelight and bring out in melodramatic relief the enormity of her +need and destitution. The lisping treble, the giggle, the tattered +clothes, _la vieille grandmère_, the desertion of the little Ernest's +father, the little Ernest himself, were so many valuable assets. Indeed, +she appreciated the value of the little Ernest so well that once she +would have had me multiply him by twelve when she asked me to vouch for +her poverty before some new society disposed to be friendly. If luck +went against her, and nothing came of her begging, she was not +discouraged. Begging was a game of chance with her,--her Monte Carlo or +Little Horses,--and she never murmured over her failures, but with her +faculty for making the best of all things, she got amusement out of +them as well as out of her successes. + +In the face of these facts, I cannot deny that Clémentine's "character" +was not exactly the sort most people expect when they engage a servant. +But I would not turn adrift a mangy dog or a lost cat whom I had once +taken in. And she did her work very well, with a thoroughness the +English charwoman would have despised, never minding what that work was, +so long as she had plenty to eat and could prepare by an elaborate +toilet for every errand she ran. Her morals could do us small harm, and +for a while I was foolish enough to hope ours might do her some good. I +realize now that nothing could have improved Clémentine; she was not +made that way; but at the time she was too wholly unlike any woman I had +ever come in contact with, for me to see that the difference lay in her +having no morals to help. She was not immoral, but unmoral. Right and +wrong were without meaning for her. Her standards, if she could be said +to have any, were comfort and discomfort. Virtue and vice were the same +to her, so long as she was not unpleasantly interfered with. This was +the explanation of her past, as of her frankness in disclosing it, and +she was too much occupied in avoiding present pain to bother about the +future by cultivating economy, or ambition, or prudence. An animal would +take more thought for the morrow than Clémentine. Of all the people I +have ever come across, she had the most reason to be weary-laden, but +instead of "tears in her eyes," there was always a giggle on her lips. +"_La colère, c'est la folie_," she assured me, and it was a folly she +avoided with marked success. Perhaps she was wise, undoubtedly she was +the happier for it. + +Unfortunately for me, I had not her callousness or philosophy,--I am not +yet quite sure which it was,--and if she would not think for herself, I +was the more disturbed by the necessity of thinking for her. It was an +absurd position. There I was, positively growing grey in my endeavours +to drag her up out of the abyss of poverty into which she had sunk, and +there she was, cheerful and happy, if she could only continue to enjoy +_la bonne cuisine de Madame_. I never knew her to make the slightest +attempt to profit by what I, or anyone else, would do for her. I +remember, when _Madame la Baronne_ sent her the sovereign, she stayed at +home a week, and then wrote to me as her excuse, "_J'ai été rentière +toute la semaine. Maintenant je n'ai plus un penny, il faut m'occuper du +travail._" I had not taken her things out of pawn before they were +pawned again, and the cast-off clothes she begged from me followed as +promptly. Her little Ernest, after all my trouble, stayed at the convent +six weeks,--the month I paid for and two weeks that Clémentine somehow +wheedled out of the sisters,--and then he was back as of old, picking up +his education in the London streets. I presented her once with a good +bed I had no more use for, and, to make space for it, she went into debt +and moved from her one room near Tottenham Court Road to two rooms and a +higher rent near the Lower Marsh, and was robbed on the way by the man +she hired to move her. When she broke anything, and she frequently did, +she was never perturbed: "_Madame est forte pour payer_," or "_l'argent +est fait pour rouler_," was her usual answer to my reproaches. To try +to show her the road to economy was to plunge her into fresh +extravagance. + +Nor did I advance matters by talking to her seriously. I recall one +special effort to impress upon her the great misery she was preparing +for herself by her shiftlessness. I had given her a pair of shoes, +though I had vowed a hundred times to give her nothing more, and I used +the occasion for a lecture. She seemed eager to interrupt once or twice, +and I flattered myself my words were having their effect. And now what +had she to say? I asked when my eloquence was exhausted. She giggled: +"Would _Madame_ look at her feet in _Madame's_ shoes? _Jamais je ne me +suis vue si bien chaussée_," and she was going straight to the +_Quartier_ "_pour éblouir le monde_," she said. When Augustine took her +in hand, though Augustine's eloquence had a vigour mine could not boast +of, the result was, if anything, more discouraging. Clémentine, made +bold by custom, would turn a hand-spring or dance a jig, or go through +the other accomplishments she had picked up in the slums. + +If I could discover any weak spot by which I could reach her, I used to +think something might be gained, and I lost much time in studying how to +work upon her emotions. But her emotions were as far to seek as her +morals. Even family ties, usually so strong in France, had no hold upon +her. If she adored her little Ernest, it was because he brought her in +three shillings and sixpence a week. There was no adoration for her +little girl who occasionally wrote from the Pas-de-Calais and asked her +for money. I saw one of the child's letters in which she implored +Clémentine to pay for a white veil and white shoes; she was going to +make her first communion, and the good adopted mother could pay for no +more than the gown. The First Communion is the greatest event in the +French child's life; there could be no deeper disgrace than not to be +dressed for it, and the appeal must have moved every mother who read it, +except Clémentine. To her it was comic, and she disposed of it with +giggles: "_C'est drôle quand même, d'avoir une fille de cet âge_," and +funnier that she could be expected to pay for anything for anybody. + +But if her family awoke in her no sentiment, her "home" did, though it +was of the kind that Lamb would have classed with the "no homes." The +tenacity with which she clung to it was her nearest approach to strong +feeling. I suppose it was because she had so long climbed the stairs of +others that she took such complete satisfaction in the two shabby little +rooms to which she gave the name. I had a glimpse of them, never to be +forgotten, once when she failed to come for two days, and I went to look +her up. The street reeked with the smell of fried fish and onions; it +was filled with barrows of kippers and haddocks and whelks; it was lined +with old-clothes shops; it was crowded with frowzy women and horribly +dirty children. And the halls and stairs of the tenement where she lived +were black with London smoke and greasy with London dirt. I did not feel +clean afterwards until I had had a bath, and it was never again as easy +to reconcile myself to Clémentine's daily reappearance in our midst. But +to her the rooms were home, and for that reason she would have stayed on +in a grimier and more malodorous neighbourhood, if such a thing could +be, in preference to living in the cleanest and freshest London +workhouse at the rate-payers' expense. Her objection to going into +service except as a charwoman was that she would have to stay the night. +"_Je ne serais pas chez moi_"; and much as she prized her comfort, it +was not worth the sacrifice. On the contrary, she was prepared to +sacrifice her comfort, dear as it was to her, that she might retain her +home. She actually went to the length of taking in as companion an +Italian workman she met by accident, not because he offered to marry +her, which he did not, but because, according to his representations, he +was making twenty-five shillings a week and would help to pay the rent. +"_Je serais chez moi_," was now her argument, and for food she could +continue to work or beg. He would be a convenience, _voilà tout_. The +Italian stayed a week. He lounged in bed all morning while she was at +work, he smoked all afternoon. At the end of the week Clémentine sent +him flying. "_Je suis bête et je mourrais bête_," was her explanation to +me; but she was not _bête_ to the point of adding an idle fourth to her +burden, and, as a result, being turned out of the home she had taken him +in to preserve. + +Clémentine had been with us more than two years when the incident of the +Italian occurred, and by this time I had become so accustomed to her and +to her adventures that I was not as shocked as perhaps I should have +been. It was not a way out of difficulties I could approve, but +Clémentine was not to be judged by my standards, and I saw no reason to +express my disapproval by getting rid of her just when she most needed +to stay. In her continually increasing need to stay, I endured so much +besides that, at the end of her third year in our chambers, I was +convinced that she would go on doing my rough work as long as I had +rough work to be done. More than once I came to the end of my patience +and dismissed her. But it was no use. In the course of a couple of +weeks, or at the most three, she was back scrubbing my floors and +polishing my brasses. + +The first time she lost her place with me, I sympathized to such an +extent that I was at some pains to arrange a scheme to send her to +France. But Clémentine, clinging to the pleasures of life in the Lower +Marsh, agreed to everything I proposed, and was careful to put every +hindrance in the way of carrying out my plans. Twice I went to the +length of engaging another woman, but either the other woman did not +suit or else she did not stay, and I had to ask Clémentine to return. On +her side, she made various efforts to leave me, bored, I fancy, by the +monotony of regular work, but they were as unsuccessful as mine to turn +her off. After one disappearance of three weeks, she owned up frankly to +having been again _chez les femmes_ whose pay was better; after a +second, she said she had been ill in the workhouse which I doubted; +after all, she was as frank in admitting that nowhere else did she enjoy +_la bonne cuisine de Madame_, and that this was the attraction to which +I was indebted for her fidelity. + +It may have been kindness, it may have been weakness, it may have been +simply necessity, that made me so lenient on these occasions; I do not +attempt to decide. But I cannot blame Clémentine for thinking it was +because she was indispensable. I noticed that gradually in small ways +she began to take advantage of our good-nature. For one thing there was +now no limit to her conversation. I did not spend my time in the kitchen +and could turn a deaf ear to it, but I sometimes wondered if Augustine +would not be the next to disappear. She would also often relieve the +tedium of her several tasks by turning the handsprings in which she was +so accomplished, or dancing the jig popular in the Lower Marsh, or by +other performances equally reprehensible in the kitchen of _une maison +bourgeoise_, as she was pleased to describe our chambers. She never lost +a chance of rushing to the door if tradespeople rang, or talking with +the British Workmen we were obliged, for our sins, to employ. Their +bewilderment, stolid Britons as they were, would have been funny, had +not her manner of exciting it been so discreditable. She was even +caught--I was spared the knowledge until much later--turning her +handsprings for a select company of plasterers and painters. Then I +could see that she accepted anything we might bestow upon her as her +due, and was becoming critical of the value and quality of the gift. I +can never forget on one occasion when J. was going away, and he gave her +a few shillings, the expression with which she looked first at the money +and then at him as though insulted by the paltriness of the amount. More +unbearable was the unfair use she made of her little Ernest. + +_La vieille grandmère_, who had wandered by chance into her life, +wandered out of it as casually, or so Clémentine said as an argument to +induce me to receive that odious little boy into my kitchen during her +hours of work; she had nobody to take care of him, she could not leave +him alone. Here, happily for myself, I had the strength to draw the +line. But when this argument failed, she found another far more +harrowing. She took the opportunity of my stumbling across her in our +little hall one day at noon to tell me that, as I would not let her +bring him with her, she left him every day, carefully locked up out of +harm's way, alone in her rooms. A child of seven, as he was then, locked +up to get into any mischief he could invent, and, moreover, a child with +a talent for mischief! that was too much, and I sent her flying home +without giving her time to eat her lunch or linger before the glass, and +I was haunted for the rest of the day with the thought of all the +terrible things that might have happened to him. Naturally nothing did +happen, nothing ever does happen to children like the little Ernest, and +Clémentine, dismayed by the loss of her lunch and the interference with +her toilet, never ventured upon this argument a second time. But she +found another almost as bad, for she informed me that, thanks to my +interference, she was compelled to leave him again to run the streets as +he would, and she hinted only too plainly that for whatever evil might +befall him, I was responsible. Our relations were at this pleasant +stage, and her little Ernest was fast developing into a monstrous +Frankenstein wholly of my own raising, when one day she arrived with a +new air of importance and announced her approaching marriage. + +I was enchanted. I had not permitted myself to feel the full weight of +the burden Clémentine was heaping upon my shoulders until now it seemed +on the point of slipping from them, and never were congratulations more +sincere than mine. As she spared me none of her confidence, every detail +of her courtship and her prospects was soon at my disposal. In the +course of her regular round of the kitchen doors of the _Quartier_ she +had picked up an Englishman who washed dishes in a restaurant. He was +not much over twenty, he earned no less than eighteen shillings a week, +and he had asked her to marry him. She accepted him, as she had accepted +the Italian, because he would pay the rent; the only difference was that +her new admirer proposed the form of companionship which is not lightly +broken. "_Cette fois je crois que cela sera vrai--que l'affaire ne +tombera pas dans l'eau_," she said, remembering the deep waters which, +in her recent affair, had gone over her head. "_Mon petit Anglais_"--her +name for him--figured in her account as a model of propriety. He had a +strict regard for morals. He objected to her working _chez les femmes_, +and expressed his desire that she should remain in our service, despite +the loss to their income. He condoned her previous indiscretions, and +was prepared to play a father's part to her little Ernest. + +Altogether the situation was fast growing idyllic, and with Clémentine +in her new rôle of _fiancée_, we thought that peace for us all was in +sight. She set about her preparations at once, and did not hesitate to +let me know that an agreeable wedding present would be house linen, +however old and ragged, and a new hat for the wedding. I had looked for +some preliminary begging as a matter of course, and I was already going +through my linen closet to see what I could spare, when I caught +Clémentine collecting wedding presents from me for which I had not been +asked. + +Until then I believed that, whatever crimes and vices might be laid at +her door, dishonesty was not to be counted among them. I even boasted of +her honesty as an excuse for my keeping her, nuisance as she was. I +think I should have doubted her guilt if the report of it only had +reached me. But I could not doubt the testimony of my own eyes when +there was discovered, carefully packed in the capacious bag she always +carried, one of my best napkins, a brand-new tea-cloth, and a few +kitchen knives and forks that could not have strayed there of +themselves. I could see in the articles selected her tender concern for +the comfort of her _petit Anglais_ and her practical wish to prepare her +establishment for his coming, and probably it showed her consideration +for me that she had been content with such simple preparations. But the +value of the things themselves and her object in appropriating them had +nothing to do with the main fact that, after all we had done and +endured, she was stealing from us. "We should wipe two words from our +vocabulary: gratitude and charity," Stevenson once wrote. Clémentine +wiped out the one so successfully that she left me with no use for the +other. I told her she must go, and this time I was in good earnest. + +To Clémentine, however, nothing could have seemed less possible. She +could not understand that a petty theft would make her less +indispensable, or that I would strain at a gnat after swallowing so many +camels. Within a week she was knocking at our door and expressing her +willingness to resume her place in our chambers. She was not discouraged +by the refusal to admit her, but a few days later, this time by letter, +she again assured me that she waited to be recalled, and she referred to +the desire of her _petit Anglais_ in the matter. She affected penitence, +admitting that she had committed _une "Bêtisse"_--the spelling is +hers--and adding: "_avoir âgit ainsi avec des maîtres aussi bons, ce +n'est pas pardonable. Je vous assure que si un jour je devien riche, ou +peut être plus pauvre, que dans ma richesse, comme dans ma plus grande +misère, je ne pourrais jamais oublier les bons maîtres Monsieur et +Madame, car jamais dans ma vie d'orpheline, je n'aie jamais rencontré +d'aussi bons maîtres._" She also reminded me that she lived in the hope +that _Madame_ would not forget the promised present of linen and a hat. +I made no answer. Another letter followed, penitence now exchanged for +reproaches. She expostulated with me for taking the bread out of the +mouth of her _petit innocent_--Ernest--the little innocent whom the +slums had nothing more to teach. This second letter met the same fate +as the first, but her resources were not exhausted. In a third she tried +the dignity of sorrow: "_Ma faute m'a rendu l'âme si triste_" and, as +this had no effect, she used in a fourth the one genuine argument of +them all, her hunger: "_Enfin il faut que je tâche d'oublier, mais en +attendant je m'en mordrais peut être les poings plus d'une fois._" I was +unmoved. I had spent too much emotion already upon Clémentine; also a +neat little French girl had replaced her. + +She gave up when she found me proof against an argument that had +hitherto always disarmed me. This was the last time she put herself at +my service; though once afterwards she gave me the pleasure of hearing +from her. Not many weeks had passed when I received a pictorial +post-card that almost reconciled me to a fashion I deplore. The picture +that adorned it was a photograph of an ordinary three-storey London +house, the windows draped with lace curtains of a quality and design not +common in the Lower Marsh. But the extraordinary thing about it was that +in the open doorway--apronless, her arms akimbo, the wave of hair low +on her forehead--stood Clémentine, giggling in triumph. A few words +accompanied this astonishing vision. "_Je n'oublierais jamais la bonne +maison de Madame_" and the kind message was signed "Mrs. Johnson." +Whether the eighteen shillings of her _petit Anglais_ ran to so imposing +a home, or to what she owed the post-card prominence usually reserved +for the monuments of London, she did not condescend to explain. Probably +she only wanted to show that, though she had achieved this distinction, +she could be magnanimous enough to forget the past and think of us +kindly. + +That was the last I ever heard from Clémentine, the last I hope I ever +shall hear. The pictorial post-card told me the one thing I cared to +know. She did not leave me for a bed on the Embankment by night and a +round of the soup-kitchens by day. If ever she does see life in this way +and so completes her experience, the responsibility will not be mine for +having driven her to it. + + + + +_The Old Housekeeper_ + +[Illustration: "A WILDERNESS OF CHIMNEY-POTS"] + + + + +VI + +THE OLD HOUSEKEEPER + + +No housekeeper could have been more in place than the little old +white-haired woman who answered our ring the day we came to engage our +windows, and, incidentally, the chambers behind them. She was venerable +in appearance and scrupulously neat in her dress, and her manner had +just the right touch of dignity and deference, until we explained our +errand. Then she flew into a rage and told us in a tone that challenged +us to dispute it, "You know, no coal is to be carried upstairs after ten +o'clock in the morning." + +Coal was as yet so remote that we would have agreed to anything in our +impatience to look out of the windows, and, reassured by us, she became +the obsequious housekeeper again, getting the keys, toiling with us up +the three flights of stairs, unlocking the double door,--for, as I have +said, there is an "oak" to "sport,"--ushering us into the chambers with +the Adam mantelpieces and decorations and the windows that brought us +there, dropping the correct "Sir" and "Madam" into her talk, accepting +without a tremor the shilling we were ashamed to offer, and realizing so +entirely our idea of what a housekeeper in London chambers ought to be, +that her outbreak over the coal we had not ordered, and might never +order, was the more perplexing. + +I understood it before we were settled in our chambers, for they were +not really ours until after a long delay over the legal formalities with +which the English love to entangle their simplest transactions at +somebody else's expense, and a longer one in proving our personal and +financial qualifications, the landlord being disturbed by a suspicion +that, like the Housekeeper's daughter, we were in _the_ profession and +spent most of our time "resting," a suspicion confirmed by the escape of +the last tenant, also in _the_ profession, with a year's rent still to +pay. And then came much the longest delay of all over the British +Workman, who, once he got in, threatened never to get out. In the mean +while we saw the Housekeeper almost every day. + +We did not have to see her often to discover that she was born a +housekeeper, that she had but one thought in life, and that this was the +house under her charge. I am sure she believed that she came into the +world to take care of it, unless indeed it was built to be taken care of +by her. She belonged to a generation in England who had not yet been +taught the folly of interest in their work, and she was old-fashioned +enough to feel the importance of the post she filled. She would have +lost her self-respect had she failed in the slightest detail of her duty +to the house. From the first, the spotless marvel she made of it divided +our admiration with our windows. The hall and front steps were +immaculate, the white stone stairs shone, there was not a speck of dust +anywhere, and I appreciated the work this meant in an old London +building, where the dirt not only filters through doors and windows, but +oozes out of the walls and comes up through the floors. She did not +pretend to hide her despair when our painters and paperers tramped and +blundered in and out; she fretted herself ill when our furniture was +brought up the three flights of her shining stairs. Painters and +paperers and the bringing up of furniture were rare incidents in the +life of a tenant and had to be endured. But coal, with its trail of +dust, was an endless necessity, and at least could be regulated. This +was why, after her daily cleaning was done, she refused to let it pass. + +Once we were established, we saw her less often. Her daily masterpiece +was finished in the morning before we were up, and at all times she +effaced herself with the respect she owed to tenants of a house in which +she was the servant. If we did meet her she acknowledged our greeting +with ostentatious humility, for she clung with as little shame to +servility as to cleanliness; servility was also a part of the business +of a housekeeper, just as elegance was the mark of _the_ profession +which her daughter graced, and the shame would have been not to be as +servile as the position demanded. + +This daughter was in every way an elegant person, dressing with a +fidelity to fashion which I could not hope to emulate, and with the +help of a fashionable dressmaker whom I could not afford to pay. She was +"resting" from the time we came into the house until her mother left it, +but if in _the_ profession it is a misfortune to be out of work, it is a +crime to look it, and her appearance and manner gave no hint of +unemployment. In an emergency she would bring us up a message or a +letter, but her civility had none of her mother's obsequiousness; it was +a condescension, and she made us feel the honor she conferred upon the +house by living in it. She was engaged to be married to a stage manager +who for the moment seemed to be without a stage to manage, for he spent +his evenings with her in the Housekeeper's little sitting-room, where +photographs of actors and actresses, each with its sprawling autograph, +covered the walls, crowded the mantelpiece, and littered the table. I +think the Housekeeper could have asked for nothing better than that they +should both continue to "rest," not so much because it gave her the +pleasure of their society as because it was a protection to the house to +have a man about after dark until the street door was closed at eleven. +Had it come to a question between the house and her daughter, the +daughter would not have had a chance. + +The Housekeeper, for all her deference to the tenants, was a despot, and +none of us dared to rebel against her rule and disturb the order she +maintained. To anybody coming in from the not too respectable little +street the respectability of the house was overwhelming, and I often +noticed that strangers, on entering, lowered their voices and stepped +more softly. The hush of repose hung heavy on the public hall and +stairs, whatever might be going on behind the two doors that faced each +other on every landing. We all emulated her in the quiet and decorum of +our movements. We allowed ourselves so seldom to be seen that after +three months I still knew little of the others except their names on +their doors, the professions of those who had offices and hung up their +signs, and the frequency with which the Church League on the First Floor +drank afternoon tea. On certain days, when I went out towards five +o'clock, I had to push my way through a procession of bishops in aprons +and gaiters, deans and ordinary parsons who were legion, dowagers and +duchesses who were as sands on the stairs. I may be wrong, but I fancy +that the Housekeeper would have found a way to rout this weekly invasion +if, in the aprons and gaiters, she had not seen symbols of the +respectability which was her pride. + +What I did not find out about the tenants for myself, there was no +learning from her. She disdained the gossip which was the breath of life +to the other housekeepers in the street, where, in the early mornings +when the fronts were being done, or in the cool of summer evenings when +the day's work was over, I would see them chattering at their doors. She +never joined in the talk, holding herself aloof, as if her house were on +a loftier plane than theirs, and as if the number of her years in it +raised her to a higher caste. Exactly how many these years had been she +never presumed to say, but she looked as ancient as the house, and had +she told me she remembered Bacon and Pepys, who were tenants each in +his own day, or Peter the Great, who lived across the street, I should +have believed her. She did not, however, claim to go further back than +Etty, the Royal Academician, who spent over a quarter of a century in +our chambers, and one of whose sitters she once brought up to see us,--a +melancholy old man who could only shake his head, first over the changes +in the house since Etty painted those wonderful Victorian nudes, so +demure that "Bob" Stevenson insisted that Etty's maiden aunts must have +sat for them, and then over the changes in the River, which also, it +seemed, had seen better days. Really, he was so dismal a survivor of an +older generation that we were glad she brought no more of his +contemporaries to see us. + +For so despotic a character, the Housekeeper had a surprisingly feminine +capacity for hysterics, of which she made the most the night of the +fire. I admit it was an agitating event for us all. The Fire of London +was not so epoch-making. Afterwards the tenants used to speak of the +days "Before the Fire," as we still talk at home of the days "Before +the War." It happened in July, the third month of our tenancy. J. was +away, and, owing to domestic complications, I was alone in our chambers +at night. I do not recall the period with pride, for it proved me more +of a coward than I cared to acknowledge. If I came home late, it was a +struggle to make up my mind to open my front door and face the Unknown +on the other side. Once or twice there was a second struggle at the +dining-room door, the simple search for biscuits exaggerating itself +into a perilous adventure. As I was not yet accustomed to the noises in +our chambers, fear followed me to my bedroom, and when the trains on the +near railroad bridge awoke me, I lay trembling, certain they were +burglars or ghosts, forgetting that visitors of that kind are usually +shyer in announcing themselves. Then I began to be ashamed, and there +was a night when, though the noises sounded strangely like voices +immediately outside my window, I managed to turn over and try to sleep +again. This time the danger was real, and, the next thing I knew, +somebody was ringing the front door-bell and knocking without stopping, +and before I had time to be afraid I was out of bed and at the door. It +was the young man from across the hall, who had come to give me the +cheerful intelligence that his chambers were on fire, and to advise me +to dress as fast as I knew how and get downstairs before the firemen and +the hose arrived, or I might not get down at all. + +I flung myself into my clothes, although, as I am pleased to recall, I +had the sense to select my most useful gown, in case but one was left me +in the morning, and the curiosity to step for a second on to the leads +where the flames were leaping from the young man's windows. As it was +too late to help himself, he was waiting, with his servant, to help me. +A pile of J.'s drawings lay on a chair in the hall,--I thrust them the +young man's outstretched arms. For some incomprehensible reason J.'s +huge _schube_ was on another chair,--I threw it into the arms of the +young man's servant, who staggered under its unexpected weight. I rushed +to my desk to secure the money I was unwilling to leave behind, when a +bull's-eye lantern flashed upon me and a policeman ordered me out. +Firemen--for London firemen eventually arrive if the fire burns long +enough--were dragging up a hose as I flew downstairs, and the policeman +had scarcely pushed me into the Housekeeper's room, the young man had +just deposited the drawings at my feet, and the servant the _schube_, +when the stairs became a raging torrent. + +I had not thought of the Housekeeper till then; after that there was no +thinking of anything else. My dread of never again seeing our chambers +was nothing to her sense of the outrage to her house. Niobe weeping for +her children was not so tragic a spectacle as she lamenting the ruin of +plaster and paint that did not belong to her. She was half-dressed, +propped up against cushions on a couch, sniffing the salts and sipping +the water administered by her daughter, who had taken the time to dress +carefully and elegantly for the scene. "Oh, what shall I do! Oh, what +shall I do!" the Housekeeper wailed as she saw me, wringing her hands +with an abandonment that would have made her daughter's fortune on the +stage. + +Her sitting-room had been appropriated as a refuge for the tenants, and +this sudden reunion was my introduction to them. As the room was small, +my first impression was of a crowd, though in actual numbers we were not +many. The young man whose distinction was that the fire originated in +his chambers, and myself, represented the Third Floor Front and Back. +The Architect and his clerks of the Second Floor Front were at home in +their beds, unconscious of the deluge pouring into their office; the +Second Floor Back had gone away on a holiday. The Church League of the +First Floor Front, haunted by bishops and deans, duchesses and dowagers, +was of course closed, and we were deprived of whatever spiritual +consolation their presence might have provided. But the First Floor Back +filled the little room with her loud voice and portly presence. She had +attired herself for the occasion in a black skirt and a red jacket, +that, for all her efforts, would not meet over the vast expanse of grey +Jaeger vest beneath, and her thin wisps of grey hair were drawn up +under a green felt hat of the pattern I wore for bicycling. I looked at +it regretfully: a hat of any kind would have completed my costume. I +complimented her on her fore-thought; but "What could I do?" she said, +"they flurried me so I couldn't find my false front anywhere, and I had +to cover my head with something." It was extraordinary how a common +danger broke down the barrier of reserve we had hitherto so carefully +cultivated. She had her own salts which she shared with us all, when she +did not need them for the Housekeeper, whom she kept calling "Poor +dear!" and who, after every "Poor dear!" went off into a new attack of +hysterics. + +The Ground Floor Front, a thin, spry old gentleman, hovered about us, +bobbing in and out like the little man in the weather-house. He was in +the insurance business, I was immediately informed, and it seemed a +comfort to us all to know it, though I cannot for the life of me imagine +why it should have been to me, not one stick or stitch up there in our +chambers being insured. The Ground Floor Back was at his club, and his +wife and two children had not been disturbed, as in their chambers the +risk was not immediate, and, anyway, they could easily walk out should +it become so. He had been promptly sent for, and when a message came +back that he was playing whist and would hurry to the rescue of his +family as soon as his rubber was finished, the indignation in the +Housekeeper's room was intense. "Brute!" the Housekeeper said, and after +that, through the rest of the night, she would ask every few minutes if +he had returned, and the answer in the negative was fresh fuel to her +wrath. + +She was, if anything, more severe with the young man whose chambers were +blazing, and who confessed he had gone out toward midnight leaving a +burning candle in one of his rooms. He treated the fire as a jest, which +she could not forgive; and when at dawn, he decided that all his +possessions, including account-books committed to his care, were in +ashes, and that it was useless to wait, and he wished us good-morning +and good-by, she hinted darkly that fires might be one way of disposing +of records it was convenient to be rid of. + +Indignation served better than salts to rouse the Housekeeper from her +hysterics, and I was glad of the distraction it gave her for another +reason: without it, she could not long have remained unconscious of an +evil that I look back to as the deadliest of all during that night's +vigil. For, gradually through her room, by this time close to +suffocation, there crept the most terrible smell. It took hold of me, +choked me, sickened me. The Housekeeper's daughter and the First Floor +Back blanched under it, the Housekeeper turned from white to green. I +have often marvelled since that they never referred to it, but I know +why I did not. For it was I who sent that smell downstairs when I threw +the Russian _schube_ into the arms of the Third Floor Front's servant. +Odours, they say, are the best jogs to memory, and the smell of the +_schube_ is for me so inextricably associated with the fire, that I can +never think of one without remembering the other. + +The _schube_ was the chief treasure among the fantastic costumes it is +J.'s joy to collect on his travels. His Hungarian sheepskins, French +hooded capes, Swiss blouses, Spanish berêts, Scotch tam-o'-shanters, +Dalmatian caps, Roumanian embroidered shirts, and the rest, I can +dispose of by packing them out of sight and dosing them with camphor. +But no trunk was big enough to hold the Russian _schube_, and its +abominable smell, even when reinforced by tons of camphor and pepper, +could not frighten away the moths. It was picturesque, so much I admit +in its favor, and Whistler's lithograph of J. draped in it is a princely +reward for my trouble. But that trouble lasted for eighteen years, +during which time J. wore the _schube_ just twice,--once to pose for the +lithograph and once on a winter night in London, when its weight was a +far more serious discomfort than the cold. Occasionally he exhibited it +to select audiences. At all other times it hung in a colossal linen bag +made especially to hold it. The eighteenth summer, when the bag was +opened for the periodical airing and brushing, no _schube_ was there; +not a shred of fur remained, the cloth was riddled with holes; it had +fallen before its hereditary foe and the moths had devoured it. For this +had I toiled over it; for this had I rescued it on the night of the fire +as if it were my crowning jewel; for this had I braved the displeasure +of the Housekeeper, from which indeed I escaped only because, at the +critical moment, the policeman who had ordered me downstairs appeared to +say that the lady from the Third Floor Back could go up again if she +chose. + +The stairs were a waterfall under which I ascended. The two doors of our +chambers were wide open, with huge gaps where panels had been, the young +man's servant having carefully shut them after me in our flight, +thinking, I suppose, that the firemen would stand upon ceremony and ask +for the key before venturing in. A river was drying up in our hall, and +the strip of matting down the centre was sodden. Empty soda-water +bottles rolled on the floor, though it speaks well for London firemen +that nothing stronger was touched. Candles were stuck upside down in our +hanging Dutch lamp and all available candlesticks, curtains and blinds +were pulled about, chairs were upset, the marks of muddy feet were +everywhere. I ought to have been grateful, and I was, that the damage +was so small, all the more when I went again on to the leads and saw the +blackened heap to which the night had reduced the young man's chambers. +But the place was inexpressibly cheerless and dilapidated in the dawning +light. + +It was too late to go to bed, too early to go to work. I was hungry, and +the baker had not come, nor the charwoman. I was faint, the smell of the +_schube_ was strong in my nostrils, though the _schube_ itself was now +safely locked up in a remote cupboard. I wandered disconsolately from +room to room, when, of a sudden, there appeared at my still open front +door a gorgeous vision,--a large and stately lady, fresh and neat, +arrayed in flowing red draperies, with a white lace fichu thrown over a +mass of luxuriant golden hair. I stared, speechless with amazement. It +was not until she spoke that I recognized the First Floor Back, who had +had time to lay her hands not only on a false front, but on a whole wig, +and who had had the enterprise to make tea which she invited me to +drink with her in Pepys's chambers. + +The Housekeeper and the Housekeeper's daughter were already in her +dining-room, the Housekeeper huddled up in a big armchair, pillows at +her back, a stool at her feet. Like her house she was a wreck, and her +demoralization was sad to see. All her life, until a few short hours +ago, she had been the model of neatness; now she did not care how she +looked; her white hair was untidy, her dress half-buttoned, her apron +forgotten; and she, who had hitherto discouraged familiarity in the +tenants, joined us as a friend. She was too exhausted for hysterics, but +she moaned over her tea and abandoned herself to her grief. She could +not rally, and, what is more, she did not want to. She had no life apart +from her house, and in its ruin she saw her own. Her immaculate hall was +defaced and stained, a blackened groove was worn in her shining stairs, +the water pouring through the chambers in the front, down to her own +little apartment, had turned them all into a damp and depressing mess. +Her moans were the ceaseless accompaniment to our talk of the night's +disaster. Always she had waited for the fire, she said, she had dreaded +it, and at last it had come, and there was no sorrow like unto hers. + +After the first excitement, after the house had resumed, as well as it +could, its usual habits, the Housekeeper remained absorbed in her grief. +Hitherto her particular habit was to work, and she had been able, +unaided, to keep the house up to her immaculate standard of perfection. +But now to restore it to order was the affair of builders, of plasterers +and painters and paperers. There was nothing for her to do save to sit +with hands folded and watch the sacrilege. Her occupation was gone, and +all was wrong with her world. + +I was busy during the days immediately "after the fire." I had to insure +our belongings, which, of course, being insured, have never run such a +risk again. I had to prepare and pack for a journey to France, now many +days overdue, and, what with one thing or another, I neglected the +Housekeeper. When at last I was ready to shut up our chambers and start +and I called at her rooms, it seemed to me she had visibly shrunk and +wilted, though she had preserved enough of the proper spirit to pocket +the substantial tip I handed over to her with my keys. She was no less +equal to accepting a second when, after a couple of months I returned +and could not resist this expression of my sympathy on finding the hall +still stained and defaced, the stairs still with their blackened groove, +the workmen still going and coming, and her despair at the spectacle +blacker than ever. + +The next day she came up to our chambers. She wore her best black gown +and no apron, and from these signs I concluded it was a visit of state. +I was right: it was to announce her departure. The house, partially +rebuilt and very much patched up, would never be the same. She was too +old for hope, and without the courage to pick up the broken bits of her +masterpiece and put them together again. She was more ill at ease as +visitor than as housekeeper. The conversation languished, although I +fancied she had something particular to say, slight as was her success +in saying it. We had both been silent for an awkward minute when she +blurted out abruptly that she had never neglected her duty, no matter +what it might or might not have pleased the tenants to give her. I +applauded the sentiment as admirable, and I said good-by; and never once +then, and not until several days after she left us, did it dawn upon me +that she was waiting to accept graciously the fee it was her right in +leaving to expect from me. The fact of my having only just tipped her +liberally had nothing to do with it. A housekeeper's departure was an +occasion for money to pass from the tenant's hand into hers, and she had +too much respect for her duty as housekeeper not to afford me the +opportunity of doing mine as tenant. It was absurd, but I was humiliated +in my own eyes when I thought of the figure I must cut in hers, and I +could only hope she would make allowance for me as an ignorant American. + +How deep I sunk in her esteem, there was no means of knowing. I do not +think she could endure to come to her house as a stranger, for she +never returned. Neither did any news of her reach us. I cannot believe +she enjoyed the inactive existence with her daughter to which she had +retired, and I should be astonished if she bore it long. In losing her +house she had lost her interest in life. Her work in the world was +done. + + + + +_The New Housekeeper_ + +[Illustration: THE SPIRE OF ST. MARTIN-IN-THE-FIELDS] + + + + +VII + +THE NEW HOUSEKEEPER + + +It had taken years for the Old Housekeeper to mature, and I knew that in +the best sense of the word she could never be replaced. But the +knowledge did not prepare me for the New Housekeeper. + +Mrs. Haines was a younger and apparently stronger woman, but she was so +casual in her dress, and so eager to emulate the lilies of the field, as +to convince me that it was not in her, under any conditions, to mature +into a housekeeper at all. It expressed much, I thought, that while the +Old Housekeeper had always been "the Housekeeper," we never knew Mrs. +Haines by any name but her own. The fact that she had a husband was her +recommendation to the landlord, who had been alarmed by the fire and the +hysterics into which it threw the Old Housekeeper, and now insisted upon +a man in the family as an indispensable qualification for the post. The +advantage might have been more obvious had Mr. Haines not spent most of +his time in dodging the tenants and helping them to forget his presence +in the house. He was not an ill-looking nor ill-mannered man, and +shyness was the only explanation that occurred to me for his +perseverance in avoiding us. Work could not force him from his +retirement. Mrs. Haines said that he was a carpenter by trade, but the +only ability I ever knew him to display was in evading whatever job I +was hopeful enough to offer him. Besides, though it might be hard to say +what I think a carpenter ought to look like, I was certain he did not +look like one, and others shared my doubts. + +The rumour spread through our street--where everybody rejoices in the +knowledge of everything about everybody else who lives in it--that he +had once been in the Civil Service, but had married beneath him and come +down in the world. How the rumour originated I never asked, or never was +told if I did ask; but it was so evident that he shrank from the +practice of the carpenter's trade that once we sent him with a letter +to the Publisher--who shares our love of the neighbourhood to the point, +not only of publishing from it, but of living in it--asking if some sort +of place could not be found for him in the office. It was found, I am +afraid to his disappointment, for he never made any effort to fill it, +and was more diligent than ever in keeping out of our way. If he saw us +coming, on the rare occasions when he stood at the front door, or the +rarer when he cleaned the gas-bracket above it, he would run if there +was time, or, if there was not, turn his head and stare fixedly in the +other direction that he might escape speaking to us. As the months went +on, he was never caught cleaning anything or doing anything in the shape +of work, except sometimes, furtively, as if afraid of being detected in +the act, shutting the front door when the clocks of the neighbourhood +struck eleven. He was far less of a safeguard to us than I often fancied +he thought we were to him. + +Mrs. Haines was sufficiently unlike him to account for one part of the +rumour. She was coarse in appearance and disagreeable in manner, always +on the defensive, always on the verge of flying into a temper. She had +no objection to showing herself; on the contrary, she was perpetually +about, hunting for faults to find; but she did object to showing herself +with a broom or a duster, a pail or a scrubbing-brush in her hands. I +shuddered sometimes at the thought of the shock to the Old Housekeeper +if she were to see her hall and stairs. We could bring up coal now at +any hour or all day long. And yet Mrs. Haines tyrannized over us in her +own fashion, and her tyranny was the more unbearable because it had no +end except to spare herself trouble. Her one thought was to do nothing +and get paid for it. She resented extra exertion without extra +compensation. We never had been so bullied about coal under the old +régime as we were under hers about a drain-pipe with a trick of +overflowing. It might have drowned us in our chambers and she would not +have stirred to save us; but its outlet was in a little paved court back +of her kitchen, which it was one of her duties to keep in order, and she +considered every overflow a rank injustice. She held the tenants in +Jose stayed around the house all one market-day afternoon, taking care +of little Tareja and being company for his father, while the mother, +Joanna and Malfada went to the village with Antonio. Malfada dangled +the silver-link bag from her wrist, just as Antonio knew she would; and +she brought back home in it a little boxful of candies for Jose. It was +a great day for them all. + +There were long, pleasant evenings, for Portuguese families stay at +home together instead of going to their neighbors for amusement. Jose +played softly on his violin. The mother, Joanna and Malfada sewed or +embroidered. Antonio read aloud from some book, or oftener from a +newspaper he had bought on the weekly market-day and which gave news +of the nation's progress. Sometimes, but not often, he went out with +his flute; and then the family knew that he had gone to serenade Inez +Castillo. + +Swiftly the days passed. Soon came _Natal_--Christmas--the great +holiday of the year. On this day and on New Year's, there were +fireworks and decorations at each farmhouse, singing, and visits back +and forth. + +Daily between Christmas and New Year's the Almaida family ate _bôlos de +bacalhau_, and _rebanadas_,--thick slices of _brôa_ soaked in new milk, +fried in olive oil and spread with honey. _Rebanadas_ is the special +holiday food for Christmas and New Year's. The red tomato salt-cellar +was used at table on each of these days. + +The holidays from farm-work lasted up to the Feast of the Epiphany, +January 6th. On the day after, the school in the village opened. + +Five days each week Jose and Malfada walked barefoot the three miles in +the early morning, returning in the dusk of the mild winter day. The +walk was very tiring sometimes. It was fortunate that both children +were strong, and used to being much on their feet. + +At first Carlos wanted to go with them. But soon he seemed to +understand that he was not to be allowed to take these morning walks. +On each school-day, however, at four o'clock, he would begin watching +for the children, and the moment he caught sight of them coming along +the wood-lane, he dashed off at top speed to meet them. + +The old parrot was very funny these days. So much going and coming +confused him. In the mornings when Jose and Malfada went away he +called out _Accolade_--welcome, and in the afternoons, when they +returned, _à deus_--good-by. These were the only words he knew; Jose +had tried in vain to teach him other words, just as Antonio had tried +when a little boy. + +"The parrot is growing very old; he is losing his sense," the mother +said one day when the bird greeted the children on their return from +school with _à deus! à deus! à deus!_ + +"Oh no, mother; I am sure he thinks it is a joke, just as we do," Jose +said, very earnestly. + +On the Saturday holiday Jose worked from dawn till dark, helping +Antonio. The vine-pruning and tying did not end until February. Jose +learned to tie the vine branches skilfully to the trees, leaving room +for the vines to grow and not be hurt by the cord. In February, March +and April came the sowing for the crops of the summer and autumn. + +The sixteen weeks' term of school ended in April. Jose had been put +into the class of the quickest learners. He had gone rapidly ahead of +Malfada, who, although three years older, stayed in the lower class. + +Jose had been eager over his books,--far more eager than Malfada. But +he ran almost all the way home, and reaching there long before she did, +put away his books gladly. The school-room, with its crowd of boys and +girls, had seemed hot and dusty those days when the outside world was +growing so beautiful. + +Antonio was out in the field, planting cabbages, when Jose hurried +toward him calling: "No more school, Antonio, no more school now." + +Antonio straightened back his shoulders and asked: "Is this the boy who +wanted so much to go to school?" + +Jose's face turned very red under its tan. But when he saw the teasing +look in Antonio's eyes, he laughed and said: "It is good to have +spring come after winter, so I think it is good to change from going +to school to not going. Besides, the teacher says there will be a ten +weeks' term next autumn." + +"Spring unlocks the flowers, so the spring should let children come out +of doors," said Antonio. "There will be some hard work for you, Jose, +but never mind!" + +"Never mind," repeated Jose, racing back to the house with Carlos at +his heels. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +WHEN SPRING UNLOCKS THE FLOWERS + + "In the merry month of May." + --_William Shakespeare._ + + +THE hills were sweet with the air of spring. Down their sides ran rills +of water, foaming with golden light. The fresh grass of the fields was +carpeted with flowers. The young vine-shoots were full of tender, pale +green leaves. + +Lemon and orange trees shone with white blossoms. The elder, lotus, +and shining-leaved magnolia showed almost more white than green. The +pomegranate held forth fiery red blossoms. The olive-tree, with its +stunted growth and its gray-green leaves, glowed all day long with a +beautiful silver color under the bright sunshine. In the flower-garden, +roses, geraniums and heliotrope were a-bloom. + +Crops were growing wonderfully. The effects of the deep ploughing +already showed in the stronger maize-stalks, the more abundant bean +pods and the well-started vegetables. + +"The fourth leaf-spike has appeared on the maize: it is time for the +hoeing," said the father. He could walk now, slowly, with the aid of a +stout cane, as far as the field. + +It was easy for Jose to work with the new short-handled hoe Antonio +had bought for him. Yet at the end of the day his arms and wrists were +so tired that he could scarcely draw the bow across the violin. Many +an evening the bow dropped from his hand as he fell asleep, heavy-eyed +after being all day in the open air. + +As soon as the young maize-stalks were strong enough to stand the flow +of water, the oxen were set to work at the _nora_ and streams of water +began running down through the fields. The dry season had commenced. +There was day after day of bright, unclouded sunshine. + +Then came the thinning of the crops, to make the strong stalks grow +stronger, and to give food for the cattle. + +Working with his bare feet two or three inches deep in the warm, moist +soil, Jose felt as if he were a part of this great, growing, beautiful +world. The strength of the earth seemed to come into him with the air +he breathed. He was taller and more sturdy: he no longer looked like +the slim slip of a boy of six or seven months ago. + +Early in June the crops had grown to their limit. Their turning to a +yellow color showed the ripening. It would soon be time for cutting +down the first crop of barley, oats, rye and wheat, and to make ready +for a second sowing. The flax had already been taken up, and had been +steeped or soaked in water for more than a week. Now, well-dried in the +sun, it must be broken and scutched by hand, or taken to some mill to +be finally made ready for spinning. + +Antonio decided that he would carry the flax to Guimarães, where there +were good mills, instead of having his mother and sisters do the work +at home. Besides, he wanted to buy some new seeds for the second sowing. + +"Would you like to take a holiday with me to-morrow?" he asked Jose on +the evening before St. Antonio's day. + +"Yes. Where? To Guimarães?" Jose replied quickly. + +"How did you guess, little brother?" + +"Because last autumn, when we went on a holiday, you said you would +take me to Guimarães when we went away again." + +"We will start early to-morrow. We will take the oxen, because I am +going to carry the flax to the mill." + +"It is good to have the holiday on St. Antonio's day. Because you have +that name, the day should be your holiday, Antonio." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +ON ST. ANTONIO'S DAY + + "--in my soul is naught but gayety." + --_Antonio Ferreira._ + + +FOR the first time in all his life, Jose was to see Guimarães, the old +city where Portugal's hero king, Affonso Henriquez, was born in 1109, +the great warrior who made of Portugal a united country. + +On the morning of St. Antonio's day, the thirteenth of June, the family +was up early to eat with Antonio and Jose the holiday breakfast of +_estofado_--stewed meat and vegetables. At six o'clock they gathered on +the wide stone doorstep to see the brothers start. Carlos lay at the +edge of the step, his nose upon his paws, waiting, both eyes fixed upon +Jose. The dog knew that some unusual journey was planned; he was all +ready to go, too. + +But Carlos could not go. This was Jose's only regret at starting. "He +would be frightened and perhaps lost in the city," Antonio said. So the +dog was held back by Joanna, and he decided, in his dog way, that Jose +must be going off to school again. The parrot's cries of _Accolade! +Accolade!_ followed the brothers until they were beyond reach of the +sound. + +It was a glorious June morning. Although so early, the sun was even +now high in the blue heavens. The air was fragrant with sweet flower +perfumes. Many small brown and yellow butterflies fluttered along +the roadside. Large gray sand-lizards ran out from the underbrush. +Meadow-larks and blackbirds sang in every tree-top. + +All beyond the village market-place was new to Jose. The road grew +constantly better. Soon above the pine forests appeared the granite +peak of Penha. On the approach to Guimarães, the ground rises and pine +forests spread around the city for miles. In that wild country, Affonso +Henriquez first learned the art of war, and in his very boyhood became +the trusted leader of his troops. + +As the brothers drew nearer, they saw the gentle hill on which stand +the walls of the old castle, still keeping watch over the city which +lies beneath. It is impossible to imagine a ruin more stately than +that of this grand old castle of the Middle Ages, the first Christian +fortress in Portugal,--a castle-fortress which tells the story of the +strong spirit of the race of men who built it. The huge granite blocks, +each taller than a man, which form the battlements, still stand erect +and immovable. + +On the road, as the brothers drew yet nearer, were many other +travellers, like themselves bound for the city. It was market-day as +well as the holiday of St. Antonio. There were men and women, boys and +girls, in gala-day costume. Sometimes the women and girls were driving +donkeys, pannier-laden. But oftenest, these women-folk had baskets, +heavily filled, upon their heads; in Portugal women carry everything in +baskets, from babies to bales of goods. There were herdsmen on the way, +driving flocks of goats. Groups of children walked soberly along with +their parents. Now and then a beggar asked Antonio for a bit of money; +but Portugal has few beggars compared with its neighboring country, +Spain. + +The crowd of holiday-makers grew. Jose climbed into the ox-cart, +because he could see more and because the long walk and the unusual +excitement were making him feel rather tired. Most of the travellers +passed on ahead, for the oxen, pulling their load up-hill, made slow +progress. But Jose did not mind this. The music of a brass band was +coming to his ears. He had to ask Antonio what it was; he had never +before heard a band. + +Guimarães is a delightful old city. Even people who have travelled much +more than Jose think so. It is full of picturesque buildings. There are +many houses with balconies and windows of fine wood-carving. Several +of the streets are hardly more than narrow alleys, and the eaves of +the houses all but meet overhead. Some of the wider streets end in +wonderful views of the hills, seen across fields brilliant green with +rye and clover. And there is a beautiful old granite cathedral church. + +Jose had never seen anything so marvellous as this building. In its +graceful granite belfry tower the peal of eight bells was ringing +out the hour of ten as the oxen moved slowly past, along the crowded +street. But Jose hardly noticed the people: he was looking up, full of +eager curiosity, at the strange heads and faces, half like men, half +like animals,--the gargoyles carved on church and tower. + +"Take me to see the cars and the railroad first of all, please, +Antonio," had been Jose's request, made over and over again that +morning on the way. + +So, to please the little brother, Antonio drove the oxen directly to +the railway station. By good fortune they were just in time to see the +arrival of a long passenger train. Jose was almost terrified by the +rushing in of the tall black engine with its smoke and noise. The cars, +with their seats and windows and curtains, seemed to him like strange +little homes. + +Many a traveller turned to gaze with interest at the earnest-faced, +black-eyed boy and the handsome, strong-looking brother, with the fresh +color of the country upon their faces. + +A little girl dressed in white stepped from the cars, holding fast to +her mother's hand. "See, Antonio," Jose cried out in a voice so loud +that everyone around heard: "See, she looks just like Tareja's doll!" +As the mother and little girl passed, they smiled with friendly blue +eyes at the brothers. + +After the passenger train moved out of the station, a puffing freight +engine went back and forth, shifting and changing about many long, +box-like looking freight cars. Presently the cars were all in place, +and the puffy engine pulled them slowly away. + +Jose would have stayed all day at the station, waiting for other trains +to come and go. His eyes were not yet satisfied. But Antonio had many +other things to do. When they finally turned away, Jose looked back +as long as the station remained in sight. He soon, however, grew +interested in seeing other sights. + +To Antonio, Guimarães seemed very old-fashioned and slow, compared +with the busy American cities of the same size which he had seen. But +to Jose everything was new and wonderful,--so many people, such tall +buildings, such beautiful things in the shop windows, so much noise. + +Everywhere on the corners of the quaint, crowded streets groups of men +were talking about the new government, and curious small boys were +listening at the edges of the crowds. Jose wanted to stop long enough +to hear what was being said; but Antonio urged the oxen on toward the +mill. Processions of young men marched through the streets to the music +of flutes, pipes, and drums. On many a street the statue figure of +St. Antonio, in a shrine, was decorated with flowers and garlands of +leaves. Around bonfires in the city square young people were dancing. + +When they reached the mill, Antonio fastened the oxen at the corner of +a near-by side street. Jose helped carry the flax into the mill, but +he hurried back to take his seat in the ox-cart: he liked this better +even than staying in the mill. + +A red, whizzing machine which Jose knew at once, from descriptions +Antonio had given him, was an automobile--came rushing through the +narrow street. The frightened oxen pulled so hard at the chain that +Jose thought they would break it and run away. He jumped down, and, in +his effort to quiet the oxen, lost the chance really to see the darting +red machine. But he saw other automobiles, by and by. + +From the mill Antonio went to a neighboring shop to buy the seeds he +wanted for the second crop planting. This took a long time. Just as he +came back, the sweet-toned bells of the cathedral tower were chiming +out one o'clock. He guided the oxen to the end of a short side street, +where he let them graze upon the rich grass by the road while he and +Jose ate their luncheon. Streams of water ran along in stone channels +by the roadside. The murmur of running water was heard everywhere and +always, for this was an especially dry season, and the gardens and +fields of Guimarães needed much moisture. + +Back the brothers went with the oxen into the city crowds. Antonio +wanted to get some presents to take home. Jose helped him choose these. +They bought a bright-colored little basket for the mother, new silk +kerchiefs for the sisters, a gay little scarlet kerchief for Tareja, +and a book, about modern ways of farming, for the father. + +After this was done, Antonio was ready to go home. + +But Jose begged: "Please, oh please, Antonio, let us stay till dark. +The band keeps on playing; I never should tire of hearing that. And +some boys were saying on the street as we passed that there are going +to be fireworks at dusk." + +Antonio hesitated. They were a long way from home, and it had been a +long day. + +"Joanna will milk the cow, and feed the chickens and pig. Mother will +know we are safe together. Do stay, Antonio." + +So, because the little brother did not often have a holiday, Antonio +delayed starting for home. The sky was very clear. A bright moon would +give them light on the way after the late twilight ended. + +There were many more people now in the city square. The crowds were +cheerful, rather quiet, and very orderly; the Portuguese people are +sober-minded, even on their holidays. + +Toward nightfall the scene grew gayer. More bonfires were lighted. +A second, third, and fourth brass band marched through the streets +to their own lively strains of music. Jose's quick ear caught many a +tune which he afterward played upon his violin. Candles were lighted +now on the shrines of the holiday saint. The cathedral bells rang +forth a beautiful vesper hymn. And almost before the sun had set, the +fireworks began. + +[Illustration: "HE AND JOSE LOOKED ACROSS THE CITY."] + +Antonio bought a bagful of buns and seed-cakes, which they ate as they +sat in the ox-cart on the edge of the crowd. It was not long before he +saw that Jose was growing very tired. + +Antonio stepped down from the cart. "We will start now, Jose. We can +watch the fireworks as we move away from the city. Then we can stop +outside and let the oxen feed a while. They must be very hungry." + +And because the big brother had been so kind, Jose did not object now +to the homeward start. + +A half mile out in the country, just before they reached the borders of +the pine forest, Antonio turned the willing oxen aside to let them crop +the thick grass. Seated on a high rock, he and Jose looked across at +the city. + +Wonderful gleams of colored light--red, blue, green and orange--shot +out over the surrounding valleys. Showers of bright stars fell, it +seemed, as if at their very feet. The tall granite castle ruin was +lighted up with a red glow. The city itself, with its many towers and +tops showing in the blaze of color, with its bursts of music which +floated across on the soft night air, was like a story or a dream. + +At last Antonio turned the oxen to the road again. "Truly we have had a +wonderful end to our holiday, Jose," he said. + +"Truly we have," Jose replied drowsily. The rest by the roadside had +made him very sleepy, and the glare of light had almost blinded his +eyes. + +"Climb into the cart, Jose. There is no need for two of us to walk. +The road is growing rougher now, and the cart jolts badly, but that is +easier to bear than going afoot." + +Jose crept into the cart, and put his folded jacket under his head +for a pillow. He had tight in his hand the paper bag with the three +seed-cakes he had saved for his sisters. A few moments later he was +fast asleep. + +Antonio, without stopping the oxen who were now going at top speed +toward home, gently put his cloak over the sleeping little man-brother. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +BETTER TIMES + + "In measureless content." + --_William Shakespeare._ + + +BETTER times had surely come to the Almaida family. By July, the father +was able to walk about without a cane; and the doctor, whom Antonio +asked to come again, said that Senhor Almaida might begin work in +September. + +The first crops of the year were the largest that the farm had ever +raised. The early harvest of oats, rye, and wheat was piled high in the +barn by the last of July, and the new crops were growing abundantly. + +"Another year we shall have twice as much of everything," Jose said, +as he sat with his father and Antonio at the barn door in the summer +twilight. + +The father looked smilingly into the little boy's eager face as he +answered: "Yes, and we can keep two cows instead of one cow, and more +chickens, perhaps another pig. We shall have more feed for them, and +with our larger crops to sell, we can soon pay back to Antonio the +money which he has spent for new farm implements and tools. It was good +for us all that you went away, Antonio, and came back with the new +ideas." + +There were other plans for the farm forming in Antonio's mind, but he +was not yet quite ready to talk them over with his father. + +A few days later, as Antonio and Jose finished the work of watering +the maize-fields for the second time that day, by means of the oxen's +turning of the _nora_, Antonio said to Jose: "You know there is +the good full stream which flows beyond the barn and along by the +wood-lane? This autumn, when the farm-work grows lighter, we will put +in pipes from that stream to the vineyard and garden, so that the crops +can be watered by what is called irrigation, and without using the +_nora_, which takes the oxen away from the other work. We will not tell +this to the father until the time comes. He may think it too large a +thing for us to do." + +In mid-August a party of students from Coimbra University came +strolling through the village and up the hillside to the Almaidas' and +other farms. They were on a vacation pilgrimage to Braga, one of the +oldest cities in Portugal, known in Roman times as _Baraca Augusta_, +and in more modern times as the home of the royal Braganza family, to +which King Manuel II belonged. + +While these students, in long black coats buttoned close to the chin, +ate the _brôa_ and the fresh fruits which the good mother set before +them, Jose asked them many questions about the place from which they +came. And they told the little boy about Coimbra University, famous for +many centuries as the seat of learning for all Portugal, and about the +great buildings of the University on the hill overlooking the town. + +"Like the old castle of Guimarães?" Jose asked. + +"Yes, have you ever seen that?" the leader of the students asked. + +Then Jose shyly described to them his holiday with Antonio at +Guimarães. "There is Antonio off in the field now, and father is +sitting with him, in the shade." + +The five students were very comfortable on the vine-covered porch +this warm August afternoon, so they stayed a little longer, and told +Jose more about Coimbra,--how the city was, after Guimarães, made the +capital of Portugal, and how, as the Christian kings, beginning with +Affonso Henriquez, drove the Moors farther and farther south, until, +after Coimbra, the more southern city of Lisbon was made the capital. + +The students shook Jose's hand and clapped him on the back as they +started to go on with their journey. "Some day I hope you will visit +Coimbra," one of them said. + +"_Graçias, senhor_," Jose answered very politely. "Some day I will go +there, but not yet, for I am only a little boy." + +"You have seen and learned more than most boys of your age in Portugal. +I believe you will some day come to study at Coimbra," the leader of +the students said. + +"_Á deus, à deus_, boy; come to Coimbra some day," the students cried +as they went off; a jolly, laughing group in their black coats. + +Through the summer, talk of public reforms, of railroad strikes, of +riots and unrest, reached the Almaida farm. It made the father think +with a half regret of the old days of quiet. It made Antonio long for +the time when the young republic of Portugal would have passed through +these first months of change and become settled. + +But none of this talk disturbed Jose. He was the happiest boy in all +Portugal. His father was nearly well. His big brother was going to stay +in Portugal. His mother grew brighter of face every day. Joanna was +soon to marry a young village carpenter. Malfada and Jose himself could +go to school again in the autumn. Little Tareja in a few years would +also be able to go. And every day Antonio told Jose stories about the +great world outside of Portugal. + +Antonio valued education more than ever, since his four years of life +in America. He knew that it was too late for him to go to school again, +because of his age and because of the need for him to work on the farm. +But he talked with Jose of the future when, if the boy turned out to +be good at studies, he might go to the University at Coimbra. And it +happened in the years afterward, that Jose did go to Coimbra, and that +the leader of the students who had stopped at the Almaida farm for brôa +and fruits on the August afternoon, was then a teacher at Coimbra. + +Of the money brought from America Antonio had spent hardly any except +that for farm tools and implements. The rest of the money, a good round +sum for a young Portuguese farmer, was in the bank at Guimarães. Once a +month, now, Antonio added a few dollars to this--not half nor quarter +as much as he might have had in America, but although a man earns less +in Portugal, living costs less there. + +With this money, and with what he would add to it in the future, +Antonio planned to pay for Jose's education, and some time soon it +would make him able to build near his father's, a new home where he +could bring Inez Castillo as his bride. + +If Antonio and Jose have hot summers of sixteen hours' work daily to +toil through, they have no great severity of winter weather to bear. +If their summer days bring more than common heat and weariness, they +find rest during the cool, pleasant nights. In the summer and winter +evenings alike, father, mother and children find quiet enjoyment +together, and always, best of all, they have the power to enjoy simple +things "in measureless content." + +Meanwhile Jose and Malfada, with many other Portuguese children, are +eagerly gaining education in the bettered schools which are a part of +Portugal's new government. + + THE END. + + + + +BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE + + + + +THE LITTLE COLONEL BOOKS + +(Trade Mark) + +_By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON_ + + + _Each 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated, per vol._ $1.50 + + + THE LITTLE COLONEL STORIES + (Trade Mark) + +Being three "Little Colonel" stories in the Cosy Corner Series, "The +Little Colonel," "Two Little Knights of Kentucky," and "The Great +Scissors," put into a single volume. + + THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HOUSE PARTY + (Trade Mark) + + THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HOLIDAYS + (Trade Mark) + + THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HERO + (Trade Mark) + + THE LITTLE COLONEL AT BOARDING-SCHOOL + (Trade Mark) + + THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA + (Trade Mark) + + THE LITTLE COLONEL'S CHRISTMAS VACATION + (Trade Mark) + + THE LITTLE COLONEL, MAID OF HONOR + (Trade Mark) + + THE LITTLE COLONEL'S KNIGHT COMES RIDING + (Trade Mark) + + MARY WARE: THE LITTLE COLONEL'S CHUM + (Trade Mark) + + MARY WARE IN TEXAS + + _These eleven volumes, with The Little Colonel's Good + Times Book, boxed as a twelve-volume set_, $18.00. + + + THE LITTLE COLONEL + (Trade Mark) + + TWO LITTLE KNIGHTS OF KENTUCKY + + THE GIANT SCISSORS + + BIG BROTHER + + +Special Holiday Editions + + Each one volume, cloth decorative, small quarto, $1.25 + +New plates, handsomely illustrated with eight full-page drawings in +color, and many marginal sketches. + + +IN THE DESERT OF WAITING: THE LEGEND OF CAMELBACK MOUNTAIN. + + +THE THREE WEAVERS: A FAIRY TALE FOR FATHERS AND MOTHERS AS WELL AS +FOR THEIR DAUGHTERS. + + +KEEPING TRYST + + +THE LEGEND OF THE BLEEDING HEART + + +THE RESCUE OF PRINCESS WINSOME: A FAIRY PLAY FOR OLD AND YOUNG. + + +THE JESTER'S SWORD + + Each one volume, tall 16mo, cloth decorative $0.50 + Paper boards .35 + +There has been a constant demand for publication in separate form of +these six stories, which were originally included in six of the "Little +Colonel" books. + + +JOEL: A BOY OF GALILEE: By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON. Illustrated by L. +J. Bridgman. + + New illustrated edition, uniform with the Little Colonel Books, + 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50 + +A story of the time of Christ, which is one of the author's best-known +books. + + +THE LITTLE COLONEL GOOD TIMES BOOK + + Uniform in size with the Little Colonel Series $1.50 + Bound in white kid (morocco) and gold 3.00 + +Cover design and decorations by Peter Verberg. + +Published in response to many inquiries from readers of the Little +Colonel books as to where they could obtain a "Good Times Book" such as +Betty kept. + + +THE LITTLE COLONEL DOLL BOOK + + Large quarto, boards $1.50 + +A series of "Little Colonel" dolls,--not only the Little Colonel +herself, but Betty and Kitty and Mary Ware, yes, and Rob, Phil, and +many another of the well-loved characters,--even Mom' Beck herself. +There are many of them and each has several changes of costume, so that +the happy group can be appropriately clad for the rehearsal of any +scene or incident in the series. + +The large, cumbersome sheets of most of the so-called doll "books" have +been discarded, and instead each character, each costume, occupies a +sheet by itself, the dolls and costumes being cut out only as they are +wanted. + + +ASA HOLMES: OR, AT THE CROSS-ROADS. A sketch of Country Life and +Country Humor. By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON. + +With a frontispiece by Ernest Fosbery. + + Large 16mo, cloth, gilt top $1.00 + +"'Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-Roads' is the most delightful, most +sympathetic and wholesome book that has been published in a long +while."--_Boston Times._ + + +THE RIVAL CAMPERS; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF HENRY BURNS. By RUEL PERLEY +SMITH. + + Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +A story of a party of typical American lads, courageous, alert, and +athletic, who spend a summer camping on an island off the Maine coast. + + +THE RIVAL CAMPERS AFLOAT; OR, THE PRIZE YACHT VIKING. By RUEL PERLEY +SMITH. + + Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +This book is a continuation of the adventures of "The Rival Campers" on +their prize yacht _Viking_. + + +THE RIVAL CAMPERS ASHORE + +By RUEL PERLEY SMITH. + + Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +"As interesting ashore as when afloat."--_The Interior._ + + +THE RIVAL CAMPERS AMONG THE OYSTER PIRATES; OR, JACK HARVEY'S +ADVENTURES. By RUEL PERLEY SMITH. + + Illustrated $1.50 + +"Just the type of book which is most popular with lads who are in their +early teens."--_The Philadelphia Item._ + + +PRISONERS OF FORTUNE: A TALE OF THE MASSACHUSETTS BAY COLONY. By RUEL +PERLEY SMITH. + + Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece $1.50 + +"There is an atmosphere of old New England in the book, the +humor of the born raconteur about the hero, who tells his story +with the gravity of a preacher, but with a solemn humor that is +irresistible."--_Courier-Journal._ + + +FAMOUS CAVALRY LEADERS. By CHARLES H. L. JOHNSTON. + + Large 12mo, With 24 illustrations $1.50 + +Biographical sketches, with interesting anecdotes and reminiscences of +the heroes of history who were leaders of cavalry. + +"More of such books should be written, books that acquaint young +readers with historical personages in a pleasant informal way."--_N. Y. +Sun._ + + +FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS. By CHARLES H. L. JOHNSTON. + + Large 12mo, illustrated $1.50 + +In this book Mr. Johnston gives interesting sketches of the Indian +braves who have figured with prominence in the history of our own land, +including Powhatan, the Indian Cæsar; Massasoit, the friend of the +Puritans; Pontiac, the red Napoleon; Tecumseh, the famous war chief +of the Shawnees; Sitting Bull, the famous war chief of the Sioux; +Geronimo, the renowned Apache Chief, etc., etc. + + +FAMOUS SCOUTS. By CHARLES H. L. JOHNSTON. + + Large 12mo, illustrated $1.50 + +Mr. Johnston gives us historical facts and biographical sketches and +interesting anecdotes of those heroes of early pioneer days who made +names for themselves among the hardy adventurers who thronged the +border. There are tales of Gen. Israel Putnam; the celebrated Daniel +Boone; Kit Carson, the noted scout; Lewis and Clarke, the hardy +explorers; the world-renowned Buffalo Bill, and of many other famous +scouts, trappers and pioneers. + + +BEAUTIFUL JOE'S PARADISE: OR, THE ISLAND OF BROTHERLY LOVE. A sequel +to "Beautiful Joe." By MARSHALL SAUNDERS, author of "Beautiful Joe." + + One vol., library 12mo, cloth, illustrated $1.50 + +"This book revives the spirit of 'Beautiful Joe' capitally. It is +fairly riotous with fun, and is about as unusual as anything in the +animal book line that has seen the light."--_Philadelphia Item._ + + +'TILDA JANE. By MARSHALL SAUNDERS. + + One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative, $1.50 + +"I cannot think of any better book for children than this. I commend it +unreservedly."--_Cyrus Townsend Brady._ + + +'TILDA JANE'S ORPHANS. A sequel to "'Tilda Jane." By MARSHALL +SAUNDERS. + + One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative, $1.50 + +'Tilda Jane is the same original, delightful girl, and as fond of her +animal pets as ever. + + +THE STORY OF THE GRAVELEYS. By MARSHALL SAUNDERS, author of +"Beautiful Joe's Paradise," "'Tilda Jane," etc. + + Library 12mo, cloth decorative. Illustrated by E. B. Barry $1.50 + +Here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and triumphs, of a +delightful New England family, of whose devotion and sturdiness it will +do the reader good to hear. + + +BORN TO THE BLUE. By FLORENCE KIMBALL RUSSEL. + + 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.25 + +The atmosphere of army life on the plains breathes on every page of +this delightful tale. The boy is the son of a captain of U. S. cavalry +stationed at a frontier post in the days when our regulars earned the +gratitude of a nation. + + +IN WEST POINT GRAY + +By FLORENCE KIMBALL RUSSEL. + + 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +"Singularly enough one of the best books of the year for boys is +written by a woman and deals with life at West Point. The presentment +of life in the famous military academy whence so many heroes have +graduated is realistic and enjoyable."--_New York Sun._ + + +THE SANDMAN: HIS FARM STORIES + +By WILLIAM J. HOPKINS. With fifty illustrations by Ada Clendenin +Williamson. + + Large 12mo, decorative cover $1.50 + +"An amusing, original book, written for the benefit of very small +children. It should be one of the most popular of the year's books for +reading to small children."--_Buffalo Express._ + + +THE SANDMAN: MORE FARM STORIES + +By WILLIAM J. HOPKINS. + + Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50 + +Mr. Hopkins's first essay at bedtime stories met with such approval +that this second book of "Sandman" tales was issued for scores of eager +children. Life on the farm, and out-of-doors, is portrayed in his +inimitable manner. + + +THE SANDMAN: HIS SHIP STORIES + +By WILLIAM J. HOPKINS, author of "The Sandman: His Farm Stories," etc. + + Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50 + +"Children call for these stories over and over again."--_Chicago +Evening Post._ + + +THE SANDMAN: HIS SEA STORIES + +By WILLIAM J. HOPKINS. + + Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50 + +Each year adds to the popularity of this unique series of stories to be +read to the little ones at bed time and at other times. + + +A TEXAS BLUE BONNET + +By EMILIA ELLIOTT. + + 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +This is the story of a warm-hearted, impulsive and breezy girl of the +Southwest, who has lived all her life on a big ranch. She comes to the +far East for a long visit, and her experiences "up North" are indeed +delightful reading. Blue Bonnet is sure to win the hearts of all girl +readers. + + +THE DOCTOR'S LITTLE GIRL + +By MARION AMES TAGGART, author of "Pussy-Cat Town," etc. + + One vol., library 12mo, illustrated $1.50 + +A thoroughly enjoyable tale of a little girl and her comrade father, +written in a delightful vein of sympathetic comprehension of the +child's point of view. + + +SWEET NANCY + +THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE DOCTOR'S LITTLE GIRL. By MARION AMES +TAGGART. + + One vol., library, 12mo, illustrated $1.50 + +In the new book, the author tells how Nancy becomes in fact "the +doctor's assistant," and continues to shed happiness around her. + + +CARLOTA + +A STORY OF THE SAN GABRIEL MISSION. By FRANCES MARGARET FOX. + + Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated + in colors by Ethelind Ridgway $1.00 + +"It is a pleasure to recommend this little story as an entertaining +contribution to juvenile literature."--_The New York Sun._ + + +THE SEVEN CHRISTMAS CANDLES + +By FRANCES MARGARET FOX. + + Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated + in colors by E. B. Barry $1.00 + +Miss Fox's new book deals with the fortunes of the delightful Mulvaney +children. + + +SEVEN LITTLE WISE MEN + +By FRANCES MARGARET FOX. + + Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated in colors by + E. B. Barry $1.00 + +In this new story Miss Fox relates how seven little children, who lived +in Sunny California, prepared for the great Christmas Festival. + + +PUSSY-CAT TOWN + +By MARION AMES TAGGART. + +Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors +$1.00 + +"Anything more interesting than the doings of the cats in this +story, their humor, their wisdom, their patriotism, would be hard to +imagine."--_Chicago Post._ + + +THE ROSES OF SAINT ELIZABETH + +By JANE SCOTT WOODRUFF. + + Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated + in colors by Adelaide Everhart $1.00 + +This is a charming little story of a child whose father was caretaker +of the great castle of the Wartburg. + + +GABRIEL AND THE HOUR BOOK + +By EVALEEN STEIN. + + Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated + in colors by Adelaide Everhart $1.00 + +Gabriel was a loving, patient, little French lad, who assisted the +monks in the long ago days, when all the books were written and +illuminated by hand, in the monasteries. + + +A LITTLE SHEPHERD OF PROVENCE + +By EVALEEN STEIN. + + Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated in colors by + Diantha Horne Marlowe $1.00 + +This is the story of Little lame Jean, a goatherd of Provence, and of +the "golden goat" who is supposed to guard a hidden treasure. + + +THE ENCHANTED AUTOMOBILE + +Translated from the French by MARY J. SAFFORD. + + Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated + in colors by Edna M. Sawyer $1.00 + +"An up-to-date French fairy-tale which fairly radiates the spirit of +the hour,--unceasing diligence."--_Chicago Record-Herald._ + + +O-HEART-SAN + +THE STORY OF A JAPANESE GIRL. By HELEN EGGLESTON HASKELL. + + Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated + in colors by Frank P. Fairbanks $1.00 + +"The story comes straight from the heart of Japan. From every +page breathes the fragrance of tea leaves, cherry blossoms and +chrysanthemums."--_The Chicago Inter-Ocean._ + + +THE YOUNG SECTION-HAND; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF ALLAN WEST. By BURTON +E. STEVENSON. + + Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +Mr. Stevenson's hero is a manly lad of sixteen, who is given a chance +as a section-hand on a big Western railroad, and whose experiences are +as real as they are thrilling. + + +THE YOUNG TRAIN DISPATCHER. By BURTON E. STEVENSON. + + Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +"A better book for boys has never left an American +press."--_Springfield Union._ + + +THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER. By BURTON E. STEVENSON. + + Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +"Nothing better in the way of a book of adventure for boys in which the +actualities of life are set forth in a practical way could be devised +or written."--_Boston Herald._ + + +CAPTAIN JACK LORIMER. By WINN STANDISH. + + Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +Jack is a fine example of the all-around American high-school boy. + + +JACK LORIMER'S CHAMPIONS; OR, SPORTS ON LAND AND LAKE. By WINN +STANDISH. + + Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +"It is exactly the sort of book to give a boy interested in athletics, +for it shows him what it means to always 'play fair.'"--_Chicago +Tribune._ + + +JACK LORIMER'S HOLIDAYS; OR, MILLVALE HIGH IN CAMP. By WINN STANDISH. + + Illustrated $1.50 + +Full of just the kind of fun, sports and adventure to excite the +healthy minded youngster to emulation. + + +JACK LORIMER'S SUBSTITUTE; OR, THE ACTING CAPTAIN OF THE TEAM. By +WINN STANDISH. + + Illustrated $1.50 + +On the sporting side, this book takes up football, wrestling, +tobogganing, but it is more of a _school_ story perhaps than any of its +predecessors. + + +THE RED FEATHERS. By THEODORE ROBERTS. + + Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +"The Red Feathers" tells of the remarkable adventures of an Indian boy +who lived in the Stone Age, many years ago, when the world was young. + + +FLYING PLOVER. By THEODORE ROBERTS. + + Cloth decorative. Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull $1.00 + +Squat-By-The-Fire is a very old and wise Indian who lives alone with +her grandson, "Flying Plover," to whom she tells the stories each +evening. + + +COMRADES OF THE TRAILS. By G. E. THEODORE ROBERTS. + + Cloth decorative. Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull $1.50 + +The story of a fearless young English lad, Dick Ramsey, who, after the +death of his father, crosses the seas and takes up the life of a hunter +and trapper in the Canadian forests. + + +LITTLE WHITE INDIANS. By FANNIE E. OSTRANDER. + + Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.25 + +"A bright, interesting story which will appeal strongly to the +'make-believe' instinct in children, and will give them a healthy, +active interest in 'the simple life.'" + + +THE BOY WHO WON By FANNIE E. OSTRANDER, author of "Little White +Indians." + + 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by R. Farrington Elwell $1.25 + +A companion volume to "Little White Indians" continuing the adventures +of the different "tribes," whose "doings" were so interestingly told in +the earlier volume. + + +MARCHING WITH MORGAN. HOW DONALD LOVELL BECAME A SOLDIER OF THE +REVOLUTION. By JOHN V. LANE. + + Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +This is a splendid boy's story of the expedition of Montgomery and +Arnold against Quebec. + + + + + * * * * * + + + + +Transcriber's note: + +Punctuation errors were corrected without note. + +Page 70, "Guimãraes" changed to "Guimarães" (to Guimarães, where there) + +Page 89, "A" changed to "Á" changed to (Á deus!) + +Page A-4, subtitle of "Prisoners of Fortune" small-capped to match rest +of usage in text. + + + + + + + + + [Illustration: The Cocos Islands] + + THE GOLDEN BOOK + OF THE + DUTCH NAVIGATORS + + BY + + HENDRIK WILLEM van LOON + + ILLUSTRATED WITH SEVENTY + REPRODUCTIONS OF OLD PRINTS + + [Illustration] + + NEW YORK + THE CENTURY CO. + 1916 + + Copyright, 1916, by + THE CENTURY CO. + + * * * * * + + _Published, October, 1916_ + + + + +FOR HANSJE AND WILLEM + +This is a story of magnificent failures. The men who equipped the +expeditions of which I shall tell you the story died in the poorhouse. +The men who took part in these voyages sacrificed their lives as +cheerfully as they lighted a new pipe or opened a fresh bottle. Some +of them were drowned, and some of them died of thirst. A few were +frozen to death, and many were killed by the heat of the scorching sun. +The bad supplies furnished by lying contractors buried many of them +beneath the green cocoanut-trees of distant lands. Others were speared +by cannibals and provided a feast for the hungry tribes of the Pacific +Islands. + +But what of it? It was all in the day's work. These excellent fellows +took whatever came, be it good or bad, or indifferent, with perfect +grace, and kept on smiling. They kept their powder dry, did whatever +their hands found to do, and left the rest to the care of that +mysterious Providence who probably knew more about the ultimate good of +things than they did. + +I want you to know about these men because they were your ancestors. +If you have inherited any of their good qualities, make the best of +them; they will prove to be worth while. If you have got your share of +their bad ones, fight these as hard as you can; for they will lead you +a merry chase before you get through. + +Whatever you do, remember one lesson: "Keep on smiling." + + HENDRIK WILLEM van LOON. + + Cornell University, Ithaca, New York. + February 29, 1916. + + + + +HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION + +The history of America is the story of the conquest of the West. The +history of Holland is the story of the conquest of the sea. The western +frontier influenced American life, shaped American thought, and gave +America the habits of self-reliance and independence of action which +differentiate the people of the great republic from those of other +countries. + +The wide ocean, the wind-swept highroad of commerce, turned a small +mud-bank along the North Sea into a mighty commonwealth and created +a civilization of such individual character that it has managed to +maintain its personal traits against the aggressions of both time and +man. + +When we discuss the events of American history we place our scene +upon a stage which has an immense background of wide prairie and high +mountain. In this vast and dim territory there is always room for +another man of force and energy, and society is a rudimentary bond +between free and sovereign human beings, unrestricted by any previous +tradition or ordinance. Hence we study the accounts of a peculiar race +which has grown up under conditions of complete independence and which +relies upon its own endeavors to accomplish those things which it has +set out to do. + +The virtues of the system are as evident as its faults. We know that +this development is almost unique in the annals of the human race. +We know that it will disappear as soon as the West shall have been +entirely conquered. We also know that the habits of mind which have +been created during the age of the pioneer will survive the rapidly +changing physical conditions by many centuries. For this reason those +of us who write American history long after the disappearance of the +typical West must still pay due reverence to the influence of the old +primitive days when man was his own master and trusted no one but God +and his own strong arm. + +The history of the Dutch people during the last five centuries shows +a very close analogy. The American who did not like his fate at home +went "west." The Hollander who decided that he would be happier +outside of the town limits of his native city went "to sea," as the +expression was. He always had a chance to ship as a cabin-boy, just as +his American successor could pull up stakes at a moment's notice to +try his luck in the next county. Neither of the two knew exactly what +they might find at the end of their voyage of adventure. Good luck, bad +luck, middling luck, it made no difference. It meant a change, and most +frequently it meant a change for the better. Best of all, even if one +had no desire to migrate, but, on the other hand, was quite contented +to stay at home and be buried in the family vault of his ancestral +estate, he knew at all times _that he was free to leave just as soon as +the spirit moved him_. + +Remember this when you read Dutch history. It is an item of grave +importance. It was always in the mind of the mighty potentate who +happened to be the ruler and tax-gatherer of the country. He might +not be willing to acknowledge it, he might even deny it in vehement +documents of state, but in the end he was obliged to regulate his +conduct toward his subjects with due respect for and reference to their +wonderful chance of escape. The Middle Ages had a saying that "city +air makes free." In the Low Countries we find a wonderful combination +of city air and the salt breezes of the ocean. It created a veritable +atmosphere of liberty, and not only the liberty of political activity, +but freedom of thought and independence in all the thousand and one +different little things which go to make up the complicated machinery +of human civilization. Wherever a man went in the country there was +the high sky of the coastal region, and there were the canals which +would carry his small vessel to the main roads of trade and ultimate +prosperity. The sea reached up to his very front door. It supported him +in his struggle for a living, and it was his best ally in his fight for +independence. Half of his family and friends lived on and by and of +the sea. The nautical terms of the forecastle became the language of +his land. His house reminded the foreign visitor of a ship's cabin. + +And finally his state became a large naval commonwealth, with a number +of ship-owners as a board of directors and a foreign policy dictated by +the need of the oversea commerce. We do not care to go into the details +of this interesting question. It is our purpose to draw attention to +this one great and important fact upon which the entire economic, +social, intellectual, and artistic structure of Dutch society was +based. For this purpose we have reprinted in a short and concise form +the work of our earliest pioneers of the ocean. They broke through the +narrow bonds of their restricted medieval world. In plain American +terms, "They were the first to cross the Alleghanies." + +They ushered in the great period of conquest of West and East and South +and North. They built their empire wherever the water of the ocean +would carry them. They laid the foundations for a greatness which +centuries of subsequent neglect have not been able to destroy, and +which the present generation may triumphantly win back if it is worthy +to continue its existence as an independent nation. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I JAN HUYGEN VAN LINSCHOTEN 3 + + II THE NORTHEAST PASSAGE 43 + + III THE TRAGEDY OF SPITZBERGEN 87 + + IV THE FIRST VOYAGE TO INDIA--FAILURE 97 + + V THE SECOND VOYAGE TO INDIA--SUCCESS 135 + + VI VAN NOORT CIRCUMNAVIGATES THE WORLD 159 + + VII THE ATTACK UPON THE WEST COAST OF AMERICA 207 + + VIII THE BAD LUCK OF CAPTAIN BONTEKOE 249 + + IX SCHOUTEN AND LE MAIRE DISCOVER A NEW STRAIT 279 + + X TASMAN EXPLORES AUSTRALIA 303 + + XI ROGGEVEEN, THE LAST OF THE GREAT VOYAGERS 325 + + + + +THE GOLDEN BOOK OF THE DUTCH NAVIGATORS + + + + +CHAPTER I + +JAN HUYGEN VAN LINSCHOTEN + + +It was the year of our Lord 1579, and the eleventh of the glorious +revolution of Holland against Spain. Brielle had been taken by a +handful of hungry sea-beggars. Haarlem and Naarden had been murdered +out by a horde of infuriated Spanish regulars. Alkmaar--little +Alkmaar, hidden behind lakes, canals, open fields with low willows and +marshes--had been besieged, had turned the welcome waters of the Zuyder +Zee upon the enemy, and had driven the enemy away. Alva, the man of +iron who was to destroy this people of butter between his steel gloves, +had left the stage of his unsavory operations in disgrace. The butter +had dribbled away between his fingers. Another Spanish governor had +appeared. Another failure. Then a third one. Him the climate and the +brilliant days of his youth had killed. + +But in the heart of Holland, William, of the House of Nassau, heir to +the rich princes of Orange, destined to be known as the Silent, the +Cunning One--this same William, broken in health, broken in money, but +high of courage, marshaled his forces and, with the despair of a last +chance, made ready to clear his adopted country of the hated foreign +domination. + +Everywhere in the little terrestrial triangle of this newest of +republics there was the activity of men who had just escaped +destruction by the narrowest of margins. They had faith in their +own destiny. Any one who can go through an open rebellion against +the mightiest of monarchs and come out successfully deserves the +commendation of the Almighty. The Hollanders had succeeded. Their +harbors, the lungs of the country, were free once more, and could +breathe the fresh air of the open sea and of commercial prosperity. + +On the land the Spaniard still held his own, but on the water the +Hollander was master of the situation. The ocean, which had made his +country what it was, which had built the marshes upon which he lived, +which provided the highway across which he brought home his riches, was +open to his enterprise. + +He must go out in search of further adventure. Thus far he had been +the common carrier of Europe. His ships had brought the grain from the +rich Baltic provinces to the hungry waste of Spain. His fishermen had +supplied the fasting table of Catholic humanity with the delicacy of +pickled herring. From Venice and later on from Lisbon he had carried +the products of the Orient to the farthest corners of the Scandinavian +peninsula. It was time for him to expand. + +The rôle of middleman is a good rôle for modest and humble folk who +make a decent living by taking a few pennies here and collecting a few +pennies there, but the chosen people of God must follow their destiny +upon the broad highway of international commerce wherever they can. +Therefore the Hollander must go to India. + +It was easily said. But how was one to get there? + + * * * * * + +Jan Huygen van Linschoten was born in the year 1563 in the town of +Haarlem. As a small boy he was taken to Enkhuizen. At the present time +Enkhuizen is hardly more than a country village. Three hundred years +ago it was a big town with high walls, deep moats, strong towers, and +a local board of aldermen who knew how to make the people keep the +laws and fear God. It had several churches where the doctrines of the +great master Johannes Calvinus were taught with precision and without +omitting a single piece of brimstone or extinguishing a single flame of +an ever-gaping hell. It had orphan asylums and hospitals. It had a fine +jail, and a school with a horny-handed tyrant who taught the A B C's +and the principles of immediate obedience with due reference to that +delightful text about the spoiled child and the twigs of a birch-tree. + +[Illustration] + +Outside of the city, when once you had passed the gallows with its +rattling chains and aggressive ravens, there were miles and miles +of green pasture. But upon one side there was the blue water of the +quiet Zuyder Zee. Here small vessels could approach the welcome +harbor, lined on both sides with gabled storehouses. It is true that +when the tide was very low the harbor looked like a big muddy trough. +But these flat-bottomed contraptions rested upon the mud with ease +and comfort, and the next tide would again lift them up, ready for +farther peregrinations. Over the entire scene there hung the air of +prosperity. A restless energy was in the air. On all sides there +was evidence of the gospel of enterprise. It was this enterprise +that collected the money to build the ships. It was this enterprise, +combined with nautical cunning, that pushed these vessels to the ends +of the European continent in quest of freight and trade. It was this +enterprise that turned the accumulating riches into fine mansions and +good pictures, and gave a first-class education to all boys and girls. +It walked proudly along the broad streets where the best families +lived. It stalked cheerfully through the narrow alleys when the sailor +came back to his wife and children. It followed the merchant into his +counting-room, and it played with the little boys who frequented the +quays and grew up in a blissful atmosphere of tallow, tar, gin, spices, +dried fish, and fantastic tales of foreign adventure. + +And it played the very mischief with our young hero. For when Jan +Huygen was sixteen years old, and had learned his three R's--reading, +'riting, and 'rithmetic--he shipped as a cabin-boy to Spain, and said +farewell to his native country, to return after many years as the +missing link in the chain of commercial explorations--the one and only +man who knew the road to India. + + * * * * * + +Here the industrious reader interrupts me. How could this boy go to +Spain when his country was at war with its master, King Philip? Indeed, +this statement needs an explanation. + +Spain in the sixteenth century was a magnificent example of the failure +of imperial expansion minus a knowledge of elementary economics. Here +we had a country which owned the better part of the world. It was rich +beyond words and it derived its opulence from every quarter of the +globe. For centuries a steady stream of bullion flowed into Spanish +coffers. Alas! it flowed out of them just as rapidly; for Spain, with +all its foreign glory, was miserably poor at home. Her people had never +been taught to work. The soil did not provide food enough for the +population of the large peninsula. Every biscuit, so to speak, every +loaf of bread, had to be imported from abroad. Unfortunately, the grain +business was in the hands of these same Dutch Calvinists whose nasal +theology greatly offended his Majesty King Philip. Therefore during the +first years of the rebellion the harbors of the Spanish kingdom had +been closed against these unregenerate singers of Psalms. Whereupon +Spain went hungry, and was threatened with starvation. + +Economic necessity conquered religious prejudice. The ports of King +Philip's domain once more were opened to the grain-ships of the +Hollanders and remained open until the end of the war. The Dutch trader +never bothered about the outward form of things provided he got his +profits. He knew how to take a hint. Therefore, when he came to a +Spanish port, he hoisted the Danish flag or sailed under the colors of +Hamburg and Bremen. There still was the difficulty of the language, +but the Spaniard was made to understand that this guttural combination +of sounds represented diverse Scandinavian tongues. The tactful +custom-officers of his Most Catholic Majesty let it go at that, and +cheerfully welcomed these heretics without whom they could not have fed +their own people. + +When Jan Huygen left his own country he had no definite plans beyond +a career of adventure; for then, as he wrote many years later, "When +you come home, you have something to tell your children when you get +old." In 1579 he left Enkhuizen, and in the winter of the next year he +arrived in Spain. First of all he did some clerical work in the town +of Seville, where he learned the Spanish language. Next he went to +Lisbon, where he became familiar with Portuguese. He seems to have been +a likable boy who did cheerfully whatever he found to do, but watched +with a careful eye the chance to meet with his next adventure. After +three years of a roving existence, with rare good luck, he met Vincente +da Fonseca, a Dominican who had just been appointed Archbishop of Goa +in the Indies. Jan Huygen obtained a position as general literary +factotum to the new dignitary and also acted as purser for the captain +of the ship. + +At the age of twenty he was an integral member of a bona-fide +expedition to the mysterious Indies. Through his account of this trip, +printed in 1595, the Dutch traders at last learned to know the route to +the Indies. The expedition left Lisbon on Good Friday of the year 1583 +with forty ships. During the first few weeks nothing happened. Nothing +ever happened during the first weeks on any of those expeditions. +The trouble invariably began after the first rough weather. In this +instance everything went well until the end of April, when the coast +of Guinea had been reached. Then the fleet entered a region of squalls +and severe rainstorms. The rain collected on the decks and ran down the +hatchways. A dozen times or so a day the fleet had to come to a stop +while all hands bailed out the water which filled the holds. When it +did not rain the sun beat down mercilessly, and soon the atmosphere of +the soaked wood became unpleasant. To make things worse the drinking +water was no longer fresh, and smelled so badly that one could not +drink it without closing the unfortunate nose that came near the cup. + +On the whole the printed work of Jan Huygen does not show him as +an admirer of the Portuguese or their system of navigation. In all +his writing he gives us the impression of a very sober-minded young +Hollander with a lot of common sense. Portugal had then been a colonial +power for many years and showed unmistakable signs of deterioration. +The people had been too prosperous. They were no longer willing to +defend their own interests against other and younger nations. They +still exercised their Indian monopoly because it had been theirs for +so long a time that no one remembered anything to the contrary. But +the end of things had come. Upon every page of Jan Huygen's book we +find the same evidence of bad organization, little jealousies, spite, +disobedience, cowardice, and lack of concerted action. + +When only a few weeks from home this fleet of forty ships encountered +a single small French vessel. Part of the Portuguese crew of the fleet +was sick. The others made ready to flee at once. After a few hours it +was seen that the Frenchman had no evil intentions, and continued his +way without a closer inspection of his enemies. Then peace returned to +the fleet of Fonseca. + +A few days later the ship reached the equator. The customary initiation +of the new sailors, followed by the usual festivities and a first-class +drunken row, took place. The captain was run down and trampled upon by +his men, tables and chairs were upset, and the crew fought one another +with knives. This quarrel might have ended in a general murder but +for the interference of the archbishop, who threw himself among the +crazy sailors, and with a threat of excommunication drove them back to +work. Half a dozen were locked up, others were whipped, and the ships +continued their voyage in this happy-go-lucky fashion. Then it appeared +that nobody knew exactly where they were. Observations finally showed +that the fleet was still fifty miles west of the Cape of Good Hope. As +a matter of fact, they had passed the cape several days before, but did +not discover their error until a week later. Then they sailed northward +until they reached Mozambique, where they spent two weeks in order +to give the crew a rest and to repair the damages of the equatorial +fight. On the twentieth of August they continued their voyage until +the serpents which they saw in the water showed them that they were +approaching the coast of India. From that time on luck was with the +expedition. The ships reached the coast near the town of destination. +After a remarkably short passage of only five months and thirteen days +the fleet landed safely in Goa. + +Jan Huygen was very proud of the record of his ship. Only thirty people +had died on the voyage. It is true that all the people on board had +been under a doctor's care, and every one of the sailors and passengers +had been bled a few times; but thirty men buried during so long a +voyage was a mere trifle. In the sixteenth century, if fifty per cent. +of the men returned from an Indian voyage, the trip was considered +successful. + +The next five years Jan Huygen spent in Goa with his ecclesiastical +master. He was intrusted with a great deal of confidential work, and +became thoroughly familiar with all the affairs of the colony. In Goa +he heard wonderful tales about the great Chinese Empire, many weeks to +the north. He began to collect maps for an expedition to that distant +land, but lack of funds made him put it off, and he never went far +beyond the confines of the small Portuguese settlement. + +Unfortunately, at the end of five years the archbishop died, and Jan +Huygen was without a job. As he had had news that his father had died, +he now decided to go back to Enkhuizen to see what he could do for his +mother. Accordingly, in January of the year 1589, he sailed for home +on board the good ship _Santa Maria_. It was the same old story of bad +management: The ships of the return fleet were all loaded too heavily. +The handling of the cargo was left entirely to ship-brokers, and these +worthies had developed a noble system of graft. Merchandise was loaded +according to a regular tariff of bribes. If you were willing to pay +enough, your goods went neatly into the hold. If you did not give a +certain percentage to the brokers, your bags and bales were stowed +away somewhere on a corner of a wharf exposed to the rain and the sea. +Very likely, too, the first storm would wash your valuable possessions +overboard. + +When the _Santa Maria_ left, her decks were stacked high with +disorderly masses of colonial products. The sailors on duty had to make +a path through this accumulated stuff, and the captain lacked the +authority to put his own ship in order. A few days out a cabin-boy fell +overboard. The sea was quiet, and it would have been possible to save +the child, but when the crew ran for a boat, it was found to be filled +with heavy boxes. By the time the boat was at last lowered the boy had +drowned. + +The _Santa Maria_ sailed direct for the Cape. There it fell in with +another vessel called the _San Thome_, and it now became a matter of +pride which ship could round the cape first. Severe western winds made +the _Santa Maria_ wait several days. The _San Thome_, however, ventured +forth to brave the gale. When finally the storm had abated and the +_Santa Maria_ had reached the Atlantic Ocean, the bodies and pieces of +wreckage which floated upon the water told what had happened to the +other vessel. This, however, was only the beginning of trouble. On the +fifth of March the _Santa Maria_ was almost lost. Her rudder broke, and +it could not be repaired. A storm, accompanied by a tropical display of +thunder and lightning, broke loose. For more than forty-eight hours +the ship was at the mercy of the waves. The crew spent the time on deck +absorbed in prayer. When little electric flames began to appear upon +the masts and yards (the so-called St. Elmo's fire, a spooky phenomenon +to all sailors of all times), they felt sure that the end of the world +had come. The captain commanded all his men to pray the "Salvo corpo +Sancto," and this was done with great demonstrations of fervor. The +celestial fireworks, however, did not abate. On the contrary the crew +witnessed the appearance of a five-pointed crown, which showed itself +upon the mainmast, and was hailed with cries of the "crown of the Holy +Virgin." After this final electric display the storm went on its way. + +In his sober fashion Jan Huygen had looked on. He did not take much +stock in this sudden piety, and called it "a lot of useless noise." +Then he watched the men repairing the rudder. It was discovered that +there was no anvil on board the ship, and a gun was used as an anvil. +A pair of bellows was improvised out of some old skins. With this +contrivance some sort of steering-gear was finally rigged up, and +the voyage was continued. After that, except for occasional and very +sudden squalls, when all the sails had to be lowered to save them +from being blown to pieces, the _Santa Maria_ was past her greatest +danger, though the heavy seas caused by a prolonged storm proved to be +another obstacle. No further progress was possible until the ship had +been lightened. For this purpose the large boat and all its valuable +contents were simply thrown overboard. + +[Illustration] + +The recital of Jan Huygen's trip is a long epic of bungling. The +captain did not know his job; the officers were incompetent; the men +were unruly and ready to mutiny at the slightest provocation; and +everybody blamed everybody else for everything that went wrong. The +captain, in the last instance, accused the good Lord, Who "would not +allow His own faithful people to pass the Cape of Good Hope with +their strong and mighty ships," while making the voyage an easy one +for "the blasphemous English heretics with their little insignificant +schooners." In this statement there was more wisdom than the captain +suspected. The English sailors knew their business and could afford +to take risks. The Portuguese sailors of that day hastened from one +coastline and from one island to the next, as they had done a century +before. As long as they were on the high seas they were unhappy. +They returned to life when they were in port. Every time the _Santa +Maria_ passed a few days in some harbor we get a recital of the joys +of that particular bit of paradise. If we are to believe Portuguese +tradition, St. Helena, where the ship passed a week of the month of May +of the year 1589, was placed in its exact geographical position by the +Almighty to serve His faithful children as a welcome resting-point upon +their perilous voyage to the far Indies. The island was full of goats, +wild pigs, chickens, partridges, and thousands of pigeons, all of which +creatures allowed themselves to be killed with the utmost ease, and +furnished food for generations of sailors who visited those shores. + +Indeed, this island was so healthy a spot that it was used as a general +infirmary. After a few days on shore even the weakest of sufferers was +sufficiently strong to catch specimens of the wild fauna of the island. +Often, therefore, the sick sailors were left behind. With a little salt +and some oil and a few spices they could support themselves easily +until the next ship came along and picked them up. We know what ailed +most of these stricken sailors. They suffered from scurvy, due to a +bad diet; but it took several centuries before the cause of scurvy was +discovered. When Jan Huygen went to the Indies the crew of every ship +was invariably attacked by this most painful disease. Therefore the +islands were of great importance. + +Nowadays St. Helena is no longer a paradise. Three centuries ago it +was the one blessed point of relief for the Indian traders. The diary +of Jan Huygen tells of attempts made to colonize the island. The King +of Portugal, however, had forbidden any settlement upon this solitary +rock. For a while it had harbored a number of runaway slaves. Whenever +a ship came near they had fled to the mountains. Finally, however, they +had been caught and taken back to Portugal and sold. For a long time +the island had been inhabited by a pious hermit. He had built a small +chapel, and there the visiting sailors were allowed to worship. In his +spare time, however, the holy man had hunted goats, and he had entered +into an export business of goat-skins. Every year between five and six +hundred skins were sold. Then this ingenious scheme was discovered, and +the saintly hunter was sent home. + +On the twenty-first of May the _Santa Maria_ continued her northward +course. Again bad food and bad water caused illness among the men. A +score of them died. Often they hid themselves somewhere in the hold, +and had been dead for several days before they made their presence +noticeable. It was miserable business; and now, with a ship of sick +and disabled men, the _Santa Maria_ was doomed to fall in with three +small British vessels. At once there was a panic among the Portuguese +sailors. The British hoisted their pennant, and opened with a salvo +of guns. The Portuguese fled below decks, and the English, in sport, +shot the sails to pieces. The crew of the _Santa Maria_ tried to load +their heavy cannon, but there was such a mass of howling and swearing +humanity around the guns that it took hours before anything could +be done. The ships were then very near one another, and the British +sailors could be heard jeering at the cowardice of their prey. But just +when Jan Huygen thought the end had come the British squadron veered +around and disappeared. The _Santa Maria_ then reached Terceira in the +Azores without further molestation. + +Like all other truthful chroniclers of his day, Jan Huygen speculates +about the mysterious island of St. Brandon. This blessed isle was +supposed to be situated somewhere between the Azores and the Canary +Islands, but nearer to the Canaries. As late as 1721 expeditions were +fitted out to search for the famous spot upon which the Irish abbot of +the sixth century had located the promised land of the saints. Together +with the recital of another mysterious bit of land consisting of the +back of a gigantic fish, this story had been duly chronicled by a +succession of Irish monks, and when Jan Huygen visited these regions he +was told of these strange islands far out in the ocean where the first +travelers had discovered a large and prosperous colony of Christians +who spoke an unknown language and whose city could disappear beneath +the surface of the ocean if an enemy approached. + +Once in the roads of Terceira, however, there was little time for +theological investigations. Rumor had it that a large number of British +ships were in the immediate neighborhood. Strict orders had come from +Lisbon that all Portuguese and Spanish ships must stay in port under +protection of the guns of the fortifications. Just a year before that +the Armada had started out for the conquest of England and the Low +Countries. The Invincible Armada had been destroyed by the Lord, the +British, and the Dutch. Now the tables had been turned, and the Dutch +and British vessels were attacking the Spanish and Portuguese colonies. +The story of inefficient navigation is here supplemented by a recital +of bad military management. The roads of Terceira were very dangerous. +In ordinary times no ships were allowed to anchor there. A very large +number of vessels were now huddled together in too small a space. +These vessels were poorly manned, for the Portuguese sailors, whenever +they arrived in port, went ashore and left the care of their ship to a +few cabin-boys and black slaves. The unexpected happened; during the +night of the fourth of August a violent storm swept over the roads. +The ships were thrown together with such violence that a large number +were sunk. In the town the bells were rung, and the sailors ran to the +shore. They could do nothing but look on and see how their valuable +ships were driven together and broken to splinters, while pieces of the +cargo were washed all over the shore, to be stolen by the inhabitants +of the greedy little town. When morning came, the shore was littered +with silk, golden coin, china, and bales of spices. Fortunately the +wind changed later in the morning, and a good deal of the cargo was +salved. But once on shore it was immediately confiscated by officials +from the custom-house, who claimed it for the benefit of the royal +treasury. Then there followed a first-class row between the officials +and the owners of the goods, who cursed their own Government quite as +cheerfully as they had done their enemies a few days before. + +To make a long story short, after a lawsuit of two years and a half the +crown at last returned fifty per cent. of the goods to the merchants. +The other half was retained for customs duty. Jan Huygen, who was +an honest man, was asked to remain on the island and look after the +interests of the owners while they themselves went to Lisbon to plead +their cause before the courts. He now had occasion to study Portuguese +management in one of the oldest of their colonies. The principles +of hard common sense which were to distinguish Dutch and British +methods of colonizing were entirely absent. Their place was taken by +a complicated system of theological explanations. The disaster that +befell these islands was invariably due to divine Providence. The +local authorities were always up against an "act of God." While Jan +Huygen was in Terceira the colony was at the mercy of the British. The +privateers waited for all the ships that returned from South America +and the Indies, and intercepted these rich cargoes in sight of the +Portuguese fortifications. When the Englishmen needed fresh meat they +stole goats from the little islands situated in the roads. Finally, +after almost an entire year, a Spanish-Portuguese fleet of more than +thirty large ships was sent out to protect the traders. In a fight with +the squadron of Admiral Howard the ship of his vice-admiral, Grenville, +was sunk. The vice-admiral himself, mortally wounded, was made a +prisoner and brought on board a Spanish man-of-war. There he died. His +body was thrown overboard without further ceremonies. + +At once, so the story ran, a violent storm had broken loose. This storm +lasted a week. It came suddenly, and when the wind fell only thirty +ships were left out of a total of one hundred and forty that had been +in the harbors of the islands. The damage was so great that the loss +of the Armada itself seemed insignificant. Of course it was all the +fault of the good Lord. He had deserted His own people and had gone +over to the side of the heretics. He had sent this hurricane to punish +the unceremonious way in which dead Grenville had been thrown into the +ocean. And of course this unbelieving Britisher himself had at once +descended into Hades, had called upon all the servants of the black +demon to help him, and had urged this revenge. Evidently the thing +worked both ways. + +This clever argument did not in the least help the unfortunate owners +of the shipwrecked merchandise. One fine day they were informed that +they could no longer expect royal protection for the future. Jan Huygen +was told to come to Lisbon as best he could. He finally found a ship, +and after an absence of nine years returned to Lisbon. On his trip to +Holland he was almost killed in a collision. Finally, within sight of +his native land, he was nearly wrecked on the banks of one of the North +Sea islands. On the third of September of the year 1592, however, +after an absence of thirteen years, he returned safely to Enkhuizen. +His mother, brother, and sisters were there to welcome him. + +He did not at once rush into print. It was not necessary. The news of +his return spread quickly to the offices of the Amsterdam merchants. +They had been very active during the last dozen years and they had +conducted an efficient secret organization in Portugal, trying to buy +up maps and books of navigation and, perhaps, even a pilot or two. They +knew a few things, and guessed at many others. A man who had actually +been there, who knew concrete facts where other people suspected, such +a man was worth while. Jan Huygen became consulting pilot to Dutch +capital. + +The Dutch merchants still found themselves in a very difficult +position. They had to enter this field of activity when their +predecessors had been at work for almost two centuries. These +predecessors, judging by outward evidences, were fast losing both +ability and energy. But prestige before an old and well-established +name is a strong influence in the calculations of men. Those who +directed the new Dutch Republic did not lack courage. All the same, +they shrank from open and direct competition with the mighty Spanish +Empire. Besides, there were other considerations of a more practical +nature. + +The Middle Ages, both late and early, dearly loved monopoly. Indeed, +the entire period between the days of the old Roman Empire and the +latter part of the eighteenth century, when the French Revolution +destroyed the old system, was a time of monopolies or of quarrels +about, and for, monopolies. The Dutch traders wondered whether they +could not obtain a little private route to India, something that +should be Dutch all along the line, and could be closed at will to all +outsiders. What about the Northeastern Passage? There seem to have been +vague rumors about a water route along the north of Siberia. That part +of the map was but little known. The knowledge of Russia had improved +since the days when Moscow was situated upon the exact spot where the +ocean between Iceland and Norway is deepest. The White Sea was fairly +well known, and Dutch traders had found their way to the Russian port +of Archangel. What lay beyond the White Sea was a matter of conjecture. +Whether the Caspian Sea, like the White Sea, was part of the Arctic Sea +or part of the Indian Ocean no one knew. But it appeared that farther +to the north, several days beyond the North Cape, there was a narrow +strait between an island which the Russians called the New Island (Nova +Zembla) and the continent of Asia. This might prove to be a shorter and +less dangerous route to China and the Indies. Furthermore, by building +fortifications on both sides of the narrows between the island and the +Siberian coast, the Hollanders would be the sole owners of the most +exclusive route to India. They could then leave the long and tedious +trip around the Cape of Good Hope, with its perils of storms, scurvy, +royal and inquisitorial dungeons, savage negroes, and several other +unpleasant incidents, to their esteemed enemies. + +[Illustration: VOYAGES OF LINSCHOTEN] + +The men who were most interested in this northern enterprise were +two merchants who lived in Middleburg, the capital of the province of +Zeeland. The better known of the two was Balthasar de Moucheron, an +exile from Antwerp. When the Spanish Government reconquered this rich +town it had banished all those merchants who refused to give up their +Lutheran or Calvinistic convictions. Their wealth was confiscated by +the state. They themselves were forced to make a new start in foreign +lands. The foolishness of this decree never seems to have dawned upon +the Spanish authorities. They felt happy that they had ruined and +exiled a number of heretics. What they did not understand was that +these heretics did not owe their success to their wealth, but to the +sheer ability of their minds, and before long these penniless pilgrims +had laid the foundations for new fortunes. Then they strove with all +their might to be revenged upon the Government which had ruined them. + +De Moucheron, one of this large group which had been expelled, had +begun life anew in the free Republic and was soon among the greatest +promoters of his day. Of tireless energy and of a very bitter ambition, +none too kindly to the leading business men of his adopted country, he +got hold of Jan Huygen and decided to try his luck in a great gamble. +He interested several of the minor capitalists of Enkhuizen, and on the +fifth of June of the year 1594 Jan Huygen went upon his first polar +exploration with two ships, the _Mercurius_ and the _Lwaan_. Without +adventure the ships passed the North Cape, sailed along the coast of +the Kola peninsula, where Willoughby had wintered just forty years +before, and reached the Straits of Waigat, the prospective Gibraltar of +Dutch aspirations. The conditions of the ice were favorable. + +On the first of August of the year 1594 the two ships entered the Kara +Sea, which they called the New North Sea. Then following the coast, +they entered Kara Bay. After a few days Jan Huygen discovered the +small Kara River, the present frontier between Russia and Siberia. He +mistook it for the Obi River, and thought that he had gone sufficiently +eastward to be certain of the practicability of the new route which +he had set out to discover. The ice had all melted. As far as he +could see there was open water. He cruised about in this region for +several weeks, discovered a number of little islands, and sprinkled +the names of all his friends and his employers upon capes and rivers +and mountains. Finally, contented with what had been accomplished, he +returned home. On the sixteenth of September of the same year he came +back to the roads of Texel. + +After that he was regarded as the leader in all matters of navigation. +The stadholder, Prince Maurice, who had succeeded his father William +after the latter had been murdered by one of King Philip's gunmen, +sent for Jan Huygen to come to The Hague and report in person upon +his discoveries. John of Barneveldt, the clever manager of all the +financial and political interests of the republic, discussed with him +the possibility of a successful northeastern trading company. Before +another year was over Jan Huygen, this time at the head of a fleet +of seven ships, was sent northward for a second voyage. Everybody, +from his Highness the stadholder down to the speculator who had risked +his last pennies, had the greatest expectations. Nothing came of this +expedition. As a matter of fact, Jan Huygen had met with exceptionally +favorable weather conditions upon his first voyage; on the second he +came in for the customary storms and blizzards. His ships were frozen +in the ice, and for weeks they could not move. Scurvy attacked the crew +and many men died. + +In October of the same year he was back in Holland. The only result +of the costly expedition was a dead whale that the captain had towed +home as an exhibit of his good intentions. He was still a young man, +not more than forty-five, but he had had his share of adventures. He +did not join the third trip to the North in the next year, about which +we shall give a detailed account in our next chapter. He was appointed +treasurer of his native city. There he lived as its most respected +citizen until the year 1611, when he died and was buried with great +solemnity. His work had been done. + +In the year 1595 the "Itinerary of His Voyage to the East Indies" +had been published. By this book he will always be remembered. For a +century it provided a practical handbook of navigation which guided the +Dutch traders to the Indies, allowed them to attack the Spaniards and +Portuguese in their most vulnerable spot, and gave them the opportunity +to found a colonial empire which has lasted to this very day. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE NORTHEAST PASSAGE + + +Amsterdam, the capital of the new Dutch commonwealth, the rich city +which alone counted more people within her wide walls than all of the +country provinces put together, had ever been the leader in all matters +which offered the chance of an honest penny. Her intellectual glory was +a reflected one, her artistic fame was imported from elsewhere; but her +exchange dictated its own terms to the rest of the country and to the +rest of the world. When the Estates of the Republic gave up the hope of +finding the route to India through the frozen Arctic Ocean, Amsterdam +had the courage of her nautical convictions, and at her own expense +she equipped a last expedition to proceed northward and discover this +famous route, which had the advantage of being short and safe. + +Out of this expedition grew the famous voyage of Barendsz and Heemskerk +to Nova Zembla, the first polar expedition of which we possess a +precise account. There were two ships. They were small vessels, for no +one wished to risk a large investment on an expedition to the dangerous +region of ice and snow. Fewer than fifty men took part, and all had +been selected with great care. Married men were not taken; for this +expedition might last many years, and it must not be spoiled by the +homesick discontent of fathers of families. + +Jan Corneliszoon de Ryp was captain of the smaller vessel. The other +one was commanded by Jacob van Heemskerk, a remarkable man, an able +sailor who belonged to an excellent family and entered the merchant +marine at a time when the sea was reserved for those who left shore +for the benefit of civic peace and sobriety. He had enjoyed a good +education, knew something about scientific matters, and had been in +the Arctic a year before with the last and unfortunate expedition of +Linschoten. The real leader of this expedition, however, was a very +simple fellow, a pilot by the name of Willem, the son of Barend +(Barendsz, as it is written in Dutch). He was born on the island of +Terschelling and had been familiar with winds and tides since early +childhood. Barendsz had two Northern expeditions to his credit, and had +seen as much of the coast of Siberia as anybody in the country. A man +of great resource and personal courage, combined with a weird ability +to guess his approximate whereabouts, he guided the expedition safely +through its worst perils. He died in a small open boat in the Arctic +Sea. Without his devoted services none of the men who were with him +would ever have seen his country again. + +There was one other member of the ship's staff who must be mentioned +before the story of the trip itself is told. That was the ship's +doctor. Officially he was known as the ship's barber, for the +professions of cutting whiskers and bleeding people were combined in +those happy days. De Veer was a versatile character. He played the +flute, organized amateur theatrical performances, kept everybody happy, +and finally he wrote the itinerary of the trip, of which we shall +translate the most important part. + +From former expeditions the sailors had learned what to take with +them and what to leave at home. Unfortunately, contractors, then as +now, were apt to be scoundrels, and the provisions were not up to the +specifications. During the long night of the Arctic winter men's lives +depended upon the biscuits that had been ordered in Amsterdam, and +these were found to be lacking in both quality and quantity. There were +more complaints of the same nature. As the leaders of the expedition +fully expected to reach China, they took a fair-sized cargo of trading +material, so that the Hollanders might have something to offer the +heathen Chinee in exchange for the riches of paradise which this +distant and mysterious land was said to possess. On the eighteenth of +May everything was ready. Without any difficulty the Arctic Circle was +soon reached and passed. Then the trouble began. When two Dutch sailors +of great ability and equal stubbornness disagree about points of the +compass there is little chance for an agreement. The astronomical +instruments of that day allowed certain calculations, but in a rather +restricted field. As long as land was near it was possible to sail with +a certain degree of precision, but when they were far away from any +solid indications of charted islands and continent the captains of that +day were often completely at a loss as to their exact whereabouts. + +[Illustration] + +The reason why two of the previous expeditions had failed was known: +the ships had been driven into a blind alley called the Kara Sea. In +order to avoid a repetition of that occurrence it was deemed necessary +to try a more northern course. Barendsz, however, wanted to go due +northeast, while De Ryp favored a course more to the west. For the +moment the two captains compromised and stayed together. On the fifth +of June the sailor on watch in the crow's-nest called out that he saw a +lot of swans. The swans were soon found to be ice, the first that was +seen that year. + +Four days later a new island was discovered. Barendsz thought it must +be part of Greenland. After all, he argued, he had been right; the +ships had been driven too far westward. De Ryp denied this, and his +calculation proved to be true. The ships were still far away from +Greenland. The islands belonged to the Spitzbergen Archipelago. On +the nineteenth of June they discovered Spitzbergen. The name (steep +mountains) describes the island. An expedition was sent ashore, after +which we get the first recital of one of the endless fights with bears +that greatly frightened the good people in those days of blunderbusses. +Nowadays polar bears, while still far removed from harmless kittens, +offer no grave danger to modern guns. But the bullets of the small +cannon which four centuries ago did service as a rifle refused to +penetrate the thick hide of a polar bear. The pictures of De Veer's +book indicate that these hungry mammals were not destroyed until they +had been attacked by half a dozen men with gunpowder, axes, spears, and +meat-choppers. + +A very interesting discovery was made on this new island. Every winter +wild geese came to the Dutch island of the North Sea. Four centuries +ago they were the subject of vague ornithological speculations, for, +according to the best authorities of the day, these geese did not +behave like chickens and other fowl, which brought up their families +out of a corresponding number of eggs. No, their chicks grew upon +regular trees in the form of wild nuts. After a while these nuts +tumbled into the sea and then became geese. Barendsz killed some of the +birds and he also opened their eggs. There were the young chicks! The +old myth was destroyed. "But," as he pleasantly remarked, "it is not +our fault that we have not known this before, when these birds insist +upon breeding so far northward." + +[Illustration] + +On the twenty-fifth of June, Spitzbergen was left behind, and once more +a dispute broke out between the two skippers over the old question of +the course which was to be taken. Like good Dutchmen, they decided that +each should go his own way. De Ryp preferred to try his luck farther to +the north. Barendsz and Heemskerk decided to go southward. They said +farewell to their comrades, and on the seventeenth of July reached +the coast of Nova Zembla. The coast of the island was still little +known; therefore the usual expediency of that day was followed. They +kept close to the land and sailed until at last they should find some +channel that would allow them to pass through into the next sea. They +discovered no channel, but on the sixth of August the northern point of +Nova Zembla, Cape Nassau, was reached. There was a great deal of ice, +but after a few days open water appeared. + +The voyage was then continued. Their course then seemed easy. Following +the eastern coast downward they were bound to reach the Strait of +Kara. Avoiding the Kara Sea, they made for the river Obi and hoped +that all would be well. But before the ship had gone many days the +cold weather of winter set in, and before the end of August the ship +was solidly frozen into the ice. Many attempts were made to dig it out +and push it into the open water. The men worked desperately; but the +moment they had sawed a channel through the heavy ice to the open sea +more ice-fields appeared, and they had to begin all over again. On +the thirtieth of August a particularly heavy frost finally lifted the +little wooden ship clear out of the ice. Then came a few days of thaw, +during which they hoped to get the vessel back into shape and into +the water. But the next night there was a repetition of the terrible +creakings. The ship groaned as if it were in great agony, and all the +men rushed on shore. + +The prospect of spending the winter in this desolate spot began to be +more than an unspoken fear. Any night the vessel might be destroyed by +the violent pressure of the ice. An experienced captain knew what to +do in such circumstances. All provisions were taken on shore, and the +lifeboats were safely placed on the dry land. They would be necessary +the next summer to reach the continent. Another week passed, and the +situation was as uncertain as before. By the middle of September, +however, all hope had to be given up. The expedition was condemned to +spend the winter in the Arctic. The ship's carpenter became a man of +importance. Near the small bay into which the vessel had been driven +he found a favorable spot for a house. A little river near by provided +fresh water. On the whole it was an advantageous spot for shipwrecked +sailors, for a short distance towards the north there was a low +promontory. The western winds had carried heavy trees and pieces of +wood from the Siberian coast, and this promontory had caught them. +They were neatly frozen in the ice. All the men needed to do was to +take these trees out of their cold storage and drag them ashore which, +however, did not prove to be so easy a task as it sounds. There were +only seventeen men on the ship, and two of them were too ill to do any +work. The others were not familiar with the problem of how to saw and +plane water-soaked and frozen logs into planks. Even when this had +been done the wood must be hauled a considerable distance on home-made +sleighs, clumsy affairs, and very heavy on the soft snow of the early +winter. + +[Illustration] + +Unfortunately, after two weeks the carpenter of the expedition suddenly +died. It was not easy to give him decent Christian burial. The ground +was frozen so hard that spades and axes could not dig a grave; so the +carpenter was reverently laid away in a small hollow cut in the solid +ice and covered with snow. + +When their house was finished it did not offer many of the comforts +of home, but it was a shelter against the ever-increasing cold. The +roof offered the greatest difficulty to the inexperienced builders. At +last they hit upon a scheme that proved successful: they made a wooden +framework across which they stretched one of the ship's sails. This +they covered with a layer of sand. Then the good Lord deposited a thick +coat of snow, which gradually froze and finally made an excellent cover +for the small wooden cabin which was solemnly baptized "Safe Haven." +There were no windows--fresh air had not yet been invented--and what +was the use of windows after the sun had once disappeared? There was +one door, and a hole in the roof served as a chimney. To make a better +draft for the fire of driftwood which was kept burning day and night +in the middle of the cabin floor, a large empty barrel was used for a +smoke-stack. Even then the room was full of smoke during all the many +months of involuntary imprisonment, and upon one occasion the lack of +ventilation almost killed the entire expedition. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + +While they were at work upon the house the men still spent the night +on board their ship. When morning came, with their axes and saws and +planes they walked over to the house. But hardly a day went by without +a disturbing visit from the much-dreaded polar bears. After some of +the provisions had been removed from the ship to the house the bears +became more insistent than ever. Upon one occasion when the bears had +gone after a barrel of pickled meat, as shown with touching accuracy +in the picture, the concerted action of three sailors was necessary to +save the food from the savage beasts. Another time, when Heemskerk, De +Veer, and one of the sailors were loading provisions upon a sleigh they +were suddenly attacked by three huge bears. They had not brought their +guns, but they had two halberds, with which they hit the foremost bear +upon the snout; and then they fled to the ship and climbed on board. +The bears followed, sat down patiently, and laid siege to the ship. +The three men on board were helpless. Finally one of them hit upon +the idea of throwing a stick of kindling-wood at the bears. Like a +well-trained dog, the animal that was struck chased the stick, played +with it, and then came back to ask for further entertainment. At last +all the kindling-wood laid strewn across the ice, and the bears had had +enough of this sport. They made ready to storm the ship, but a lucky +stroke with a halberd hit one of them so severely upon the sensitive +tip of his nose that he turned around and fled. The others followed, +and Heemskerk and his companions were saved. + +When the month of November came and the sun had disappeared, the bears +also took their departure, rolled themselves up under some comfortable +shelter, and went to sleep for the rest of the winter. Now the sailors +could wander about in peace, for the only other animal that kept awake +all through the year was the polar fox. He was a shy beastie and never +came near a human being. The sailors, however, hunted him as best they +could. Not only did they need the skins for their winter garments, +but stewed fox tasted remarkably like the domestic rabbit and was an +agreeable change from the dreary diet of salt-flesh. In Holland before +the introduction of firearms rabbits were caught with a net. The same +method was tried on Nova Zembla with the more subtle fox. Unfamiliar +with the wiles of man, he actually allowed himself to be caught quite +easily. Later on traps were also built. But the method with the net was +more popular, for the men had the greatest aversion to the fresh air +of the freezing polar night and never left the house unless they were +ordered to do some work. When they went hunting with the net they could +pass the string that dropped the mechanism right under the door and +stay inside, where it was warm and cheerful, and yet catch their fox. + +On the sixth of November the sun was seen for the last time. On the +seventh, when it was quite dark, the clock stopped suddenly in the +middle of the night, and when the men got up in the morning they had +lost the exact time. For the rest of the winter they were obliged to +guess at the approximate hour; not that it mattered so very much, for +life had become an endless night: one went to bed and got up through +the force of habit acquired by thousands of previous generations. If +the men had not been obliged to, they never would have left their +comfortable beds. They had but one idea, to keep warm. The complaint +about the insufferable cold is the main motive in this Arctic symphony. +Lack of regular exercise was chiefly to blame for this "freezing +feeling"--lack of exercise and the proper underwear. It is true +that the men dressed in many layers of heavy skins, but their lower +garments, which nowadays play a great part in the life of modern +explorers, were sadly neglected. In the beginning they washed their +shirts regularly, but they found it impossible to dry them; for just +as soon as the shirt was taken out of the hot water it froze stiff. +When they carried the frozen garment into the house to thaw it out +before the fire it was either singed and burned in spots or it refused +absolutely to melt back into the shape and aspect of a proper shirt. +Finally the washing was given up, as it has been on many an expedition, +for cleanliness is a costly and complicated luxury when one is away +from the beaten track of civilization. + +[Illustration] + +The walls of the house had been tarred and calked like a ship. All the +same, when the first blizzards occurred, the snow blew through many +cracks, and every morning the men were covered with a coat of snow +and ice. Hot-water bottles had not yet been invented, but at night +large stones were roasted in the fire until they were hot, and then +were placed in the bunks between the fur covers. They helped to keep +the men warm, and incidentally they burned their toes before they knew +it. Not only did the men suffer in this way. That same clock which I +have already mentioned at last succumbed to the strain of alternating +spells of heat and cold. It began to go slower and slower. To keep +it going at all, the weight was increased every few days. At last, +however, a millstone could not have coaxed another second out of the +poor mechanism. From that moment on an hour-glass was used. One of the +men had to watch it, and turn it over every sixty minutes. + +All this time, while the men never ceased their complaint about +feeling cold, the heating problem had been solved by fires made of +such kindling-wood as the thoughtful ocean had carried across from +the Siberian coast and deposited upon the shore. Finally, however, in +despair at ever feeling really warm again, if only for a short while, +it was decided, as an extra treat, to have a coal fire. There was some +coal on board the ship, but it had been saved for use upon the homeward +trip in the spring, when the men would be obliged to travel in open +boats. The coal was brought to the house. The worst cracks in the walls +were carefully filled with tar and rope, and somebody climbed to the +roof and closed the chimney; not an ounce of the valuable heat must be +lost. As a result the men felt comfortable for the first time in many +months; they also came very near losing their lives. Having dozed off +in the pleasant heat they had not noticed that their cabin was filling +with coal-gas until finally some of them, feeling uncomfortable, tried +to get up, grew dizzy, and fainted. Our friend the barber, possessed of +more strength than any of the others, managed to creep to the door. He +kicked it open and let in the fresh air. The men were soon revived, and +the captain treated them all to a glass of wine to celebrate the happy +escape. No further experiments with coal were made during that year. + +December was a month of steady blizzards. The snow outside piled up in +huge drifts which soon reached to the roof. The hungry foxes, attracted +by the smell of cookery wafted abroad through the barrel-chimney, used +to gallop across the roof, and at night their dismal and mean little +bark kept the men in their bunks awake. At the same time their close +proximity made trapping easier, and the skins were now doubly welcome; +for the shoes, bought in Holland, had been frozen so often and had been +thawed out too near the fire so frequently that they were leaking like +sieves and could no longer be worn. New shoes were cut out of wood +and covered with fox-fur. They provided comfortable, though far from +elegant, footwear. + +New Year's day was a dreary feast, for all the men thought of home +and were melancholy and sad. Outside a terrible snow-storm raged. It +continued for an entire week. No one dared to go outside to gather +wood, fearing the wind and cold would kill them. In this extremity they +were obliged to burn some of their home-made furniture. On the fifth +of January the blizzard stopped. The door was opened, the cabin was +put in order, wood was brought from the woodpile, and then one of the +men suddenly remembered the date and how at home the feast of the Magi +was being celebrated with many happy and innocent pastimes. The barber +decided to organize a little feast. The first officer was elected to +be "King of Nova Zembla." He was crowned with due solemnity. A special +dinner of hot pancakes and rusks soaked in wine was served, and the +evening was such a success that many imagined themselves safely home in +their beloved fatherland. A new blizzard reminded them that they were +still citizens of an Arctic island. + +[Illustration] + +On the sixteenth of January, however, the men who had been sent out +to look after the traps and bring in wood suddenly noticed a glimmer +of red on the horizon. It was a sign of the returning sun. The dreary +months of imprisonment were almost over. From that moment the heating +problem became less difficult. On the contrary, the roof and the walls +now began to leak, and the expedition had its first taste of the thaw +which would be even more fatal than the cold weather had proved to be. +As has been remarked, these men had been leading a very unhealthy life. +While it was still light outside they had sometimes played ball with +the wooden knob of the flagpole of the ship, but since early November +they had taken no exercise of any sort. A few minutes spent out of +doors just long enough to kill the foxes in the traps was all the fresh +air they ever got. Out of a barrel they had made themselves a bath-tub, +and once a week every man in turn had climbed through the little +square opening into that barrel (see the picture) to get steamed out. +But this mode of living, combined with bad food, brought half a year +before from Holland, together with the large quantity of fox-meat, now +caused a great deal of scurvy, and the scurvy caused more dangerous +illness. Barendsz, the man upon whom they depended to find the way +home, was already so weak that he could not move. He was kept near the +fire on a pile of bearskins. On the twenty-sixth of January another man +who had been ill for some time suddenly died. His comrades had done all +they could to save him. They had cheered him with stories of home, but +shortly after midnight of that day he gave up the ghost. Early the next +morning he was buried near the carpenter. A chapter of the Bible was +read, a psalm was sung, and his sorrowful companions went home to eat +breakfast. + +None of the men were quite as strong as they had been. Among other +things, they hated the eternal bother of keeping the entrance to the +door clear of snow. Why should they not abolish the door, and like good +Eskimos enter and leave their dwelling-place through the chimney? +Heemskerk wanted to try this new scheme and he got ready to push +himself through the narrow barrel. At the same time one of the men +rushed to the door to go out into the open and welcome the skipper when +he should stick his head through the barrel; but before he espied the +eminent leader of the expedition he was struck by another sight: the +sun had appeared above the horizon. Apparently Barendsz, who had tried +to figure out the day and week of the year after they had lost count +of the calendar, had been wrong in his calculation. According to him, +there were to be two weeks more of darkness. And now, behold! there was +the shining orb, speedily followed by a matutinal bear. The lean animal +was at once killed and used to replenish the oil of the odorous little +lamp which for more than three months had provided the only light +inside the cabin. + +February came and went, but as yet there were no signs of the breaking +up of the ice. During the first day of March a little open water was +seen in the distance, but it was too far away to be of any value to +the ship. An attempt was made to push the ship out of its heavy coat of +ice, but the men at once complained that they were too weak to do much +work. Some of them had had their toes frozen and could not walk. Others +suffered from frost-bite on their hands and fingers and were unable +to hold an ax. When they went outside only incessant vigilance saved +them from the claws of the skinny bears that were ready to make up for +the long winter's fast. Once a bear almost ate the commander, who was +just able to jump inside the house and slam the door on bruin's nose. +Another time a bear climbed on the roof, and when he could not get into +the chimney, he got hold of the barrel and rocked that architectural +contrivance until he almost ruined the entire house. It was very +spooky, for the attack took place in the middle of the night, and it +was impossible to go out and shoot the monster. + +March passed, and the ship, which had been seventy yards away from the +water when it was deserted in the autumn of 1595, was now more than +five hundred yards away from the open sea. The intervening distance +was a huge mass of broken ice and snow-drifts. It seemed impossible to +drag the boats quite so far. When on the first of May the last morsel +of salt meat had been eaten, the men appeared to be as far away from +salvation as ever. There was a general demand that something be done. +They had had enough of one winter in the Arctic, and would rather +risk a voyage in an open boat than another six months of cold bunks +and tough fox-stew, and reading their Bible by the light of a single +oil-lamp. + +[Illustration] + +Fortunately--and this is a great compliment to a dozen men who have +been cooped up in a small cabin for six months of dark and cold--the +spirit of the sailors had been excellent, and discipline had been well +maintained. They did not make any direct demands upon the captain. +The question of going or staying they discussed first of all with the +sick Barendsz, and he in turn mentioned it to Heemskerk. Heemskerk +himself was in favor of waiting a short while. He reasoned that the +ice might melt soon, and then the ship could be saved. He, as captain, +was responsible for his craft. He asked that they wait two weeks more. +If the condition of the ice was still unsatisfactory at the end of +that time, they would give up the ship and try to reach home in the +boats. Meanwhile the men could get ready for the trip. They set to +work at once cleaning and repairing their fur coats, sharpening their +tools, and covering their shoes with new skins to keep their feet from +freezing during the long weeks in the open boats. + +An eastern storm on the last day of May filled their little harbor with +more ice, and all hope of saving the ship was given up. The return +trip must be made in the open boats. There were two, a large and a +small one. They had been left on land in the autumn, and were now +covered with many feet of frozen snow. A first attempt to dig them out +failed. The men were so weak that they could not handle their axes and +spades. The inevitable bear attacked them, drove them post-haste back +to the safe shelter of the house, and so put an end to the first day's +work. + +The next morning the men went back to their work. Regular exercise and +fresh air soon gave them greater strength, while the dire warning of +Heemskerk that, unless they succeeded, they would be obliged to end +their days as citizens of Nova Zembla provided an excellent spur to +their digging enthusiasm. The two boats were at last dragged to the +house to be repaired. They were in very bad condition, but since there +was no further reason for saving the ship there was sufficient wood +with which to make good the damage. From early to late the men worked, +the only interruptions being the dinner-hour and the visits of the +bears. "But," as De Veer remarked in his pleasant way, "these animals +probably knew that we were to leave very soon, and they wanted to have +a taste of us before we should have gone for good." Before that happy +hour arrived the expedition was threatened with a novel, but painful, +visitation. To vary the monotonous diet of bearsteak, the men had fried +the liver. Three of them had eaten of this dish and fell so ill that +all hope was given up of saving their lives. The others, who knew that +they could not handle the boats if three more sailors were to die, +waited in great anxiety. Fortunately on the fourth day the patients +showed signs of improvement and finally recovered. There were no +further experiments with scrambled bear's liver. + +After that the work on the two boats proceeded with speed, and by +the twelfth of June everything was ready. The boats, now reinforced +for the long trip across the open water of the Arctic Ocean, had to +be hauled to the sea, and the ever-shifting wind had once more put a +high ice-bank between the open water and the shore. A channel was cut +through the ice with great difficulty, for there were no tools for this +work. After two days more the survivors of this memorable shipwreck +were ready for the last part of their voyage. Before they left the +house Barendsz wrote three letters in which he recounted the adventures +of the expedition. One of these letters was placed in a powder-horn +which was left hanging in the chimney, where it was found two hundred +and fifty years later. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + +On the morning of the fourteenth, Barendsz and another sick sailor who +could no longer walk were carried to the boats. With a favorable wind +from the south they set sail for the northern cape of Nova Zembla, +which was soon reached. Then they turned westward, and followed the +coast until they should reach the Siberian continent. The voyage along +the coast was both difficult and dangerous. The two boats were not +quite as large as the life-boats of a modern liner. Being still too +weak to row, the men were obliged to sail between huge icebergs, often +being caught for hours in the midst of large ice-fields. Sometimes +they had to drag the boats upon the ice while they hacked a channel +to open water. After a week the condition of the ice forced them to +pull the boats on shore and wait for several days before they could +go any farther. Great and tender care was taken of the sick pilot and +the dying sailor, but those nights spent in the open were hard on the +sufferers. On the morning of the twentieth of June the sailor, whose +name was Claes Andriesz, felt that his end was near. Barendsz, too, +said he feared that he would not last much longer. His active mind kept +at work until the last. De Veer, the barber, had drawn a map of the +coast, and Barendsz offered suggestions. Capes and small islands off +the coast were definitely located, placed in their correct geographical +positions, and baptized with sound Dutch names. + +The end of Barendsz came very suddenly. Without a word of warning he +turned his eyes toward heaven, sighed, and fell back dead. A few hours +later he was followed by the faithful Claes. They were buried together. +Sad at heart, the survivors now risked their lives upon the open sea. +They had all the adventures not uncommon to such an expedition. The +boats were in a rotten condition; several times the masts broke, and +most of the time the smaller boat was half full of water. The moment +they reached land and tried to get some rest, there was a general +attack by wild bears. And once a sudden break in a field of ice +separated the boats from the provisions, which had just been unloaded. +In their attempt to get these back several men broke through the ice. +They caught cold, and on the fifth of July another sailor, a relative +of Claes, who had died with Barendsz, had to be buried on shore. + +During all this misery we read of a fine example of faithful +performance of duty and of devotion to the interest of one's employers. +You will remember that this expedition had been sent out to reach China +by the Northeast Passage and to establish commercial relations with the +merchants of the great heathen kingdom. For this purpose rich velvets +and other materials agreeable to the eyes of Chinamen had been loaded +onto the ship when they left Amsterdam. Heemskerk felt it his duty to +save these goods, and he had managed to keep them in safety. Now that +the sun shone with some warmth, the packages were opened and their +contents dried. When Heemskerk came back to Amsterdam the materials +were returned to their owners in good condition. + +On the eleventh of June of the year 1597 the boats were approaching +the spot where upon previous voyages large colonies of geese had been +found. They went ashore and found so many eggs that they did not know +how to take them all back to the boats. So two men took down their +breeches, tied the lower part together with a piece of string, filled +them with eggs, and carried their loot in triumph back to the others on +board. + +That was almost their last adventure with polar fauna, except for an +attack by infuriated seals whose quiet they had disturbed. The seals +almost upset one of the boats. The men had no further difficulties, +however. On the contrary, from now on everything was plain sailing; and +it actually seemed to them that the good Lord himself had taken pity +upon them after their long and patient suffering, for whenever they +came to a large ice-field it would suddenly separate and make a clear +channel for their boats; and when they were hungry they found that +the small islands were covered with birds that were so tame that they +waited to be caught and killed. + +[Illustration] + +At last, on the twenty-seventh of July, they arrived in open water +where they discovered a strong eastern current. They decided that they +must be near Kara Strait. The next morning they hoped to find out for +certain. When the next morning came they suddenly beheld two strange +vessels near their own boats. They were fishing-smacks, to judge by +their shape and size, but nothing was known about their nationality, +for they flew no flags, and it was well to be careful in the year of +grace 1597. Therefore a careful approach was made. To Heemskerk's +great joy, the ships were manned by Russians who had seen the fleet of +Linschoten several years before and remembered some of the Hollanders. +There were familiar faces on both sides, and this first glimpse of +human beings did more to revive the courage of the men than the +doubtful food which the Russians forced with great hospitality upon +their unexpected guests. The following day the two fishing-boats set +sail for the west, and Heemskerk followed in their wake. But in the +afternoon they sailed into a heavy fog and when it lifted no further +trace of the Russians could be found. Once more the two small boats +were alone, with lots of water around them and little hope before them. + +By this time all of the men had been attacked by scurvy and they could +no longer eat hard-tack, which was the only food left on board. Divine +interference again saved them. They found a small island covered with +scurvy-grass (_Cochlearia officinalis_) the traditional remedy for this +painful affliction. Within a few days they all recovered, and could +row across the current of the straits which separated them from the +continent. Here they found another Russian ship. Then they discovered +that their compass, on account of the proximity of heavy chests and +boxes covered with iron rings, had lost all track of the magnetic pole +and that they were much farther toward the east than they had supposed. +They deliberated whether they should continue their voyage on land or +on sea. Finally they decided to stick to their boats and their cargo. +Once more they closely followed the coast until they came to the mouth +of the White Sea. That meant a vast stretch of dangerous open water, +which must be crossed at great risk. The first attempt to reach the +other shore failed. The two boats lost sight of each other, and they +all worried about the fate of their comrades. On the eighteenth of +August the second boat managed to reach the Kola peninsula after rowing +for more than thirty hours. + +That virtually ends the adventures of the men who had gone out with +Barendsz and Heemskerk to discover the Northeast Passage, and who quite +involuntarily acted as the first polar explorers. After a few days the +boats found each other, and together they reached the first Russian +settlement, where they found houses and warm rooms and a chance to get +a decent bath and eat from a table. Their misery was at once forgotten. +At heart they were healthy-minded, simple fellows, and when for the +first time after many months they saw some women they were quite happy, +although these women were Laplanders and proverbially lacking in those +attributes which we usually connect with the idea of lovely womanhood. + +[Illustration] + +News traveled fast even in the dominion of the Lapp. In less than +eighty hours a Laplander came running to the Russian settlement with +a letter which had been written by De Ryp, who, half a year before, +had been blown into the White Sea and was now waiting for a favorable +wind to sail home. He was still in Kola, and was delighted at the +safe return of his colleague from whom he had separated over a point +of nautical difference. He invited the men to go home with him. The +two small boats of Heemskerk's ship were left in the town of Kola as +a small souvenir for the kind-hearted Russians, the Arctic costumes +were carefully packed away, to be shown to the family at home, and +on the sixth of October they all said farewell to the Russian coast. +Twenty-three days later they entered the Maas. By way of Maassluis, +Delft, The Hague, and Haarlem they made their triumphant entry into +Amsterdam. Dressed in their fox-skins and their home-made wooden +shoes, they paraded through the streets of the city. Their High and +Mightinesses the mayors received them at the town hall, and the world +was full of the fame of this first Arctic expedition. As for the +practical results, there were none, unless we except the negative +information about the impossibility of the Northeastern Passage. But +nobody cared any longer about this route, for just two months before +the first Dutch fleet which had tried to reach the Indies by way of +the Cape had safely returned to the roads of Texel. The Portuguese, +after all, had proved to be not so dangerous as had been expected. +The Indian native was quite willing to welcome the Dutch trader. +And the Northeastern route, after the wonderful failures of a number +of conscientious expeditions, was given up for the well-worn and +well-known route along the African coast. The Arctic was all right for +the purpose of hunting of the profitable whale, but as a short cut to +the Indies it had proved an absolute disappointment. + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE TRAGEDY OF SPITZBERGEN + + +Before I tell you the story of the first voyage to India I want to give +a short account of another Dutch expedition in the Arctic Sea which +ended even more sadly than that of Heemskerk and Barendsz. + +On their voyage to Nova Zembla the two mariners had discovered a group +of islands which on account of their high mountains they had called the +"Islands of the Steep Peaks," or Spitzbergen in the Dutch language. +These islands provided an excellent center for the whaling fisheries. +During the first half of the seventeenth century a large Dutch fleet +went northward every spring to catch whales. The dead animals were +brought to Spitzbergen, where the blubber was turned into whale-oil, +and the rest of the huge animal was got ready for a market that was +not as finicky in its taste as in our own time. + +Soon a small city was built around the large furnaces and the +rooming-houses for the workmen. This town was appropriately called +"Greaseville" (in Dutch, Smeerenburg). It consisted of the usual +gathering of saloons, eating-places, and small stores, that you might +find in a Western American town during a mining boom. When the autumn +came, the inhabitants moved back to Holland and left the city to the +tender mercies of the bears and foxes. Unfortunately, the owners of +this curious and somewhat motley settlement were not always the first +to arrive upon the scene in the summer. Other sailors, Scotch or +Norwegian, had often visited Greaseville before they arrived and either +appropriated what they wanted or destroyed what they could not carry +away. As early as 1626 a plan was discussed of leaving a guard on the +island during the winter. The men could live comfortably in one of the +houses and they could support themselves by hunting and fishing. It was +not a bad idea, but Nova Zembla still spooked in people's heads, and +nobody wanted to try a winter of darkness and cold such as had been +just described by De Veer. But in the year 1630 eight English sailors +were accidentally left behind from a ship, and next spring they were +found little the worse for wear. As a result the experiment was at last +made in the winter of the year 1633. Seven men were left on Spitzbergen +and seven others on the Jan Mayen, an island somewhat to the west and +farther away from the pole. The seven on Jan Mayen all died of scurvy. +When next spring a fleet came to relieve them they were found frozen +dead in their bunks. On Spitzbergen, however, all the men had passed a +comfortable winter. They had suffered a good deal from the cold, but +they had managed to keep out in the open, take a lot of exercise, and +pass the long winter as cheerfully as the heavy blizzards and storms +allowed. It was decided to leave a small guard upon the island every +year. When in September of 1634 the fleet of whalers sailed back for +Holland, seven new men, under the leadership of Adriaen Janzzoon, who +came from Delft, had agreed to remain behind and keep watch over +the little settlement of Smeerenburg. They were well provided with +supplies, but all perished before the spring of the next year. They +left a diary, and from this we copy a few items to show the quiet and +resigned courage with which they went to their death. + +"On the eleventh of September of the year of our Lord 1634 the whaling +ships sailed for home. We wished them a happy voyage. We saw several +whales and often tried to get one, but we did not succeed. We looked +for fresh vegetables, foxes, and bears with great industry, but we did +not find any. + +"Between the twentieth and the twenty-first of October the sun left +us. On the twenty-fourth of November we began to suffer from scurvy. +Therefore we looked for fresh vegetables, foxes, and bears with great +industry, but we did not succeed, to our great grief. Therefore we +consoled each other that the good Lord would provide. On the second of +December Klaes Florisz took a remedy against scurvy, and we set traps +to catch foxes. + +"On the eleventh of December Jeroen Caroen also took a remedy against +scurvy, and we all began to eat separately from each other because some +suffered more from scurvy and others less. We looked every day, trying +to find fresh vegetables, but we found nothing. So we recommended our +souls into the hands of God. + +"On the twelfth of December Cornelis Thysz took a remedy for scurvy. On +the twenty-third of December we saw our first bear. Just as the cook +was pouring out hot water from his kitchen the bear stood outside the +window, but when he heard a noise he hastily fled. On the twenty-fourth +we again heard a bear, and we at once ran for him with three men, +whereupon he stood upright on his hind legs and looked quite horrible; +but we shot a musket-ball through his belly, and he began to groan and +bleed quite badly, and with his teeth he bit one of our halberds to +pieces and then fled. We followed him with two lanterns, but we could +not get him, although we needed him sorely on account of the sick +people as well as of those who were still well, for nobody was quite +without pain. If things do not improve before long we shall all be +dead before the ships come back; but God knows what is best for us. On +the twenty-fifth of December Cornelis Thysz took a remedy for scurvy +for the second time, for things were going badly with him. On the +fourteenth of January Adriaen Janszoon died, being the first of the +seven of us to go; but we are now all very ill and have much pain. + +"On the fifteenth Fetje Otjes died. + +"On the seventeenth Cornelis Thysz died. Next to God we had put our +hope upon him. We who were still alive made coffins for the three dead +ones, and we laid them into their coffins, although we were hardly +strong enough to do this, and every day we are getting worse. + +"On the twenty-eighth we saw the first fox, but we could not get him. +On the twenty-ninth we killed our red dog, and we ate him in the +evening. On the seventh of February we caught our first fox, and we +were all very happy; but it did not do us much good, for we are all too +far gone by now. We saw many bears, yes, sometimes we saw as many as +three, four, five, six, ten, twelve at the same time; but we did not +have strength enough to fire a gun, and even if we had hit a bear, we +could not have walked out to get him, for we are all so weak that we +can not put one foot before the other. We can not even eat our bread; +we have terrible pains all over our bodies; and the worse the weather +is the more pain we have. Many of us are losing blood. Jeroan Caroen is +the strongest, and he went out and got some coals to make a fire. + +"On the twenty-third we laid flat on our backs almost all the time. The +end has come, and we commend our souls into the hands of God. + +"On the twenty-fourth we saw the sun again, for which we praised God, +for we had not seen the sun since the twentieth or twenty-first of +October of last year. + +"On the sixth of February the four of us who are still alive are lying +in our bunks. We would eat something if only one of us were strong +enough to get up and make a fire; we can not move from the pain we +suffer. With folded hands we pray to God to deliver us from this +sorrowful world. If it pleases Him we are ready; for we would prefer +not to stand this suffering much longer without food and without a +fire, and yet we cannot help each other, and each one must bear his own +fate as well as he can." + +When the ships came to Spitzbergen in the spring of 1635 they found the +cabin locked. A sailor climbed into the house through the attic window. +The first things he found were pieces of the red dog hanging from the +rafters, where they had been put to dry. In front of the stairs he +stumbled over the frozen body of the other dog. Inside the cabin the +seven sailors rested together. Three were lying in open coffins, two +in one bunk, two others on a piece of sail on the floor, all of them +frozen, with their knees pulled up to their chins. + +That was the last time an attempt was made to have anybody pass the +winter on the island. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE FIRST VOYAGE TO INDIA--FAILURE + + +It was no mean expedition which set sail for the Indies on the second +of April of the year 1595 with four ships, 284 men, and an investment +of more than three hundred thousand guilders. Amsterdam merchants had +provided the capital and the ships. The Estates of Holland and a number +of cities in the same province had sent cannon. With large cannon and +small harquebus, sixty-four in number, they were a fair match for any +Spaniard or Portuguese who might wish to defend his ancient rights upon +this royal Indian route, which ran down the Atlantic, doubled the Cape +of Good Hope, and then made a straight line from the southernmost tip +of Africa to Cape Comorin on the Indian peninsula in Asia. + +A few words should be said about the ships, for each was to experience +adventures before reaching the safe harbor of home or disappearing +silently in a lonely sea. There were the _Hollandia_, proudly called +after the newly created sovereign republic of the seven united +Netherlands; the _Mauritius_, bearing the name of the eminent general +whose scientific strategy was forcing the Spanish intruder from one +province after the other; the _Amsterdam_, the representative of a city +which in herself was a mighty commonwealth; and lastly a small and fast +ship called the _Pigeon_. + +Also, since there were four ships, there were four captains, and +thereby hangs a tale. This new Dutch Republic was a democracy of an +unusually jealous variety, which is saying a great deal. Its form of +government was organized disorder. The principle of divided power and +governmental wheels within wheels at home was maintained in a foreign +expedition where a single autocratic head was a most imperative +necessity. What happened during the voyage was this: the four +captains mutually distrustful, each followed his own obstinate will. +They quarreled among themselves, they quarreled with the four civil +directors who represented the owners and the capitalists in Holland, +and who together with the captains were supposed to form a legislative +and executive council for all the daily affairs of the long voyage. +Finally they quarreled with the chief representative of the commercial +interests, Cornelis de Houtman, a cunning trader and commercial +diplomatist who had spent four years in Lisbon trying to discover the +secrets of Indian navigation. Indeed, so great had been his zeal to +get hold of the information hidden in the heads of Portuguese pilots +and the cabalistic meaning of Portuguese charts, that the authorities, +distrustful of this too generous foreigner, with his ever-ready purse, +had at last clapped him into jail. + +Then there had been a busy correspondence with the distant employers +of this distinguished foreign gentleman. Amsterdam needed Houtman +and his knowledge of the Indian route. The money which in the rotten +state of Portugal could open the doors of palaces as well as those of +prisons brought the indiscreet pioneer safely back to his fatherland. +Now, after another year, he was appointed to be the leading spirit of +a powerful small fleet and the honorable chairman of a complicated and +unruly council of captains and civilian directors. That is to say, he +might have been their real leader if he had possessed the necessary +ability; but the task was too much for him. For not only was he obliged +to keep the peace between his many subordinate commanders, but he was +also obliged to control the collection of most undesirable elements +who made up the crews of this memorable expedition. I am sorry that +I have to say this, but in the year 1595 people did not venture upon +a phantastical voyage to an unknown land along a highly perilous +route unless there was some good reason why they should leave their +comfortable native shores. The commanders of the ships and their chief +officers were first class sailors. The lower grades, too, were filled +with a fairly sober crowd of men, but the common sailor almost without +exception belonged to a class of worthless youngsters who left their +country for their country's good and for the lasting benefit of their +family's reputation. There was, however, a saving grace, and we must +give the devil his due. Many of these men were desperately brave. When +they were well commanded they made admirable sailors and excellent +soldiers, but the moment discipline was relaxed, they ran amuck, killed +their officers or left them behind on uninhabited islands and lived +upon the fat of the commissary department until the last bottle of gin +was emptied and the last ham was eaten. In most cases their ship then +ran on a hidden cliff, whereupon the democratic sea settled all further +troubles with the help of the ever-industrious shark. + +When we realize that the Dutch colonial empire was conquered with and +by such men we gain a mighty respect for the leaders whose power of +will turned these wild bands of adventurers into valiant soldiers. And +when we study the history of our early colonial system we no longer +wonder that it was so bad. We are gratefully astonished that it was +not vastly worse. + +On the tenth of March of the year 1595 the crews had been mustered, +the last provisions had been taken on board. Everything was ready for +the departure. The riot act was read to the men, for discipline was +maintained by means of the gallows and the flogging-pole, and after a +great deal of gunpowder had been wasted upon salutes the ships sailed +to the Texel. Here they waited in the roads for two weeks, and then +with a favorable wind from the north set sail for the English Channel. +All this and the rest of the story which is to follow we have copied +from the diary of Frank van der Does, who was on board the _Hollandia_ +and who was one of the few officers who got safely home. + +During the first three weeks it was plain sailing. On the twenty-sixth +of April the fleet reached one of the Cape Verde Islands. Some of the +wild goats of the islands that had so greatly impressed Linschoten +were caught and divided among the sailors, making a very welcome +change in their eternal diet of salted meat. Another week went by, +and two Portuguese freighters, loaded to the gunwales, appeared upon +the horizon. Kindly remember that this was only a few years after the +desperate struggle with Spain and while yet any ship that might be +considered popish was a welcome prize. Therefore the instinct of all +the Hollanders on board demanded that this easy booty be captured. +These ships, so the men reasoned, would provide more profit than an +endless, dreary trip to an unknown Indian sea; but for once discipline +prevailed. The commanders were under strict order not to do any +freebooting on their own account. On the contrary, they must make +friends wherever they could. Accordingly, the Dutch admiral gave the +Portuguese a couple of hams, and the Portuguese returned the favor with +a few jars of preserved fruit. Then the two squadrons separated, and +the Dutch fleet went southward. + +In the end of June the ships passed the equator, and scurvy made its +customary appearance among the men. The suspicion that scurvy might +have something to do with the lack of certain elements in the daily +food had begun to dawn upon the sailors of that time. Of course it was +quite impossible for them to carry fresh solid food in their little +and ill-ventilated ships, but they could take fluids. Water was never +drunk by sailors of that day. It spoiled too easily in the primitive +tanks. Beer was the customary beverage. This time, however, a large +supply of wine had been taken along, and when they reached the tropics +each of the sailors got a pint of wine per day as a remedy or, rather, +a preventive of the dreaded disease. But it increased rapidly, and with +a feeling of deep relief the sailors welcomed the appearance of wild +birds, which indicated that the Cape of Good Hope must be near. Early +in August they sailed past the southern point of the African continent, +and dropped anchor in a small bay near the spot where now the town +of Port Elizabeth is situated. Here our friend Van der Does was sent +on shore with two boats to find fresh water. His first attempt at a +landing did not succeed. The boats got into a very heavy surf. They +were attacked by a couple of playful whales, and on the shore excited +natives, reputed to be cannibals, danced about in gleeful anticipation. +A storm broke loose, and for almost an entire day the men floated +helplessly on the angry waves. When at last they returned to the ship +the other sailors had already given them up as lost. + +The next day the weather was more favorable, and they managed to reach +the shore, where they made friends with the natives. According to the +description, these must have been Hottentots. They made a very bad +impression. The Hottentot, then as now, was smallish and very ugly, +with a lot of black hair that looked as if it had been singed. In +short, in the language of the sixteenth century they looked like people +who had been hanging on the gallows for a long time and had shriveled +into the leathern caricature of a man. A dirty piece of skin served +them as clothing, and their language sounded to the Dutch sailors +like the cackling of a herd of angry turkeys. As for their manners, +they were beastly. When they killed an animal, they ate it raw, both +insides and outsides. Perhaps they stopped long enough to scrape some +of the dirt off with their fingers, but usually they did not take the +trouble to cook their food. Furthermore--this, however, so far was only +a suspicion--they were said to be cannibals and ate their own kind. + +[Illustration] + +The happy Hottentot still lived in the Stone Age, and these first +European traders were a veritable godsend to a people obliged to hunt +with stone arrows. The expedition did not fail to discover this, and +for a few knives and a few simple iron objects they received all the +cows and sheep they wanted. And, to our great joy, we get our first +glimpse of that most amusing and clownish of all living creatures, the +penguin. The penguin has risen in the social scale of wild birds since +he has become one of the chief attractions of the moving-pictures. In +the year 1595 he was every bit as silly and absurd an animal as he is +now, when he wanders forth to make friends with the sailors of our +South Polar expeditions. Van der Does hardly knew what to make of this +strange creature which has wings, yet cannot fly, and whose feathers +look like the smooth skin of a seal. Strangest of all, this wild animal +was found to be so tame that the sailors had to box their ears before +they could force a narrow path through the dense crowds of excited +birds. + +On the eleventh of August the ships left the safe harbor. Their +original plan had been to cross the Indian Ocean from this point and +to make directly for the Indian islands, but there had been so much +illness among the crew that the plan had to be given up. They decided +to call at Madagascar first of all. There they hoped to find an +abundance of fresh fruit and to spend some weeks in which to allow the +sick people to recover completely before they ventured, into the actual +domains of the Portuguese. + +Unfortunately, the navigating methods of that day were still very +primitive. A profound trust in the Lord made up for a lack of knowledge +of the compass. The good Lord in his infinite mercy usually guided +the ship until it reached some shore or other. Then the navigator set +to work and wormed his way either upward or downward until at last he +struck the spot which he had been trying to reach all the time and +thanked divine Providence for his luck. The particular bay renowned +for its fresh water and vegetables, that the expedition hoped to reach +was situated on the east coast of Madagascar, but a small gale blew +the ships to the westward. They could not reach the southern cape, and +they were forced to take whatever the western coast could provide. +That was little enough. There was an abundance of wild natives. Upon +one occasion the natives caught a landing party and stripped them of +all their arms and clothes before they allowed them to return to their +ships. But there were no wild fruit-trees, and upon these now depended +the lives of the members of the expedition. + +[Illustration] + +Seventy sailors were dead. Worst of all, the captain of the +_Hollandia_, Jan Dignumsz by name, the most energetic of the leaders +and famous for his discipline, had also died. A small island was +used as a cemetery, and was baptized Deadmen's Land, where rested +one-quarter of the men who had left Holland. The situation was far from +pleasant when the _Pigeon_, which had been sent out to reconnoiter, +came back with good tidings. A tribe of natives had been found that +was willing to enter into peaceful trade with the Hollanders and to +sell their cattle in exchange for knives and beads. It was almost too +good to be true. For a single tin spoon these simple people would give +an entire ox or four sheep. A steel knife induced them to offer one of +their daughters as a slave. + +At this spot the sick people were landed, to be tended on shore. Soon +the misery was forgotten in the contemplation of an abundance of wild +monkeys, which competed with the natives in the execution of wild +and curious dances and which when roasted on hot coals made a fine +dish. This idyl, however, did not last long. The "pious life" of the +sailors and their attitude toward the natives soon caused considerable +friction. One night the natives attacked the camp where the sick men +slept. The Hollanders, from their side, took four young natives to +their ships and kept them there as prisoners. The four of course tried +to escape. One was drowned, pulled down by his heavy chains. Two others +hid themselves in a small boat and were recaptured the next day. A few +days after this event the mate of one of the ships and another sailor +went on shore and tried to buy a cow. They were attacked. The sailor +was mortally wounded, and the mate had his throat cut. In revenge the +Hollanders shot one of the natives and burned down a few villages. It +is a sad story, but we shall often have to tell of this sort of thing +when the white man made his first appearance among his fellow-creatures +of a different hue. + +After this adventure the council of captains decided to proceed upon +the voyage without further delay. On the thirteenth of December the +fleet started upon the last stretch of water which separated it from +the island of Java. After two weeks, however, scurvy once more played +such havoc among the sailors that the ships were obliged to sail back +to Madagascar. They found the small island called Santa Maria on +the east coast. The natives here were more civilized, there was an +abundance of fresh food, and the sick people recovered in a short time. +Except for a sufficient supply of water, the expedition was ready for +the last thousand miles across the Indian Ocean. Santa Maria, however, +did not provide enough water. + +Once more a sloop was sent out to reconnoiter. In the Bay of Saint +Antongil, on the main island, they discovered a small river, and on +the twenty-fifth of January the four ships reached this bay. They +started filling their water-kegs when on the third of February a +terrible storm drove the _Hollandia_ on a shoal and almost wrecked +the ship. During the attempts at getting her afloat two of her boats +were swept away and were washed on shore. The next morning a sloop was +sent after these boats, but during the night the natives, in their +desire for iron nails, had hacked the boats to pieces. When thereupon +the boat with sailors approached the village, the natives, expecting +a punitive expedition, attacked the men with stones. The Hollanders +fired their muskets, the power of which seemed unknown to these people, +for they gazed at the murderous arms with great curiosity until a +number of them had been killed, when they ran away and hid themselves. +After the fashion of that day the Dutch crew then burned down a few +hundred native huts. Such was the end of the first visit of Hollanders +to Madagascar. On the thirteenth of February the ships left for the +Indies, but before they got so far the long-expected internal disorder +had broken loose. + +I have mentioned that the captain of the _Hollandia_ had died on the +west coast of Madagascar. The owners of the ships, not wishing to leave +anything to luck, had provided each ship with sealed instruction, +telling the officers who should succeed whom in case of just such +an accident. These letters were to be opened in the full council +of captains. Instead of doing this, the civil commissioner on the +_Hollandia_ had opened his letter at once and had read therein that the +office of captain should be bestowed upon the first mate, De Keyser by +name, and a personal friend of the commissioner. It is difficult at +this late date to discover what caused all the trouble which followed. +De Keyser was a good man, the most popular officer of the fleet, while +Houtman, the civilian commander of the expedition, was very much +disliked by the officers of all the ships. There is nothing very +peculiar in this. Civilians are never wanted on board a fleet, least of +all when they have been sent out to control the actions of the regular +seafaring people. It is not surprising, therefore, to find the officers +taking the side of De Keyser and turning against the civilians. +Houtman in his high official altitude and in a very tactless way, +declared that he would not recognize De Keyser. De Keyser, to avoid +friction, then declared that he would voluntarily resign, but the other +officers declared that they would not hear of such a thing. Thereupon +Houtman insisted that he, as civilian commander, had a right to demand +the strictest obedience to the orders of the owners. The officers +told Houtman what they would be before they obeyed a mere civilian. +Houtman stood his ground. The council of the captains broke up in a +free-for-all fight, and the most violent backers of De Keyser declared +that they would shoot Houtman rather than give in. Thus far the quarrel +had been about the theoretical principle whether the actual sailors or +the civilian commissioners should be the masters of the fleet. But +when the man who had started the whole trouble by opening the sealed +letter against orders proposed to desert the fleet with the _Hollandia_ +he committed a breach of etiquette which at once made him lose the +support of the other regular officers. Discipline was discipline. The +mutineer was brought before a court-martial and was ordered to be put +in irons until the end of the voyage. He actually made the remainder +of the trip as a prisoner. The suit against him was not dropped until +after the return to Holland. It was a storm in a tea-kettle, or, +rather, it was a quarrel between a few dozen people, most of them ill, +who were cooped up in four small and ill-smelling vessels and who had +got terribly on one another's nerves. It is needless to say that these +official disagreements greatly entertained the rough elements in the +forecastle, who witnessed this commotion with hidden glee and decided +that they would have some similar fun of their own as soon as possible. + +[Illustration] + +Meanwhile the wind had been favorable, and on the fifth of June, after +a long, but uneventful voyage, an island was seen. It proved to be +a small island off the coast of Sumatra. Sumatra itself was reached +two days later, and on the eleventh of the same month the Sunda +Archipelago, between Sumatra and Java, was reached. In this part of +the Indies the white man had been before. The natives, therefore, knew +the power of firearms, and they were accordingly cautious. One of them +who was familiar with the straits between the islands offered to act +as pilot on their further trip to Bantam. For eight reals in gold he +promised to guide them safely to the north shore of Java. The amount +was small, but the distance was short. On the twenty-third of June of +the year 1596 four Dutch ships appeared for the first time in the roads +of Bantam, and were welcomed by the Portuguese with all the civility +which the sight of sixty-four cannon demanded. At that time Bantam was +an important city, the most important trading center of the western +part of the Indian islands. It was the capital of a Mohammedan sultan, +and for many years it had been the residence of a large Portuguese +colony. Besides Javanese natives and Portuguese settlers there were +many Arab traders and Chinese merchants. All of these hastened forth +to inspect the ships with the strange flag and have a look at this new +delegation of white men who were blond, not dark like the Portuguese, +and who spoke an unknown language. + +The fleet had now reached its destination, and the actual work of +the commercial delegates began. It was their business to conclude +an official treaty with the native authorities and to try to obtain +equal trading rights with the Portuguese. Houtman was of great value +in this sort of negotiation. As representative of the mighty Prince +Maurice of Nassau, who for the benefit of the natives was described +as the most high potentate of the most powerful Dutch commonwealth, +he called upon the regent, who was governing the country during the +minority of the actual sultan. He made his visit in great state, and +through a number of presents he gained the favor of the regent. On the +first of July he obtained the desired commercial treaty. The Hollanders +were allowed to trade freely, and a house was put at their disposal to +serve as a general office and storeroom. Two of the civilian directors +were allowed to live on shore, and everything was ready for business. +Thus far things had gone so well that Houtman decided to perform his +task leisurely. The new pepper harvest was soon to be gathered, and he +thought it well to wait until he had a chance to get fresh spices. What +was left of last year's crop was offered for a very low price, but as +there was no hurry, no supply was bought. + +[Illustration] + +Unfortunately, this time of waiting was utilized by the Portuguese +for a campaign of underhand agitation against their unwelcome rivals. +They did not accuse the Hollanders directly of any evil intentions, but +did the regent know who those people were? It is true that they claimed +to be the representatives of a certain Prince of Nassau. Was there +such a Prince? They might just as well be common buccaneers. It would +be much safer if the regent would order his soldiers to take all the +Hollander people prisoner and to surrender them to the Portuguese, to +be dealt with according to their deserts. + +The regent, who knew nothing about his new guests except that they were +white and had come to him in wooden ships, listened with an attentive +ear. At first he did not act, but the Hollanders soon noticed that +whereas they found it difficult to buy anything at all in Bantam, +Portuguese vessels left the harbor every week with heavy cargoes. At +last when the commissary department of the Dutch fleet sent on shore +for provisions they were refused all further supplies. Evidently +something was going to happen. + +To be well prepared against all eventualities, the Dutch captains began +to chart the harbor. With the small guns of that age it was necessary +to know exactly how near shore one could get in order to bombard the +enemy. The natives saw the manoeuvering, and wondered what it was +all about. From that moment on there was suspicion on both sides, and +at last the tension between them grew so serious that the Hollanders +decided to remove their goods from their storehouse and bring them on +the ships. But while they were loading their possessions into the boats +Houtman and another civilian by the name of Willem Lodewycksz were +suddenly taken prisoner and brought to the castle of the regent. This +dignitary, afraid of the Portuguese, whose power he appreciated, and +yet unwilling to act openly against some newcomers who might be far +more dangerous, wanted to keep the leader of the Dutch expedition and +one of his officers as hostages until the Dutch ships should have left +the port without doing him or his people any harm. + +[Illustration] + +The Hollanders, however, who knew that the Portuguese were responsible +for this action, at once attacked the Portuguese ships. Both parties, +however, proved to be equally strong, and having fired several volleys +at one another, both sides gave up their quarrel and waited until they +should be reinforced. Houtman and his companion were set free after +the Hollanders had paid a heavy ransom. All this took place in the +month of October. Even then Houtman hoped that the interrupted trading +might be resumed. Meanwhile, however, the Portuguese had asked for +reinforcements to be sent from their colony in Malacca, and a high +Portuguese official was already on his way to Bantam to offer the +regent ten thousand reals for the surrender of the entire Dutch fleet. +Of these negotiations the Dutch commander obtained full details through +a friendly Portuguese merchant. Since everybody spied upon everybody +else, this merchant's secret correspondence was soon detected, and the +culprit was sent to Malacca. As there was now no longer any hope for +profitable business, the Dutch fleet made ready to depart. Just before +leaving, however, they managed to get some cargo. A Chinaman got on +board the admiral's ship, and made him the following offer. He would +load two vessels with spices and would leave the port. The Hollanders +would attack his vessels and would capture both ship and cargo. Of +course they must pay cash and must deposit the money beforehand. + +This was done, and in this way Houtman got several thousand guilders' +worth of nutmeg and mace. Thereupon the Hollanders left Bantam and +tried their luck in several other cities on the Javanese coast; but +everywhere the people had been warned by the Portuguese against +ungodly pirates who were soon to come with four big ships, and +everywhere the ships were refused water and were threatened with open +hostilities if they should attempt to buy anything from the natives. + +One little king, however, appeared to have more friendly feelings. That +was the King of Sidayu, on the strait of Surabaya. He was very obliging +indeed, and volunteered to pay the first call upon his distinguished +visitors. At the hour which had been officially announced his Majesty, +with a large number of well-armed canoes, paddled out to the Dutch +ships. The Hollanders, glad at last to find so cheerful a welcome, +had arranged everything for a festive occasion. The ships had hoisted +their best array of flags, and the trumpeters--it was a time when +signals on board were given with a trumpet--bellowed forth a welcome. +The _Amsterdam_ was the first ship to be reached. The captain stood +ready at the gangway to welcome the dusky sovereign, but suddenly his +ship was attacked from all sides by a horde of small brown men. They +swarmed over the bulwarks and hacked a dozen Hollanders to pieces +before the others could defend themselves. These in turn gave fight +as best they could with knives and wooden bars, but many more were +killed. At last, however, the other ships managed to come to the relief +of the _Amsterdam_, and they destroyed the fleet of war-canoes with a +few volleys from their cannon. It was a sad business. Several of the +officers had been killed. What with the illness of many of the men +there were hardly sailors enough to man the four ships. The _Amsterdam_ +looked like a butcher shop. It was cleaned thoroughly, the dead +people were given Christian burial in the open sea, and the voyage was +continued to the island of Madura. + +[Illustration] + +Here they arrived on the eighth of December, and were once more met +by a large fleet of small craft. In one of these there was a native +who knew a little Portuguese. He asked to speak to the commander, +who at that moment was on the _Amsterdam_. Houtman told the native +interpreter to row to the _Mauritius_, where he would join him in a few +minutes. This was a good idea, for the people on the _Amsterdam_, who +had just seen the massacre of their comrades, were very nervous and +in no condition to receive another visit of natives, however friendly +they intended to be. But through a mistake the boat of the interpreter +did not turn toward the _Mauritius_, but returned once more to the +_Amsterdam_, apparently to ask for further instructions. Then one of +these horrible accidents due entirely to panic happened. The sailors of +the _Amsterdam_ opened fire upon the natives. The other ships thought +that this was the sign for a new general attack, and they got out +their cannon. In a moment a score of well-intentioned natives, and +among them their king, had been killed or were drowning. + +After this it could not be expected that the island of Madura would +sell Houtman anything at all. There was only one chance left if the +expedition was to be a financial success. This was a trip to the +Molucca Islands. But for this voyage the ninety-four sailors who were +still alive--all the others who had left Holland the year before were +dead--hardly sufficed. Furthermore, the _Amsterdam_ was beginning to +show such severe leaks that the carpenters could not repair the damage. +The ship was therefore beached and burned. The crew was divided among +the three other ships and they set sail for the Moluccas. + +Before they reached these islands a formal mutiny had broken out +on board the _Mauritius_. Suddenly, during the afternoon meal, the +captain of the ship had died. He had fainted, turned blue and black, +and in less than an hour he was dead after suffering dreadful pains. +Healthy people, so the sailors whispered, did not die that way, and +they accused Houtman, who did not like this particular captain, of +having put poison into his food. Houtman was attacked by his own men, +and he was put in irons. A formal tribunal then was called together. +It investigated the charges, but nothing was found against the accused +Commissioner. Therefore Houtman was released, and the topsyturvy +expedition once more continued its voyage. + +[Illustration] + +But it never reached the Molucca Islands, for before they got to +these they found the island of Bali. This proved to be governed by a +well-disposed monarch. The influence of the Portuguese was less strong +in this island than it had been on Java. The Hollanders, too, had +learned their lesson, and they refrained from the naval swashbuckling +that had often characterized their conduct on Java. On the contrary, +they gave themselves every possible trouble to be very pleasant to his +Majesty the Sultan. They made him fine presents, and they produced +their maps of the fatherland and made a great ado about their official +documents. The sultan wished to know who they were. They told him +that they came from a country which was situated in the northern part +of Europe, where the water turned into a solid mass across which you +could drive a horse every winter. This country, according to their +descriptions, covered a region occupied by Russia, France, and Germany. +There was but little truth in these grandiloquent stories, but they +were dealing with an innocent native who must be duly impressed by +the great power and the enormous riches of the home of ninety-odd, +bedraggled and much traveled Dutch sailors. The account which the +sailors gave of their country so deeply impressed the king that he +allowed them to buy all the spices they wanted and to collect the +necessary provisions for the long return voyage. On February 26, in +the second year of their voyage, the three ships got ready to sail +back to Holland. One of the civilian directors who with his masterful +fibbing had brought himself more particularly to the attention of his +Majesty was left behind, together with one sailor. They were to act as +counselors to the court, an office which they held for four years, when +they returned to Amsterdam. Of the two hundred and eighty-four men who +had left Holland in 1595, only eighty-nine returned after an absence of +two years and four months. + +[Illustration] + +That was the end of the first trip. It had not been profitable. The +sale of the pepper and nutmeg bought in Bali saved the expedition from +being a total loss to the investors, but there were not nearly such +large revenues as were to follow in the succeeding years. Furthermore, +Houtman had not been able to establish any lasting relations with any +of the native princes of India. Neither could he report that the first +Dutch expedition had been a shining example of tactful dealing with, or +kind treatment of the people of the Indies. + +But this was really a detail. It was an unfortunate incident due +to their own lack of experience and to the intrigues of the rival +Portuguese merchants. + +From a commercial point of view this expedition was a failure. Yet it +brought home a large volume of negative information which was of the +utmost importance. It showed that the direct road to India was not an +impossible achievement to anybody possessed of energy and courage. It +showed that the power of the Portuguese in India was not as strong as +had been expected. It showed that the dream of an independent colonial +empire for the new Dutch Republic in the Indian islands was not an +idle one. In short, it proved that all the fears and misgivings about +Holland's share in the development of the riches of Asia had been +unnecessary. The thing could be done. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE SECOND VOYAGE TO INDIA--SUCCESS + + +There was now a great boom in the Indian trade. Whosoever could beg, +borrow, or steal a few thousand guilders; whoever possessed an old +scow which could perhaps be made to float, whoever was related to a +man who had a cousin who had some influence on the exchange, suddenly +became an Indian trader, equipped a ship, hired sailors, had mysterious +conferences with nautical gentlemen who talked about their great +experience in foreign waters, and then waited for the early days of +spring to bid God-speed to his little expedition. Every city must have +its own Indian fleet. Companies were formed, stockholders quarreled +about the apportionment of the necessary capital, and at once they +split up into other smaller companies. There was an "Old" Indian +Trading Company. The next day there was a rival called the "New" +Indian Trading Company. There was an Indian company which was backed by +the province of Zeeland. There was a private enterprise of the city of +Rotterdam. To be honest, there were too many companies for the small +size of the country. Before another dozen years had passed they were +all amalgamated into one strong commercial body, the great Dutch East +India Company, but during the first years hundreds of ships stampeded +to the promised land of Java and Bali and the Moluccas, and for one +fleet of small vessels which came home with a profit there were a dozen +which either were shipwrecked on the way or which had ruined their +shareholders before they had passed the equator. + +Amsterdam, as always, was the leader in this activity. It was not +only a question of capital. There had to be men of vision, merchants +who were willing to do things on a large scale, before such a venture +could return any profit. And while the ships of the Zeeland Company +were hurried to sea, and left long before the others, and incidentally +came back a few years later, Amsterdam quietly collected eight hundred +thousand guilders and advertised for competent officers and willing +men for a large expedition. This time, it was decided, everything was +to be done with scientific precision, and nothing must be left to +chance. The commander in chief of the 560 men who were to take part +in the expedition was Jacob van Neck, a man of good birth, excellent +training, and well-known in the politics of his own city. His most +important adviser was Jacob van Heemskerk, fresh from his adventures in +the Arctic Sea and ready for new ones in the Indian Ocean. Several of +the officers who had been to Bantam with Houtman were engaged for this +second voyage. Among them our friend Van der Does, out of whose diary +we copied the adventures of the first voyage to the Indies. Even the +native element was not lacking. You will remember that the Hollanders +had taken several hostages in Madagascar when they visited the east +coast of that island in the year 1595. Two of these had been tamed and +had been taken to Holland. After a year in Amsterdam they were quite +willing to exchange the uncomfortable gloominess of the Dutch climate +for a return to their sunny native shores. Also there was a Mohammedan +boy by the name of Abdul, whom curiosity had driven from Bali to +Holland on board the ship of Houtman. + +[Illustration] + +The fleet of eight vessels left the roads of Texel on the first of May +of the year 1598, and with a favorable wind reached the Cape Verde +Islands three weeks later. There, a general council of the different +captains was asked to decide upon the further course. For with each +expedition the knowledge of what ought to be done and what ought to +be omitted increased, and the experiences of Houtman on the coast of +Africa where his entire crew had been disabled through scurvy, must +not be repeated. The fleet must either follow the coast of Africa to +get fresh food and water whenever necessary, or the ships must risk a +more western course, which would take them a far distance away from +land, but would bring them into currents which would carry them to the +Indies in a shorter while. They decided to take the western course. It +was a very tedious voyage except for the flying-fishes which sometimes +accompanied the ship. Luck was with the expedition, and on the ninth of +July the ships passed the equator. The little island of Trinidad, off +the coast of Brazil, was soon reached, and an inquisitive trip in an +open boat to explore this huge rock almost ended in disaster. But such +small affairs as a night spent in an open boat in a stormy ocean were +all in the day's work and gave the sailors something to talk about. + +Within a remarkably short time the lonely island of Tristan d'Acunha +was passed, and from there the current and the western winds carried +the ships to the Cape of Good Hope. But near this stormy promontory a +small hurricane suddenly fell upon the fleet, and after a night of very +heavy squalls one of the eight ships had disappeared. It was never seen +again. A few days later, this time through carelessness in observing +signals, four other ships were separated from their admiral. Several +days were spent in coursing about in the attempt to find them. The sea, +however, is very wide, and ships very small, and Van Neck with two big +and one small vessel at last decided to continue the voyage alone. +He was in a hurry. There were many rivals to his great undertaking, +and when he actually met a Dutch ship sent out by the province of +Zeeland, he insisted that there must be no delay of any sort. The +Zeeland ship, however, was not a dangerous competitor. Nine members +of its crew of seventy-five had died. Among the others there was so +much scurvy that only seven men were able to handle the helm. Only +two could climb aloft. The Amsterdam ships ought to have helped their +fellow-countrymen, but in the Indian spice trade it was a question of +"first come, first served." Therefore they piously commended their +Zeeland brethren to the care of the Good Lord and hastened on. + +[Illustration] + +A short stay in Madagascar was necessary because the water in the +tanks was of such abominable taste and smelled so badly that it must +be replenished. The ships sailed to the east coast of the island, +stopped at Santa Maria, well known from the visit of Houtman's ships +three years before, and then made a short trip in search of fresh +fruit to the bay of Antongil. On the island of Santa Maria they had +found a happy population, well governed by an old king and spending +their days in hunting wild animals on land or catching whales at sea. +But in the Bay of Antongil things had greatly changed since Houtman +had left a year before. There had been a war with some of the tribes +from the interior of the island. The villages along the coast had been +burned, and all the cattle had been killed. Men and women were dying of +starvation. Right in the midst of the lovely tropical scenery there lay +the decaying corpses of the natives, a prey to vultures and jackals. +The expedition of Van Neck, however, had been sent out to buy spices in +India and not to reform the heathen inhabitants of African islands. The +water-tanks were hastily filled, and on the sixteenth of September the +island was left to its own fate. + +[Illustration] + +For two months the ships sailed eastward. There were a few sick men on +board, but nobody died, which was considered a magnificent record in +those days for so long a voyage. On November 19 the high mountains of +the coast of Sumatra appeared upon the horizon. From there Van Neck +steered southward, and near the Sunda Islands he at last reached the +dangerous domains of the Portuguese. The cannon were inspected, the +mechanism of the guns was well oiled, and everything was made ready +for a possible fight. Before the coast of Java was reached one of the +islands of the Sunda Archipelago was visited. Could the natives tell +them anything about the Portuguese and their intentions? The natives +could not do this, but in return asked the men whether they perhaps +knew anything about a foreign expedition which had been in those parts +a few years before? That expedition, it appeared, had left a very bad +reputation behind on account of its cruelty and insolence. + +Van Neck decided not to remain in this region, where his predecessor +had made himself too thoroughly unpopular, and sailed direct for +Bantam. He would take his risks. On November 26, while the sun was +setting, the three ships dropped anchor in that harbor. They spent +an uncomfortable night, for nobody knew what sort of reception would +await them on the next day. Houtman had been in great difficulty with +both the sultan and the Portuguese. Very likely the ships, flying +the Dutch flag, would be attacked in the morning. But when morning +came, the ubiquitous Chinaman, who in the far Indies serves foreign +potentates as money-changer, merchant, diplomatic agent, and handy-man +in general, came rowing out to Van Neck's ship. He told the admiral +that the sultan sent the Hollanders his very kind regards and begged +them to accept a small gift of fresh fruit. The sultan was glad to +see the Hollanders. If they would only send a messenger on shore the +sultan would receive him at once. Meanwhile as a sign of good faith +the Chinese intermediary was willing to stay on board the ship of the +Hollanders. Nobody in the fleet, least of all the officers and sailors +who remembered what had happened two years before, had expected such a +reception. They were soon told the reason of this change in attitude. +After Houtman and his ships left in the summer of 1596 the Portuguese +Government had sent a strong fleet to punish the Sultan of Bantam for +having been too friendly to the Hollanders. This fleet had suffered a +defeat, but since that time the people in Bantam had feared the arrival +of another punitive expedition. The Hollanders, therefore, came as very +welcome defenders of the rights of the young sultan. It was decided +that their services should be used for the defense of the harbor if the +long-expected Portuguese fleet should make a new attack. It was in this +rôle of the lesser of two evils that the Hollanders finally were to +conquer their Indian empire from the Portuguese. Van Neck was the first +Dutch captain to use the local political situation for his own benefit. +He sent his representative on shore, who was received with great +ceremony. He explained how this fleet had been sent to the Indies by +the mighty Prince of Orange, and he promised that the Bantam government +would be allowed to see all the official documents which the admiral +had brought if they would deign to visit the ships. This invitation was +not well received. The Bantam people had been familiar with the ways +of white men for almost a hundred years. They distrusted all cordial +invitations to come on board foreign ships, and they asked that the +Hollanders send their papers ashore. "No," Van Neck told them through +his envoy, "a document given to me by the mighty Prince of Orange is +too important to be allowed out of my immediate sight." + +In the end the sultan, curious to see whether these letters could +perhaps tell him something of further ships which might be on their +way, agreed to make his appearance upon the ship of the admiral, where +he was received with great courtesy. + +Then, after the fashion of the Indian ruler of his day and of our own, +he demanded to know what his profits were to be in case he allowed the +Hollanders to trade in his city. Van Neck began negotiations about +the bribe which the different functionaries were to receive. For a +consideration of 3200 reals to the sultan and the commander of the +harbor, the Dutch ships were at last given permission to approach the +shore and buy whatever they wanted. For ten days long canoes filled +with pepper and nutmeg surrounded the ships. The pepper was bought for +three reals a bag. Everything was very pleasant, but one day Abdul, +the native who came from Bali, got on shore and visited the city. +Here among his own people he cut quite a dash, and bragging about the +wonders of the great Dutch Republic, he volunteered the information +that on the Amsterdam market he had seen how a bag of pepper was sold +for 100 reals. That sum, therefore, was just ninety-seven reals +more than the people in Bantam received for their own raw product. +Of course they did not like the idea of getting so little, and at +once they refused to sell to Van Neck at the old rate. It was a great +disappointment. He tried to do business with some Chinamen, but +they were worse than the Javanese. They offered their pepper to the +Hollanders at a ridiculously low price, but after the bags had been +weighed they were found to be weighted with stones and sand and pieces +of glass. + +There was no end to all the small annoyances which the Dutch admiral +was made to suffer. There were a number of Portuguese soldiers hanging +about the town. They had been made prisoners during the last fatal +expedition against Bantam, and they suffered a good many hardships. +One day they were allowed to pay a visit to the Dutch ships, and the +tales of their misery were so harrowing that the admiral had given them +some money to be used for the purpose of buying food and clothes. No +sooner, however, were the prisoners back on dry land than they started +the rumor that the Hollanders were dangerous pirates and ought not to +be trusted. Van Neck vowed that he would hang his ungrateful visitors +if ever they came to him again with their tales of woe. Meanwhile, in +order to stop further talk, he promised to raise the price of pepper +two reals. For five reals a bag his ships were now filled with a cargo +of the costly spice. + +In a peaceful way the month of December went by. It was the last day +of the year 1598 when quite unexpectedly the lost ships that had been +driven away from their admiral near the Cape of Good Hope appeared at +Bantam. They had passed through many exciting adventures. After they +had lost sight of the commander-in-chief, they had first spent several +days trying to discover his whereabouts. Then they had continued their +way to get fresh water in Madagascar. They had reached the coast of +the island safely, but just before they could land a sudden storm had +driven them eastward. On the seventeenth of September they had again +seen land, and they had dropped their anchors to discover to what part +of the world they had been blown by the wind. The map did not show +that there was any land in this region. Therefore on the eighteenth +of September of the year 1598 they had visited the island which lay +before them, and they found that they had reached paradise. All the +sailors had been taken ashore, it being Sunday, and the ships' pastor +had preached a wonderful sermon. So eloquent were his words that one +of the Madagascar boys who was on the fleet had accepted Christian +baptism then and there. After that for a full month officers and men +had taken a holiday. Whatever they wished for the island provided in +abundance. There was fresh water. There were hundreds of tame pigeons. +There were birds which resembled an ostrich, although they were smaller +and tasted better when cooked. There were gigantic bats and turtles so +large that several men could take a ride on their back. Fish abounded +in the rivers and the sea around the island, and it was thickly covered +with all sorts of palm-trees. Indeed, it looked so fertile that it was +decided to use it as a granary for future expeditions. Grain had been +planted, and also beans and peas for the use of ships which might +come during the next years. Then the island had been officially annexed +for the benefit of the republic. It had been called Mauritius after +Prince Maurice of Nassau, the Stadholder of Holland. Finally after a +rooster and seven chickens had been given the freedom of this domain, +to assure future travelers of fresh eggs, the four ships had hoisted +their sails and had come to Bantam to join their admiral. + +[Illustration] + +Van Neck now commanded several ships, which were loaded. But the others +must await the arrival of a new supply of pepper, which was being +brought to Bantam from the Moluccas by some enterprising Chinamen. This +would take time, and Van Neck was still in a great hurry. He refused +to consider the tempting offers of the Sultan of Bantam, who still +wanted his help against his Portuguese enemies. Instead, he entered +into negotiations with a Hindu merchant who offered to bring the other +ships directly to the Moluccas, where they would be in the heart of +the spice-growing islands. The Hindu was engaged, and navigated the +ships safely to their destination. Here through their good behavior +the Hollanders made such an excellent impression upon the native ruler +that they were allowed to establish two settlements on shore and leave +a small garrison until they should return to buy more mace and nutmeg +at incredibly reasonable terms. As for Van Neck, having saluted his +faithful companions with a salvo of his big guns, which started a panic +in the good town of Bantam, where the people still remembered the +departure of Houtman, he sailed for the coast of Africa. + +He had every reason to be contented with his success. In a final +audience with the governor of the city of Bantam he had promised this +dignitary that the Hollanders would return the next year, "because +that was the will of their mighty ruler." The governor, from his side, +who upon this occasion had to deal with a much better class of men +than Houtman and his crew of mutinous sailors, had decided that the +Hollanders were preferable to the Portuguese, and he assured Van Neck +of a cordial reception. + +The return voyage was not as prosperous as the outward trip had been. +Dysentery attacked the fleet, and many of the best officers and men +had to be sewn into their hammocks to be dropped into the ocean, where +they found an honorable burial. St. Helena, with its fresh water and +its many wild animals, was reached just when the number of healthy men +had fallen to thirty. A week of rest and decent food was enough to cure +all the men, and then they sailed for home. But so great was the hurry +of this rich squadron to reach the markets of Amsterdam that Van Neck's +ship was almost destroyed when it hoisted too many sails and when the +wind broke two of the masts. It was not easy to repair this damage in +the open sea. After several days some sort of jury rig was equipped. +The big ship, with its short stubby mast, then looked so queer that +several Dutch vessels which saw it appear upon the horizon off the Gulf +of Biscay beat a hasty retreat. They feared that they had to do with +a new sort of pirate, sailing the seas in the most recent piratical +invention. + +On the nineteenth of July, after an absence of only one year and two +months, the first part of Van Neck's fleet returned safely to Holland. +The cargo was unloaded, and was sold on the Amsterdam exchange. After +the full cost of the expedition had been paid, each of the shareholders +received a profit of just one hundred per cent. Van Neck, who had +established the first Dutch settlement in the Indies, was given a +public reception by his good city and was marched in state to the town +hall. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +VAN NOORT CIRCUMNAVIGATES THE WORLD + + +Oliver van Noort was the first Hollander to sail around the world. +Incidentally, he was the fourth navigator to succeed in this dangerous +enterprise since in the year 1520 the little ships of Magellan had +accomplished the feat of circumnavigating the globe. Of the hero of +this memorable Dutch voyage we know almost nothing. He was a modest +man, and except for a few lines of personal introduction which appear +in the printed story of his voyage, which was published in Rotterdam, +his home town, in the year 1620, in which he tells us that he had +made many trips to different parts of the world, his life to us is a +complete mystery. + +[Illustration: Olivier van Noort.] + +He was not, like Jacob van Heemskerk and Van Neck, a man of education; +neither was he of very low origin. He had picked up a good deal of +learning at the common schools. Very likely he had been the mate or +perhaps the captain of some small schooner, had made a little money, +and then had retired from the sea. Spending one's days on board a ship +in the latter half of the sixteenth century was no pleasure. The ships +were small. The cabins were uncomfortable, and so low that nowhere one +could stand up straight. Cooking had to be done on a very primitive +stove, which could not always be used when the weather was bad. The +middle part of the deck was apt to be flooded most of the time, and the +flat-bottomed ships rolled and pitched horribly. Therefore, as soon as +a man had made a little competency as the master of a small craft he +was apt to look for some quiet occupation on shore. He had not learned +a regular trade which he could use on shore. Very often, therefore, +he opened a small hotel or an inn or just an ale-house where he could +tell yarns about whales and wild men and queer countries which he had +seen in the course of his peregrinations. And when the evening came +and the tired citizen wanted to smoke a comfortable pipe and discuss +the politics of the pope, the emperor, kings, dukes, bishops and their +Mightinesses, his own aldermen, he liked to do so under the guidance +of a man who knew what was what in the world and who could compare the +stadholder's victories over the Spaniards with those which King Wunga +Wunga of Mozambique had gained over his Hottentot neighbors, and who +knew that the wine of Oporto sold in Havana for less than the vinegar +from Dantsic and the salted fish from Archangel. + +Therefore we are not surprised when in the year 1595 we find Oliver +van Noort described as the owner of the "Double White Keys," an +ale-house in the town of Rotterdam. He might have finished his days +there in peace and prosperity, but when Houtman returned from his +first voyage and the craze for the riches of the Indies, or at least +a share thereof, struck the town of Rotterdam, Van Noort, together +with everybody else who could borrow a few pennies, began to think +of new ways of reaching the marvelous island of Java, made of gold +and jewels and the even more valuable pepper and nutmeg. Van Noort +himself possessed some money and the rest he obtained from several of +his best customers. With this small sum he founded a trading company +of his own. He petitioned the estates general of the republic and the +estates of his own province of Holland to assist him in an expedition +toward the "Kingdom of Chili, the west coast of America, and if need +be, the islands of the Moluccas." To make this important enterprise +successful, the estates general were asked to give Van Noort and his +trading company freedom of export and import for at least six voyages, +and to present it with ten cannon and twelve thousand pounds of +gunpowder. He asked for much in the hope of obtaining at least part of +what he desired. + +In the winter of 1597 his request was granted. He received four guns, +six thousand pounds of bullets, twelve thousand pounds of gunpowder, +and a special grant which relieved him of the customary export tax +for two voyages. This demand for cannon, gunpowder, and bullets gives +us the impression that the expedition expected to meet with serious +trouble. That was quite true. The southern part of America was the +private property of the Spaniards and the Portuguese. Anybody who +ventured into those regions flying the Dutch colors did so at his own +peril. Among his fellow-citizens Van Noort had the reputation of great +courage. Nobody knew any precise details of his early life, but it was +whispered, although never proved, that many years ago, long before +the days of Houtman, he had tried to reach the Indies all alone, but +that he had preferred the more lucrative profession of pirate to the +dangerous calling of the pioneer. Since, however, all his privateering +had been done at the expense of the Spaniards, nobody minded these +few alleged irregularities of his youthful days. And the merchants +who drank their pot of ale at his inn willingly provided him with the +money which he needed, bade him go ahead, and helped him when during +the winter of the year 1597 he was getting his two ships ready for the +voyage. + +Now, it happened that at that time a number of merchants in Amsterdam +were working for the same purpose. They, too, wanted to sail to the +Moluccas by way of the Strait of Magellan. For the sake of greater +safety the two companies decided to travel together. In June of the +year 1597 their fleet, composed of four ships, was ready for the +voyage. Van Noort was to command the biggest vessel, the _Mauritius_, +while the commander of the Amsterdam company was to be vice-admiral +of the fleet on board the _Henrick Frederick_. The name of the +vice-admiral was Jacob Claesz. We know nothing about his early career, +but we know all the details of his tragic end. There were two other +small ships. There was a yacht called the _Eendracht_, and there was +a merchantman called the _Hope_. The tonnage of the ships is not +mentioned, but since there were only two hundred and forty-eight men on +the four ships, they must have been small even for that time. + +In a general way our meager information about the invested capital, +the strange stories of the early lives of the commanders, and the very +rough character of the crew show that we have to do with one of the +many mushroom companies, an enterprise which was not based upon very +sound principles, but was of a purely speculative nature. During the +earliest days of Indian trading, however, all good merchants were in +such a hurry to make money to get to Java long before anybody else and +to reach home ahead of all competitors that there was no time for the +promoting of absolutely sound companies. + +On the other hand, the men who commanded those first expeditions had +all been schooled in the noble art of self-reliance during the first +twenty terrible years of the war against Spain. They were brave, they +were resourceful, they succeeded where others, more careful, would have +failed. + +On the twenty-eighth of June of the year 1597 Van Noort left Rotterdam +to await his companions from Amsterdam in the Downs, England. He waited +for several weeks, but the ships did not appear, so he went back to +Holland to find out what might have become of them. He found them lying +at anchor in one of the Zeeland streams. Evidently there had been a +misunderstanding as to the exact meeting-place of the two squadrons. +Together they then began the voyage for a second time. They had lost a +month and a half in waiting for each other, but at that date forty-five +days more or less did not matter. The trip was to take a couple of +years, anyway. + +[Illustration] + +First of all Van Noort went to Plymouth, where he had arranged to meet +a British sailor, commonly referred to as "Captain Melis," a man +who had been around the world with Captain Cavendish in 1588, and who +was familiar with the stormy regions around the southern part of the +American continent. In exchange for one Englishman, Van Noort lost +several good Dutchmen. Six of his sailors deserted, and could not be +found again. + +The first part of the trip was along the coast of Africa, a road which +we know from other expeditions. Then came a story with which we are +only too familiar from previous accounts, for the much dreaded scurvy +appeared among the men. When the fleet passed the small island of +Principe in the Gulf of Guinea, it was decided to land there and try +to obtain fresh water and fresh food. Unfortunately, this island was +within the established domain of the Portuguese, and the Hollanders +must be careful. Early in the morning of the day on which they intended +to look for water they sent three boats ashore flying a white flag as +a sign of their peaceful intentions. The inhabitants of the island +came near the boats, also carrying a white flag. They informed the +Hollanders that if they would kindly visit the near-by villages the +natives would sell them everything they wanted, provided the Hollanders +paid cash. The men were ordered to stay near the boats, but four +officers went farther inland. They were asked to come first of all +to the Portuguese castle that was on the island. They went, but once +inside, they were suddenly attacked, and three of them were murdered. +The fourth one jumped out of the gate just in time to save his life. He +ran to the shore. This was a great loss to the Hollanders, for among +the men who had been killed was a brother of Admiral van Noort and +the English pilot upon whom they depended to guide them through the +difficult Strait of Magellan. + +[Illustration] + +To uphold the prestige of the Dutch Republic, Van Noort decided to +make an example. The next day after he landed with 120 of his men and +entrenched himself near the mouth of a river, so that he might fill his +water-tanks at leisure. Then, following this river, he went into the +interior of the country and burned down all the plantations and houses +he could find. + +Well provided with fresh water, he thereupon crossed the Atlantic +Ocean and steered for the coast of Brazil. On the ninth of February he +dropped anchor in the harbor of Rio de Janeiro, which was a Portuguese +town. He carefully kept out of reach of the menacing guns of the +fortification. The reception in Brazil was little more cordial than it +had been on the other side of the ocean. The Portuguese sent a boat +to the Dutch ships to ask what they wanted. The answer was that the +Hollanders were peaceful travelers in need of fresh provisions. The +provisions were promised for the next day, but Van Noort, who had +heard similar promises before, was on his guard and for safety's sake +he kept a few Portuguese sailors on his ship as hostages. + +On the morning of the next day he sent several of his men to the shore +to get the supplies. They landed near a mountain called the Sugarloaf. +Once more the Portuguese did not play the game fairly. They had posted +a number of their soldiers in a well-hidden ambush near the Sugarloaf. +These soldiers suddenly opened fire, wounded a large number of the +Dutch seamen and took two of them prisoners. A little later a shot +fired from one of the cannon of the castle killed a man on board the +_Eendracht_. The two Dutch prisoners were safely returned the next day +in exchange for the Portuguese hostages, but Van Noort was obliged to +leave the town without getting his provisions. Therefore a few days +later he landed on a small island near the coast where he found water +and fruit, and his men caught fish and wild birds and were happy. Again +the Portuguese interfered. They had ordered a number of Indians to +follow the Dutch fleet and do whatever damage they could. When a Dutch +boat with six men came rowing to the shore it was suddenly attacked by +a large number of Indians in canoes. Two of the six men were killed. +The other four were taken prisoner and were never seen again. + +Of course adventures of this sort were not very encouraging. Some of +the officers suggested that, after all, it might be a better idea to +discontinue the voyage around the South American coast before it was +too late. They proposed that the ships should cross the Atlantic once +more, and should either go to St. Helena and wait there until the next +spring or should sail to India by way of the Cape of Good Hope; for it +was now the month of March, and in that part of the world our summer is +winter and our winter is summer. Wherefore they greatly feared that the +ships could not reach the Strait of Magellan before the winter storms +of July should set in. It was upon such occasions that Van Noort showed +his courage and his resolute spirit. His expedition was in bad shape. +One of the ships, the _Eendracht_, was leaking badly. Through the +bad water, the hard work, and the insufficient food a large number +of sailors had fallen ill, and every day some of them died. Wherever +the expedition tried to land on the coast of Brazil to get water and +supplies they found strong Portuguese detachments which drove them +away. Not for a moment, however, did Van Noort dream of giving up his +original plans. + +[Illustration] + +At last, after many weeks and by mere chance, he found a little island +called St. Clara where there were no Portuguese and no unfriendly +natives and where he could build a fort on shore to land the sick +men and cure them of their scurvy with fresh herbs. The expedition +remained on Santa Clara for three weeks. Gradually the strength of the +men returned, but they were still very weak, and it was now necessary +that they should get plenty of exercise in the open air. Therefore the +admiral ordered the kitchens to be built at a short distance from the +fort. Those men who walked out to the kitchen got more dinner than +those who demanded that their food be brought to them. Soon they all +walked, and they greatly benefited by this little scheme of their +commander. On June 28 they were able to go back to the ship, and then +they set sail for the south. Two men, however, who had caused trouble +since the beginning of the voyage and who seemed to be incorrigible +were left behind on the island to get home as best they could. They +never did. Even such a severe punishment was not a deterrent. A few +days later a sailor attacked and wounded one of the officers with a +knife. He was spiked to the mast with the same knife stuck through his +right hand. Then he was left standing until he had pulled the knife +out himself. It was a very rough crew, and only a system of discipline +enforced in this cruel fashion saved the officers from being murdered +and thrown overboard, so that the men might return home or become +pirates. + +I have just mentioned the bad condition of the _Eendracht_. The ship +was so unseaworthy, and so great was the danger of drowning all on +board, that Van Noort at last decided to sacrifice the vessel. The +sailors were divided among the other ships, and the _Eendracht_ was +burned off the coast of Brazil. + +Van Noort now reached the southern part of the American continent. + +The Strait of Magellan had been discovered in 1530. But even in the +year 1598 it was little known. The few mariners who had passed through +had all told of the difficulty of navigating these narrows, with +their swift currents running from ocean to ocean and their terrible +storms, not to speak of the fog. Crossing from the Atlantic into the +Pacific was therefore something which was considered a very difficult +feat, and Van Noort did not dare to risk it with his ships in their +bad condition. He made for the little Island of Porto Deseado, which +Cavendish had discovered only a few years before. There was a sand-bank +near the coast, and upon this the ships were anchored at high tide. +Then, when the tide fell, the ships were left on the dry sand, and +the men had several hours in which to clean, tar, and calk them and +generally overhaul everything that needed repairing. On the shore of +the island a regular smithy was constructed. For three months everybody +worked hard to get the vessels in proper condition for the dangerous +voyage. + +[Illustration] + +While they were on the island the captain of the _Hope_ died. He was +buried with great solemnity, and the former captain of the _Eendracht_ +was made commander of the _Hope_, which was rebaptized the _Eendracht_. +This word means harmony in Dutch, and the Good Lord knows that they +needed harmony during the many difficult months which were to follow. +On November 5, fourteen months after Van Noort left Holland, and when +the number of his men had been reduced to 148, he at last reached the +Strait of Magellan. The ship of the admiral entered the strait first, +and was followed by the new _Eendracht_. The _Henrick Frederick_, +however, commanded by Jacob Claesz, the vice-admiral, went her own way. +Van Noort signaled to this ship to keep close to the _Mauritius_, but +he never received an answer. Van Noort then ordered Claesz to come to +the admiral's vessel and give an account of himself. The only answer +which he received to that message was that Captain Claesz was just as +good as Admiral van Noort, and was going to do just exactly what he +pleased. + +[Illustration] + +This was a case of open rebellion, but Van Noort was so busy navigating +the difficult current that he could not stop to make an investigation. +Four times his ship was driven back by the strong wind. At the fifth +attempt the ship at last passed the first narrows and anchored well +inside the strait. The next day they passed a high mountain which they +called Cape Nassau, and where they saw many natives running toward the +shore. The natives in the southern part of the continent were not like +the ordinary Indian with whom the Hollanders were familiar. They were +very strong and brave and caused the Hollanders much difficulty. They +handled bows and arrows well, and their coats, made of skin, gave them +a general appearance of greater civilization than anybody had expected +to find in this distant part of the world. When the Dutch sailors rowed +to the shore of the strait, the Indians attacked them at once. It was +an unequal battle of arrows against bullets. The natives were driven +back into their mountains, where they defended themselves in front of +a large hollow rock. At last, however, all the men had been killed, +and then the sailors discovered that the grotto was filled with many +women and children. They did not harm these, but captured four small +boys and two little girls to take home to Holland. It seems to have +been an inveterate habit of early expeditions to distant countries to +take home some natives as curiosities. Beginning with Columbus, every +explorer had brought a couple of natives with him when he returned +home. The poor things usually died of small-pox or consumption or some +other civilized disease. In case they kept alive, they became a sort of +nondescript town-curiosity. What Van Noort intended to do with little +Patagonians in Rotterdam I do not know, but he had half a dozen on +board when on November 28 his two ships reached the spot where they +expected to find a strong Spanish castle. + +[Illustration] + +This fortress, so they knew, had been built after the attack of Drake +on the west coast of America. Drake's expedition had caused a panic +among the Spanish settlements of Chile and Peru. Orders had come from +Madrid to fortify the Strait of Magellan and close the narrows to +all foreign vessels. A castle had been built and a garrison had been +sent. Then, however, as happened often in Spain, the home government +had forgotten all about this isolated spot. No provisions had been +forwarded. The country itself, being barren and cold, did not raise +anything which a Spaniard could eat. After a few years the castle had +been deserted. When Cavendish sailed through the strait he had taken +the few remaining cannon out of the ruins. Van Noort did not even find +the ruins. Two whole months Van Noort spent in the strait. He took his +time in this part of the voyage. He dropped anchor in a bay which he +called Olivier's Bay, and there began to build some new life-boats. + +After a few days the mutinous _Henrick Frederick_ also appeared in this +bay. Van Noort asked Claesz to come on board his ship and explain +his strange conduct. The vice-admiral refused to obey. He was taken +prisoner, and brought before a court-martial. We do not know the real +grounds for the strange conduct of Claesz. He might have known that +discipline in those days meant something brutally severe; and yet +he disobeyed his admiral's positive orders, and when he was brought +before the court-martial he could not or would not defend himself. +He was found guilty, and he was condemned to be put on shore. He was +given some bread and some wine, and when the fleet sailed away he was +left behind all alone. There was of course a chance that another ship +would pick him up. A few weeks before other Dutch ships had been in the +strait. But this chance was a very small one, and the sailors of Van +Noort knew it. They said a prayer for the soul of their former captain +who was condemned to die a miserable death far away from home. Yet +no one objected to this punishment. Navigation to the Indies in the +sixteenth century was as dangerous as war, and insubordination could +not be tolerated, not even when the man who refused to obey orders was +one of the original investors of the expedition and second in command. + +On the twenty-ninth of February Van Noort reached the Pacific. The last +mile from the strait into the open sea took him four weeks. He now +sailed northward along the coast of South America. Two weeks later, +during a storm, the _Henrick Frederick_ disappeared. Such an occurrence +had been foreseen. Van Noort had told his captains to meet him near the +island of Santa Maria in case they should become separated from him +during the night or in a fog. Therefore he did not worry about the fate +of the ship, but sailed for the coast of Chile. + +After a short visit and a meeting with some natives, who told him that +they hated the Spaniards and welcomed the Hollanders as their defenders +against the Spanish oppressors, Van Noort reached the island of Santa +Maria. In the distance he saw a ship. Of course he thought that this +must be his own lost vessel waiting for him; but when he came near, the +strange ship hoisted her sails and fled. It was a Spaniard called the +_Buen Jesus_. The Dutch admiral could not allow this ship to escape. +It might have warned the Spanish admiral in Lima, and then Van Noort +would have been obliged to fight the entire Spanish Pacific fleet. +The _Eendracht_ was ordered to catch the _Buen Jesus_. This she did, +for the Dutch ships could sail faster than the Spanish ones, though +they were smaller. Van Noort had done wisely. The Spaniard was one of +a large fleet detailed to watch the arrival of the Dutch vessels. The +year before another Dutch fleet had reached the Pacific. It suffered a +defeat at the hands of the Spaniards. This had served as a warning. +The Hollanders did not have the reputation of giving up an enterprise +when once they had started upon it, and the Spanish fleet was kept +cruising in the southern part of the Pacific to destroy whatever Dutch +ships might try to enter the private domains of Spain. + +[Illustration] + +From that moment Van Noort's voyage and his ships in the Pacific were +as safe as a man smoking a pipe in a powder-magazine. They might be +destroyed at any moment. As a best means of defense, the Hollanders +decided to make a great show of strength. They did not wait for +the assistance of the _Henrick Frederick_, but sailed at once to +Valparaiso, took several Spanish ships anchored in the roads, and +burned all of the others except one, which was added to the Dutch +fleet. From the captain of the _Buen Jesus_ Van Noort had heard that a +number of Hollanders were imprisoned in the castle of Valparaiso. He +sent ashore, asking for information, and he received letters from a +Dutchman, asking for help. + +Van Noort, however, was too weak to attack the town, but he thought +that something might be done in this case through kindness. So he set +all the crew of the _Buen Jesus_ except the mate free, and him he +kept as an hostage, and sent the men to the Spanish commander with +his compliments. Thereupon he continued his voyage, but was careful +to stay away from Lima, where he knew there were three large Spanish +vessels waiting for him. Instead of that, he made for the Cape of San +Francisco, where he hoped to capture the Peruvian silver fleet. Quite +accidentally, however, he discovered that he was about to run into +another trap. Some Negro slaves who had been on board the _Buen Jesus_, +and who were now with Van Noort, spread the rumor that more than fifty +thousand pounds of gold which had been on the _Buen Jesus_ had been +thrown overboard just before the Hollanders captured the vessel. The +mate of the ship was still on the _Mauritius_, and he was asked if this +was true. He denied it, but he denied it in such a fashion that it was +hard to believe him. Therefore he was tortured. Not very much, but just +enough to make him desirous of telling the truth. He then told that +the gold had actually been on board the _Buen Jesus_; and since he +was once confessing, he volunteered further information, and now told +Van Noort that the captain of the _Buen Jesus_ and he had arranged to +warn the Spanish fleet to await the Hollanders near Cape San Francisco +and to attack them there while the Hollanders were watching the coast +of Peru for the Peruvian silver fleet. No further information was +wanted, and the Spaniard was released. He might have taken this episode +as a warning to be on his good behavior. Thus far he had been well +treated. He slept and took his meals in Van Noort's own cabin. But soon +afterward he tried to start a mutiny among the Negro slaves who had +served with him on the Spanish man-of-war. Without further trial he was +then thrown overboard. + +The expedition against the silver fleet, however, had to be given +up. It would have been too dangerous. It became necessary to leave +the eastern part of the Pacific and to cross to the Indies as fast +as possible. The Spanish ship which had been captured in Valparaiso +proved to be a bad sailor and was burned. The two Dutch ships, with a +crew of about a hundred men, sailed alone for the Marianne Islands. +Some travelers have called these islands the Ladrones. That means +the islands of the Thieves, and the natives who came flocking out to +the ships showed that they deserved this designation. They were very +nimble-fingered, and they stole whatever they could find. They would +climb on board the ships of Van Noort, take some knives or merely a +piece of old iron, and before anybody could prevent them they had dived +overboard and had disappeared under water. All day long their little +canoes swarmed around the Dutch ships. They offered many things for +sale, but they were very dishonest in trade, and the rice they sold was +full of stones, and the bottoms of their rice baskets were filled with +cocoanuts. Two days were spent getting fresh water and buying food, and +then Van Noort sailed for the Philippine Islands. On the fourteenth of +October of the year 1600 he landed on the eastern coast of Luzon. By +this time the Dutch ships were in the heart of the Spanish colonies, +and it was necessary to be very careful not to be detected as +Hollanders. The natives on shore, who had seen them in the distance, +warned the Spanish authorities, and early in the morning a sloop rowed +by natives brought a Spanish officer. + +[Illustration] + +Van Noort arranged a fine little comedy for his benefit. He hoisted the +Spanish flag and he dressed a number of his men in cowls, so that they +would look like monks. These peeped over the bulwarks when the Spaniard +came near, mumbling their prayers with great devotion. + +Van Noort himself, with the courtesy of the professional innkeeper, +received his guest, and in fluent French told him that his ship was +French and that he was trading in this part of the Indies with the +special permission of his Majesty the Spanish king. He regretted to +inform his visitor that his first mate had just died and that he did +not know exactly in which part of the Indies his ship had landed. +Furthermore he told the Spaniard that he was sadly in need of +provisions and this excellent boarding officer was completely taken +in by the comedy and at once gave Van Noort rice and a number of live +pigs. The next day a higher officer made his appearance. Again that +story of being a French ship was told, and, what is more, was believed. +Van Noort was allowed to buy what he wanted and to drop anchor on the +coast. To expedite his work, he sent one of his sailors who spoke +Spanish fluently to the shore. This man reported that the Spaniards +never even considered the possibility of an attack by Dutch ships so +far away from home and so well protected by their fleet in the Pacific. +Everything seemed safe. + +But at last the Spaniards, who had heard a lot about the wonderful +commission given to this strange captain by the King of France and +the King of Spain, but who had never seen it, became curious. Quite +suddenly they sent a captain accompanied by a learned priest who could +verify the documents. It was a difficult case for the Dutch admiral. +His official letters were all signed by the man with whom Spain was +in open warfare, Prince Maurice of Nassau. When this name was found +at the bottom of Van Noort's documents, his little comedy was over. +Nobody thereafter was allowed to leave the ship, and the natives were +forbidden to trade with the Hollander. Van Noort, however, had obtained +the supplies he needed. He had an abundance of fresh provisions, and +two natives had been hired to act as pilot in the straits between the +different Philippine Islands. + +[Illustration] + +The next few weeks Van Noort actually spent among those islands, and +with his two ships terribly battered after a voyage of more than two +years of travel he spread terror among the Spaniards. Many ships were +taken, and landing parties destroyed villages and houses. Finally +he even dared to sail into the Bay of Manila. Under the guns of the +Spanish fleet he set fire to a number of native ships, and then spent +several days in front of the harbor taking the cargo out of the ships +which came to the Spanish capital to pay tribute. As a last insult, he +sent a message to the Spanish governor to tell him that he intended to +visit his capital shortly, and then got ready to depart for further +conquest. He had waited just a few hours too long and he had been +just a trifle too brave, for before he could get ready for battle his +ships were attacked by two large Spanish men-of-war. The _Mauritius_ +was captured. That is to say, the Spaniards drove all the Hollanders +from her deck and jumped on board. But the crew fought so bravely +from below with guns and spears and small cannon that the Spaniards +were driven back to their own ship. It was a desperate fight. If the +Hollanders had been taken prisoner, they would have been hanged without +trial. Van Noort encouraged his men, and told them that he would blow +up the ship before he would surrender. Even those who were wounded +fought like angry cats. At last a lucky shot from the _Mauritius_ hit +the largest Spaniard beneath the water-line. It was the ship of the +admiral of Manila, and at once began to sink. There was no hope for +any one on board her. In the distance Van Noort could see that the +_Eendracht_, which had only twenty-five men, had just been taken by +the other Spanish ship. With his own wounded crew he could not go to +her assistance. To save his own vessel, he was obliged to escape as +fast as possible. He hoisted his sails as well as he could with the few +sailors who had been left unharmed. Of fifty-odd men five were dead and +twenty-six were badly wounded. Right through the quiet sea, strewn with +pieces of wreckage and scores of men clinging to masts and boxes and +tables, the _Mauritius_ made her way. With cannon and guns and spears +the survivors on the _Mauritius_ killed as many Spaniards as possible. +The others were left to drown. Then the ship was cleaned, the dead +Spaniards were thrown overboard, and piloted by two Chinese traders who +were picked up during the voyage, Van Noort safely reached the coast +of Borneo. Here the natives almost succeeded in killing the rest of +his men. In the middle of the night they tried to cut the cables of +the last remaining anchor. The _Mauritius_ would have been driven on +shore, and the natives could have plundered her at leisure; but their +plan was discovered by the Hollanders. A second attempt to hide eighty +well-armed men in a large canoe which was pretending to bring a gift of +several oxen came to nothing when the natives saw that Van Noort's men +made ready to fire their cannon. + + [Illustration: La bataille d'dutre nous et contpe sieux de Manille + faicte le 14 Decembre an^o 1600] + +Another year had now gone by. It was January of 1601, and Van Noort's +condition was still very dangerous. There were no supplies on board. +The Chinese pilots did not know the coast of Borneo. There were many +islands and many straits, and Van Noort had lost all idea as to +his exact position. When he met a Chinese vessel on the way to India +he forced it to heave to and stole the mate, who was an experienced +sailor. Then the wind suddenly refused to blow from the right +direction, and it was many weeks before the _Mauritius_ reached the +harbor of Cheribon, in the central part of Java, many miles away from +Bantam. + +[Illustration] + +Van Noort called upon his few remaining officers to decide what they +ought to do. If his expedition were to be a financial success, he must +find some place where he could buy spices. Bantam was near by, but +according to the stories of Houtman and his expedition, the people +in Bantam were very unfriendly. With his twenty-three men the Dutch +commander did not dare to risk another battle. It is true that since +the visit of Houtman his successor Van Neck had established very good +relations with the sultan; but Van Noort had been away from home for +over three years, and knew nothing of Van Neck's voyage. + +He might have guessed that there were Hollanders in Bantam when he +found that there were no spices to be had in any of the other Javanese +ports. Wherever he went he heard the same story. All the spices were +now being sent to Bantam, where the Hollanders paid a very high price +for them. But Van Noort distrusted this report. It might be another +plot of the Portuguese to catch him, and to keep out of harm's way, he +sailed through the straits of Bali, avoided the north coast of Java and +went to the Cape of Good Hope. + +The home trip was the most successful part of the entire voyage. It is +true that, without good instruments, the Dutch ships once more lost +their bearings. They thought that they were two hundred miles away +from the coast of Africa when they had already passed the cape. On +the twenty-sixth of May Van Noort landed at St. Helena. Three weeks +later he met a large fleet. The ships flew the Dutch flag. They were +part of a squadron commanded by Jacob van Heemskerk, outward bound for +their second voyage to India. From them the Hollanders got their first +news from home; how Van Neck's expedition had been a great success, +and how Bantam, which had been carefully avoided, was now a Dutch +settlement. Van Noort told them of his fight with the Spanish fleet +in different parts of the Pacific, and in turn he was informed of the +great victory which Prince Maurice had just won over the Spaniards near +Nieuwpoort which had assured the Dutch Republic its final liberty. Then +both fleets continued their voyage. On the twenty-eighth of August Van +Noort and forty-four out of the two hundred and forty-eight who had +sailed away with him three years before came back to Rotterdam. + + [Illustration: La baye de Isle et Cite de Borneo. Bapt. a Deutechum + fec.] + +The next year a few other men who had belonged to the expedition +reached Holland. They had served on the _Henrick Frederick_ which had +disappeared just after Van Noort had left the Strait of Magellan. They +had waited for their commander near the island of Santa Maria, but the +arrival of the Spanish man-of-war had spoiled all idea of meeting each +other on that spot. The _Henrick Frederick_ had crossed the Pacific +alone. Many of her men had died, and the others were so weak that when +they reached the Moluccas they could no longer handle the ship. They +had sold it to the Sultan of Ternate for some bags of nutmeg, and with +a small sloop of their own construction they had reached Bantam in +April of the year 1602. There they had found a part of the same fleet +of Heemskerk which Van Noort had met on the coast of Africa. On one +of the ships many sailors had just died. Their place had been offered +to the men of the old _Henrick Frederick_. In the winter of 1602 they +returned to their home city. + +That ended one of the most famous of the expeditions which tried to +establish for the Hollanders a new route to the Indies through the +Strait of Magellan. But while Van Noort was in the Pacific the route +of the cape had proved to be such a great and easy success that +further attempts to reach Java and the Moluccas by way of the Strait +of Magellan were hereafter given up. The Pacific trading companies +were changed into ordinary Indian companies which sent all their ships +around the cape. As for Van Noort, who was the first Hollander to sail +around the world, he entered the naval service of the republic, and had +a chance to practise his very marked ability as a leader of men in more +dangerous circumstances. As an Indian trader he would not have been a +great success. The old irresponsible buccaneering days of that trade +were gone forever. The difficult art of founding a commercial empire by +persuasion rather than by force was put into the hands of men who were +not only brave, but also tactful. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE ATTACK UPON THE WEST COAST OF AMERICA + + +This is the story of another expedition which tried to get possession +of the Indian route by way of the Strait of Magellan. It was a sad +business. + +[Illustration] + +Oliver Van Noort, although he met with many difficulties, managed +to bring one ship home and added greatly to the fame of the Dutch +navigators. But the second expedition, equipped by two of the richest +men of Rotterdam and sent out under the best of auspices, proved to be +a total failure. The capital of half a million guilders which had been +invested was an absolute loss. Most of the participants in the voyage +died. The ships were lost. Perhaps everything had been prepared just a +trifle too carefully. Van Noort, with his little ships, knew that he +had to depend upon his own energy and resourcefulness; but the captains +of the five ships which left Rotterdam on the twenty-seventh of July, +1598, with almost five hundred men were under the impression that half +of the work had been done at home by the owners. Perhaps, too, there is +such a thing as luck in navigating the high seas. One fleet sails for +the Indies and has good weather all the way across the ocean. When the +wind blows hard it blows from the right direction. The next squadron +which leaves two weeks later meets with storms and suffers from one +unfortunate accident after the other; everybody gets sick, and when the +sailors look for relief on land they find nothing but a barren desert. +And so it goes. It is not for us to complain, but to recite faithfully +the sad adventures of the good ships the _Hoop_, the _Liefde_, the +_Geloof_, the _Trouwe_, and the _Blyde Boodschap_, all of which tried +very hard to accomplish what Van Noort had been allowed to do with much +less trouble. + +The ships, as we said, left Rotterdam in July, and after two months +they reached the Cape Verde Islands. There they found a couple of +ships from Hamburg, for the Germans at the early period of exploring +and discoveries were very active sailors. A few years later, however, +the Thirty Years' War was to destroy their seafaring enterprises for +centuries at least. + +Near these islands the Hollanders had their first encounter with the +Portuguese. The stories of such meetings between the early Dutch +navigators and the Portuguese owners of African and Asiatic islands +always read the same way. The Hollanders ask for leave to go on +shore to get fresh water and to buy provisions. This leave is never +granted. Then the two parties fight each other. In most cases the +Hollanders are victorious, though they still have too much respect for +the traditional power of the Portuguese to risk a definite attack upon +their strongholds. Very slowly and only after many years of experiment +do they venture to drive the Portuguese out of their colonies and take +possession of this large, but badly managed, empire. + +When our five Dutch ships reached the island of San Thome they sent a +messenger to the Portuguese commander and asked him, please, to give +them some fresh water. The Portuguese told the Hollanders to wait. But +they could not wait, for the water on board the ships had all been used +up. Therefore they landed with one hundred and fifty men and charged +the hill upon which the Portuguese had built a fortress. The garrison +was forced to surrender. Before any more fighting took place the +Portuguese offered to treat the Hollanders as welcome guests if they +would sail to the next harbor of San Iago, where there was an abundance +of stores and where general provisions were for sale at reasonable +prices. This proposal was accepted. The sailors went back to their +ships and made for San Iago. The wind, however, was not favorable, and +they did not reach their destination until the hour appointed to meet +the Portuguese officials had passed. When they arrived near the shore +they noticed that the soldiers on land were very active and had placed +a number of cannon in an ambush from which they could destroy the Dutch +ships as soon as they should have dropped anchor. This, of course, was +a breach of good faith. So back they went to their first landing-place. +They landed, filled all their water-tanks, took the corn stored in a +small storehouse, killed several Portuguese, caught a large number of +turtles for the sick people on board, and hoisted sail to cross the +Atlantic Ocean. + +And then the bad luck which was to follow this expedition began. The +admiral of the fleet, Jacques Mahu, died suddenly of a fever and was +buried at sea. Two weeks later so many men were desperately ill with +the same fever that the ships were obliged to return upon their own +track and establish a hospital upon one of the islands off the coast +of Guinea. All this time the wind blew from the wrong direction. When +at last they saw land, they found that they were near the coast of +Lower Guinea. They sent a boat to the shore to discover some native +tribe which owned cattle. But the natives, who feared all white men as +possible slave-dealers, ran into the bushes and carefully took their +possessions with them. Fortunately, after a few days another Dutch +ship appeared upon the horizon, and the first mate of this vessel, a +Frenchman by birth, knew the language of the negroes. Through him a +message was sent to the king of a small tribe, and when it had been +proved that the Hollanders were not slave-dealers, but honest merchants +on their way to the Indies and willing to pay money for whatever they +bought, their newly elected commander, Sebalt de Weert was received in +state and invited to dine with his Majesty. + +[Illustration] + +This dinner, much to the regret of the hungry guests, was a poor +affair. The negro chieftain tried to be very civil to his guests. In +their honor he had powdered himself white with the ashes of a wood +fire, but the food was neither abundant nor very good. The Hollanders +decided to invite his Majesty to one of their own dinners as a good +example and a hint. From among the few supplies which were left on +board they arranged so excellent a dinner that his royal Highness ate +everything on the table and then fell fast asleep in his chair. But +when the next day the Hollanders tried to buy the fresh provisions +which they expected to get, they found that the domains of the king +produced nothing but one single goat, a lean goat at that, and four +puny chickens. + +The coast of Guinea, sometimes called the "dry Gallows," gets its +agreeable reputation from the fact that the malarial fevers of this +swampy region usually kill all the white people who venture to settle +there. The new commander of the expedition caught this malaria, and +was sick in his bed for over two months. Sixteen of his sailors died, +and finally the expedition was obliged to flee to the healthy islands, +which of course belonged to the Portuguese. Early in December they +sailed toward Annabon. Once again the Portuguese refused them both +water and food. A troop of men were landed to take by force what they +could not obtain through an appeal to Christian charity. The Portuguese +did not await this attack, but surrendered their fortress and fled +toward the mountains. From there they arranged sniping expeditions +which killed many Hollanders. As a punishment, Admiral de Weert burned +the white settlement and the church. He took all the provisions which +were stored in the little town, and on the second of January of the +year 1599 he tried once more to cross the Atlantic Ocean. + +This time the wind was favorable. Soon the ships had passed out of the +hot equatorial regions. The sailors who had suffered from scurvy and +malaria began to feel better in the colder climate of the Argentinian +coast. They recovered so fast and they had such a great appetite after +their long-enforced fast that many of them threatened to die from +over-feeding. And one poor fellow who was so hungry that he stole bread +at night from the ship's pantry was publicly hanged to stop further +theft of the meager supplies. When the ships were near the coast of +South America things went wrong once more. First of all the sailors +were frightened by the sudden appearance of what they supposed to be +blood upon the surface of the ocean. As far as the eye could reach, +the water was of a dark-red color. This phenomenon, however, proved +to be caused by billions of little plants. They made the water look +quite horrible, but they were entirely harmless. A few days later one +of the men, an Englishman, while at dinner suddenly uttered a dreadful +scream and fell backward, dead. The next day another one of the sailors +suddenly became insane and tried to scratch and bite everybody who +came near him. After three days his condition improved somewhat, but +he never recovered his reason. When he was put to bed at night he +would not allow himself to be covered up. One very cold night both his +feet were frozen and had to be amputated. That was the end of the poor +fellow. He did not survive the operation. + +It was a sad expedition which at last reached the Strait of Magellan +on the sixth of April of the year 1599. Happily the weather near the +strait was fine. There was plenty of fresh water on the shore. The men +killed hundreds of birds, caught geese and ducks, and found a large +supply of oysters. But when finally the day came on which they tried +to enter the strait, the wind suddenly veered around, and during four +months the ships were forced to stay in their little harbor. They had +enough to eat and they had found wood to keep warm, but much valuable +time was lost, and when the winter at last came upon them with sudden +violence they were entirely unprepared for it. The reports of the +expeditions of Magellan and Drake and Cavendish had shown that an +expedition around the world was apt to suffer from too much heat, but +rarely from too much cold. Except for the few miles of the Strait of +Magellan, the ships sailed in tropical or semi-tropical regions all +the time. Therefore the Dutch ships had not brought any heavy clothes +or furs, which would have taken up a lot of room, and the food which +had been put up for them in Holland had been prepared with the idea +of supporting men who did their work under a blazing sun. When they +were obliged to live for a long time in a raw, cold climate and work +hard, hunting and fishing and gathering wood amid snow and icy winds, +the sailors did not get sufficient nourishment. From sheer misery and +exposure one hundred and twenty men died within less than four months. +Among them was the captain of the _Trouwe_. He was the second officer +to perish before his ship had reached the Pacific Ocean. + +[Illustration] + +But illness was not the only enemy of this expedition. The natives of +the south coast joined the terrible climate in its attack upon the +Hollanders. They murdered Dutch sailors when these had gone on shore +to look for fire-wood or to examine their traps. They killed several +men and they wounded more. Being wounded was almost as bad as being +killed outright, for the spears of the natives were made with nasty +barbs which caused very bad wounds. When they once had penetrated into +a man's arm or hand, the only way to get them out successfully was by +pushing them through until they came out again at the other side, or +cut away all the flesh, in both cases a very painful operation. + +At last, on the twentieth of August, the wind turned, and the ships +were able to enter the strait. The joy of the men did not last very +long. The next day there was no wind at all, and once more the fleet +anchored. To keep his few remaining men busy, the commander arranged an +expedition on shore. It was the first time that a Dutch fleet had been +in this part of the world, and the event must be properly celebrated. +A high pole was planted in a conspicuous spot on shore, and the +adventures of the expedition and the names of the leaders were carved +on the pole. Near this pole a small cemetery was made where two sailors +who had died the night before were buried. In the evening all went +back to their ships. When they returned the next morning, they found +that the natives had hacked the monument to pieces and the corpses of +the dead Hollanders had been dug out of the earth and had been cut +into little bits and were spread all over the shore. This humiliating +experience was the last one which they suffered in the strait. The wind +at last turned to their advantage and on the third of September the +ships reached the Pacific Ocean. + +[Illustration] + +The good weather lasted just seven days. A week later, in the night +of the tenth of September, a severe storm attacked the little fleet, +and the next morning the ships had lost sight of one another. They +came together after a short search, but during the next night there +was another gale, and in the morning three of the five ships had +disappeared. Only the _Trouwe_ and the _Geloof_ were apparently saved. +During three weeks these two ships floated aimlessly about, driven +hither and thither upon the angry waves of the Pacific Ocean. They had +few supplies left, and they could not repair the damage that was done +to their masts because both ships had sent their carpenters to one +of the other vessels which had been in need of a general overhauling +and which was now lost. A month went by, and then they discovered +that they had been driven back into the strait. The admiral discussed +the situation with his chief officers. Did they advise going back +to Holland without having accomplished anything, or would they keep +on? The sailors all wanted to return to Holland. They did not have +any faith left in the results of this unhappy voyage. Many of them +were ill. Others pretended that they were too weak to work. Others +murmured about a lack of provisions. There was ground for this talk. +The supply-room was getting emptier and emptier in a very mysterious +way. At last the admiral decided to investigate this strange case. He +discovered that an unknown member of the crew possessed a key to the +bread-boxes and stuffed himself every night while his comrades were +kept on short rations. It was a gross breach of discipline. Apparently +the expedition was going from bad to worse. On the afternoon of the +tenth of December Admiral de Weert paid a call to the _Trouwe_ to talk +over the situation. The next morning the _Trouwe_ had disappeared. +De Weert never saw her again. He was all alone, and his safe return +depended upon his own unaided efforts. His first duty was to get enough +food. On a certain Sunday afternoon the few men of his ship who could +still walk were on shore looking for things to eat when they had an +encounter with a large number of natives who had just arrived in three +canoes. The natives fled, and hid themselves among the cliffs. One +woman and two small babies could not get away and were brought back to +the ship. The woman was kept a prisoner for forty-eight hours while the +Hollanders studied the habits and customs of the wild people of Tierra +del Fuego. The subject of their study refused to eat cooked food, but +dead birds which were thrown to her she ate as if she had been a wild +animal. The children did the same thing, tearing at the feathers with +their sharp teeth. After two days the mother and one of the children +were sent back to the shore with a number of presents. The other +child was kept on board and was taken back to Holland, where it died +immediately after arrival. On the sixteenth of December a last attempt +was made to find the _Trouwe_. A blank cartridge was fired, and a few +minutes later a distant answer was heard. Soon a ship came sailing +around a nearby cape. It was not the _Trouwe_, but the ship of Oliver +van Noort, who at the head of his expedition had just entered upon the +last stretch of his voyage through the strait. Van Noort had a story to +tell of a fairly successful voyage, plenty to eat, and little illness. +The hungry men of De Weert looked with envy at the happy faces of Van +Noort's sailors. The latter had just caught several thousand penguins +on a little island not far away. The starving crew of the _Geloof_ +asked that they be allowed to sail to this island and catch whatever +Van Noort had left alive. De Weert, however, refused this request. +Here was his last chance to get to the Indies in the company of the +squadron of Van Noort, and he meant to take it. The next morning he +joined the new ships on their westward course. But his sailors, weak +and miserable after more than a year of illness, could not obey their +captain's commands as fast as those who were on the other ships. Soon +the _Geloof_ was left behind. The next morning, when Van Noort entered +the Pacific, De Weert was helplessly blown back into the strait. It +seemed impossible to do more than he had tried to accomplish against +such great odds. He called all his remaining sailors together to hear +what they wanted him to do. They all had just one wish, to get home +as fast as possible by way of Brazil and Africa. The Pacific, so they +argued, offered nothing but disappointment. De Weert promised to give +his final decision on the next day, which was the first of January of +the year 1600. When the morning came, he found himself once more in +the company of other ships. Van Noort had reached the Pacific, but the +Western storms had been too much for his strong ships. For the second +time the Hollanders were all united in a cold little harbor inside the +Strait of Magellan. + +[Illustration] + +Van Noort now paid a personal visit to De Weert and asked what he could +do to help him. De Weert was much obliged for this offer, and asked for +bread enough to last him another four months. Unfortunately Van Noort +could not do this. He had still a very long voyage before him, and did +not dare to deprive his own men of their supplies. He advised De Weert +to go to the island of the penguins and to fill his storeroom with the +dried meat of these birds. Meanwhile, much to his regret, he must leave +De Weert as soon as possible, for he was in a hurry. + +[Illustration] + +The next day they said farewell to one another for the last time. De +Weert took the precautions to leave instructions for the captain of +the lost _Trouwe_. He wrote a letter which was placed inside a bottle, +and this bottle was buried at the foot of a high tree. On the tree +itself a board was hammered, and on this board a message was painted +telling in Dutch where to look for an important document at the foot +of the tree. Then the ship sailed to the penguin island, and the +thirty men who could do any work at all hunted the fat and lazy birds +until they had killed several thousand. It was easy work. The penguins +obligingly waited on their nests until they were killed. But the trip +to the island almost destroyed the entire expedition. There was only +one boat left, and in this boat the men who were not sick had rowed to +the shore. They had been careless in fastening her, and a sudden squall +caught her and threw her on the rocks. She was badly damaged and could +not be used without being repaired, but the men on shore had no tools +with which to do any repairing, while those on the ship were so ill +that they could not swim to the shore with the necessary hammers and +saws. Two entire days were used to get that boat into order with the +help of one ax and some pocket-knives, and during those two days the +men lived out in the open on the cold shore and lived on raw penguin +meat. + +The island, among other things, contained material evidences of Van +Noort's presence. A dead native, with his hands tied behind his +back, was found stretched out upon the sand. In a little hollow in +the rocks they discovered a woman who had been wounded by a gunshot. +They took good care of the woman, bandaged her wounds, and gave her +a pocket-knife. To show her gratitude, she told De Weert of another +island where there were even more penguins. The next week was spent +on this island, and now the men had plenty of food. But the ship was +without a single anchor and had only one leaking lifeboat. With the +certainty that he could not land anywhere unless boats were sent for +him from shore De Weert decided to return to the coast of Guinea and +try to reach home. On the eighteenth of January the _Geloof_ went +back upon her track. Two months later the vessel reached the coast +of Guinea. This trip back was not very eventful except for one small +incident. One of the sailors who was a drunkard had broken into +the storeroom and had stolen a lot of rice and several bottles of +wine. Theft was one of the things which was punished most severely. +Therefore, the man had been condemned to death and was to be hanged. +But while he was sitting in the rigging and waiting for somebody to +push him into eternity the other members of the crew felt sorry for him +and asked their captain to spare his life. At first he refused, but +finally he agreed to show clemency if the men would never bother him +again with a similar request. The prisoner was allowed to come down +from his high perch, and to show his gratitude he broke again into the +storeroom that same night. He was a very bad example. As such he was +hanged from the yardarm of the highest mast, and his body was dropped +into the sea. + +The crew, however, were so thoroughly demoralized by this time that +even such drastic measures did no good. They continued to pillage the +storeroom, and when at last four of them had been detected and had been +found guilty, their comrades were so weak that nobody could be found to +hang the prisoners properly and they had to be taken home. + +[Illustration] + +In July of the year 1600 the _Geloof_ reached the English Channel, and +on the thirteenth of that month she entered the mouth of the Maas. +There, within sight of home, one more sailor died. He was number +sixty-nine. Only thirty-six men came back to Rotterdam. They were +ill and had a story to tell of constant hardships and of terrible +disappointments. The great expedition of the two courageous merchants +and all their investments were a complete loss. None of the other ships +ever came back to Holland. But year after year stragglers from the +other four ships reached home and told of the fate of the other three +hundred sailors who had taken part in the unfortunate voyage. Some of +these reports have come down to us, and we are able to give a short +account of the adventures of each ship after that day early in the year +1600 when the Pacific storms had separated them from one another. + +First of all there was the _Trouwe_, which had remained faithful to +De Weert after the other three vessels had disappeared. The wind had +blown the _Trouwe_ out of the strait into the Pacific Ocean. For many +weeks her captain had lost all track of his whereabouts. Through +sheer luck he had at last reached a coast which he supposed to be the +continent of South America and after a search of a few days he had +found some natives who were friendly. The natives told the Hollanders +that this was not the American continent, but an island called Chiloe, +situated a few miles off the Chilean coast. The Dutch ships had been +made welcome. They were invited to stay in the harbor as long as they +wished. Meanwhile the natives told their captain about a plan of their +own which undoubtedly would please him. It seemed that the inhabitants +of Chiloe had good reason to hate the Spaniards, who were mighty on +the near-by continent and who recently had built a strong fort on the +island, from which they exercised their tyrannical rule over all the +natives and made them pay very heavy tribute. Perhaps, so the natives +argued, the Hollanders could be induced to give their assistance in a +campaign against the Spaniard. De Cordes, who commanded the _Trouwe_, +was a Catholic, but he was quite ready to offer his services in so good +a cause and was delighted to start a little private war of his own +upon the Spaniards. He made ready to sail for that part of the coast +where, according to his informants, the Spaniard had fortified himself. +Meanwhile the natives were to proceed on shore toward the same Spanish +fortress. An attack was to follow simultaneously from the land and the +sea. On the way to the fortress all Spanish houses and plantations, +storerooms and churches, were burned down and at last the fortress +itself was reached. The commander of the fortress, however, had heard +of the approach of this handful of Hollanders, and he sent them an +insulting message telling them that he needed a new stable boy, anyway, +and would bestow this high office upon the Dutch captain as soon as he +could have the necessary arrangements made. But when the Dutch captain +actually appeared upon the scene with a well-armed vessel and a band of +native auxiliaries and informed the Spaniard that the new stable boy +had come to take possession of his domain, the commander changed his +mind and offered the Hollanders whatever they wished if they would only +leave him alone. De Cordes, however, attacked the fort at once. He took +it, and the garrison was locked up in the church as prisoners. Then the +Chilean natives in their rage attacked the church and killed several of +the Spaniards. This was not what De Cordes wanted to be done. He did +not mind if a Hollander killed a Spaniard, but it did not look well for +one white man to allow a native to kill another while he himself stood +by. Therefore he returned their arms to the Spaniards and together they +then drove the natives away. When the natives, however, told the Dutch +sailors that the fort contained hidden treasures of which the Spaniards +had made no mention, the former allies attacked each other for the +second time, and the Spanish prisoners were sent on board the Dutch +ship. The story which we possess of this episode of the voyage is not +very clear. It was written many years later by one of the few sailors +who came back to Holland. His account of these adventures was so badly +printed and the spelling of the original pamphlet was so extraordinary +that a second scribe was later hired to turn the booklet into more or +less readable Dutch. The present translation has been made from this +second version. Everything is a bit mixed, and it is not easy to find +out what really happened. A common and ignorant sailor of the year 1600 +was not very different from the same sort of fellow who at present is +fighting in the European war. They both remember events in chunks, so +to speak. They have very vivid impressions of a few occurrences, but +they have forgotten other things of more importance because at the +time these did not strike their unobservant brain as being of any +special interest. But we have no other account of the adventures of the +_Trouwe_. We must use this information such as it is. + +[Illustration] + +The booty found in this small settlement had not been of great value. +The expedition felt inclined to move toward a richer port. They did +not have food enough for their prisoners, and fourteen of the nineteen +Spaniards who were locked up in the hold were thrown overboard. This +sounds very cruel, but it was the custom of the time that these two +nations rarely gave each other quarter. Whosoever was made a prisoner +was killed. The Spaniards started this practice in the middle of the +sixteenth century because the Hollanders as heretics deserved no better +fate. The Hollanders reciprocated. On this distant island of the +Pacific both parties obeyed the unwritten law. The Hollanders drowned +their prisoners. When Spanish reinforcements reached Chiloe and retook +the fort, they killed the Dutch garrison, for such was the custom of +the time. + +The _Trouwe_ after this famous exploit was in a difficult position, all +alone in the heart of the Pacific, with enemies on every side and a bad +conscience. The idea of attacking some other Spanish harbor in Chile +and Peru was given up as too dangerous. Near the harbor of Truxillo a +Spanish ship loaded with grain and wine was captured, and provided with +new supplies, De Cordes decided to risk the trip across the Pacific. On +the third of January, 1601, he reached Ternate in the Indies, where Van +Noort had been the year before, and where they found a Dutch settlement +commanded by that same Van der Does whose account of Houtman's first +trip to India we have given in the fourth chapter of this little book. +Van der Does warned De Cordes not to visit the next island of Tidore. +There were only twenty-four Hollanders left on board the _Trouwe_. +It was too dangerous to visit an unfriendly Portuguese colony with a +damaged ship and so small a crew. But De Cordes, who seems to have +been a reckless sort of person, went to Tidore all the same. Much to +his surprise he was very cordially received by the commander of the +Portuguese garrison and the governor of the town. They both assured him +that he might trade in their colony as much as he wished. If, however, +he would let them know what he wished to buy, they would give orders +that provisions and a cargo of spice should be got ready for their +distinguished visitors. They invited him to come on shore the next +morning. They wanted to make him a present of an ox for the benefit +of his hungry crew and entertain him personally, and, then after a +few more days further arrangements for the purpose of a mutually +profitable trade might be made. The next morning the Dutch captain +and six men went ashore to get their ox. The ship itself was left in +the care of the first mate. Soon a Portuguese boat rowed out to the +_Trouwe_ and asked the mate to come on shore, too, and have breakfast +with his Portuguese colleagues. The mate was suspicious and refused the +invitation. He suggested that the Portuguese officer come on board the +_Trouwe_ and breakfast with him. But the officer said that he was too +heavy a man to climb on board so high a ship, and he did not care to +take this exercise so early in the morning. So the mate left the ship, +together with the ship's carpenter, to see what a Portuguese kitchen +served for breakfast. The moment the two men landed a loud outcry was +heard from the _Trouwe_. The mate at once jumped into the sea and +looked for his comrade. The carpenter was dead and his head, hacked +from his body, was used as a football by the Portuguese. The mate swam +out to the ship, but when he reached it he found that the Portuguese +had jumped on board the moment he had left for his breakfast party. +He swam back to the shore, was made a prisoner, and was locked up in +the fortress. With six other men he escaped the general murder which +had taken place as soon as he landed. De Cordes himself had been killed +with a dagger. The six men who had accompanied him on shore had heard +the noise of the attack upon the _Trouwe_ and had rowed away from shore +in a boat, trying to get back to their vessel. But the _Trouwe_ was +already in the hands of the Portuguese, and since the Hollanders had +no arms, they surrendered after the Portuguese had given their oath +not to hurt them and to spare their lives. They were taken on board +a Portuguese ship. As soon as they were on deck they had been placed +in a row, and a soldier had been ordered to take his sword and hack +their heads off. He had killed four men when the other two managed to +jump overboard. One of these was drowned. The other was fished out of +the water and was sent to the fortress with the mate and five sailors +who had put up such a desperate fight on board the _Trouwe_ that the +Portuguese had promised to treat them with clemency if only they would +surrender. + +The six men were afterward taken to Goa. Gradually one after the other +they had managed to escape and find their way back to Holland. Two of +them returned to Rotterdam in the autumn of 1603. Another one we find +mentioned in later years as commander of an Indian trader. As for the +_Trouwe_, Van Neck on his second voyage to India found the vessel being +used by the Portuguese as a man-of-war. + +Of the other ships, the _Blyde Boodschap_ also had a very sad career +and met with extraordinary adventures. This small vessel was commanded +by a certain Dirck Gerritsz, a native of Enkhuizen, a fellow-citizen +of Linschoten. As a matter of fact the two men had heard of each +other many years before. While Linschoten was in Goa he was told of a +Hollander who was a native of his own city and who had traveled not +only in the Indies, but who also had visited Japan and China. We know +very little of the man. Some information of his travels in Asia have +been printed in a general hand-book on navigation of that time, though +he did not follow Linschoten's example and print a full account of +his adventures. When the city of Rotterdam sent this expedition to +the Strait of Magellan, Dirck Gerritsz had been engaged as first mate +of the _Blyde Boodschap_. When her captain died he had succeeded him. +The ship of Gerritsz had suffered from the same storm which had driven +the _Trouwe_ out of her course. An attempt had been made to reach the +island of Santa Maria, but the maps on board proved to be faulty, and +the little island could not be found. With only provisions enough for +another week Gerritsz had finally reached the harbor of Valparaiso. +Of his original crew of fifty-six men, twenty-three were left, and of +these only nine were strong enough to sail the ship. Therefore he had +been forced to surrender himself and his vessel to the Spaniards. The +Dutch sailors were forced to take service in the Spanish navy. From +that moment on we lose sight of all of them. A few reached home after +many years of strange adventure. Others died in the Spanish service. +Of the fate of the ship we know nothing. As for Dirck Gerritsz, rumor +has it that he found his way back to Enkhuizen. + +There were two other ships, the _Hoop_ and the _Liefde_. Of these the +_Liefde_ had reached Santa Maria, and after leaving the island had +landed at Punta Lapavia, where an attempt had been made to find fresh +water. Unfortunately, the captain and twenty-three of his men had been +murdered by natives who mistook them for Spaniards and had carried +their heads in triumph to the Spanish town of Concepcion, where they +were shown to the garrison as a promise of what was in store for them +should the settlement ever fall into the hands of the enraged native +population. The rest of the sailors had saved their ship by fleeing +to Santa Maria, where they met the _Hoop_. The _Hoop_ had suffered a +similar calamity. Her captain and twenty-seven of his men had been +murdered on another island. Of the officers of both ships hardly a +single one was still alive. + +New officers were elected from among the men, and the ships continued +their northward course apparently without a definite idea of what they +intended to do. They could not go back through the strait, and they +were obliged to cross the Pacific. They decided to avoid all Spanish +and Portuguese settlements and to make for Japan, where they might be +able to sell their cargo, and where a peaceful couple of ships might +find it possible to do some honest trading without being attacked by +wild natives or lying Spaniards. On the twenty-seventh of November +the island of Santa Maria was left, and soon the ships passed the +equator. They kept near the land, and lost eight more of their men when +these had gone to the shore to get fresh water and were attacked by +natives. On the twenty-third of February, during a gale, the ships were +separated from each other. The _Liefde_ was obliged to make the voyage +to Japan alone. On the twenty-fourth of March of the year 1600 the +first Japanese island was reached. + +The people of Japan were very kind-hearted and very obliging. The sick +Hollanders were allowed to come on shore, and the others could trade +as much as they liked. But Japan for many years had been a field of +successful activities for Portuguese Jesuits. These Jesuits smiled +pleasantly upon the Dutch visitors, but to the Japanese they hinted +that the Hollanders were pirates and could not be trusted. Holland +was not a country at all, and these men were all robbers and thieves. +They advised the Japanese authorities to let these dangerous people +starve or send them away from their island, which would mean the same +thing. But the news of the arrival of some strange ships had reached +the ears of the Emperor of Japan. He sent for some of the crew to come +to his court. An Englishman among the sailors by the name of William +Adams was chosen for this dangerous mission. He not only represented +to his imperial Majesty the sad state of affairs among the shipwrecked +Hollanders, but he made himself so useful at the imperial court that he +was asked to remain behind and serve the Japanese state. He had a wife +and children at home in England, but he liked this new country so well +that he decided to stay. He lived happily for twenty years, married a +Japanese woman, and when he died in 1620 divided his fortune equally +among his Japanese and his English families. + +Without the assistance of Adams, who seems to have been the leader of +the remaining sailors on the _Liefde_, it was impossible to accomplish +anything with the big ship. Of the twenty-four men who had reached +Japan only eighteen were left. The ship, therefore, was deserted, and +all the men went on shore. Except for two, the others all disappeared +from view. They probably settled down in Japan. But in the year 1605, +in the month of December, two Hollanders came to the Dutch settlement +of Patani, on the Indian peninsula. They had made the voyage from Japan +to India on a Japanese ship, and they brought to the Dutch company +trading in that region an official invitation from the Emperor of Japan +asking them to come and enter into honorable commerce with the Japanese +islands. This invitation was accepted. In the year 1608 one of the two +Dutch messengers returned to Japan with letters announcing the arrival +of a Dutch fleet for the next summer. He continued to live in Japan +until his death in 1634. The other sailor found a chance to go back +to Holland on a Dutch ship, but near home he was killed in a quarrel +with some Portuguese. The net result of this unfortunate voyage of the +_Liefde_ was the establishment of a very useful trade relation with +Japan--a relation which became more important after the Portuguese had +been expelled, and which lasted for over two centuries. + +Finally there was the ship called the _Hoop_, which had become +separated from the _Liefde_ on the coast of South America in February +of the year 1600. It went down to the bottom of the ocean with +everybody on board. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE BAD LUCK OF CAPTAIN BONTEKOE + + +Captain Bontekoe was a pious man who sailed the ocean in command of +several Dutch ships during the early part of the seventeenth century. +He never did anything remarkable as a navigator, he never discovered +a new continent or a new strait or even a new species of bird but he +was blown up with his ship, flew heavenward, landed in the ocean, and +survived this experience to tell a tale of such harrowing bad luck that +the compassionate world read his story for over three centuries with +tearful eyes. Wherefore we shall copy as much as is desirable from his +famous diary, which was published in the year 1647. + +[Illustration] + +On the twenty-eighth of December of the year 1618, William Ysbrantsz +Bontekoe, with a ship of 550 ton and 206 men, left the roads of Texel +for India. The name of the vessel was the _Nieuw Hoorn_, and it was +loaded with gunpowder. Kindly remember that gunpowder. There were the +usual storms, the usual broken masts; the customary number of sick +sailors either died or recovered; the customary route along the coast +of Africa was followed. The weather, once the cape was left behind, was +fine, and a short stay on the island of Reunion allowed the sick to +regain their health and the dead to be buried. The natives were well +disposed and traded with Bontekoe. They entertained him and danced for +the amusement of his men, and everything was as happy as could be. + +At last the voyage across the Indian Ocean was started under the best +of auspices, and the _Nieuw Hoorn_ had almost reached the Strait of +Sunda when the great calamity occurred. On the nineteenth of November, +almost a year, therefore, after the ship had left Holland, one of the +pantrymen went into the hold to get himself some brandy. It was very +dark in the hold, and therefore he had taken a candle with him. This +candle, in a short iron holder, with a sharp point to it, he stuck into +a barrel which was on top of the one out of which he filled his bottle. +When he got through with his job he jerked the iron candlestick out of +the wood of the barrel. In doing so a small piece of burning tallow +fell into the brandy. That caused an explosion, and the next moment the +brandy inside the barrel had caught fire. Fortunately there were two +pails of water standing near by, and the fire was easily extinguished. +A lot more water was pumped upon the dangerous barrels, and the fire, +as far as anybody could see or smell, had been put out. But half an +hour later the dreadful cry of "Fire!" was heard once more all through +the ship. This time the coals which were in the hold near the brandy, +and which were used for the kitchen stove and the blacksmith shop, had +caught fire. They filled the hold with poisonous gas and a thick and +yellowish smoke. For the second time the pumps were set to work to +fill the hold with water. But the air inside the hold was so bad that +the firemen had a difficult task. As the hours went by the fire grew +worse. Bontekoe proposed to throw his cargo of gunpowder overboard. But +as I have related in my first chapters, there always was a civilian +commander on board such Indian vessels. It was his duty to look after +the cargo and to represent the commercial interest of the company. +Bontekoe's civilian master did not wish to lose his valuable gunpowder. +He told the captain to leave it where it was and try to put out the +fire. Bontekoe obeyed, but soon his men could no longer stand the smoke +in the hold. Large holes were then hacked through the deck and through +these water was poured upon the cargo. Now Bontekoe was a pious man, +but he was neither very strong of character nor very resourceful of +mind. He spent his time in running about the ship giving many orders, +the majority of which were to no great purpose. Meanwhile he did not +notice that part of the crew, from fear of being blown up, had lowered +the boats and were getting ready to leave the ship. The civilian +director, who had just told the captain to save the gunpowder, had been +the first to join in the flight. He was soon safely riding the waves in +a small boat far away from the doomed ship. + +[Illustration] + +For those who had been deserted on board there was only one way to +salvation; they must try to put out the fire or be killed. Under +personal command of their captain they set to work and pumped and +pumped and pumped. But the fire had reached several barrels of oil, +and there was a dense smoke. It was impossible to throw 310 barrels of +powder overboard in the suffocating atmosphere of the hold, yet the +men tried to do it. They worked with desperate speed, but before the +sixth part of the dangerous cargo was in the waters of the ocean the +fire reached the forward part, where the powder was stored. A few +moments later one hundred and ninety men were blown skyward, together +with pieces of the masts and pieces of the ship and heavy iron bars +and pieces of sail and everything that belongs to a well-equipped +vessel. "And I, Captain Willem Ysbrantsz Bontekoe, commander of the +ship, also flew through the sky, and I thought that my end had come. +So I stretched my hands and arms toward heaven and said: 'O dear Lord, +there I go! Please have pity upon this miserable sinner!' because I +thought that now the next moment I must be dead; but all the time I was +flying through the air I kept my mind clear, and I found that there was +happiness in my heart; yes, I even found that I was quite gay, and so +came down again, and landed in the water between pieces of the ship +which had been blown into little scraps." + +[Illustration] + +This is the captain's own minute account of the psychology of being +blown up. He continues: + +"And when I was now once in the water of the sea, I felt my courage +return in such a way that it was as if I had become a new man. And when +I looked around I found a piece of the mainmast floating at my side, +and so I climbed on top of it, and looking over the scene around me, I +said, 'O Lord, so hath this fine ship been destroyed even as Sodom and +Gomorrah.'" + +[Illustration] + +For a short while the skipper floated and contemplated upon his mast, +and then he noticed that he was no longer alone. A young German who +had been on board as a common sailor came swimming to the wreckage. +He climbed on the only piece of the ship's stern that was afloat, and +pulling the captain's mast nearer to him with a long stick which he had +fished out of the water, he helped our good Bontekoe to pull himself on +board his wreckage. There they were together on the lonely ocean on +a few boards and with no prospect of rescue. Both the boats were far +away, and showed themselves only as small black dots upon the distant +horizon. Bontekoe told his comrade to pray with him. For a long time +they whispered their supplications to heaven. Then they looked once +more to see what the boats were doing. And behold! their prayer had +been answered. The boats came rowing back as fast as they could. When +they saw the two men they tried to reach the wreckage; but they did not +dare to come too near for their heavily loaded boats ran the risk of +being thrown against the remains of the hulk. In that case they would +have been swamped. Bontekoe had felt very happy as long as he had been +up in the air. Now, however, he began to notice that he had hurt his +back badly and that he had been wounded in the head. He did not dare +to swim to the boats, but the bugler of the ship, who was in the first +boat, swam back to the wreckage, fastened a rope around Bontekoe's +waist, and in this fashion the commander was pulled safely on board, +where he was made as comfortable as could be. During the night the two +boats remained near the place of the misfortune because they hoped that +they might find a few things to eat in the morning. They had only a +little bread and no water at all. + +[Illustration] + +Meanwhile the exhausted skipper slept, and when in the morning his men +told him that they had nothing to eat he was very angry, for the day +before the sea around his mast had been full of all sorts of boxes and +barrels and there had been enough to eat for everybody. During the +night, however, the boats had been blown away from the wreckage by +the wind. There was no chance to get anything at all. Eight pounds of +bread made up the total amount of provisions for seventy strong men. +Of these there were forty-six in one and twenty-six in the second boat. +Part of that bread was used by the ship's doctor to make a plaster +for Bontekoe's wounds. With the help of a pillow which had been found +in the locker of the biggest boat and which he wore around his head, +Bontekoe was then partly restored to life, and he took command of his +squadron and decided what ought to be done. There were masts in the +boat, but the sails had been forgotten. Therefore he ordered the men +to give up their shirts. Out of these, two large sails were made. They +were primitive sails, but they caught the breeze, and with the help of +the western wind Bontekoe hoped to reach the coast of Sumatra, which, +according to the best guess of all those on board, must be seventy +miles to the east. All those who had the map of that part of India +fairly well in their heads were consulted, and upon a piece of wood a +chart of the coast of Sumatra, the Sunda Islands, and the west coast of +Java was neatly engraved with the help of a nail and a pocket-knife. +A few simple instruments were cut out of old planks, and the curious +expedition was ready to navigate further eastward. + +[Illustration] + +Fortunately it rained very hard during the first night. The sails made +out of shirts were used to catch the rain, and the water was carefully +saved in two small empty barrels which had been found in one of the two +boats. A drinking-cup was cut out of a wooden stopper, and each of the +sailors in turn got a few drops of water. For many hours they sailed, +and they became dreadfully hungry. Again a merciful Heaven came to +their assistance. A number of sea-gulls came flying around the boats, +and many of them ventured so near that they seemed to say "Please catch +us." Of course they were caught and killed, and although there was +no way of cooking them, they were eaten by the hungry men as fast as +they came. But a sea-gull is not a very fat bird, and again there was +hunger, and not yet any sight of land. The big boat was a good sailor, +but the small one could not keep up with her. Therefore the men in the +small boat asked that they might be taken on board the big one, so +that they might either perish together or all be saved. The sailors in +If Warwick ever had such an idea in his mind, he was far too acute to +entertain it for long. Gardiner as a colleague would have been a very +dangerous rival. The alternative was to assume the lead of the advanced +wing of the progressive party. Warwick, who died professing himself a +devout Catholic, had no difficulty in assimilating the jargon of the +zealots, and convincing their honest enthusiasm that they might look +upon him as a Joshua, while he doubled the part with that of Achan. +To him, religion was not among the things that mattered; but religion +might be made to serve its turn in forwarding his own ambitions. + +Hitherto the Reformation in England had moved a good deal more +closely along the lines laid down a hundred and fifty years before +by Wiclif than on those of Luther or of Calvin; approximating more +nearly to the Zurich school, though by no means identical with them. +Zurich had proved more attractive to English refugees also. But now +the abolition of the penal laws in England, and the dissatisfaction +caused by the Augsburg Interim in Germany, brought into the country +a number of foreigners, Lutheran and Calvinist as well as Zwinglian, +including on the one hand Bucer and on the other John Knox--besides +returning English refugees. Not a few of these foreign visitors were +inspired with a lively missionary zeal, and the freedom of discussion +permitted naturally caused debate and controversy to wax fast and +furious. If the country in general found the concessions already made +to the new learning somewhat larger than was quite to its taste, +the followers of the new learning were very far from satisfied with +them. And they were vocal exceedingly, if not precisely harmonious. +It was very soon evident that the comprehensive ambiguity of the new +Book of Common Prayer was in the eyes of the Reformers too liberal +to the old Catholics and not sufficiently advanced for the new +Protestants--controversy raging chiefly over two subjects, the first +being the Eucharist, and the second Forms and Ceremonies. + +Without attempting to examine the actual views on the former subject +held at this time by Cranmer--as to which critics appear able to form +very positive but very contradictory conclusions--it may be quite +safely asserted that he had quite definitely given up all belief in +Transubstantiation, but had not accepted the view most remote from +it, that the service was purely commemorative. The varied range of +intermediate views might be associated with either of these in a +common Form of Service, but these extremes were evidently incompatible. +One or other must be excluded. Cranmer, his right-hand man Ridley, and +their associates, were all travelling towards the Zwinglian position, +whether they ultimately reached it or not. If there was to be any more +defining, it was the followers of the old learning who would be shut +out thereby. + +It was much the same with forms and ceremonies. The extreme men, +whether they looked to Zurich or Geneva for guidance, regarded nearly +everything in the way of vestments and ceremonial as the trappings +of the Scarlet Woman. The Archbishop did not. Where these things +did not directly imply the truth of specific doctrines definitely +discarded--the sacrifice of the Mass, the worship of images, and the +like--their preservation, in his view, tended to decency and reverence. +Here, again, it was evident that any changes must tend to the exclusion +of the rigid Catholics. They and the Calvinists could not travel in the +same boat. + +The result is to be seen in the second Prayer Book of Edward VI., +in the new Ordinal, and in the Forty-two Articles which, with +slight modification, became the Thirty-nine of Queen Elizabeth. +Warwick--otherwise Northumberland--was with the extremists, who were +vigorous and loud-voiced, and altogether exercised an amount of +forcing-power quite disproportionate to the number of their adherents +among the general public. If they had had their way, the re-modelling +would have been on lines satisfactory to John Knox. Northumberland’s +government would not have stood in the way. The Lutheranism of Germany +and the Augsburg Confession was uncongenial. It was Cranmer, Ridley, +and their adherents who succeeded in retaining for the Church of +England a form to which she could mould herself, after the Marian +_régime_, without returning to the Roman obedience or adopting the +Scottish model. If that was a praiseworthy achievement, it is to +Cranmer primarily that the praise is rightfully due. + +That is what Cranmer did. From Somerset’s record, it may reasonably be +inferred that it is very much what he would have endeavoured to do if +he had remained in power. But he did not have the opportunity, because +he was not in power, and Warwick cut his head off. + +What Cranmer would have liked to do, beyond what he did, is another +matter, and may be gathered from his proposed _Reformatio Legum +Ecclesiasticarum_--a document which shows that, Erastian though he +was, he desired the clergy to have much ampler powers of jurisdiction +than there was the faintest chance of the State delegating to them. +It was an essay in constitution-making of a decidedly academic order: +the machinery would never have worked. It does not reveal unsuspected +qualities of constructive statesmanship; but it does not detract from +the credit due to the manner in which the Archbishop managed to steer +the ship through very stormy waters with a mutinous crew on board. +The performance was not, perhaps, masterly; but it is not extravagant +praise to call it meritorious. + + +VII + +DE PROFUNDIS + +Northumberland’s methods did not make him popular; but they made +him powerful, and it was his primary object to place on the throne +in succession to Edward some one who should be his own puppet. To +this end he devoted himself in the last months of the young king’s +life. By Henry VIII.’s will, the succession was fixed first on Mary, +then on Elizabeth, then on the Greys--not Suffolk himself, but his +wife Frances Brandon and their children. The accession of Mary could +only mean destruction for Northumberland. He could not be sure of +Elizabeth, who was now in her twentieth year. But he thought he +could make quite sure of Lady Jane Grey, who was hardly more than a +child and had been brought up under pronounced Protestant tutelage. +His plan was to marry her to one of his own sons, induce Edward to +assume the authority formally granted to his father and name her his +heir--ostensibly, of course, on the ground that both his sisters +had been declared illegitimate and those judgments had not been +revoked--and trust to intrigue and force to secure her on the throne. +Having won the king over, he succeeded in entangling several of the +Council in the conspiracy; the rest were then worked upon individually +to give their adherence. One after another did so, reluctantly, till +all were drawn in save Hales--Cranmer being the last, and assenting +only on the positive assurance that the Crown lawyers had guaranteed +the constitutional validity of the instrument he was called upon to +sign, and under direct personal pressure from the king. Northumberland, +however, had completely miscalculated the forces at work. He knew that +the very signatories of the document could not be relied on when out +of his reach; but having them under his grip, he thought himself safe. +But the country rallied to Mary; the troops deserted to her standard; +the plot failed, ignominiously and utterly. Mary was hailed Queen; the +arch-traitor was sent to the block; for the rest, only a few of those +most conspicuously compromised were sent to the Tower. + +It was, of course, obvious at the outset that Mary’s rule must mean +the return to power of the party which had been in opposition under +Somerset and more actively repressed under his successor. The daughter +of Katharine of Aragon was a convinced adherent of the entire Roman +position. That she would go so far as to restore the Roman obedience +might have been a matter of doubt; but, short of that, she was not +likely to allow limits to reaction. Gardiner and Bonner, Tunstal and +Day and Heath, had all been imprisoned and deprived of their sees +during the last four years; it was not likely that the advanced bishops +would be allowed to retain their functions. And, beyond theological +differences, some of them had been driven by the religious motive into +open and vigorous support of Lady Jane Grey’s succession. Of Cranmer +himself the most that could be said was that he was an assenting party; +but Ridley, Bishop of London, had committed himself to the cause in +somewhat inflammatory language. + +Nevertheless, Mary was in no haste to strike. Every one who feared +for his own skin was given time and opportunity to retire from the +country--whereof not a few made haste to take advantage. Ridley was +arrested; but Cranmer, Latimer, and others who stood their ground +manfully, might have gone if they would. After all, no Catholics +during the last reign had suffered anything worse than imprisonment, +and Mary’s leniency towards the participators in the rebellion may +well have given an impression that retaliation would not go beyond the +infliction of corresponding penalties. + +Cranmer, then, remained at large for a time. But a report was +circulated that he was about to make submission, and had himself set +up the Mass again. Had it not been for this, he might have hoped to +be allowed to retire into obscurity; but the rumour stirred him to an +indignant and uncompromising denial, which was promptly followed by +his arrest for complicity in Northumberland’s plot. The Archbishop +was by nature a sanguine man, but he can hardly have imagined that +this protest of his would be allowed to pass; for it was practically +a challenge to all and sundry who desired the Mass to be restored. No +government of the time would have dreamed of ignoring the action of its +author. + +Even when he was safely in the Tower along with Ridley, the hopefulness +of Cranmer’s temperament displayed itself. He had an incurable +conviction that any one who listened to him was bound to recognise the +entire reasonableness of his views; and from prison he petitioned Mary +for leave to “open his mind” to her. That accomplished, he felt that +he would have discharged his conscience and could retire from further +controversy without reproach, even though he might fail to persuade +his sovereign. The duty of conformity, in conduct at least, to the +sovereign’s decrees, was, as already remarked, a cardinal belief with +him. + +The petition was not granted. Moreover, the reign of clemency was +destined to very brief duration. Wyatt’s rebellion hardened the Queen, +whose determination to marry Philip of Spain strengthened _pari passu_ +with her determination to be reconciled with Rome and to discharge her +duty as a daughter of the Church by bringing her subjects back to the +fold. Throughout 1554 signs accumulated, ominous of the coming storm. +Whatever Mary’s original intent may have been, mercy to Cranmer must +have ceased to be a part of it at an early stage; though, if she had +definitely resolved on his destruction, it is difficult to find an +adequate explanation of the extreme prolongation of his imprisonment. + +In April 1554, the three who were most obnoxious to Mary and the +reactionaries, Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer, were removed to Oxford, +to play their part in a great disputation. All three held their +ground stoutly. It was pronounced, of course, that all three had been +completely refuted, and were manifest heretics; but being thereupon +invited to recant, they all refused. Cranmer had been treated with +considerable rudeness in the course of the debates; but the mildness +and dignity of his bearing throughout were such that one of his chief +antagonists, the Prolocutor, Dean Weston, thanked him openly for his +admirable behaviour. + +This condemnation, however, was of no practical account, since, in +1554, the penal laws against heresy were not yet re-enacted. On the +other hand, to punish Cranmer for treason would be a palpable piece of +pure vindictiveness. His treason, such as it was, had been shared by +several of the men who were now on the Council. But the arrival of Pole +and the formal reconciliation with Rome at the close of the year were +accompanied by the revival of the statute _de heretico comburendo_, and +the great persecution opened in February with the burning of Rogers. +A twelvemonth more passed before the end came for Cranmer himself. It +is perhaps, after all, a sufficient explanation of the delay that the +Primate of England could only be condemned for heresy by the Pope. +Other cases fell within the jurisdiction of the legatine or national +ecclesiastical courts; his did not. + +In September 1555, a Papal Commission sat in Oxford to examine the case +of the Archbishop and report to Rome for the Pope to pass judgment. +Cranmer refused to recognise the jurisdiction, but made a declaration +in answer to the questions put to him as coming from the Queen’s +Proctors, who were on the Commission. He maintained his views on the +Sacrament, and on the Royal Supremacy, and on the usurpations of +Rome; and justified his actions on all points in respect of which it +had been impugned. The trial over, he followed up his defence by a +vigorous address to the Queen, asserting the utter incompatibility of +any sovereign authority with the Papal claims. On November 25 the Pope +pronounced his excommunication. In the meantime Ridley and Latimer had +been condemned by a court under the authority of the Legate, Cardinal +Pole, on October 1, and on the 16th they suffered martyrdom--Cranmer, +it is said, witnessing the scene from the roof of his prison. + +Cranmer remained in prison, cut off from every sympathiser. It is easy +to forget, but it should not be difficult to realise, the tremendous +strain on a nature like his--sensitive, diffident, imaginative. All his +life he had been surrounded and supported by the personal affection +of friends. Now, every conceivable incentive to doubt whether he had +been in the right after all was set to work on him simultaneously. Yet +month followed month, and he remained steadfast--unless his expression +of a desire to confer with Tunstal or Pole was a sign of weakening. +Before he could be handed over to the secular arm, his ecclesiastical +degradation was necessary. The sentence was carried out with every +circumstance of public ignominy--Bonner, the principal performer, +excelling himself in his coarse brutality. For a man with highstrung +nerves, the thing must have been simply shattering. + +At the ceremony (February 14) he had drawn from his sleeve an appeal +from the Pope to a general council; and about this time he signed +in close succession what are called four recantations. Two of them +probably preceded the degradation; the other two Bonner extracted from +him on February 15. None of them are recantations at all. They are +submissions to the authority of the sovereign, to whom he had always +taught that submission is due. He had obeyed his own conscience in +contravention of his own theory hitherto; now, he returned to the +theory, and owned that if the secular sovereign willed to establish +Papal authority, obedience was still due. As to doctrine he recanted +nothing. But this was not nearly enough for Mary and Pole, who were +bent on extracting something which should altogether discredit the +cause of the Reformation. + +Within ten days the writ for his burning was issued. Then, before three +more weeks had passed Cranmer broke down under the strain, writing +first a full and complete recantation of every impugned doctrine, and +then one more--dictated to him (March 18). No man ever repudiated his +whole past in terms more ignominious. His enemies had what they wanted; +if they had stopped there and pardoned him, the force of the blow would +have been incalculable. But their thirst for his blood gave him the +chance of salvation, changing their victory to hopeless rout. They did +not pardon. They demanded from the victim the public confirmation from +his own lips of the recantations he had written and signed. That one +disastrous moment of weakness was to be gloriously redeemed. + +Three days after his fall, on a morning of foul March weather, Cranmer +was conveyed from his prison to listen himself to his own funeral +discourse and then to play his own allotted part. No suspicion seems +to have crossed the mind of his gaolers that there was anything +for them to fear. The oration over--he had listened with frequent +tears--he was bidden to make public avowal of his recantation. He +arose; he confessed the grievousness of his sin, entreating pardon +before the Throne of Omnipotence. And then he declared the nature of +his sin. Before those about him could realise what was happening, he +had recanted his recantation, declaring the truth of all he had before +upheld, and proclaiming, “As my hand offended in writing contrary to +my heart, therefore my hand shall first be punished. For if I may come +to the fire, it shall first be burned.” Hastily he was silenced, and +hurried to the stake; but of his own will he moved so swiftly that the +confessors could scarce keep pace with him. And when, indeed, he “came +to the fire” he fulfilled his words. Men saw him thrust the offending +right hand into the flame, and hold it there till it was consumed. + + * * * * * + +So tragically, so triumphantly, closed the drama of Cranmer’s +life--surely a close fitted for “purging the passions through pity and +fear.” A vase of fine porcelain whirled into the eddies in company with +pots of brass and stoneware; a scholar, dragged from academic cloisters +to control a revolution; a man with a receptive mind, when receptivity +was about as dangerous a quality, for himself, as he could possess. +A man whom men have ventured to call craven, yet who alone of his +contemporaries dared to remonstrate with Cromwell in his policy and +with the eighth Henry in the day of his wrath, and that not once, nor +twice. A man who endured till the eleventh hour, and then--fell. + +But a man who, ere the twelfth hour had struck, rose up the Victor. + + + + +WILLIAM CECIL, LORD BURGHLEY + + +I + +THE MINISTERS OF QUEEN ELIZABETH + +William Cecil was born in 1520. He lived to the age of seventy-eight, +dying in the same year as Philip II. of Spain, who was five years his +junior. His political connexion began before Henry VIII. was in his +grave; and for more than fifty years it continued, except for his +retirement from the public eye during the complete period of the Marian +persecution. Even in his old age, when his son Robert was already +becoming, in his own crafty fashion, the most important person in +Queen Elizabeth’s Council, the father was still the adviser on whom +she leaned in the last resort. For forty years he was, in fact, the +mainstay of her Government. For twenty of those years--roughly from +1569 to 1589--a man of even higher ability, in some respects, than +himself, Francis Walsingham, was his loyal colleague. They served the +cleverest, the most successful, and the most exasperating princess +who ever sat upon a throne. Both of them--especially Walsingham--told +her home-truths on occasion; both of them--especially Walsingham--she +on occasion abused like a Billingsgate fish-wife. But all three were +unfailingly loyal to each other; and among them they raised England to +the forefront of the nations of Christendom. + +[Illustration: _WILLIAM CECIL (LORD BURGHLEY)_ + +_From a Portrait by_ MARC GHEERAEDTS (?) _in the National Portrait +Gallery_] + +To establish orderly government at home, to settle a religious _modus +vivendi_, to avoid war, and to prevent the succession of Mary Stewart +or any pronounced Catholic--these were the main aims on which Elizabeth +and her two great ministers were united. Of the three, Walsingham--a +Puritan--was the least devoted to the Peace policy, Elizabeth the +most determined on that policy; yet it was Elizabeth who habitually +endangered it. The Queen’s tortuous methods, pursued in defiance +of her counsellors, more than once seemed to have brought her to a +point where war was inevitable; yet time after time her ingenuity, +or her lucky star, or a return just in time to Cecil’s guidance, +saved the situation. Never has a sovereign been better served; never +has there been a reign in which rulers and ruled worked in more +essential concord. Idealism and common sense were united in the +conduct of affairs with a completeness which has rarely, if ever, been +paralleled--never have the toils of the men of counsel and the men +of action been more effectively combined. And England was peculiarly +fortunate in this--that the great antagonist whom finally she fought +and overthrew could be thoroughly relied on always to miss the +opportunity for which he was always waiting, always to move only when +the moment had passed irrevocably. So England was the victor in the +great duel; and the Stewarts found her might established on a basis so +firm that even they were unable to pull it down. + +That result was not due to any one mind--to any single guide. +Elizabeth, her ministers, her seamen, and her people, all contributed +their share; and the work was crowned by the glory of her poets. +Burghley may not have been personally a statesman of the highest rank, +though if he is not included in that category it is a little difficult +to name any Englishman who is entitled to that honour. There is a +certain commonplace, _bourgeois_ touch about him; he stands for the +common sense, not the idealist, side, in the combination which made +England great. His virtues were those of the successful pursuers of the +_via media_. He did not organise revolution: he did not dream of an +empire on which the sun should never set. But he played the political +game with unfailing loyalty to his sovereign and his country, with +level-headed shrewdness, with imperturbable resolution. There are few +men to whom England owes so much; and if there be those to whom she +owes more, their deeds but for him would yet have been impossible. + + +II + +CECIL UNDER EDWARD VI. AND MARY + +In the reign of Henry VII., Richard Sitsilt, affirmed by tradition +to be of an ancient Welsh family long established among the gentry +of the Marches, owned broad acres in the counties of Monmouth and +Herefordshire. One of his sons, David, who elected to modify his name +into Cecil, transferred himself to Lincolnshire, where he prospered +greatly. He and his son Richard became very large landed proprietors, +and held a variety of offices connected with the Court under Henry +VIII. So it would appear that the present Marquess of Salisbury is not +unconnected by descent with the “Celtic fringe.” It must be admitted, +however, that the notable qualities of his great ancestor are not those +usually associated with what is supposed to be the Celtic temperament. +Still in that connexion a rather curious point may be touched on. A +critic has recently remarked that there is a type of statesmanship +which we are in the habit of regarding as peculiarly English (_à +propos_ of l’Hôpital), naming in a brief list both Burghley and +Cromwell--Oliver, apparently, not Thomas. Now Oliver was descended from +the sister of Thomas, whose husband was a Welshman, and whose son chose +to adopt the maternal patronymic instead of his father’s name, which +was Williams. So Wales has some title to claim the Tudors, the Cecils, +and the great Oliver among her contributions to “English” celebrities. + +William Cecil was born in 1520, and when in due course he went to +Cambridge, he became a member of a distinguished group of scholars +which included Roger Ascham, afterwards tutor of Lady Jane Grey and +of Elizabeth; John Cheke, who became the tutor of Edward VI., and +whose sister was Cecil’s first wife; and Nicholas Bacon, who married +the sister of Cecil’s second wife. William Cecil married Mary Cheke +in 1541: she died in less than two years, after bearing him one son, +Thomas, afterwards Lord Exeter. Nearly three years later he married +Mildred, daughter of Sir Anthony Cooke, the “governor” of Prince +Edward--a young lady of portentous learning, whose name Roger Ascham +coupled with that of Jane Grey. Thus Cecil himself was not only well +versed in the most progressive learning of his time, but his chosen +associates, including both the first and the second wife, were all +distinguished for erudition--and all, it may be remarked, tinged with +the “New Learning” in the specific ecclesiastical sense of the term. + +Before the death of Henry VIII. the young man was already the recipient +of Court favour, and in the good graces of the Earl of Hertford, +to whose personal service we find him definitely attached in the +early days of the Protectorship. He accompanied the Protector on his +Scottish invasion, was present at Pinkie, and was made Somerset’s +secretary about a year later. His assiduity and his immense capacity +for mastering laborious detail must have been of infinite value to his +chief, whose woeful lack of practicality must, on the other hand, have +intensified his secretary’s inborn tendency to rate common sense in +method a long way higher than visionary idealism of aim. All his life +long, nothing ever induced Cecil to deviate from safe precedent and +respectable courses--bold enough, when his foresight satisfied him that +boldness was the better part of prudence, but never rash. Every step +was always carefully calculated, and a path for retreat kept open if +there was the remotest risk of retreat being necessary. In the service +of the most impulsive and sentimental of statesmen, he learnt--if he +needed to learn--never to act upon sentiment or impulse. + +When Somerset fell in 1549 Cecil was still some way short of thirty; +but he had an old head on his young shoulders--and he had every +intention of keeping it there. He had no personal devotion to Somerset +or to his policy, and had carefully avoided quarrelling with anybody. +When he perceived that the ship was scuttled, he had no compunction +about making sure of leaving it in a decent and orderly manner before +it sank. He did not quite desert; he remained with the Protector in the +discharge of his duties, while very nearly every one else was making a +parade of sympathy with the cabal who obviously held the winning cards; +but he remained there in careful obscurity--the personal secretary, +not the partisan. He did not escape a brief imprisonment in the Tower; +no doubt he had counted on that. But Warwick was perfectly aware of +his power of making himself useful, and saw no possible reason why he +should not avail himself thereof--nor did Cecil. Competent officials +were few, and of these some had already put themselves out of court, +in Warwick’s eyes, either by having supported Somerset too boldly or +by displaying doubtful religious leanings. The former secretary of +Somerset had not made himself obnoxious in any quarter; and in the +following September (1550) he emerged again into public life in a more +responsible position than before, as Secretary of State. + +The political waters were, to say the least, unquiet; there was no +telling when squalls might be coming. Personal intrigues were rife. +Cecil had no ambition to grasp the tiller under these conditions. He +was ready to give advice to the best of his ability; he was ready to +carry out instructions, whether they accorded with his advice or not; +but he was not disposed to give orders on his own account--his ambition +was not of the vaulting sort. His business was to keep his own footing, +whether others did so or no; he would take no risks unless his own +life were endangered by refusing them--every man must take care of +himself. If Warwick chose to insist on a policy which the secretary +disapproved--alliance with France abroad, or debasement of coinage at +home--that was Warwick’s business, not the secretary’s: what he had +to do was to carry out the policy imposed on him, with the maximum of +efficiency and the minimum of friction, without allowing himself to be +identified with the policy or with antagonism to it. + +So when Warwick made up his mind that Somerset must be finally removed, +it was Cecil’s cue to avoid, so far as he could, taking an active +part in so ungracious a business as his old patron’s destruction--but +certainly not to invite destruction for himself by injudicious +partisanship. He did not scruple even to give Warwick information +injurious to Somerset; though it was probably only because he knew it +would reach that cunning schemer’s ears sooner or later--and when it +came to a choice between profiting or suffering by the inevitable, +he had no qualms about profiting. Still, he managed to be too much +occupied with foreign negotiations to have much to do with the +Somerset affair. As for the foreign negotiations themselves, he did +not make any attempt to counteract the policy which, against his own +judgment, he was called upon to carry out, but he was very seriously +and not unsuccessfully engaged in minimising the untoward consequences +which he foresaw. + +As the young king’s death drew manifestly near, the intrigues of +Northumberland, as Warwick had now become, thickened. Sir William--he +had been knighted at the end of 1551--did not like intrigues; but in +spite of seasonable illness, which may have been genuine, he could not +altogether avoid being dragged in, and was obliged--like all the rest +of the Council--to append his signature to the document nominating Lady +Jane Grey heir to the throne. He averred afterwards that he signed +only as a witness--a statement more ingenious than ingenuous. Still, +he took care that there should be evidence from unofficial quarters +that he would have avoided signing if he could, and that so far as he +was formally a participator in Northumberland’s plot it was with no +goodwill to its success--which, indeed, was the attitude of several +other signatories, who did their best to upset the scheme the moment +they felt safe in doing so. Cranmer, however, the most reluctant of any +of them, had no such double-dealing in his mind, and made no attempt +to evade the responsibility when he had once assumed it, though he had +been tricked into acquiescence by a lie. + +It is only fair, in judging Cecil’s conduct through these years, to +remember that he was only in his twenty-seventh year when Somerset +became Protector, and in his thirty-third year when Queen Mary +succeeded. Warwick made him Secretary of State eight days before his +thirtieth birthday. Of course, if the errors he committed had been +errors of youth, he would have won easy forgiveness; yet in some +respects his excessive caution may reasonably be attributed to his +youth. He had every excuse for arguing that a real control must be +out of his reach for many years, and that till it came within his +reach he was not called upon to insist on his own views. In those days +the servants of the State did not resign--the remark has been made +before--they carried out the policy imposed on them from above. He was +content, therefore, to bide his time, and for the present to do the +political drudgery for Somerset or Northumberland, while he avoided +committing himself personally to anybody or anything. This course was +not one which permitted the exercise of generosity or magnanimity; it +completely eschewed the idea of self-sacrifice; but it was a course +which he could and did pursue without ever fairly laying himself open +to the charge of treachery, or incurring the faintest suspicion of what +is called corruption. If he was guided by considerations of personal +advantage, it was not in the sense that any one could bid successfully +for his support. + +So when Northumberland’s plot collapsed ignominiously, Cecil, although +a Protestant and officially opposed to Gardiner, had no difficulty in +making his peace with the new Government. Only, the political seas +being stormier than ever, he had no inclination either to head an +Opposition or to take a prominent place among the queen’s ministers. +He was too much of a Protestant for that, though not too much so to +conform and “bow himself in the House of Rimmon.” In short, he courted +an obscurity from which the Government had no desire to extract +him--though it is probable that if he had chosen to offer himself as +an instrument for Mary’s use, she would have availed herself of him +readily enough. But it was one thing to pass from Somerset’s employ +to Warwick’s, and another to pass from Northumberland’s to Mary’s. +Besides, by keeping in the background now he could quietly establish +himself in the confidence of the probable successor to the throne, +the Princess Elizabeth. Being a member of the Parliament of 1556, he +therein openly opposed sundry Government measures which were hotly +resisted by the House of Commons, but even then he behaved with +circumspection and did not suffer for his conduct. His real business +was with Elizabeth; and when the crisis came, and Mary died, the +members of the Council who hastened to Hatfield found Cecil already +installed as her Prime Minister elect, with the scheme for carrying on +the Government completely organised. + + +III + +FOREIGN AFFAIRS AT ELIZABETH’S ACCESSION + +Sir William had bided his time, and that time had arrived. On the +throne was a young woman of five-and-twenty, who had already shown a +skill akin to Cecil’s own in the avoidance of fatally compromising +words or acts under circumstances when the utmost wariness had been +the constant condition of safety. She had maintained her Protestantism +in precisely the same way and in very much the same degree as he had +done; moreover, she was bound for her own sake to maintain it, since +her personal claim to legitimate birth was bound up with the rejection +of Papal authority. Cecil had received her confidence, it may be, in +part, because she was aware that she could afford to indulge her own +waywardness more freely while she had so eminently safe a counsellor as +a stand-by. He, for his part, was doubtless fully satisfied that she +had intelligence enough to recognise that he was indispensable to her, +and that in the main their views of policy would harmonise. The young +man had held aloof from intrigues and had declined all temptations to +grasp at dangerous power, not from lack of ambition or of patriotism, +but because the power would have been too dearly bought and its +foundations too unstable. Now, while he was still in the prime of life, +yet of ripe experience, power lay ready for him to grasp--power to +guide England in the courses which he believed would serve her best +interests; power to cure the evils from which she had been suffering +for many a year past; power to avert those which menaced her in the +future; power which, once achieved, he was not likely to lose unless +by his own blundering. He knew his own capacity. To refuse power under +such conditions would have been not caution but pusillanimity. + +It may be that the account of Cecil’s public life during the reigns of +Edward and Mary gives an impression merely that he was an exceedingly +astute young man with no principles to speak of. If so, that view must +be corrected. He valued himself on his own complete integrity, and +would have done nothing which he recognised as inconsistent therewith. +He had principles, but not enthusiasms. In politics, as in religion, +he had his own opinions, but in both he admitted a very large body +of _adiaphora_, things which were not questions of principle, though +regarded as such by persons afflicted with enthusiasms. On all such +matters, passive or even active conformity to the policy of _de +facto_ rulers was permissible. He was ready to go to Mass, but not to +take a part in the suppression of Protestantism. He would assent to +Northumberland’s plot, but he would not further it. His integrity drew +a line--lower than a person of finer moral susceptibilities would have +drawn it, but with sufficient firmness and decision, and higher than +most of his more prominent contemporaries. He did not feel called upon +to swim against a stream which would overwhelm him if he did so; but +he made for a backwater. It is often difficult to judge when and where +courage becomes rashness, and prudence cowardice. On the whole, he was +more inclined to be too prudent than too bold; but it was not because +he lacked courage. His conduct might on occasion, though rarely, be +charged as disloyal; it could never fairly be called treacherous. He +was convinced that as a general rule honesty is the best policy, and +justice is the best policy; but in the exceptional cases where he +thought they were not, he chose--the best policy. The principles of +his mistress were the same; but she deviated from the mean of resolute +caution more markedly and more erratically than her minister; she was +more readily rash and more easily frightened; her criterion of justice +was lax, and her sense of honesty very nearly non-existent. + +There was this very important difference between the state of affairs +on Queen Elizabeth’s accession and their position between 1546 and +1558. Hitherto a statesman, even if perfectly secure of power, would +still have had a difficult course to steer; but security being wanting, +the lack of it was the gravest of all the difficulties. The course of +safety now was not less intricate; but, in spite of appearances, there +was no longer the same risk of incalculable irregular forces wrecking +the ship. To retain a useful illustration or analogy; it was one thing +to be responsible for bringing the ship home “through billows and +through gales,” and another to carry her through a narrow and devious +channel infested with reefs and sandbanks, in fair weather. The pilot +who judged that he knew every inch of the reefs and sandbanks might +feel that the business was an anxious one; to the less discerning +passenger, he would often seem to be heading his vessel straight for +the rocks; but the pilot himself would not feel any fear of finding +himself helpless. As long as he made no mistakes he would be safe; and +if he made mistakes, it would be his own fault. + +After the event, when the developments of a particular situation have +taken place, it is always difficult to realise the aspect the situation +itself presented to the statesman who had to deal with it. Still, the +attempt has to be made. + +Almost from time immemorial until the reign of Henry VIII. antagonism +between England and France was traditional; through great part of +that period, alliance between England and the House of Burgundy had +also been traditional, being largely based on the immense importance +of the commercial intercourse between the Low Countries and England. +During Henry VIII.’s reign, Wolsey and the king had broken away from +the theory of animosity to France, but neither of them had held the +Burgundian friendship cheap, and popular sentiment had lost very +little of its anti-Gallic flavour. Further, we are apt not to bear in +mind that, for forty years past, Spain, Burgundy, and the Empire had +been combined under one head; the importance of Burgundy as a factor +in the relations with Charles escapes our attention. More or less +unconsciously, we think almost exclusively of France and the Empire; as +in the coming period we think almost exclusively of France and Spain. + +Now in 1558 the dominions of Charles V. were divided between his +brother who became Emperor and his son who was lord of Spain and +Burgundy. Philip, not the Emperor, is the rival of the French monarchy. +The old grounds for seeking friendship with Philip as lord of +Burgundy remain. The new reasons for hostility to Philip as King of +Spain have not yet developed. The reigning Pope had been elected by +French influence. The Council of Trent had not yet defined permanently +the line of cleavage between so-called Catholics and Protestants; +Philip had not assumed the position of the Church’s champion and the +scourge of heretics; his influence in England was understood to have +been exerted, so far as it was exercised at all, in mitigation of +persecution. + +On the other hand, antagonism between French and English interests +was acute. England, drawn into a French war in Mary’s reign, had just +lost her last foothold on French soil--Calais, which she had held +for three hundred years; and though the loss might not be of great +political or strategical consequence, its importance was magnified +by popular sentiment. But apart from this: the young Queen of Scots +had married the French Dauphin, only in this same year; and as a mere +question of legitimacy, there was no possible doubt that her title to +the throne of England was very much better than that of Elizabeth, who +had been declared illegitimate by the English Courts of Justice, which +judgment had never been formally reversed. The natural outcome of this +marriage would be to bind France and Scotland together in all and more +than all the intimacy of that ancient alliance between them which for +three centuries had been a thorn in the side of English kings. Beyond +that, the future Queen of France and Scotland would have a very much +more tenable claim to the throne of England than ever an English +king had had to the throne of France. Moreover, there was a special +danger threatening under the existing circumstances. Mary was half a +Guise by birth; her Guise mother was now Regent in Scotland; she was +almost wholly Guise by breeding. The presumption was enormous that the +ascendency of that powerful and ambitious family in France and their +influence in Scotland would become more dominant than ever; the Guises +were strongly anti-English, and it was the head of that house who +had just achieved the galling triumph at Calais; while the fanatical +Catholics looked to them as their leaders. A more active animosity, +therefore, towards Protestantism was to be anticipated from France than +from Spain. + +The Spanish Minister in England, naturally enough under these +conditions, took it for granted that the countenance of Philip was what +the new Government would most urgently need--that he would merely have +to speak and his instructions would be humbly obeyed. To his extreme +astonishment, he discovered that nothing was further from Cecil’s mind. +Cecil and his mistress signified quite clearly that they would judge +for themselves whether they would take his advice or not. At any rate, +they were going to do a good many things entirely regardless of their +being in flat opposition to his wishes. The Spaniard declared to his +master that Queen and Minister were rushing headlong to destruction; +but they were doing nothing of the kind. What Cecil saw was that +Philip could not at any price afford to withdraw his countenance from +Elizabeth; because the only alternative to Elizabeth was Mary Stewart, +and in that case Mary would unite the crowns of France, England, and +Scotland. If France moved against England to the danger of Elizabeth’s +throne, Philip would have no choice but to interfere on behalf of the +Queen--she need not buy support which he could not afford to withhold. +He might call the tune, but she need not dance to it unless it suited +her. + +Within a short period, the French King, Henry II., was mortally injured +in a tournament. The Dauphin succeeded, and his wife became Queen of +France, as well as of Scotland. Then the situation was modified by the +death of Francis and the accession of Charles IX. to the throne, and to +power of the Queen-Mother, Catherine de Medici, and the middle party +who came to be known by the title of the “Politiques.” With them the +Guises were out of favour, and could no longer count on wielding the +power of France to advance Mary’s interests; yet their popularity and +strength in the country were still sufficient to keep the chance of +their recovering their ascendency as a menace which Philip could not +disregard. The change, in short, cut both ways: it was not quite so +imperative for Philip that he should support Elizabeth, but then it was +not so necessary for Elizabeth to have his support. + +Thus throughout the first decade of the reign Cecil calculated with +perfect accuracy that Philip would not attack Elizabeth, whatever she +might do, because he could not risk the accession of Mary Stewart in +her place; and that France would not make a direct attack, because that +would compel the intervention of Philip. Hence he could go his own way +safely in dealing both with domestic affairs and with the everlasting +problem of Scotland. There was another matter, that of the Queen’s +marriage, in which Cecil might judge and advise as he thought fit, but +the Queen herself never had the slightest intention of following any +but her own counsel, or of revealing even to her most trusted minister +what that counsel might really be. + + +IV + +DOMESTIC AND SCOTTISH POLICY + +Now, as concerned domestic affairs, two matters were of first-rate +importance. One was religion; the other finance. + +It was evidently quite necessary that a definite religious settlement +should be arrived at, and that it must be one in which there was a +reasonable prospect of the majority of Englishmen concurring. There +were fervent adherents of the Papacy as restored by Mary; these were +not very numerous. There were fervent adherents of extreme Swiss +doctrines, Calvinistic or Zwinglian; these were also few. There were +many who, like Gardiner in early days, had no love for the Papacy, but +clung to traditional doctrines and ritual; there were not quite so +many who might be called perhaps moderately evangelical; there were a +very great many more who troubled their heads very little one way or +another, and were what we should describe as High or Low, pretty much +according to their environment. The extreme reformers had very nearly +but not quite succeeded in carrying the day during Northumberland’s +ascendency; the extreme Catholics had just had their turn under Mary. +The extremists on both sides were intolerant, and it was quite obvious +that the triumph of either would drive many moderates into joining +the other extreme, and would keep the country in a state of violent +unrest, or, at the best, of sullen submission. The experiment of +trying to maintain traditional doctrine and ritual with the minimum +of modification, while repudiating the Roman authority, had been +tried under Henry; and it was fairly clear that a simple return to +Henry’s standards was impracticable. The course which Cecil laid down +was to adopt a compromise in which the great majority could at any +rate acquiesce; a compromise which, while insisting on conformity, +allowed of a very considerable latitude of interpretation; which would +still pass, in many quarters where it did not satisfy; which was in +short politically adequate. Cecil himself would probably have had no +quite insuperable objection either to attending Mass or to sitting at +Communion; but a compromise which allowed of either course would also +probably have found a less general acceptance than one which excluded +both. + +Hardly less important was the restoration of financial stability. +Twelve years before, King Henry had left matters in sufficiently +ill-plight. The Government could not, perhaps, be held responsible +for the existence of severe agricultural depression; but, for its +aggravation, the newly developed class of landlords was largely to +blame, while no one but Somerset had attempted to hold them in check. +In the general ferment, commercial honesty had been on the downgrade. +Among financial officials, corruption had been rampant; and Henry set +the example of one of the grossest forms of dishonesty by debasing +the coinage, paying his debts, when he did pay them, in the debased +coin. Hence in commercial circles credit was bad, while abroad the +national credit was exceedingly low; and the national exchequer was +almost empty. Through the last two reigns, matters had gone from bad +to worse. Cecil took the finances in hand with solid systematic common +sense. A rigid supervision of expenditure and stoppage of waste took +the place of the prevailing laxity. Men of probity were employed by +the Government as its financial agents. The debased coins were called +in, and the new currency issued was of a standard which had never been +surpassed. Loans were repaid with punctuality, and debts discharged. +Almost at once, it followed that fresh loans could be raised at +reasonable rates of interest, instead of at the ruinous charges which +Edward and Mary had to pay; before long, it was hardly necessary to +seek for them abroad--the merchants at home were ready and willing to +come forward. Confidence was restored under a steady Government. + +Cecil’s economy may have verged on parsimony, and his mistress was as +sharp in money matters as her grandfather; hard things are always said +of a Government which takes Peace and Retrenchment for its motto. But +peace and retrenchment were a stern necessity, and in many respects +the parsimony has been exaggerated; at any rate, the expenditure +was thoroughly well directed. Later in the reign it would probably +have been sound policy to spend more, particularly in Ireland, where +efficiency was sacrificed to economy; but outside of Ireland the nation +got good value for every penny of outlay. In finance, as in other +matters, Cecil habitually followed the maxims of caution. Consistently +with this attitude, we do not find him striking out new economic +theories. He believed, as nearly every one believed three hundred years +ago, that new industries had very little chance of being established +without the artificial stimulus of monopolies and patents to prevent +competition--a system which always appeals most convincingly to the +monopolist, but less convincingly to the consumer and the would-be +competitor, as Elizabeth found before the end of the reign. Whatever +we may think of the methods adopted to foster and encourage trade +and the development of new industries, Cecil is at least entitled to +full credit for recognising that this was the direction in which the +compensation and the remedy for agricultural depression were to be +sought. + +The subject of the secretary’s financial reforms has carried us on to +a general account of principles which were only gradually illustrated +in the progress of the reign. The third question which engaged his +immediate activities on Elizabeth’s accession was the policy to be +followed in dealing with Scotland. + +Traditionally, Scotland was the friend of France and the enemy of +England; from which it followed in a general way that Scottish +malcontents habitually looked to England for open or secret +countenance, and very commonly got it. To foster divisions in Scotland +was one way of preventing her from becoming too actively dangerous a +neighbour, and the plan had been very sedulously followed, especially +throughout the reign of Henry VIII. The Scottish clerics since the +days of Bruce had always been strongly anti-English, a term which was +almost equivalent to Nationalist. Both James and David Beton had been +especially hostile; while, during the progress of the Reformation, the +Cardinal was a rigorous and cruel persecutor of heresy. Henry, with +all his pride of orthodoxy, had no objection to heresy in the northern +kingdom, where Protestant and mal-content were nearly synonymous. Had +England devoted her attention simply to giving the Protestants such +support as would have secured them a predominance conditional on the +support being maintained, diplomacy might have achieved the union of +the crowns by the marriage of King Edward to his cousin of Scotland; +but Henry and Somerset between them, by the re-assertion of English +sovereignty and by the appeal to arms, had roused in Protestants as +well as Catholics the nationalist sentiment which would not endure +subjection to England at any price. The child-queen had been carried +off to France and betrothed to the Dauphin; and in the years that +passed before the actual marriage the Catholics had held the mastery; +Mary of Guise was regent, and her power was maintained by French +support and French troops. Thus the Scots began to realise that there +was a danger, when their own Queen should be Queen of France also, that +Scotland might become an appendage of France. Scotland was no more +willing to be subject to France than to be subject to England. + +Thus it was again open to Cecil to adopt the policy, not of exercising +a direct English domination, but of establishing a Protestant +domination, which would in the nature of things be favourable to +England and unfavourable to France--a policy which fitted in precisely +with that of establishing a comprehensive Protestantism in England, +to which he was committed on other counts. He could rely, as we have +already noted, on the fact that Philip, however reluctant, would be +compelled to check aggressive interference on the part of France, if +carried beyond the limit at which England could cope with it unaided. +This, therefore, was the keynote of his Scottish policy--to avoid the +blunder of seeming to threaten Scotland’s independence, to maintain +friendly relations with the Scottish Protestants, and to help them to a +predominance which should yet depend for its security on the goodwill +of England. + +It was not till December 1560, that the death of Francis deprived +Mary of the French crown. During these first two years of Elizabeth’s +reign, Philip was kept in play partly by a pretence of negotiations +for the Queen’s marriage to his kinsman the Austrian Archduke Charles; +while the Scottish Protestants, or Lords of the Congregation, as their +chiefs were called, were flattered by the idea of her marriage with +James Hamilton, Earl of Arran, who then stood next in succession to the +Scottish throne--a scheme of which the real motive was the possibility +of dethroning Mary in his favour. But the real business was to get +the French out of Scotland. Cecil at last manœuvred his mistress +into sending armed assistance to the Lords of the Congregation; the +French garrison was cooped up in Leith; in May 1560, Sir William went +to Scotland himself to negotiate; in June Mary of Guise died, and in +the beginning of July the Treaty of Edinburgh secured the Protestant +ascendency in Scotland, and removed the French garrison for ever. +Although Queen Mary refused to ratify the instrument, consistently +declining formally to withdraw her claim to the throne of England +unless she were equally formally recognised as heir presumptive, +Cecil’s great object was achieved, in spite of Elizabeth’s vacillations. + +Thirteen months later, Mary, an eighteen-year-old widow, landed in +Scotland. During the seven troublous years she passed in that country, +Cecil’s policy remained the same--to support Scottish Protestantism, to +prevent Mary from making a marriage that would be dangerous to England. +It is hardly necessary to say that the methods were never qualified +by any touch of magnanimity--that the interests of England solely were +considered, those of Scotland disregarded. How much of what went on, on +the part of England, was Cecil’s doing and how much Elizabeth’s, cannot +well be decided. They may or may not have intended the Darnley marriage +to take place. They did encourage Moray’s revolt on that occasion, and +then repudiate responsibility for it. They knew something--how much is +uncertain--about the Rizzio murder, before it took place. Generally, +we can be tolerably confident that Cecil, unfettered, would have given +Moray a more stable support throughout than it pleased his mistress to +permit. It was Elizabeth’s standing rule to object vehemently to being +considered as having committed herself to anything by any words or acts +in which she might have indulged. + + +V + +CECIL AND PROTESTANTISM + +Cecil had been successful in turning the French out of Scotland. +He held steadily, and the queen held unsteadily, to the conviction +that Spain would not move against England for two reasons--one, that +the triumph of the Scots queen would be too advantageous to France; +the other, that the existing commercial war with the Low Countries, +while bad enough for English trade, was threatening to ruin Flanders, +and could hardly fail to do so if any further burden were added. +France, on the other hand, was not likely to be actively dangerous +independently, so long as neither Catholics nor Huguenots could lay +the opposing party prostrate. Nevertheless, Cecil had to be constantly +on guard against the risk of a Catholic combination. If Mary placed +herself under the ægis of Philip, and the Guises and their following +got his active support in France--if he played to the French Catholics +the part which England was playing to the Scottish Protestants--he +might reckon himself free of the fear of French advancement. The thing +was not a probability, but it was a chance against which England had +to be on the watch. Every time, however, that a crisis of this kind +threatened, or that a Spanish ambassador hinted that his master would +feel himself driven into active antagonism, the Secretary refused to +be frightened; direct threats always stiffened his mistress; and his +calculation turned out correct. + +At the bottom of Cecil’s whole system of foreign policy was the theory +that Philip as Lord of Burgundy could not, for commercial reasons, +afford to quarrel with England, and as King of Spain was tied by the +danger of strengthening France. Spain, then, was not to be feared, but +France might be; this, however, would be conditional on the Huguenots +being decisively crushed--a consummation not desired by Catherine +and the _Politiques_; but this, in turn, required that the French +Huguenots should have enough support from England to maintain their +power of resistance, if not their domination. As time went on, and +the Protestant Netherlands found themselves in open armed resistance +to Philip, it was in just the same way necessary for England to keep +them from being crushed. Cecil saw the necessity of thus abetting +the Protestants in Scotland, France, and the Netherlands; and, being +a genuine Protestant if not an over-ardent one, did not dislike it. +Elizabeth saw the necessity also, but as in each case the Protestants +were subjects acting in opposition to the Government, she did +dislike it, and lost no opportunity of making the support she gave +as ungracious, as niggardly, and as precarious as she dared, while +she perpetually kept up a sort of pretence to herself as well as to +others that she was not really helping those whom she called rebels. +Yet without the help that was wrung from her, it is doubtful whether +in France, in the Netherlands, or even in Scotland, the issue of the +struggles during her reign would not have been materially different. + +Now Cecil’s ideal was one of sober and opulent respectability; he was +not troubled with any notion that the Pope was the Scarlet Woman; +he held generally to the view that subjects ought to conform to the +religion prescribed by Government. But where the views which he himself +held were not prescribed but proscribed, decency compelled sympathy +with the sufferers. Besides, the suppression of Protestantism outside +of England would inevitably mean its suppression in England also, in +course of time. He was thoroughly satisfied that Protestantism was best +for England, and thus, although he had no abstract interest in what +might be good for other countries, for England’s sake he was satisfied +that Protestantism must not be suppressed elsewhere. This was the mark +up to which he had to keep the Queen--who, for her part, was quite +aware that the security of her throne depended on her sustaining the +part laid down for her. But Cecil’s minimum was her maximum, whereas +his maximum--with which she would have nothing to do--was the minimum +that would have satisfied her other great minister, Walsingham. + +Elizabeth, we may put it, felt that Protestantism was a political +necessity for her personal government. She did not feel strongly +that it would still be a necessity for England when she should be in +her grave. Cecil did; while for Walsingham it was a necessity _per +se_. Therefore, to Elizabeth the settlement of the succession was a +political counter of which she did not choose to be deprived; while +to her ministers the delay of it was a perpetual nightmare, because +it meant a constant fear of the accession of Mary Stewart--a prospect +even more threatening after she had left Scotland than while she was a +reigning queen. Herein is to be found one of the reasons why Elizabeth +was not anxious to get rid of a prisoner round whom--dangerous though +Mary might be--she could weave intrigues and negotiations as well as +her opponents; whereas Cecil and Walsingham would always have been +pleased to find any decent excuse for eliminating the Scots Queen from +the situation. In the same way, the ministers wanted their own Queen +to make a suitable marriage, whereas she herself used matrimonial +negotiations merely as tricks for circumventing crises, and probably +never at any time really intended to wed any one among the numerous +suitors, of whom the last did not finally disappear till she was in her +fiftieth year. There is no practical doubt that at one time, early in +the reign, Cecil was himself so much perturbed on the question of the +succession as to have made a move in co-operation with Nicholas Bacon +to get Katharine Grey--sister of Lady Jane, and now married to Lord +Hertford--recognised officially as heir presumptive in accordance with +the terms of the will of Henry VIII.; for which he very nearly got into +serious trouble. Also, it was many years before the Secretary really +felt thoroughly free from the fear, which Elizabeth enjoyed holding in +suspense over his head, that she might some day throw policy to the +winds and court ruin by marrying Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester. + + +VI + +ELIZABETH’S SECOND PERIOD + +The year 1568 and those immediately following had a very material +effect on the general situation. In the first place, the Queen of Scots +delivered herself into Elizabeth’s hands, having already forfeited some +of her chances of foreign support by her marriage with Bothwell. In the +second place, the disaffected provinces of the Netherlands were driven +into open revolt. Broadly speaking, it may be said that from this time +forward Philip always wished to crush Elizabeth, while he would not +involve himself in war with England until he could reckon on crushing +her decisively. There was always the possibility of an Anglo-French +combination, involving Huguenot predominance in France; and in that +event the fleets of the two Powers would command his only line of +communication with the Netherlands. So that on the one hand Spaniards +are found, throughout Mary’s captivity, engaged in plot after plot for +her liberation and enthronement in England; while on the other, Philip +is obliged to swallow one affront after another, and to vary threats +of utter destruction with elaborate efforts to placate the Queen of +England. Cecil--Lord Burghley, as he became in 1571--was no less +anxious to avoid war, but was also determined to go as far as might be, +short of war, in support of the insurgent provinces; while steadily +accumulating the evidence of Spanish complicity in Marian plots, to +be produced as an effective answer to any complaints that England was +abetting treason in the Netherlands, or her seamen committing acts of +war in the Spanish Main or the West Indian Islands. + +The Protestantism of the Government stiffened inevitably with the +development of Catholic plots centring on Mary, the atrocities +perpetrated by Alva in the Netherlands, the cruelties practised by the +Spanish Inquisition on English sailors who fell into its hands, and the +blundering Papal Bull of deposition--which, in fact, embarrassed Philip +a good deal more than it injured the Queen of England. This singularly +impolitic act of the Roman Pontiff, emphasising the direct antagonism, +not to say the irreconcilability, of loyalty to the Throne and loyalty +to the Church, sufficed in itself to bring all Catholics under +suspicion of being at heart traitors--in the technical sense; pledged +by their faith to desire, if not actively to compass, the overthrow of +the reigning queen. Preceded, as it was, by the insurrection of the +northern Catholic Earls in Mary’s favour, and followed by the Ridolfi +conspiracy, it is difficult to perceive how the Queen’s government +could have done otherwise than assume that to be a Catholic was to be +disaffected. Nor is it possible to imagine that, after the appalling +St. Bartholomew massacres of 1572, anti-Catholic sentiment in the +country was not intensified to a white heat. + +The people of England had a further grievance against Spain, inasmuch +as she had taken possession of the wealth of the New World, and +meant to keep it for herself--whereas the English desired a share. +Throughout the later sixties and the seventies, English adventurers +were engaged in making good their claims, in spite of nominal peace +and law, by force of arms, raiding Spanish settlements or compelling +local authorities to allow them to trade in defiance of all injunctions +from headquarters. Technically, at least, these proceedings amounted +to piracy, and if the Spaniards had been content to treat their +perpetrators as pirates, it would have been extremely difficult to +protest. Having an almost incontrovertible case, the Spaniards elected +to put themselves in the wrong by punishing their prisoners--when they +caught them--not as pirates but as heretics, gratuitously introducing +the religious factor. Even in 1568 English sailors, under such captains +as John Hawkins, had learnt to feel that ship for ship they were very +much more than a match for Spanish galleons. Thus the most adventurous +and most irrepressible class in the community was athirst to measure +its strength with the Spaniard, and found no difficulty in convincing +itself that to do so was a religious duty. The spirit of rivalry, +greed of wealth, and sheer love of adventure, formed a sufficiently +strong combination of motives; zeal against the persecutors of true +religion gave them a colour which satisfied any but the most fastidious +consciences. + +Now, it will be easy to see from the foregoing paragraphs that already +in 1568 enough had occurred to inflame popular feeling against +Spain. There were the doings of the Spanish Inquisition in respect +of English sailors. There was, amongst other grievances, the attack +on John Hawkins at San Juan d’Ulloa. There was Alva’s tyranny in +the Netherlands. In France, no one could tell whether Huguenots or +Catholics were going to get the upper hand; but Philip was fully +committed to the suppression of heresy within his own dominions, and +outside them as well so far as it might lie in his power. During the +next four years, every event of importance went to intensify the +sentiment against Spain, to which, and not to France, the Ridolfi plot +pointed as Mary’s ally. On the other hand, it was evident at once, +when Elizabeth was able to detain in her own ports for her own use +the treasure which was on its way up channel to help Alva, that for +the time Philip was too heavily hampered to be able to turn his full +strength against England; and as time went on it became increasingly +clear that Spain could not, with the Netherlands revolt on her hands, +contemplate an English war with equanimity. Even Saint Bartholomew did +not divert the hostile sentiment in the direction of France, since +still after the massacre it was difficult to say whether the French +nation should be identified with the party of the perpetrators rather +than with that of the victims. + +At the lowest estimate, then, there was a mass of feeling in the +country which could very easily have been fanned into a blaze of +indignation, imperatively demanding open defiance of Spain, vigorous +support of the Netherlands and of the Huguenots--in short, immediate +war instead of the chance of war in the future. But the Queen and +Burghley were determined to avoid war; and for nearly twenty years they +succeeded. Burghley’s own primary conviction was that amity between +Burgundy and England was of such enormous importance to both that +considerations of policy would prevent Philip, as they had prevented +his father, from being dragged into war by considerations of religious +zeal. Protestantism--so much of it, at least, as was necessary--could +be saved, probably without adopting heroic courses; and in any case, +if a duel should ultimately prove inevitable, every year that it was +deferred would tell in favour of England, which was daily growing in +wealth, in stability, and in efficiency; and against Spain, which +was constantly subjected to the exhausting strain of war in the Low +Countries and war with the Turk. + +Ultimate friendship with Spain, on the basis of immunity for +unaggressive Protestantism, mutual toleration, and unfettered trade, +was broadly the ideal for which Burghley worked; to achieve it, he was +ready to bring to bear any amount of pressure which would not actually +precipitate war. But it was part of the policy always to make sure that +there was, at any rate, technical justification for everything done +by the English Government. This technical correctness is particularly +characteristic of the man. While Elizabeth herself and nearly every man +in her court, were all shareholders, or in some degree interested, in +the privateering expeditions of Drake and other captains, Burghley held +himself rigidly aloof from them, and never made a penny of personal +profit in that way. He had no moral qualms about seizing the Genoese +treasure in 1568--that was merely an arrangement by which the bankers +lent to England money which they had intended to lend to Spain; if it +inconvenienced Spain, Spain should not have seized the English ships +in her harbours. But when Drake came home after sailing round the +world, with vast quantities of captured treasure in the _Golden Hind_, +Burghley stigmatised the whole proceedings as piratical, declined any +share of the spoil, and would have had it restored to Spain. + +In this connection, the Lord Treasurer’s[E] aversion to these raiding +expeditions was so strong that when Drake’s great voyage was in +contemplation the utmost pains were taken to keep the matter out of his +knowledge. But there were very few things that Burghley did not succeed +in being aware of; and one of the gentleman-adventurers who sailed in +that expedition, Thomas Doughty, was in personal communication with +him before it started. This man was executed by Drake at Port St. +Julian, in Patagonia--one of the grounds on which he was held guilty +of treason towards the “General,” Drake, being that he had admittedly +revealed as much as he knew to Burghley. The fact that inquiry into +that execution was carefully shirked, while the recorded evidence is +somewhat contradictory and inconclusive, has led to the formation of +various surmises to the disfavour of Drake, of Burghley, of Doughty, +or of the witnesses, according to the point of view of the critic. The +most natural interpretation would seem to be that in the first place +Drake and the sailors in general suspected gentleman-adventurers at +large of being an objectionably insubordinate and troublesome element; +and the General may very possibly have been injudicially ready to +condemn one of them on insufficient evidence--evidence which satisfied +him but did not amount to legal proof--and fancied that collusion with +the antagonistic Lord Treasurer implied certainly ill-will and probably +treachery to the commander. Applying those current rules of evidence +which repeatedly sufficed to condemn men for treason at home, the +case for executing Doughty was quite strong enough to act on, though +exceedingly awkward to make public. It would show, of course, that the +sailor was very suspicious of the designs of the statesman from whom +the Queen wanted to have the thing concealed; it also suggests that +Elizabeth liked to do behind the minister’s back, if she could manage +it, the things which she knew he would disapprove. But it does not +involve anything outrageous on Drake’s part, or any real discredit to +the Lord Treasurer. + + [E] Burghley was made Lord High Treasurer in 1572. + +In fact, for a dozen years after Saint Bartholomew, while Burghley +and the Queen had the same main object in view, though others of the +Council were urgent in favour of her presenting herself openly as +the champion of Protestantism, Burghley’s difficulties were mainly +of Elizabeth’s creating. To all appearance, she was in a state of +ceaseless vacillation--now on the verge of a shameful betrayal of +Orange, now on the brink of a French marriage, now on the point of +announcing her readiness to head a League of Protestants, now of +allowing them to take their chance with the preposterous Alençon +as their figure-head, while she stood aside, and anon dangling her +matrimonial bait before that luckless and incapable prince as a +preferable alternative. Burghley, Walsingham, all her advisers, were +repeatedly driven almost to despair by her vagaries; none knew what her +next twist would be--yet every twist that seemed to produce a fresh +entanglement was followed by another which evaded it; and always as an +open breach with Spain or a flagrant rupture with France seemed really +a thing immediately inevitable, some happy accident appeared to save +the situation once more. + + +VII + +THE WAR WITH SPAIN + +It would seem, however, that the discovery of the Throgmorton +conspiracy led Burghley in the beginning of 1584 to the conclusion that +a bolder support should be given to the Netherlands, more especially +as the Alençon farce was finished. In 1585, Elizabeth committed +herself to the Hollanders, Drake went off on the Cartagena raid, and +in 1586 Leicester was in the Low Countries in command of the English +troops. Then came the Babington plot, the execution of the Queen of +Scots after the New Year, the certainty of Philip’s preparations for +the Armada, and the “singeing of the King of Spain’s beard” by Drake, +which deferred the great invasion for a twelvemonth; finally the +week-long battle with the Armada itself, ending in its destruction +off Gravelines, and subsequent annihilation by the tempests. To the +very last Elizabeth went on playing at negotiations with Parma, on +lines involving the basest treachery to the Hollanders; to the entire +satisfaction of Sir James Crofts whom she employed in the business, and +who is known to have been in Philip’s pay. This, however, was merely +one of her regular pieces of diplomatic play-acting; while Burghley +kept his own counsel. The war-party lived on thorns; they did not know +what to make of the trickery, whether it was genuine or a sham. Howard +of Effingham, in fiery wrath, wrote--quoting an old byword--of the +“long grey beard with a white head witless that to all the world would +prove England heart-less,” _i.e._, cowardly. Still, though it would +have been natural enough for them to suspect that the peace-loving +Burghley was abetting the Queen, the probabilities are that Effingham +was referring not to him but to Crofts. Retreat without dishonour was +impossible; he certainly would not have advocated it seriously; and +the elaborate farce which Elizabeth deliberately played was merely a +piece of that eternally baffling and exasperating diplomacy of which +she might be called the inventor and patentee--methods which Burghley +always condemned, though probably his long experience of them had by +this time taught him to see through them. From 1584 he recognised that +events had forced his own peace-loving policy out of court, and that it +could not be revived till the issue between England and Spain had been +fought out. The completeness of England’s triumph when the combatants +did crash together in mortal fray went far, at any rate, to justify the +theory on which he had systematically acted that, if the fight must +come, the longer it could be staved off the more decisively it would +favour his own country. + +The wild outburst of enthusiasm following on the defeat of the Armada +very nearly delivered the future of England into the hands of the +Protestant war-party, whose desire was to break the power of Spain +to pieces; and through the winter Drake and Norreys were preparing +for the Lisbon expedition which, as they planned it, would have +been another very crushing blow to Philip. But the great victory +had brought Burghley’s ideal back into the sphere of practical +politics. That is, if English and Spaniards could be brought to see +reason, or to act as if they saw reason, an _entente_ might now be +established securing religious toleration and the recognition of the +old Constitution in the Netherlands, the old Burgundian alliance with +its corollary of commercial privileges and legitimate trading with +Spanish settlements all over the world, and the immunity of English +sailors from the Inquisition. With Spain as an allied Power, whatever +might come of the party strife in France, England would have nothing +to fear. The aggressive sentiment in England was, indeed, too strong +to be repressed; but though the present continuation of the war was +inevitable, it might be so manipulated as to bring it home to the +obstinate mind of Philip that peace on Burghley’s terms would be a very +good bargain for him, without making a total wreck of the power of +Spain. + +Elizabeth, as usual, was at one with Burghley on the point, and with +Burghley’s son Robert Cecil, who was now drawing to the front and +making it possible for his father to transfer to him much of the +burden of active work for which he was becoming unfitted by age. The +main method by which the policy was given effect was by placing the +conduct of the war as far as possible in the hands of that section of +the war-party, headed by John Hawkins among the seamen and by Essex +at Court, which thought more of booty than of Empire--which did not +realise, with Drake and Raleigh, that the despoiling of treasure-fleets +and the sacking of ports would accomplish very much less than the +annihilation of fighting fleets and the establishment in the New World +of rival English settlements. Thus, by the time Drake started for +Lisbon, he found his hands so tied by restrictions as to what he was to +do and what he was not to do that the expedition failed of its purpose. +Drake was discredited in consequence, and for some years the war became +a mere series of raids; conducted in force, indeed, and openly avowed +and authorised by the Queen, but not in essence differing from the +semi-piratical performances of the Drakes and Hawkinses when Spain +and England were nominally at peace. Hence, in 1598, when Burghley +and Philip both died within a few weeks of each other, Spain had been +invariably defeated in every successive attempt to strike a blow at her +rival; she had suffered a serious disaster at Cadiz; her treasure-ships +had been repeatedly raided; her enemy, Henry of Navarre, had carried +the day in France: but her hold on the New World remained, she was +still an effective Power in Europe, and the fear of her was not yet +dead, though England still held, and more than held, the priority she +had won ten years before. + + +VIII + +AN APPRECIATION + +In foreign policy we have seen that, at any rate in the broader +aspects of it, Burghley and Elizabeth were at one--that is, the Queen +never departed so far from the path he laid down but that she could +regain her footing thereon the moment a crisis arrived. That policy +may be summed up as aiming at one issue--friendship with Spain on an +equality--while preparing for the alternative, a fight for the mastery. +The policy failed to achieve the preferable issue, but in its secondary +aspect was completely successful. Burghley’s own methods were not of +the heroic type; there was no glamour of chivalry and knight-errantry +about them; they were untouched by magnanimity, generosity, moral +enthusiasm; they were ruled by a devotion to law and order, to +propriety, to sober respectability; they were entirely practical, +unsympathetic; but they were essentially marked at least with the +intention of strict justice and reasonableness. + +The same characteristics present themselves in his domestic policy. In +the religious settlement and in finance the course taken throughout +the reign is along the broad lines laid down by him; the Queen permits +herself to indulge in personal outbreaks, and sets the general scheme +at naught in individual instances, but, if she flies off at a tangent, +still manages to return before it is too late, before any general +deflection has been brought about. And again the desire of essential +practical justice is the predominating feature. Zeal for particular +religious views, however sincere, must not be permitted to disturb +public order; the decencies must be observed, but the decencies would +allow of as much latitude as reasonable men could desire. If zeal +went the length of harbouring and fostering persons whose doctrines +might be interpreted as impugning the right of the Queen to sit on +the throne of England, justice required that such zeal should be +penalised; if, further, zeal propagated such doctrines actively, zeal +became treason. So, when Parsons and Campion came over with their +propaganda, the Catholic persecution which followed had Burghley’s +entire approval; nonconformity, aggressive and abusive, he was quite +ready to punish with severity, but when Archbishop Whitgift and his +Court of High Commission set about hunting for nonconformity, Burghley +was for restraining them though the Queen sympathised not with him +but with them. A more sensitive and sympathetic imagination would +often have been alive to the existence of real injustice where the +Lord Treasurer failed to perceive it; but where he did perceive it he +always endeavoured to moderate it, even though he might not set his +face stubbornly against it. His gorge rose at the stories of atrocities +perpetrated in Ireland which almost every one else seems to have taken +as a matter of course. If the use of the rack met with his approval it +was only in cases where he honestly believed that the ends of justice +were thereby furthered; and though the practice had not been common in +England, its prevalence elsewhere was so general that its increased +employment involved no shock to the moral sense of contemporaries. + +Burghley’s principles of political action, then, were quite remote +from those of Machiavelli and Thomas Cromwell, according to which +the slightest claim of political expediency outweighed the entire +moral code, and ethical considerations were reduced at the best to a +sentiment which under certain circumstances it might be expedient to +humour. His principles were equally remote from those of Somerset, +which ignored the fact that no ends, however noble, can be achieved +by disregarding hard facts. He insisted on upholding a moral standard +in policy, and maintained a moral standard in his personal political +relations. Admitting the principle _salus populi suprema lex_, he +allowed that supreme necessity might over-ride the moral law, but there +were few of his contemporaries who were not very much readier than he +to recognise such an exigency on slight provocation. On the other hand, +while his personal standard was so high that even his bitterest foes +among the Spanish ambassadors acknowledged it with abusive candour, +his normal political standard was that of his times. We may, perhaps, +express it by saying that he had an almost abnormally strong sense of +political proprieties but a complete absence of moral fervour. + +Intellectually, he lacked imagination, while no statesman was +ever endowed with a more imperturbably shrewd common sense, which +served as perpetual ballast to counteract the flightiness of his +mistress. He worked as assiduously as Philip of Spain himself, but, +unlike Philip, he knew when to trust other men, never misplacing his +confidence--whereas Philip never trusted any other man an inch further +than he could help. Burghley’s extreme caution was due, not to lack +of courage or of self-confidence, but to a thorough distrust of all +emotional impulses. He weighed, deliberated, decided on the merits of +each case as it arose, with careful and safe judgment; but had none of +those flashes of intuitive perception which have characterised the most +triumphant types of political genius. He ruled, not by magnetism, but +by tact. Among statesmen he was of the order of Walpole and Peel, not +of Oliver Cromwell and Chatham. He was lacking in creative imagination; +but he was, perhaps, the most thoroughly level-headed minister who +has ever guided the destinies of England. He cannot be elevated into +an object of hero-worship. But he was precisely the type of man of +whom his country had most need at the helm in the second half of the +sixteenth century; and he served her as perhaps no other man could +have done, with unswerving patriotism, sturdy resolution, and infinite +devotion to duty. + + + + +SIR FRANCIS WALSINGHAM + + +I + +WALSINGHAM’S CHARACTER + +Of the many Englishmen, who, by loyal service to the nation in the +reign of the Virgin Queen, deserved well of the State, there is perhaps +not one whose claim stands higher than that of Walsingham. For twenty +years, or near it, Elizabeth trusted him more completely than any of +her council, except Burghley, relied on his ability and his fidelity +to carry out every task of exceptional difficulty, profited by his +devotion, his penetration, and his resourcefulness, rejected his +advice on the cardinal question of policy till she was compelled by +circumstances in some measure to adopt it, suffered him to ruin his +fortunes in her service, and finally permitted him to die the poorest +of all her Ministers. It was said, in the study of Burghley, that she +was loyal to him; she was so, in the sense that nothing would induce +her to part from him. Unlike many other princes, when she found a good +servant, she never let him go from personal pique, or on account of +differences; her loyalty was the loyalty of a very acute woman, but one +wholly devoid of generosity. His loyalty she left to be its own reward. + +Walsingham won his position by sheer force of ability and character; +qualities in him which were probably discovered by the penetration +of William Cecil, with whom he was always on the most cordial terms, +although himself the advocate of a much bolder policy than was favoured +by the cautious Lord Treasurer. None could say of Walsingham, as his +enemies have said of Cecil, that he was in any degree a time-server; +he was not only as incorruptible, but it could never be hinted that in +affairs of State his line of action was deflected by a hair’s-breadth +by any considerations of personal advantage or advancement. He indulged +in none of those arts of courtiership which not only a Leicester, a +Hatton, or an Essex, but even a Raleigh, took no shame in employing to +extravagance. Not Knollys nor Hunsdon, her own outspoken kinsmen, could +be more blunt and outspoken to their royal mistress than he. It would +be difficult to find in the long roll of English statesmen one more +resolutely disinterested, or one whose services, being admittedly so +great, were rewarded so meagrely. + +[Illustration: _SIR FRANCIS WALSINGHAM_ + +_From an Engraving by_ G. VERTUE, _after the picture by Holbein, in the +British Museum_] + +There are diversities of conscientiousness. Henry VIII. referred most +questions to his conscience, after he had made up his mind about the +answer; and his conscience always endorsed his judgment. Cromwell +ignored conscience altogether; with More, it overruled every other +consideration. Burghley’s was tolerably active, but perhaps somewhat +obtuse. Walsingham, if we read him aright, was as rigidly conscientious +as More himself; but his moral standard requires to be understood +before it can be appreciated. It was derived, not from the New +Testament, but from the Old. It assumed that the Protestants were in +the position of the ancient Hebrews; that they were the Chosen People, +and their enemies, the enemies of the Lord of Sabaoth. It justified the +spoiling of the Egyptians. It was sufficiently tempered to disapprove +the extermination of the Canaanite, but it hardly condemned Ehud and +Jael. Broadly speaking it applied different moral codes in dealing with +the foes of the Faith and in other relations. Identifying the foes +of the Faith with the enemies of the State, it authorised the use, +in self-defence, of every weapon and every artifice employed on the +other side. It was not with him as with those to whom the law serves +for conscience; who will do with a light heart anything that the law +permits, and shrink in horror from anything that it condemns. Nor did +he act on the principle that the right must give way to the expedient. +With him, conscience positively approved in one group of relations the +adoption of practices which in other relations it would have sternly +denounced. That type of conscience is absolutely genuine and sincere; +but it permits actions which are, to say the least, censurable from a +more enlightened point of view. + + +II + +WALSINGHAM’S RISE + +The records of Walsingham’s early years are somewhat scanty. An uncle +was Lieutenant of the Tower during the latter part of the reign of +Henry VIII.; of whom it is reported that when Anne Askew was on +the rack, he refused to strain the torture to the point desired +by Wriothesly. His father was a considerable landed proprietor at +Chiselhurst, and filled sundry minor legal offices. He died in 1533, +leaving several daughters and one son, Francis, an infant, born not +earlier than 1530, and so ten years younger than William Cecil. Young +Walsingham was up at King’s College, Cambridge, from 1548 to 1550, and +entered Gray’s Inn in 1552. + +Being of the advanced Reformation party, young Walsingham quitted the +country on Mary’s accession, remained abroad during the five years of +her rule, and returned when Elizabeth succeeded, to take his place in +the House of Commons. His sojourn abroad emphasised his Protestantism; +he utilised it also to acquire a very extensive knowledge of foreign +affairs, though he omitted to make himself a master of the Spanish +tongue. He does not appear to have taken prominent part in the +affairs of Parliament when he came back to England; but he attracted +Cecil’s notice, and was employed by the Secretary in procuring secret +intelligence, of which the earliest definite record is a report of +August 1568, giving a “descriptive list of suspicious persons arriving +in Italy during the space of three months,” obtained from “Franchiotto +the Italian.” On November 20 of the same year, he writes to Cecil to +say that, if the evidence of Mary’s complicity in Darnley’s murder +is insufficient, “my friend is able to discover certain that should +have been employed in the said murder, who are here to be produced.” +Incidentally, it may be remarked that this, of course, means no more +than that Walsingham knew where to lay his hand on some one who +professed to have information; which Mr. Froude renders by a phrase +implying that he actually had information, known to be valuable, ready +to be brought forward. What it really shows is, that Walsingham was +engaged in looking out for anything which offered a chance of being +turned to account. + +In the autumn of the following year, just before the rising of the +northern earls, when it was practically certain that some kind of +Catholic plot was afoot and that the Spanish ambassador, Don Guerau +de Espes was mixed up in it, circumstances brought the Florentine +banker Ridolfi under suspicion. The position to which Walsingham +was now attaining is shown by the Italian being assigned to his +surveillance--with the result that Ridolfi’s house and papers were +thoroughly searched without his knowledge, but also without the +discovery of anything incriminating. Whether honestly or with the +object of deceiving him, Ridolfi was thereupon treated as if no +vestige of suspicion attached to him. In the modern phrase, it was +an integral part of Walsingham’s system in dealing with persons on +whom he expected to pounce when his own time came, to give them every +inch of rope he could afford: but a year later Walsingham wrote about +the man to Cecil in terms which imply that the belief in his honesty +was genuine. When the whole of the Ridolfi plot was revealed in 1571, +Walsingham was in France. The secret service was Cecil’s creation, +not Walsingham’s, though doubtless the latter had a considerable +share in organising it, and a little later became mainly responsible +for controlling it. Valuable as he was already rendering himself, he +only emerges definitely into the front rank on his appointment as a +special envoy to the French Court in August 1570; followed immediately +thereafter by his selection for the post of Ambassador Resident. + +The situation at this time was exceedingly critical. At home, the +northern insurrection had just been suppressed, Norfolk and others of +the peers were very much subjects of suspicion, and the Papal Bull +of deposition had increased the sense of nervousness. The Spanish +representative in England was the hot-headed and intriguing Don Guerau +de Espes; in the Netherlands, Alva had made the world in general +believe--though he knew better himself--that the revolt was crushed. +In France the Huguenots, despite defeat in the field, had just shown +themselves strong enough to obtain, through the balancing party of the +Politiques, terms which placed them fairly on a level with the Guise +faction; but a marriage was being planned between Henry of Anjou, the +king’s next brother and heir presumptive, and the imprisoned Queen of +Scots. In Scotland itself, the assassination of Moray had revived the +confusion which the sombre regent had been struggling to allay. Thus, +there was danger to Elizabeth’s throne from her own Catholic subjects; +danger from France, since Anjou was regarded as of the Guise party; and +danger, imagined at least, from Spain, where that surprising charlatan, +Stukely, had almost, if not quite, persuaded Philip that at his +call--with some armed assistance--all Ireland would rise, fling off the +English yoke, and offer itself to Spain. As a matter of fact, Philip +was much too heavily hampered to take openly aggressive action against +England at the time--but that was known to very few people besides +himself and Alva. + +These difficulties of Philip’s were the first redeeming feature in +the situation. The second was that on which Cecil always relied, that +the national interests of France and Spain were too antagonistic to +permit of any cordial alliance between them. Mary Stewart on the +English throne as Philip’s _protégée_ would not suit France; as Anjou’s +wife she would not suit Philip. France might at any time see her own +interest in fostering the revolt in the Netherlands and intriguing for +their Protectorate. The third point was that in France itself, the +Politiques were at one with the Huguenots in wishing to avoid the union +of Anjou with Mary, which would be a great victory for the Guises; so +that the balance of forces in France would turn definitely in favour of +England if she could offer anything in the way of a make-weight. + +Such were the conditions under which Walsingham was sent to France as a +special envoy in August 1570--to congratulate the French Government on +the pacification just concluded; to urge the necessity of maintaining +it loyally; and to dissuade the Court from espousing the cause of the +Scots Queen. Within a month, he received official intimation that the +resident Ambassador, Sir Henry Norris, was about to be recalled, and he +was himself to succeed to the post; which arrangement took effect in +January. + + +III + +AMBASSADOR AT PARIS + +In the interval, an ingenious solution of several problems had +suggested itself to the Huguenot leaders, and found favour with the +Queen-Mother. This was that Anjou should drop the idea of marrying +Mary and should instead marry Elizabeth herself. He was her junior +by seventeen years, but that was a small matter. If he wedded the +Protestant Queen, he would be definitely detached from the Guises, +toleration for both religions would be assured both in England and +France, and the two countries could join in the liberation of the +Netherlands. The problem would be to arrange the marriage on terms +which would give the parties who were favourably disposed to it +security for the carrying out of those parts of the programme which +were from their several points of view essential. + +_Prima facie_ the plan was acceptable to the Huguenots, to the +Politiques, to the English Council, and to Walsingham himself. To the +Guises, it was very much the reverse, and they tried, with a degree +of success, to frighten the Duke with the old scandals about the +Virgin Queen and Leicester. The Spaniards were much perturbed. Their +Ambassador first tried to draw the French into engagements with them +against Orange; and, failing in that attempt, began making overtures +to Walsingham which he appreciated at their true value. He knew all +about the overtures to France--to which, as the Englishman wrote drily +to Cecil, “the answers falling not out to his contentment, maketh +him, as I suppose, to think that the friendship of England is worth +the having.” The same letter notes information that the Pope has a +“practice in hand for England, which would not be long before it brake +forth”--no doubt in connexion with the Ridolfi plot, which was now +maturing. + +Side by side with the business of the Anjou marriage, Walsingham was +much engaged in gathering information as to the suspected Spanish +expedition to Ireland; in respect of which he held much diplomatic +conversation with the ex-Archbishop of Cashel and heard many tales of +Stukely’s doings and sayings. Walsingham suspected his good faith, +and remarked significantly to Cecil--who had just been “ordered to +write William Burleigh” instead of William Cecil, but had still some +difficulty in remembering the new signature--“I have placed some +especially about him, to whom he repaireth, as also who repairs unto +him.” The suspicions were not dissipated as time went on. + +The Ambassador’s situation was one of singular difficulty. For a dozen +years past, Elizabeth had played fast and loose with so many suitors +that any lack of straightforwardness on her part was certain to be +construed as meaning that she intended to play with Anjou in the same +way; while she was absolutely incapable of being straightforward. As +a matter of fact, she was probably merely playing her usual game. So +long as the match was on the _tapis_, but only on the _tapis_, Philip +would be afraid to move lest he should precipitate it. Meantime, Orange +was making ready to renew the struggle in the Netherlands, and she +might presently find that she could afford to manœuvre herself out +of the marriage, and would have skill enough to make the rupture of +negotiations come from the other side. Burghley and Leicester both +wanted the match--the former being satisfied that it would result in +the Burgundian dominions being separated from Spain without being +absorbed by France, while Protestantism would be generally much +strengthened. But in his private correspondence with Walsingham, he +warned the Ambassador very plainly that neither he nor Leicester knew +what the Queen meant to do--it was as likely as not that she wished in +the long run to get the match broken off by Anjou on the score of the +English stipulations for his conforming to the English law in matters +of religion. Walsingham, who was a Protestant with his heart and soul +as well as his head, and believed that the Protestant cause was the +national cause much more uncompromisingly than Burghley, was more +zealous on behalf of the marriage than the Secretary himself, being +convinced that it would bring about the victory of Protestantism, in +alliance with England, both in France and the Netherlands. + +It was not Burghley nor Walsingham, but Elizabeth, who controlled the +situation; and however strongly the ministers might express their +private feelings to each other, they had to do as she told them. Her +trickery met with its usual success. In due course, Henry of Anjou +found that he could not accede to the demand for conformity, and in +spite of his mother’s entreaties withdrew his suit; yet the business +was so successfully managed that the French court, instead of being +offended, very soon began to hint that the French king had yet another +brother, the Duke of Alençon, whose hand and heart were not yet +disposed of. So the play began again. + +Meantime the complete revelation of the Ridolfi conspiracy brought +conclusive proofs of the real hostility of Spain to Elizabeth. In the +following spring (1572) the Netherlands were set ablaze once more by +La Marck’s capture of Brille, and Alva found his hands full; a timely +occurrence, since the crushing defeat of the Turks at Lepanto by Don +John in October had greatly strengthened the hands of Philip. In the +summer of 1572 Walsingham was more than ever convinced that a French +marriage, and support on the most liberal scale to Orange, composed +the policy which it was imperative for England to adopt. Everything +was pointing to a Huguenot ascendency in France; Marguerite of Valois +was on the point of marrying young Henry of Navarre, head of the +Bourbons, and next in succession to the throne after the reigning +king’s brothers. To play fast and loose with the Alençon marriage would +alienate France; to play fast and loose with Orange would be to throw +him into the arms of France alienated from England. That Philip, seeing +England thus isolated, would cheerfully forgive and forget all that he +had suffered, for the sake of an unstable union with her, was almost +unthinkable. Yet the months went by, and the Ambassador could get no +guidance even from the sympathetic Burghley, who was as much in the +dark as ever as to Elizabeth’s real intentions. + +But there was a factor in the situation of which on one had taken +full account; not Walsingham, nor Burghley, nor Elizabeth; not the +Huguenots; not Philip nor Alva. This was Catherine de Medici’s +overwhelming lust of personal power, and the passion of jealousy +accompanying it. She saw her ascendency over her son Charles IX. +slipping away and passing into the hands of Coligny and his associates. +For victory and vengeance, she prepared to commit, perhaps, the most +appalling crime in the annals of Christian Europe. Paris was crowded +with Huguenots gathered to celebrate the pact of amity, to be sealed +by the wedding of the Béarnais and the sister of the king. Stealthily +and swiftly the plans were laid, the plot organised, the preparations +completed. The wedding took place on August 18: three days later, an +unsuccessful attempt was made to murder Coligny. It may be that if the +assassin had killed the Admiral, the huge tragedy which followed would +have been averted; as it was, hours before the sun of St. Bartholomew’s +day (August 24) had risen, the floodgates had been opened, and the +streets of Paris were running red with rivers of Huguenot blood. +During the following days, like scenes were being enacted through the +provinces. + +For a moment Europe stood breathless, aghast. Whatever this appalling +thing meant, it seemed at least an assured portent of developments +undreamed of; probably a vast, all-embracing, Catholic conspiracy. +England sprang to arms, ready to stand at bay against the united forces +of France and Spain. If there was to be a life-and-death struggle +between the religions, she would fight to the last gasp. The Englishmen +in the French capital had been safeguarded on the night of the +massacre, but it was some little time before they could be sure that +their turn was not still to come. Yet Walsingham in Paris bore himself +with the same lofty sternness that the English Queen and her Council +displayed to the French Ambassador in London. It soon became evident +that Catherine was frightened at what she had done; that her one desire +was to minimise it, to declare that matters had never been intended +to go so far, to shelter behind the plea that the victims had been on +the verge of effecting a bloody _coup d’état_ and the counter-stroke +had only been dealt in self-defence. Walsingham’s reply was in terms +of courteous but scathing incredulity. The Queen-Mother tried to +win him over by declaring that Coligny had warned Anjou against the +machinations of England; he answered that the Admiral had acted therein +as a loyal Frenchman. + +The diplomatic fabric had collapsed, but at least there was no question +of France holding Elizabeth to blame for the rupture; nor was there any +question of Catherine turning to a junction with Spain. The Huguenots +now were at bay; there would be work enough before they were either +crushed or pacified; while the slaughter of their leaders had made +the Guises more dangerous than ever. On the other hand, there could +be no joint action on behalf of Orange. France had ruled herself out. +Walsingham would still have stood boldly for “the Religion,” but +the Queen and Burghley were not equally ready to fling themselves +single-handed into the struggle on behalf of the Netherlands. The +Spaniards deemed the opportunity a good one for seeking reconciliation +with England. A more politic and less bloodthirsty Governor was +dispatched to the Low Countries to take the place of Alva, who by his +own desire was recalled. Walsingham went back to England, and for some +time to come Philip and Elizabeth were engaged in an elaborate if +insincere ostentation of amicable intentions. + + +IV + +ENTANGLEMENTS + +Burghley as Secretary had been so heavily worked that he was in +danger of breaking down; to prevent such a catastrophe, he was made +Lord Treasurer, Walsingham on his return to England being appointed +joint Secretary of State with Sir Thomas Smith. Leicester continued +to be Burghley’s chief rival with Elizabeth on the Council, owing to +his personal favour with her; and his political line was the same as +Walsingham’s, though the Secretary supplied the brains. Walsingham was +neither the rival nor the follower of either; it was never in his mind +to supplant Burghley either himself or by Leicester; but his counsels +and those of the Lord Treasurer were often in disagreement in so far as +his Protestantism was more energetic, and as he had no sympathy with +the idea of amity with Spain, being thoroughly convinced of Philip’s +fundamental hostility to England as a Protestant Power. + +For some years the Protestant policy was out of court so far as Spain +and the Netherlands were concerned; the comparative moderation of the +new Governor, Requesens, giving plausibility to the hope that a _modus +vivendi_ might be arrived at--that Philip’s maximum of concession +and Orange’s minimum of demand might prove capable of adjustment. +In Scotland, however, Walsingham and Burghley both recognised the +necessity of maintaining friendly relations with the capable but +sinister Regent, the Earl of Morton. It was impossible to ignore +the danger of a reconstruction of parties there, which might again +result in French intervention being invited; a consummation equally +abhorrent to the Treasurer and the Secretary. Elizabeth’s parsimony +here proved too strong for her policy. Burghley and Walsingham both +believed that liberal but judicious expenditure would prove economical +in the long run. But the Queen would not relax the purse-strings; the +unrest of Scotland continued to be a thorn in her side, and to be also +a perpetual strain on the anxiety of her ministers and a drain on her +Exchequer. + +Requesens died in 1576; before his successor, Don John, arrived, the +Spanish soldiery--whose pay was in arrear--got completely out of +hand; and the autumn saw the hideous butchery in Antwerp known as +the “Spanish Fury.” The whole of the provinces--Catholic as well as +Protestant--were united thereby in a solid demand for the restoration +of their old constitutional privileges, and the withdrawal of Spanish +troops; and in a flat refusal to admit the new Governor or recognise +his government, until their main demands were conceded. Don John made +provisional terms and was admitted in the spring following; but he +was known to be harbouring audacious designs against England, the +Hollanders suspected his good faith, and the old state of serious +tension was renewed. Drake was planning his great voyage, to the entire +satisfaction of the anti-Spanish party--but with an obvious certainty +of giving extreme offence to Philip, which caused them to make a vain +attempt to keep the thing secret from Burghley; while Elizabeth--who +liked playing with fire and was also greedy for money--made her own +bargain with the adventurer. Thus, in 1578 a curious state of affairs +arose. Philip, jealous of his half-brother, and still extremely anxious +to avoid a rupture with England, once more accredited an ambassador +to the English Court, Bernardino de Mendoza, whose business was to be +conciliation; Elizabeth’s Council swayed to the views of Walsingham and +Leicester, while Burghley seemed to be outweighted. The Queen started +on one of her most exasperating pieces of political jugglery, snubbing +Orange on the one hand, and on the other reviving the Alençon marriage +project; while Alençon himself was now posing as a would-be figure-head +for the Huguenots, and at odds with his brother Henry III., who had +succeeded Charles IX. two years after St. Bartholomew. + +To his own intense disgust, Walsingham was despatched to the +Netherlands on the most thoroughly uncongenial task that could be +conceived: one, moreover, which it would have been quite impossible +for him to accomplish even if his heart had been in it. He was to urge +the Protestant States to accept the Spanish terms, which would have +deprived them of the exercise of their religion; he was to refuse +the promised issue of the bonds on which they were relying for the +sinews of war; in effect, he was to represent England in what he +himself looked upon as an act of betrayal. Of course, the mission +was a failure. Betrayed or not, Orange and his party would never +accept the Spanish terms; they would rather take the risk of a French +Protectorate, or die fighting. Walsingham loathed the job, and wrote +home in very bitter terms of the shame the whole of the proceedings +were bringing on the name of England. The only glimmer of satisfaction +he extracted from it was in the retraction of the monstrous breach of +faith about the bonds. It was bad enough that Elizabeth’s name should +be made a by-word for falsehood; it was only less bad that France, +instead of England, should become for her own ends the friend and +protector of the Low Countries; it was sickening that he, of all men, +should be made the agent of such perfidy, held personally responsible +for it abroad, and rewarded by his mistress with abuse because it +failed. “It is given out,” he wrote, “that we shall be hanged on our +return, so ill have we behaved ourselves here: I hope we shall enjoy +our ordinary trial--my Lord Cobham [his colleague] to be tried by his +peers, and myself by a jury of Middlesex.... If I may conveniently, I +mean, with the leave of God, to convey myself off from the stage and to +become a looker-on.” + +Elizabeth, however, was far too keenly alive to his value to allow him +to become a looker-on; nor could Burghley have spared him, however +their views might differ on some points. The Queen might ignore his +advice, but she relied on his penetration and his loyalty, and was more +afraid of his righteous indignation than of the Lord Treasurer’s sober +disapprobation. Neither minister would countenance what they accounted +perfidy, and in act she never in the long run degraded her honour as +much as she repeatedly threatened to do. Both of them spoke their +minds. She knew they were in the right; she resisted, abused, flouted, +defied them; but she always yielded enough, and in time, to save some +shreds of credit. + +The death of Don John about the end of September was followed by the +appointment of Alexander of Parma, a statesman and soldier of the +first rank, as his successor; who at the outset skilfully severed the +union between the northern or Protestant and the southern or Catholic +provinces. If Burghley could have had his own way untrammelled, he +would have dealt straightforwardly with Orange, giving him support +enough to keep him from calling in France, and still hoping to bring +about an accommodation with Parma possible of acceptance by both +parties. Neither he nor Walsingham now had any belief in joint action +with France, in which their confidence had been permanently blotted +out by the Paris massacre. Neither of them, therefore, saw good in the +Alençon marriage as a genuine project, while both saw infinite danger +in merely playing with it. They differed, as it would seem, only as to +the length they were prepared to go in helping Orange, Burghley drawing +the line at the point where he thought Philip might be driven into a +declaration of open war, while the Secretary would have taken bigger +risks, accepting open war if Philip chose. The Queen’s object was the +same as Burghley’s, but she elected, according to her habit, to seek +it not by straightforward, but by crooked, courses. She would give +Orange the minimum of help, but she would, by playing with Alençon, +either keep France out of it, or else embroil France and Spain, keeping +herself out of it till she could strike in as arbiter. To do which, she +had to induce every one to believe that she probably meant marrying, +while trusting to her own ingenuity and the chapter of accidents to +effect, if the worst came to the worst, an escape not too ruinously +ignominious. If she really did know what she wanted, it was more than +any of her Council did, and she drove them almost to despair. + +So the juggling went on; the Queen blew hot and cold with Alençon, +and tried to inveigle France into a league without a marriage; the +French tried to get the marriage secured as preliminary to a league. +Drake came home, his ship loaded with spoils; but the remonstrances +of Mendoza were met by complaints of the assistance given by Spain +to the Desmond rebellion in Ireland. Walsingham was flatly opposing +the marriage, and the Puritan element in the country at least was +with him to a man. Parsons and Campion, and the Jesuit propaganda, +had set Puritans and Catholics alike in a ferment. In the summer of +1581 Alençon was still dangling, France was still waiting to have +the marriage question settled, Philip had just annexed Portugal, and +Burghley himself was despairing of a peaceful outcome. + +Under these circumstances, Elizabeth again chose to despatch Walsingham +on an embassy to Paris. He was to get the Queen out of the marriage +without upsetting the French. He was to get France to espouse the +cause of Orange, while England was only to render secret pecuniary +aid. Whether, in the last resort, the Queen would accede to the +marriage for the sake of a secret league, or would accede to an open +league to escape the marriage, or would positively on no condition +have either marriage or open league, or would still keep the marriage +unaccomplished but unrejected if she could, Walsingham did not know; +for whatever instructions he received were liable to be contradicted +in twenty-four hours. He was to extract his mistress from the tangle +in which she had involved herself, and might understand that whatever +means he found for doing so would be angrily condemned. + +Naturally, he found the situation almost impossible. The King and the +Queen-Mother would make an open league and let the marriage go; of +that, he felt satisfied. But they would not have an undeclared league, +nor commit themselves at any price to any war in the Low Countries, +if there were any possible loophole for Elizabeth to back out of +supporting them. She must be so committed that she could not back out. +The suspicion that she was only dallying both with the marriage and the +league could only be got rid of by the most straightforward dealing, +and if she would not listen to advice there was the gravest danger +that she would find France, Spain, and Scotland all united against +her. He wrote in very plain terms that if she would not make up her +mind to a liberal expenditure, and convince her neighbours that she +had done so, ruin threatened. The instructions from England continued +to be evasive, non-committal. The personal correspondence between +Burghley and Walsingham is particularly interesting, as showing the +complete confidence between them, the loyalty with which the Treasurer +fought the Secretary’s battles with the Queen, though in vain, and +Walsingham’s entire frankness to him. + +“Sorry I am,” he writes, “to see her Majesty so apt to take offence +against me, which falleth not out contrary to my expectation, and +therefore I did protest unto her, after it had pleased her to make +choice of me to employ me this way, that I should repute it a greater +favour to be committed to the Tower, unless her Majesty may grow more +certain in her resolutions there.” Twelve days later he fairly exploded +in a letter to the Queen herself. He told her point-blank that she +had already lost Scotland, and was like enough to lose England too, +by her parsimony, and finished up--“If this sparing and improvident +course be held still, the mischiefs approaching being so apparent as +they are, I conclude therefore ... that no one that serveth in place +of a Counciller, that either weigheth his own credit, or carrieth that +sound affection to your Majestie as he ought to do, that would not wish +himself in the farthest part of Ethiopia, rather than enjoy the fairest +palace in England. The Lord God therefore direct your Majestie’s heart +to take that way of councel that may be most for your honour and +safety.” + +Nothing came of the embassy; not even the ruin foretold by Walsingham. +The wonderful Queen managed somehow to keep Alençon dangling; and while +he dangled there would be no decisive breach with France. In November +he was in England again. She promised to marry him, kissed him, and a +few weeks later told Burghley that she would not marry the man on any +terms. The ministers, of course, could see nothing possible but an +irreconcilable quarrel with France over the affair sooner or later; +and again Burghley’s efforts were directed to pacifying Mendoza, and +Walsingham’s to forcing Elizabeth into openly supporting Orange. In the +Council Burghley was practically alone; yet Walsingham could not effect +his object. The impending avalanche did not fall--and then Alençon in +effect committed suicide by trying to play the traitor and failing +ignominiously to carry out his plot; thereby making himself obviously +and hopelessly impossible. The rupture with France on that score was +averted. His death a year later, in 1584, made Henry of Navarre actual +heir presumptive to the crown of France; and then the question of +the succession became, and remained, so critical that all parties in +France were too hotly engaged in their own contests to take effective +part in quarrels beyond their borders. Orange was assassinated; the +Throgmorton plot had convinced Burghley himself that the duel with +Spain was inevitable; and in 1585 Parma’s skill brought affairs in the +Netherlands to a point at which nothing but the armed intervention +of England could apparently save the revolted provinces from utter +destruction. Before the end of the year Elizabeth was in open league +with them. At last, circumstances had compelled her officially to +commit herself to Walsingham’s policy, though even now she could not +bring herself to resign either her systematic penuriousness or her +systematic vacillation. + + +V + +DETECTIVE METHODS + +Walsingham has hitherto appeared in the character of a foreign minister +or ambassador with two main functions--to gauge the intentions +of foreign courts, and to carry out a policy with which he was +dissatisfied by methods which he abominated: the ally of Leicester in +the policy he advocated, the ally of Burghley in his moral attitude +towards the Queen. She and Burghley were at one in the knowledge that +she must preserve Continental Protestantism from sheer destruction, and +in the determination to limit their help, so long as it was possible to +do so, in such wise as to avoid war with Spain. Since 1577 Walsingham +had been opposed to that limitation; in 1584 Burghley himself was +relinquishing it with reluctance, and with the persistent hope that a +reconciliation might again become possible. + +As a diplomatist, Sir Francis appears to have possessed in a high +degree the quality of impenetrability, the precision of veracity which +has the effect of _suppressio veri_ or of _suggestio falsi_, misleading +of set purpose but without deviation from formal truth. The ethics of +the twentieth century have not yet learnt to condemn skilful deception +in this kind, at any rate where it is not directed to personal ends. +But the means which, in other capacities than that of an ambassador, +Walsingham employed for obtaining information, were not always such +as would be ventured on to-day by a politician who was unwilling to +be called unscrupulous. Yet they were means which--so far as they can +with certainty be attributed to him--would have been unhesitatingly +sanctioned by almost every contemporary. + +It has to be borne in mind, in the first place, that throughout the +Elizabethan period every country in Europe was thick with plots, with +the political intention of a violent _coup d’état_, or the religious +intention of removing an obnoxious personality. While Elizabeth was on +the throne the list of successful assassinations included those of two +Dukes of Guise, a King of France, the Prince of Orange, Darnley, Moray, +and the victims of St. Bartholomew. Attempts which only just failed +were made on Orange and Coligny. There were at least three plots--those +known by the names of Ridolfi, Throgmorton, and Babington--in favour +of Mary Stewart, and involving the assassination of Elizabeth, in +which Philip, or some of his ministers, or the Guises, or the Pope, or +Cardinal Allen, were implicated, besides minor ones. Rizzio’s murder +was political; and Burghley’s life was the object of a conspiracy. +These are merely a few conspicuous instances out of a very long roll. +The ingenuity of zealots, on either side, who honestly believed that +in slaying a leader of heretics or of persecutors they were rendering +acceptable service to the Almighty, was backed by the unscrupulousness +of politicians, who might not, indeed, themselves be prepared to stab +or poison, but were quite ready to make use of those who would do +so. In England especially there were vast interests involved in the +removal of Elizabeth, whose legitimate heir was, beyond all question, +the Catholic Queen of Scots. Plots merely directed against the Queen’s +person were serious enough; but they might be combined with schemes for +invasion or concerted insurrection, like the revolt of the northern +Earls. The plotters were perfectly unscrupulous. Nothing could be more +certain than that, so long as the Queen of Scots was alive and in +captivity, there would be a series of conspiracies, with or without +her connivance, having it as their object to place her on the throne +of England. And we must remember, further, that, to intensify the +situation, a Papal Bull had declared that while it was not incumbent +upon Catholics in England actively to hatch treason against the Queen +of England, it was incumbent on them to countenance, and meritorious to +take part in it. + +With the tremendous issues at stake, both national and religious, with +the forces engaged in setting conspiracy in motion or in encouraging +it, with the untrammelled character of its operations, the nature +of the fight was obviously very different from anything with which +modern statesmen have to deal. Yet where active secret societies +are in existence, the police methods of modern Governments are the +police methods of Walsingham. The spy, the paid informer, the _agent +provocateur_, play the same part now as in the sixteenth century. It +was in the risks for a Spanish ambassador or agent that his secretary, +or some other person standing to him in a confidential relation, might +be in the pay of the English Secretary of State. Any influential person +suspected of Catholic leanings might wake up one morning to find that +a tolerably complete copy of his correspondence was in Walsingham’s +hands. A plot, big or small, might progress merrily while the plotters +hugged themselves on their skill and secrecy--till the psychological +moment arrived for dropping the mask, and they found that they had +merely been drawn into a carefully prepared trap. + +Walsingham had no qualms about employing liars, perjurers, the basest +kind of scoundrels in this business. When he had caught his culprits +he quite deliberately applied the rack and other forms of torture to +extract evidence. He would have argued that the Queen’s enemies had +chosen their own method of fighting, and it was legitimate to meet them +with their own weapons--as Clive argued in the case of Omichund; that, +in fact, it was only by the use of their own weapons that he could make +sure of defeating them. Also he did not originate the system--espionage +and the rack were in full play when his foot was only on the lowest +rung of the ladder. Also, these methods were not employed vindictively, +but with the single object of obtaining true information by which +treasonous designs might be frustrated. Also, in acting as he did, he +did not violate the public conscience--or his own, with its rigid Old +Testament limitations. + +But there is one case in which he is charged with having gone farther. + +It would be difficult to find any even approximate parallel to the +position of Mary Stewart in England. Whatever her own attitude might +be, she was the inevitable centre of Catholic plots of the most +far-reaching order. While she lived, the throne of Elizabeth and the +triumph of the Reformation in England could never be secure. She was +held captive on no legitimate ground, but solely because her title to +the English throne was so strong that the Queen could not afford to +set her at liberty. In plain terms, the national security required +her death, but unless she could be convicted of plotting against the +life of Elizabeth, there was no legitimate ground for putting her to +death. The eighth Henry would have made short work with her; there +was no European sovereign who would not have made short work with any +dangerous pretender to his crown who lay completely in his power. Yet +even the Throgmorton conspiracy was not turned to her destruction; +Elizabeth had her own reasons for preferring to keep her captive alive. +But the Throgmorton revelations, with the assassination of Orange, the +death of Alençon, the approach of the Spanish crisis, and the growing +certainty that Mary’s son would not take her place as the figure-head +for Catholic conspiracies, went far to cancel Elizabeth’s reasons. To +Walsingham, alike as patriot and protestant, the death of Mary had long +been about the most desirable event that could occur; and now he saw +his way to compass it--to inveigle her within reach of the law. + +He reckoned it as a certainty that if she found herself able to +communicate with her partisans undetected, she would soon enough get +involved in some plot of a character which would justify her doom +in the eyes of the world. A supposed adherent of hers, a Jesuit, +devised means of communicating with her and of passing her secret +correspondence in and out of Chartley Manor. She fell into the trap: +the supposed adherent was Walsingham’s agent. Every letter was opened +and copied. A plot was soon on foot for her liberation, an invasion, +and the deposition of Elizabeth, whose assassination by Anthony +Babington was part of the scheme. From Walsingham’s point of view, the +vital point was to get her definitely implicated in Babington’s part of +the conspiracy. At last, Philips, the decipherer of the correspondence, +produced a letter which was decisive. Then Walsingham struck. The +bubble burst; Mary was tried and condemned. + +Now an issue appears between Walsingham and Mary. The Scots Queen +admitted participation in the plot up to a certain point: she denied +_in toto_ knowledge of the intended assassination. Apart from certain +phrases in one letter, it cannot be conclusively shown that she was +lying. The conditions made it possible that she never wrote those +incriminating phrases; that they were forged. Did Walsingham fabricate +that evidence in order that Mary might be prevented from escaping what +he regarded as her just and necessary doom, on a technical plea? Did +Philips forge it and persuade him that it was genuine? Or was it in +fact genuine? Mendoza believed that Mary was in the secret, but Mendoza +may have been under a misapprehension. No one will ever be able to +answer that riddle decisively. But the form of Walsingham’s denial, +when the imputation of forgery was made in court, is worth noting. “As +a private person, I have done nothing unbecoming an honest man, nor, +as I bear the place of a public person have I done anything unworthy +my place.” If Walsingham did fabricate the evidence, he did it with +a clear conscience; that is, with an honest conviction that he was +discharging a duty; that he was “doing nothing unworthy his place.” The +thing is perfectly conceivable. No one will deny that John Knox was a +conscientious man; but John Knox justified assassination. Walsingham +himself thought it permissible in certain circumstances. But the case +is not proved one way or the other. The twist in his rigid conscience +may not have been crooked enough for that. Yet the whole business of +deliberately making arrangements to facilitate plotting on his victim’s +part is hardly on a different plane. The point of interest lies in the +fact that under sixteenth-century conditions such acts were committed +and were sanctioned without compunction not only by men without +conscience, or of careless conscience, or of conventional or adaptable +conscience, but by the very men who held hardest to moral ideals: men +whose serious purpose was to do all to the glory of God. + + +VI + +THE END + +For all her confidence in and dependence on Walsingham, the Secretary +was never _persona grata_ with Elizabeth. She abused him more roundly +and more frequently than any other member of her Council. If an +opportunity offered of setting him a task which was utterly against +the grain, she would not let it go; and she liked him none the better +for his share in making her responsible for the death of Queen Mary. +In that, as in passing from covert to overt war with Spain, she was +compelled to follow his policy; but she did not increase her favour +to him and his allies, and she followed the policy with marked +ill-will. Nothing could avert a desperate conflict, yet she continued +to the last to drive the war-party half-frantic by parsimony, by +issuing impracticable orders, by imposing paralysing restrictions, by +temporising with Parma and threatening to betray her allies. And when +the great Armada was triumphantly shattered by English seamen, and +thereafter overwhelmed by the winds and the waves, and Drake would have +delivered a still more fatal blow by rending Portugal from Philip, she +carefully tied the Admiral up with instructions which doomed the Lisbon +expedition to fruitlessness and its great organiser to discredit and +practical retirement. + +If Walsingham lived to see England freed from the nightmare of Mary +Stewart, and on a palpable equality with Spain, the accession of the +leader of “the Religion” in France to the throne, if not as yet to +the rulership, of that country, and the rise of a worthy successor to +William the Silent in the person of Maurice of Nassau, yet his last +years were full enough of bitterness. He had striven devotedly with +a single eye to the welfare of his country, so loyally and with such +absence of self-seeking that he had beggared himself in the process. +His services--invaluable yet unwelcome--were requited by chill +disfavour; the assistance to which gratitude and justice should have +entitled him was denied, since lavish bounty to Walter Raleigh suited +the Queen’s humour better at the time; and the statesman who with +Burghley had done most, for twenty years, for the honour and the safety +of England, died so poor that he was buried quietly and privately--at +his own desire--that his heirs might be spared the charges of a costly +funeral. Whether he was in alliance with Burghley, or in occasional +antagonism to the policy of his great colleague, the personal +friendship and fidelity of the two to each other remained unbroken +to the end. That is almost the only pleasing reflection to which his +closing years give rise. For the rest, he passed from the world, one +more example of the ingratitude of princes. + + + + +SIR WALTER RALEIGH + + +I + +CHARACTER + +In his virtues and in his faults, in his brilliance and in his +limitations, in his greatness and in his defects, Walter Raleigh is +the very type of Elizabeth’s England. Like Robert Cecil, Spenser, +and Sidney, he was a child when the great queen ascended the throne; +like Shakespeare and Bacon, he had not passed the full vigour of +manhood when she died. He was a year older than Henry of Navarre, whom +he outlived by eight years. Walsingham was a grown man and William +Cecil a Secretary of State before any one of this younger group was +born. All of them were young men still when the crisis of Elizabeth’s +reign was reached and the Armada was dispersed. The older generation +raised England from weakness to strength; the younger saw her strength +made patent to the world. The older generation maintained her on the +defensive; it was the part of the younger to assert her primacy in +every field of endeavour. + +Of this younger generation, Raleigh stands out as the typical +representative. In an age of men of action, he was one of the greatest +of the men of action. In one of the two greatest ages of English +poetry he was acclaimed as one of their peers by the poets. In the age +which saw the creation of English prose, he was one of the masters +of prose. The military world and the naval world were developing new +theories of strategy and tactics; in both fields he was a first-rate +authority and a brilliant performer. The expansion of Spain and +Portugal had brought new political conceptions into being; we owe +the conception of Greater Britain and all the first stubborn efforts +to realise it to the genius of Sir Walter. In a day of brilliant +courtiers, none was more brilliant than he; and in the day when Bacon +was formulating anew the principles of scientific inquiry, Raleigh was +incidentally an ardent experimentalist. In every field his versatility +was exercised, and in every field his place was in the front rank. + +[Illustration: _SIR WALTER RALEIGH_ + +_From the Painting by_ FEDERIGO ZUCCARO _in the National Portrait +Gallery_] + +And yet perhaps--save in one thing--never quite in the first rank. +His literary achievement does not set him beside Shakespeare and +Spenser. Drake was a greater commander and John Davis a greater +seaman. By land he was never tested in a great command. His scientific +pursuits were merely a parergon. As a statesman he never achieved the +control of England’s destinies; wily Robert Cecil was the craftier +politician. But two things he did: he taught Englishmen that the might +of England lay in her fleets--not as the accident of a moment but as a +permanent principle; and he created the idea of a Britain beyond the +seas, struggled for it almost alone year after year with persistent +tenacity, through good report and evil report and failure--finally +died for it. He it was that sowed the seed; ours is the tree that +sprang from it. + + +II + +RALEIGH’S RISE + +Walter Raleigh was born in 1552, a year before Mary Tudor ascended +the English throne. He was of a Devon house; himself, one of a large +and composite family, for his mother, Katharine Champernoun, was his +father’s third wife, and was herself a widow with several children +when she married him. It must have counted for something for a small +boy to have had two such big half-brothers as Humphrey and Adrian +Gilbert, both dreamers and idealists, and one of them a by-no-means +contemptible man of action to boot. The child was six years old when +the great persecution was ended by Elizabeth’s accession, and for the +next ten years he had endless opportunities of listening with all his +ears to mariners’ tales of Eldorado and of the Spanish Inquisition, +and learning at least watermanship if not seamanship. In 1568 he went +up to Oxford, at the moment when Alva was goading the Netherlands into +open rebellion and France was on the verge of a fresh outbreak of the +Huguenot wars. Raleigh’s career as an undergraduate was interrupted. +He went off to France as a volunteer, to get his baptism of blood at +Jarnac in March, and to be present at Montcontour later in the year. + +After that, his career for some while is not easy to trace. It looks +as if he had returned to Oxford, for his name was still on the list of +undergraduates at Oriel in 1572; but it is also said that he remained +in France for five years, and even that he was in Paris at the time of +the massacre. In 1575 he entered--_pro forma_--at the Middle Temple; +and two or three years later appears to have been in the field again, +fighting in the Low Countries under Sir John Norreys. The chances are +that he had had some further military practice in the interval between +1569 and 1578, in France or the Netherlands or both, especially as his +brother Humphrey Gilbert was in command of the English contingent at +Flushing and elsewhere for some while. In 1578 Gilbert sailed on his +first colonising venture, and young Walter was one of his captains; +but the expedition, after a collision with some Spaniards, was driven +back to Plymouth by weather. In 1580, Raleigh emerges definitely as a +captain in the army employed for the suppression of Desmond’s rebellion +in Ireland--in which capacity he was present at the capture of +Smerwick, and had the unsavoury business of superintending the massacre +of the garrison. + +Raleigh remained in Ireland on duty for something over a year, till +the end of 1581. While there he accomplished sundry feats of arms +of a brilliant character, all being of the kind in which personal +daring and skill, and resourcefulness in emergency, are the leading +characteristics--deeds in which he was acting with only some very small +escort. It was very much in the nature--_mutatis mutandis_--of police +work among hostile frontier tribes in India to-day. The young soldier’s +ideas of Irish government were derived from Humphrey Gilbert, who, in +all other relations of life, was a noble-hearted generous Christian +gentleman, but in this particular relation was as perfectly ruthless as +Alva himself might have been. It is one of the puzzles of the period +that men who upheld elsewhere the highest standards of chivalry and +honour--men such as Sussex, Henry Sidney, Walter Devereux--adopted +towards the native Irish the attitude of the primitive Hebrew towards +the Canaanites, seeming to account the human population as if they were +an irredeemably pernicious species of wild beasts; and Raleigh was no +exception to the rule. + +Immediately on his return to England he sprang into high favour with +Elizabeth, partly through his brilliant abilities, partly through the +personal fascination which no one could exercise better when he chose. +But this charm was accompanied by an insatiable ambition, pridefulness, +and fiery temper, which effectually prevented him from making any +attempt to conciliate rivalry or hostility, cut him off from his +natural alliance with the court section of the war-party, and rather +associated him with Burghley. Favourite as he was, and in some ways +influential with the Queen, he was never admitted by her into the Privy +Council, though he was knighted so early as 1584, and received numerous +and exceedingly substantial marks of the royal goodwill. + +In fact, it would seem that his imagination carried his mind away from +the current problems of administration and policy to another field. +He was less occupied with the question how war with Spain might be +precipitated or deferred than with that of setting up a rival empire. +If, as is most probable, the conception was primarily that of his +brother Humphrey Gilbert, the younger man made it his own; and in these +years the attempt to establish a colony in North America absorbed his +best energies and enthusiasms. For Burghley, Spain was primarily the +European Power which--however interests might clash--was a necessary +counterpoise to France; for Walsingham, she was the aggressive enemy +of Protestantism; for Raleigh, she was the claimant to the New World, +whose rights might be and ought to be successfully challenged by +England. Thus, the first desired to avert conflict; the second was at +least ready to join issue at once, lest it should be too late; whereas, +from Raleigh’s point of view, the time when Spain and England should +grapple was a matter of comparative indifference, provided that when +it arrived England should be ready. But there was probably no man +in England--not Drake himself--in whose political creed fundamental +hostility to Spain was a more essential article. + +There is, however, a curious story that in 1586 Raleigh was engaged +in Spanish negotiations on his own account, which negotiations had +as their object that he should take measures to hamper the English +preparations for war, himself selling a couple of ships to Spain; and +it appears to be implied that he was one of those young gentlemen +about the Queen’s person who were going to put through Babington’s +plot for her assassination. We may therefore recall the fact that in +the Ridolfi days John Hawkins had figured as an enemy of his Queen, +only thirsting to betray the fleet to Philip. Hawkins, of course, was +really working in collusion with Burghley, and the whole thing was a +trick. It need not surprise any one, therefore, if Raleigh played the +same game at this time, though on a smaller scale. It would be a matter +of course, then, that pains would be taken to give the Spaniards--and +their informants in England--the impression that Sir Walter was really +disaffected. As for Ballard and Babington, they were so completely in +the toils of Walsingham from the outset that Raleigh may very well have +actually been the Secretary’s accomplice in tricking them. Patriotism, +principle, and consistency apart, no one has ever accused him of +lacking intelligence, of which he would stand hopelessly convicted +if the suggested allegations were true. Moreover, a man with so many +enemies would not have escaped without being incriminated. The only +definitely known facts are that he was at this time in communication +with Spain, and that the Spaniards had an idea that he was +well-affected towards them. The only inference we can quite confidently +draw is that he was hoodwinking them, though nothing definite seems to +have resulted. + +When the Armada was expected, Raleigh was Vice-Admiral of the West, and +was also one of the special Defence Commission. It was on the great +ship which he had himself designed, the _Ark Raleigh_, that Admiral +Howard hoisted his flag; but Raleigh was not one of the commanders in +the fleet. He had been largely occupied in organising the defences in +the West Country, and had been urgent in pressing the true strategical +policy of fighting and beating the Spaniard on the sea--of an offensive +naval war as the only true defensive war. But it is not quite certain +whether he even had any personal part in the Armada engagements at all; +though, on the whole, there is not sufficient ground for discarding +the common report that he joined the fleet as a volunteer after the +engagement off Portland. At that stage, all fears had passed that the +Spaniard might effect a landing in the western division of the channel, +where Raleigh was responsible for the arrangements for meeting the +invader. Until then, he had been bound to remain at his post on shore. +But now, not only did the English fleet know that it was a match for +the enemy, but, if chance should enable them to attempt a landing, +it would certainly not be in Raleigh’s district. So there is an _a +priori_ probability that, being free to join the ships, he would not +have missed the opportunity if it offered. There is no doubt, in any +case, that he fully understood and appreciated the tactics adopted--a +complete innovation in the methods of naval warfare--whether he did or +did not take actual part, as a gentleman-volunteer, in the manœuvres. + +The great _débâcle_ initiated a new phase in the relations of Spain +to England and to Europe generally. The defeat, of course, was not +of itself a death-blow, though if victory had gone the other way--if +the English fleet had been in effect annihilated--an invasion under +Parma would have followed; and Parma was the best general living, +while the whole number of Englishmen who had any real experience of +military service was small. But hitherto, wherever the Spaniards went, +afloat or ashore, they had the prestige of success; now at a single +blow the prestige passed from Spain to England--the theory of Spanish +invincibility was shattered. The change had no less effect on Spain’s +enemies on the Continent than in England, where for years past the +seamen at least had been in the habit of taking for granted that they +understood the art of fighting on the sea infinitely better than their +antagonists. Now, however, the landsmen and the men of peace had had +ocular demonstration of what the sailors had long been affirming as the +conclusion from their own practical experience. England, hitherto on +the defensive, was converted into the attacking power, and was filled +with the spirit of aggression. + + +III + +VIRGINIA + +Between his seventeenth and his thirtieth years, Raleigh was completing +his education as a soldier by his experiences in varied fields from +Jarnac to Munster--sandwiching in, as it would appear, some residence +at Oxford, and some in London as a nominal student of the law; not +actually becoming a courtier but making his first _entrée_ among +the associates of the court. In his thirtieth year he returned +from Ireland to London, with a reputation as a dashing officer, and +immediately made his way into the good graces of the Maiden Queen +who, already verging on fifty, was demanding with increased instead +of diminished avidity the amorous adulation of those who would find +favour in her eyes. Raleigh made love to her on the recognised lines; +with distinguished success, also on the recognised lines; to his own +profit, and the extreme annoyance of the Leicesters and Hattons. The +famous story of the cloak may or may not be true--it rests only on +the authority of that chronicler whom every self-respecting author +is obliged to refer to as “old Fuller”--but it is one of those +traditions which, like King Alfred’s cakes and George Washington’s +little hatchet, can never be surrendered. In these years there are +tales of Hatton’s jealousy; records of appeals to the favourite to +intervene now on behalf of Burghley, now of Leicester, to mitigate +the royal displeasure; rumours, such as may have been concocted by +spite, of not over-scrupulous methods employed in the pursuit of +personal aggrandisement. Beside these stories of court-gossip and +intrigue are those of his association with Bohemian literary circles, +of his originating the meetings at the Mermaid, of his friendship with +Marlowe, and his reputed “atheism”--a quite incredible, if by no means +surprising, charge against a man whose speculations were probably +as bold and unconventional in the field of religion as in those of +political, naval, and military theory. But assuredly the author of the +“History of the World” was no atheist. + +But during these years, between 1582 and 1588, he was something more +than the brilliant courtier, keen-witted humanist, and active member of +the Defence Commission--he was the pioneer of colonial expansion. + +Humphrey Gilbert was thirteen years older than his half-brother, whose +hero he would seem to have been, not undeservedly, in Raleigh’s younger +days. Of brilliant attainments, the bravest of the brave, intensely +religious, an idealist and dreamer, he was a kind of incarnation of +Arthurian knighthood; for the very mercilessness he displayed in +Ireland was by no means the outcome of inhumanity but of a fixed belief +that the Irish ought to be accounted not as human beings but as beasts +of prey. Raleigh himself was hardly more than a boy when his brother +was already fixing his thoughts on the colonisation of North America +and the discovery of the North West Passage. It cannot therefore be +claimed for Sir Walter that he actually originated the Colonial idea, +which was Gilbert’s; but he entered into it from the first and made it +his own; while Gilbert lived, they worked for it together; and when the +Atlantic billows swallowed up Sir Humphrey, it was to Raleigh that his +mantle passed undisputed. + +About the time that the young man was entered at the Temple, Sir +Humphrey was at work on the treatise “to prove a passage by the North +West to Cathay and the East Indies,” which was published in 1576 by +Gascoign. In 1578 he obtained a charter authorising what he had already +been petitioning for four years earlier, an expedition to discover +and take possession of unknown lands--the charter extending over six +years. We have already noted Raleigh’s participation in the first +expedition, which put to sea late in 1579 but was obliged to return +to port with nothing accomplished. In 1583 the second expedition +sailed; but this time Raleigh, though he had embarked everything he +could in the venture, was at the last moment peremptorily forbidden +to accompany it in person by his exigent mistress. Quite definitely, +the purpose of the expedition was not to hunt for precious metals but +to establish a permanent agricultural settlement. Incidentally, it is +to be noted that Walsingham was active in furthering the project. The +expedition took formal possession of Newfoundland, but this was not its +actual destination. Disasters overtook it, and Gilbert finding himself +compelled for the time to abandon the design, sailed for England. +On the course of the voyage, the little _Squirrel_, in which he was +sailing, went down in a storm with all hands on board. Raleigh was +left to struggle single-handed for the carrying out of his brother’s +conception. + +Now begins the story of Raleigh’s persistent effort at the colonisation +of Virginia. + +A fresh patent was issued to Sir Walter, who had just been knighted, +in March 1584--just two years after his first entry into Elizabeth’s +court. The first step was taken immediately--an exploring expedition, +which found its way to the island of Roanoak on the coast of what is +now Carolina, opened friendly intercourse with the natives, took formal +possession, and returned to report. + +Raleigh was largely interested in the series of Arctic voyages +undertaken by John Davis during the three ensuing years: exploration +and discovery pure and simple had an attraction for him only less +powerful than colonisation; but it was to this that he devoted his +keenest energies, and on this that he poured out the wealth he was +acquiring. In the spring of 1585 his fleet sailed for Virginia, as the +new settlement was called, under the command of his kinsman, Richard +Grenville. Raleigh himself the Queen, of course, could not spare. The +open breach with Spain and the open alliance with Orange were now +approaching rapidly, and Grenville’s voyage seems to have been, in his +own eyes, directed more against Spaniards than with a single eye to the +colony. In due course, however, Roanoak was reached, and the settlement +established with Ralph Lane as governor; and Grenville came home. +Unluckily, the original friendly relations with the natives were upset; +the quarrel led the colonists into “making an example” of an Indian +village; and the Indians resolved to retaliate. Till their opportunity +should come, they merely made things as difficult as they could for the +Englishman. A relief-expedition had been promised for the following +Easter. It did not appear; but Drake did, with the fleet which had just +been employed in sacking Cartagena. The settlers resolved to throw up +their attempt, and returned to England with Drake. A few days after +they had sailed, the delayed relief party under Grenville arrived to +find the settlement abandoned. Fifteen volunteers were now left behind, +to keep the place in occupation; but when a new band of settlers with +a new governor arrived in the following spring (1587), they found +that the little garrison had been massacred. The party set about +establishing a settlement once more; but under the existing conditions +they induced John White, the governor, to return himself to England to +bring fresh supplies and reinforcements. + +This was the year in which the Armada ought to have sailed against +England; but Drake’s successful raid on the harbour of Cadiz deferred +the invasion for a year. In the meantime, however, it was a matter +of extreme difficulty to get permission for any ship to leave an +English port. The demands of the coming duel were paramount. A couple +of relief vessels with White were hardly allowed to sail; and these +returned without reaching the colony. Again, the next year there was +an expedition, but it found Roanoak deserted, and learned that the +settlers had taken up fresh quarters. But neither did it discover them, +nor did any one of the search expeditions which Raleigh subsequently +despatched one after another. + +He had spent £40,000--the equivalent of something like five times that +sum at the present day. For a dozen years his ships sailed--sometimes +with fresh settlers, sometimes with stores only; to meet only with +disappointment--often with nothing but reports that the bones of the +last party left behind were bleaching in some undiscovered spot. +Half of the pioneers themselves were ready to turn back, abandoning +the adventure, as soon as they realised that their business was not +going to be picking up gold and silver. Men of Grenville’s type +enjoyed themselves thoroughly when they were boarding Spanish galleons +against immense odds, or engaged in any other form of dare-devilry; a +different type was required to settle down to a stubborn fight with +Nature, and found rural or commercial communities. The necessary type +was forthcoming in course of time, but it had not yet realised the +field that was open to it. As yet there were none to experiment, save +adventurers who wanted something quite other than North America had to +give. At last Raleigh felt that for a time, but only for a time, he +was beaten; that to obtain support he must have prospects to suggest, +at least, of gold mines and silver mines; and his next great venture +was in another region where the golden city of Manoa was fabled to +be hidden. But he never lost faith in his own ideal, or recanted his +prophecy that the northern Continent would yet be possessed and peopled +by men of his own race, that he would live to see Virginia an English +nation. His own experiment failed; yet he lived to see the beginnings +of fulfilment under other auspices, when again a colony of Virginia +received a charter in 1606--this time to establish and maintain herself +as the mother of the American people. + + +IV + +AFTER THE ARMADA + +The spirit of aggression engendered by the Armada was too strong for +Burghley and his mistress to oppose directly. Their object was to give +it such an outlet as would satisfy popular sentiment without ruining +Spain; and popular sentiment, as they saw, would find satisfaction in +a mere extension of the old raiding warfare upon Spanish commerce. The +danger, in their eyes, was that the control of operations might fall +into the hands of men who not only desired to annihilate Spain but +knew how to do it. Drake and Raleigh recognised in Spain the one Power +which stood in the way of a complete English dominion of the seas, +with everything that would mean: that dominion was already almost won, +and could be made good. But if Drake were discredited, Raleigh would +be unable to give their policy effect. This was duly brought about by +the manipulation from headquarters of the Lisbon expedition, which +caused it to fail of accomplishing its immediate object. Thereafter the +policy was indeed anti-Spanish, but on the lines advocated by Hawkins +and Essex (who may now be said to have taken the place occupied by +Leicester till his death in 1588), not by Raleigh and Drake. + +The distinction between Raleigh’s political conceptions and those of +his contemporaries marks the transition of which he was conscious +and they were not. Their eyes were fixed upon Europe. Burghley’s +calculations were always directed to the preservation of a balance +of power on the Continent; he was afraid of France, and knew the +commercial value of the Burgundian alliance. The New World did not +appeal to him at all--a rivalry there would hardly have seemed to him +desirable. The ordinary Englishman, on the other hand, felt that Spain +had proved herself the enemy of his country and his creed, and in the +moment of victory his views were roughly summed up in two phrases--_vae +victis_; and, _the spoils for the victors_. He had no very definite +ideas as to the further results, though he might have the triumph of +“the Religion” over Popery in his mind. If he thought of the New World, +it was not as a land where he might make himself a new home, but as a +Tom Tiddler’s ground for bold adventurers. Raleigh saw the vision of +the boundless empire occupied by the men of his own race. There are +indications that if Walsingham had lived Raleigh would have stood less +alone; but Walsingham died, poor and in disfavour, in 1590. + +Roughly speaking, then, for some years after the Armada the war party +at large predominated; maintaining the system of persistent warfare +on Spanish commerce, varied at intervals with more effective blows +such as the attack on the Bretagne forts held by the Spaniards (in +league with the Guises), and the great Cadiz expedition. In these moves +Raleigh’s voice and hand were heard and felt; but they were isolated +moves, not followed up--largely owing to the clever management of +the Cecils, in whom the Queen really placed her reliance. The war +party itself was ruled in effect by the young Earl of Essex, whose +personality was particularly obnoxious to the Cecils, while his policy +was comparatively acceptable to them. Essex, being desperately jealous +of Raleigh’s general favour with the Queen, Sir Walter was generally on +friendly terms with the Cecils; whereas anything but a very temporary +show of amity between the two Court rivals was entirely out of the +question. And whenever Essex had access to the Queen he had the better +of the contest. These controlling conditions make Raleigh’s career at +this time intelligible. + +Both Raleigh and Essex accompanied the Lisbon expedition in 1589. +Raleigh was with Drake; Essex, who had joined in defiance of orders, +with the land force. The fleet was in no way responsible for the +failure, though the blame was carefully laid on Drake; Raleigh, +ostensibly at any rate, rather gained in favour with the Queen, who was +extremely angry with Essex. The Earl, however, recovered his ascendency +while his rival was in Ireland in this same year. Then came another +period of Raleigh’s ascendency. Essex married Philip Sidney’s widow, +thereby infuriating his mistress; and, when he had been forgiven, was +not kept at Court, but sent to command the English contingent in France +in support of the king, Henry IV.--who was warring for his throne +against the Guises, backed by Philip. Still, the raiding policy held +the field, and the naval operations of 1590 were conducted by Hawkins +and Frobisher. The Treasure fleet, against which it was directed, had +warning and did not sail into the trap, so that the expedition was +practically a failure. A similar expedition was planned for the next +year, in which Raleigh was to have sailed as Vice-Admiral, Lord Thomas +Howard being in command; but, Essex being in France, Elizabeth would +not spare him, and Grenville went instead, to meet his death in the +last famous fight of the _Revenge_. The next year, Raleigh and the Earl +of Cumberland had a great enterprise on hand; but, again, Raleigh was +ordered to turn back and resign his command to Frobisher. + +At this time Sir Walter fell into complete disgrace at Court, partly +because he did not at first obey the Queen’s orders, partly because +of the discovery of his _liaison_ with Elizabeth Throgmorton, who +became his wife--whether he was already secretly married to her is a +matter of some doubt. He was placed in confinement, and wrote the most +outrageous letters to Robert Cecil anent the misery of being deprived +of the sunshine of the Royal presence; in the then conventional +form of adulation for Gloriana. He was more or less forgiven when +the ships under the command of his lieutenant, Borough, returned, +with a very rich prize, of the value whereof Elizabeth took one-half +for herself. Incidentally, the whole story of this enterprise shows +that Raleigh could make himself as popular with sailors as unpopular +elsewhere; for the crews nearly mutinied when they found he was to be +displaced by Frobisher; and after they landed, Robert Cecil was quite +perturbed at the discovery of their devotion to him, their wrath at his +imprisonment, and his influence over them when he was sent down to the +port to keep matters straight. + +Raleigh was released, but he no longer basked in the sunshine of the +Virgin Queen’s favour, and lived away from the Court, spending much of +his time at his newly acquired estate of Sherborne. About this time +his rival, returned from France, was admitted to the Privy Council, +from which he himself was still excluded; but he became active in +Parliament, in private matters relating to his various estates, and in +planning his great expedition for the “discovery of Guiana”; while he +was also an energetic advocate of the policy of expelling the Spaniards +from Brittany, relying--in full accord with the school of Drake--on the +navy as England’s instrument for fighting her great foe. The persuasive +eloquence of his tongue would seem to have equalled the picturesque +force of his pen, which had been displayed in more than one pamphlet, +notably in his extremely vivid account of the great fight in which +his kinsman Grenville lost his life--where his narrative powers are +associated with a singularly telling rhetorical invective directed +against the Spaniards. + +For a dozen years past, however, Raleigh had hardly put to sea in his +own person, or seen much fighting. In 1595 he reappears as emphatically +a man of action. + + +V + +FAVOUR AND FALL + +The Virginia project was for the time abandoned, since it had become +clear that no serviceable co-operation could be expected from any +quarter. If the establishment of a working colony in North America +was out of his power, Raleigh came to the conclusion that territorial +acquisitions on the southern continent might prove more attractive. +Rumour declared that the Peruvian Incas had set up in the interior +a new empire, known as Guiana, whose capital was the golden city of +Manoa; Spanish attempts to penetrate inland had failed. If England +established her sovereignty in the heart of South America, taking +possession of what was believed to be the richest country in the +world, the most short-sighted could see what a prospect was offered of +dominating her rival, in the field to which that rival laid exclusive +claim; and the most avaricious might anticipate opportunities of +accumulating enormous wealth. + +So Raleigh organised his expedition for the exploration of the Orinoco +in 1595, taking command of it in person. The record of it we have +from his own pen. As a matter of course, he had sundry collisions +with the Spaniards, very much of his own seeking, capturing Berreo, +the Governor of Trinidad, from whom he extracted a certain amount of +information. Then he made his way some distance up the great river, +enduring many hardships, seeing many strange sights, and gathering +still more astonishing reports; collecting also samples of ore which +suggested the auriferous character of the district. It seems, however, +a somewhat curious omission on his part that he had sailed without +proper means either for mining or assaying. In all other respects he +proved himself an extremely competent explorer, in especial recognising +the necessity of cultivating--in contrast to the Spaniards--the +confidence and friendliness of the natives; carrying out his scheme, +not on the hypothesis of bringing home the maximum of loot, but of +preparing the way for the systematic entry of England into a great +inheritance. He was again doomed to disappointment. The Cecils at +this period were cooperating with him cautiously, but he could still +get no other support; the Queen was minded to participate royally in +profits, but she preferred to leave all the risks to others--and the +others preferred the immediate return from raids to any systematic and +laborious methods, however paying in the long run. Moreover, the credit +which Sir Walter gave to apparently authentic but fabulous tales of +Amazons and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders, brought +undeserved discredit on the explorer’s account of what he had actually +seen. In short, the result of his adventure seemed very likely to be, +that adventurers with very different methods would visit Guiana in +search of Eldorado; but the beginnings of an English Empire in America +were brought no nearer. + +By this time Elizabeth was awaking to the fact that Spain’s power of +aggression on the seas had by no means disappeared; and Drake had once +more been called into counsel. In the winter of 1595, the great seaman +and his old colleague and rival John Hawkins were in joint command of +a new Panama expedition, in the course of which both of them died. +The Cadiz expedition next year was the fruit of the more efficient +policy which was being forced to the front by circumstances. General +reconciliation was the order of the day in England; the Cecils, the +Howards, Raleigh, and Essex were all on formal terms of alliance. +Philip was making great naval preparations, when an English force +appeared off Cadiz; Essex was the General, Effingham the Admiral; his +cousin, Lord Thomas Howard and Raleigh, were both on the War Council. +Effingham wished to land the soldiers and attack the town; Raleigh, +who had been absent from the Council of War, appeared in time to get +a hearing; the decision arrived at was reversed, and Raleigh in his +vessel headed the squadron as it sailed into Cadiz harbour. There is +no doubt that Sir Walter was the hero of the occasion, setting the +example of doing the right thing in the right way. The result was that +thirteen of Philip’s best warships were sunk or captured, a great fleet +of forty sail packed full of riches was taken or burnt, and Cadiz +itself was sacked completely and thoroughly, while the persons of the +inhabitants were protected and cared for with a most unaccustomed +generosity. Raleigh’s own narrative--he was badly wounded during the +engagement--gives the fullest account of the proceedings, but is in +the main substantiated by other evidence; and if he had no qualms about +asserting the merits of his own performance, he was also at pains +to emphasise with generous frankness the frank generosity displayed +towards him by his personal rival. In all the relations between him and +Essex, this is the pleasantest--one might almost say the only really +pleasing--episode. + +At last Raleigh was restored to Court favour; but for a time a +superficial friendliness with Essex was maintained, and the pair were +again united with Lord Thomas Howard in the following year in what +was known as the Islands voyage: a futile performance, in which the +English fleet had the worst of luck in respect of weather, and Essex, +who was in supreme command, showed grave incompetence--which was +hardly unnatural, since he was quite inexperienced in naval warfare +and knew nothing whatever of naval strategy. At one stage Raleigh, +awaiting Essex off Fayal (in the Azores), with orders not to attack +till the whole force was assembled, found sufficient reason, after +some days’ delay, for effecting the capture of the place on his own +responsibility--to the extreme annoyance of Essex. The action was +executed with brilliant courage and success; but the Earl’s anger was +with difficulty appeased, and the old animosity between the rivals was +to a great extent revived by the incident. + +For a time, however, Raleigh was not much at Court. But Essex, who was +popular with the mob, as the other was not, was jealous of every one, +and nearly every one was jealous of Essex. Old Lord Burghley died, and +a considerable part of the story of the Queen’s last years is really +the story of the crafty intriguing by which Robert Cecil first urged +Essex to the ruin on which he was ready enough to rush, and then laid +his mines for the destruction of Raleigh--while carefully avoiding the +odium in both cases. Essex, when in Ireland, acquired a fixed idea that +Sir Walter was the principal person whose machinations were compassing +his downfall; but there is little enough reason to suppose that he +had any one but himself to thank. The only effective machinations +were those of the people who covertly encouraged his own arrogance +and misconduct. Nevertheless, it is matter of regret that when Essex +fell, Raleigh--who had recently received insults from him--did take a +vindictive line, while Cecil was posing as the advocate of magnanimity. + +A sketch such as this does not permit of an examination of the +intricate plottings that surrounded the old Queen as she was wearing +rapidly to her grave. Roughly speaking, the English Catholics outside +the country were zealous for the quite impossible succession of Philip +III. of Spain--a plan which did not appeal to the Catholics in England. +There were schemes for the succession of that monarch’s sister, which +found supporters only on the basis of her uniting the crowns of the +Netherlands and England, in independence of Spain. There were ideas of +marrying Arabella Stewart and Lord Beauchamp--each of whom had some +sort of title--with the object of preventing the accession of James +VI., whose claim on purely legitimist grounds was quite indisputable. +Cecil, satisfied that James was the winning candidate, made it his +business to convince that prince that his peaceful accession would be +entirely due to Cecil’s own masterly management, and that Raleigh in +particular was extremely antagonistic; while Raleigh himself was at no +pains to curry favour with the Scots king. + +Scarcely was Elizabeth dead and James on the throne when a plot for +his removal and the substitution of Arabella was brought to light, +and Raleigh was charged with having sold himself to Spain and being a +principal agent in the conspiracy, which involved the introduction of +Spanish troops. The conduct of the trial was a monstrous perversion +of justice, and Raleigh was condemned as a traitor. Apart from the +inadequacy of the evidence and the palpable fact that it was full of +contradictions and of perjury, it remains incredible that Raleigh +should ever have seriously intended to support a Spanish domination. +It would not only have been a flat contradiction of his whole career, +a merely amazing folly in the man who in all England was the most +absolutely convinced of the rottenness of the power of Spain; there +was also no man alive who more thoroughly appreciated the historical +truth, that he who sells his own country to her enemies purchases +for himself not power and confidence but suspicion and contempt. The +part of Themistocles would not have attracted him. He might have been +capable of playing a selfish game; he was certainly not likely to play +a consciously unpatriotic one; but the game attributed to him by his +enemies would have been in his own eyes not only unpatriotic, but, from +the selfish point of view, egregiously stupid. + + +VI + +CAPTIVE AND VICTIM + +Raleigh was condemned to die as a traitor; but the sentence was not +carried out. Instead, he was relegated to the Tower, and was there +held a prisoner for twelve years--mainly occupied in scientific and +literary pursuits, varied by petitions for release. His chemical +experiments may be accounted as a hobby; but his writings would have +assured his fame had he possessed no other claim to recognition. They +range over the whole field of what the Greeks included under the term +“politics”--economics, the art of war, the art of government, political +institutions, as well as other subjects. The incidental discourses on +such matters, illustrated from the events _quorum pars magna fuerat_, +with his comments thereon, give the main permanent interest to his +“History of the World”--in itself a monument of such historical +learning as was available in his day. On every subject he touched he +wrote with a knowledge of facts and a penetrating perception of causes +which distinguish him as a political thinker of a high order; alive, +like Thomas More, to truths which had hardly won general recognition +two centuries after he was in his grave. He who in the great days had +been the intimate of Edmund Spenser was in the days of his captivity +on terms of friendship with Ben Jonson. He, too, wrote poetry, but +this was for him rather in the nature of an intellectual exercise or +accomplishment than of a creative order; little that can with certainty +be attributed to him has been handed down, though that little includes +lines (like “The Lie” and the sonnet to Spenser) which are immortal, +assuring him his place on the English Helicon. But his _magnum opus_ +was that “History of the World” which King James condemned because it +spoke too “saucily” of the doings of princes, but which was ranked by +Oliver Cromwell next to his Bible. + +Raleigh’s condemnation produced a curious effect. Hitherto, he had been +able to win the devotion of the few chosen intimates whom he accounted +his intellectual peers, and of the mariners who sailed under his +command, who adored him in much the same way and for the same reasons +as they adored Francis Drake. Among courtiers his open and aggressive +consciousness of intellectual superiority and his scornful attitude +made him intensely unpopular; and he was the pet aversion of the mob, +who had made a hero of Essex and regarded him as the Earl’s principal +enemy. Yet the sense that he was a victim of gross injustice, the +dignity and eloquence he displayed at his trial, the contrast between +this typical Elizabethan and the minions of the new Stewart Court, +brought about a revulsion of sentiment, and Raleigh in the Tower became +an object of admiration, and to Henry Prince of Wales of hero-worship. + +A curious psychological study is afforded by Sir Walter’s letters when +he was lying under sentence of death. He condescended to appeal to the +king for mercy in terms which can only be called abject; yet the ink +was scarcely dry when he was writing to his wife with tender affection +and beautiful dignity. The conclusion afforded by a comparison of +the documents is that his personal attitude towards death was that +expressed in the letter to his wife, but that for the sake of his +family he felt bound to appeal for life, and the only form of appeal +from which anything might be hoped must be couched in that style of +pitiful self-abasement and fulsome flattery which he adopted--and by +which he felt himself degraded. + +While Robert Cecil lived there was never much hope of liberty for Sir +Walter, who yet seems never to have realised that his old friend and +colleague was, under the surface, his most determined enemy. But the +prisoner, though now advanced in years--he was already fifty-one at the +time of the trial--never ceased to dream of Eldorado, and to petition +for liberty in order to make one more expedition to Guiana. Cecil died; +the rising favourite, Villiers, was a person whose influence could +be secured--at a price; and at last, after more than twelve years of +captivity, Raleigh was released, to prepare for his last voyage. But +the attitude of England to Spain had changed since Elizabeth’s death: +the ambassador Gondomar could twist King James round his little finger. +Raleigh meant to win his golden empire, and incidentally to teach the +old lesson of Spanish incapacity over again; Gondomar intended to use +that expedition for Raleigh’s destruction. Sir Walter played the game +on the old familiar theory of twenty--thirty--forty years before: that +success would excuse proceedings unauthorised, and even forbidden. +Every soul, from the king down, knew perfectly well that if the +adventurer did not set Spain at defiance, the adventure itself would be +a stupid farce. + +So the greatest living Englishman was sent forth to his carefully +prepared destruction, to entangle himself in the toils laid by, and +at the bidding of, the minister of England’s old foe. Of course, +under the conditions the expedition was a disastrous failure. Raleigh +returned from it with a perfect knowledge that he was coming back to +irretrievable ruin and disgrace. It would have been easy enough for him +to find refuge in a French port; that he deliberately faced his fate +is sufficient proof that the charge of his having already sold himself +to France was a base slander. Raleigh’s enemies were everlastingly +accusing him of selling himself; they never produced a scintilla of +proof, and the sales were singularly unremunerative to a man who was as +careful of his own interests as any one when he did drive a bargain. He +had hardly landed in Plymouth when he was placed under arrest. Even now +he had an opportunity of escaping to France, but he refused to avail +himself of it. His doom was a foregone conclusion; the death sentence +passed on him in 1603 had never been cancelled. + +He bore himself worthily; with the fortitude and dignity which were +almost a commonplace with Englishmen of the Tudor tradition. The king +of England, Elizabeth’s successor, struck off the head of the last of +the Elizabethan heroes, at the orders of the king of Spain. But the +degradation was only for a time. Spain had laid her enemy low; but the +lesson he had spent his life to teach his countrymen was bearing its +fruit even in the hour of his doom; to the men of Raleigh’s race was +destined the Empire of the seas, and of the new worlds which Spain had +arrogantly claimed. + + + + +INDEX + + + A + + Agrarian distress, 20-21, 90-91, 95, 211, 223-224, 262 + + Alençon, Duke of, 335-336, 341, 343-344, 347 + + Alva, Duke of, 308, 330, 331, 335, 338 + + Annates Act, 132, 135, 182 + + Armada, 315-316, 367-369 + + Arthur, Prince, 26, 30 + + Ascham, Roger, 282, 283 + + Askew, Anne, 328 + + Assassinations, 349-350 + + + B + + Babington plot, 315, 353, 366-367 + + Bacon, Nicholas, 282, 307 + + Beauchamp, Lord, 385 + + Benevolences, 51 + + Beton, Cardinal, 189-190, 200, 214, 300 + + Bible, vernacular version of, 185, 199, 218, 254 + + Blount, Elizabeth, 192 + + Bocher, Joan, 221 + + Boleyn, Anne, Henry’s passion for, 57, 171-172, 175, 192, 194-195; + marriage, 55, 56, 104, 136, 170, 195, 248; + Act of Succession for issue of, 104; + Henry’s treatment of, 199; + fall of, 249-251; + Cranmer’s attitude towards, 192, 194-195; + execution of, 148, 195 + + Boleyn, Mary, 192, 194, 251 + + Bonner, Bishop, 210, 219, 221, 231, 261, 268, 272 + + Buckingham, Duke of, 46, 50, 177 + + Bucer, 264 + + Burghley, Lord (William Cecil), family and early years of, 281-282; + first marriage, 282; + relations with Somerset, 283-284; + second marriage, 283; + relations with Warwick, 284; + retirement, 288; + ecclesiastical policy, 297; + financial policy, 298-299; + Scottish policy, 301-303; + foreign policy, 303-306, 308, 311-312, 319; + relations with Queen Elizabeth, 279-280, 289; + views on privateering, 312-314; + made Lord High Treasurer, 312 _note_, 339; + war with Spain, 316; + contrasted with Cromwell, Somerset, and Philip of Spain, 321; + relations with Walsingham, 326, 346, 356-357; + secret service created by, 330; + death of, 318; + characteristics of, 319-322 + + Burgundy, 292, 304, 317, 334, 377 + + Burning of heretics, 101, 271; + repeal of statutes, 220, 226 + + + C + + Cabot, 19 + + Calais Conference, 167 + + Catherine de Medici, 295, 304, 332, 336-338 + + Catherine of Aragon, &c. _See_ Katharine of Aragon + + Cecil, David, 281-282 + + Cecil, Robert, 317, 362, 379, 385, 386, 387, 389 + + Cecil, William. _See_ Burghley + + Chantries Act, 219 + + Chapuys _cited_, 127, 132, 193, 195, 197 + + Charles V., Emperor, candidature of, for the Empire, 45, 164; + relations with France, 46-47, 146-147, 152-154, 166, 169, 184; + on More, 111; + Katharine’s policy as to, 194; + Cromwell’s attitude towards, 183; + Henry VIII.’s alliance with, 189 + + Church: + Act in Restraint of Appeals, 135, 137 + Act of Uniformity, 220-221; + second Act of Uniformity, 232 + Annates Act, 132, 135, 182 + Burning of heretics. _See_ that title + Cranmer’s views as to, 244-245 + Formularies, need for, 255 + Henry VIII.’s anti-clerical campaign, 102-103, 130-134, 246; + Henry proclaimed Supreme Head, 181 + Indulgences, 241 + Litany, vernacular, 255 + Marriage of Secular clergy, 246, 259 + Monasteries, suppression of, 141-142, 145, 211, 224, 253 + Oath of Obedience to Pope, 247-248 _and note_ + Parties in, under Elizabeth, 296-297 + Prayer Books of Edward VI. (1549), 220, 261-262; + (1552), 231, 265 + Reformation. _See_ that title + Six Articles Act. _See_ that title + Submission of the clergy, 134, 181, 246, 247 + Unpopularity of ecclesiastics, 64 + + Clarke, John, 282 + + Clement VII., Pope, 127, 133-135, 175, 241, 242 + + Cleves, Anne of, 196; + marriage with Henry VIII., 152-153, 184, 196-197 + + Coinage, + debasement of, 190, 229, 298; + new issue under Elizabeth, 298 + + Colet, Dean, 38, 63, 65, 78-81, 83, 85, 185, 240, 241 + + Coligny, Admiral, 336-337 + + Columbus, Christopher, 19 + + Commercial and industrial policy, 16-18 + + Conscience, 174-175, 326-327, 354-355 + + Conservatism and Liberalism, 75-76 + + Cranmer, Archbishop, family and early years of, 239; + at Cambridge, 239-240; + marriage, 240; + on the divorce question, 135, 178, 242-243, 245; + embassy to Bologna, 179, 245; + second marriage, 246; + appointed archbishop, 134, 185, 246-247; + Erastianism, 150, 244-245; + relations with Henry, 185-186, 218, 257; + attitude towards Anne Boleyn, 195, 249-251; + efforts for education, 253; + pleads for Cromwell, 154, 252; + at Henry’s death, 199; + relations with Somerset, 222, 260; + on the Lady Jane Grey succession, 267-268, 286; + Book of Homilies by, 219, 259; + moderating influence of, 231, 260, 266; + views on the Eucharist, 264-265; + on forms and ceremonies, 265; + arrest and imprisonment, 269-270; + disputation at Oxford, 270-271; + Papal commission on, 271; + excommunication, 272; + recantations, 272-273; + martyrdom, 273-275; + estimates of, 237-239, 274-275; + otherwise mentioned, 126, 198, 211, 230 + + Crofts, Sir James, 315-316 + + Cromwell, Thomas, family and early years of, 117-118, 121-122; + in Parliament, 118-119, 122-123; + relations with Wolsey, 120; + Machiavellian principles of, 123-125; + conduct on Wolsey’s fall, 125-126; + rise in royal favour, 126-129; + anti-clerical campaign, 130-131, 133, 135, 141-145, 181-182, 253; + crushes More and Fisher, 137-140; + Treasons Act, 139-140; + Royal proclamations Act (1539), 141, 145; + appointed Vicar-General, 141; + campaign against the monasteries, 141-145; + Statute of Uses, 143; + the Exeter Conspiracy, 144-145; + packing of parliaments, 145; + attitude towards Protestantism, 146-147, 149-150; + foreign policy of, 146-147, 183, 185, 188; + Lutheran marriage scheme, 148, 152; + position with the king, 179-181; + differences, 183-186; + relations with Cranmer, 150-151, 154, 252, 257; + fall and execution, 153-154, 158, 186, 251-252; + compared with Wolsey, 115-116; + with More, 124; + with Burghley, 321; + characteristics of, 115-116, 174; + estimate of, 115-117 + + Cromwell, Walter, 117-118, 121 + + + D + + Darnley, 303, 329 + + Davis, John, 373 + + Day, Bishop, 231, 268 + + Dorset, Marquess of, 38, 39, 228, 229 + + Doughty, 313-314 + + Drake, Admiral, 312-315, 340, 344, 373, 374, 383; + the Lisbon expedition, 316, 318, 356, 378 + + Dudley, Edmund, 22, 23, 29, 39, 83, 160 + + Dudley, John (Northumberland). + _See_ Northumberland + + Dudley, Robert. + _See_ Leicester + + + E + + Eastern rising (1549), 262 + + Edward VI., King, accession of, 208; + Scottish marriage project, 213, 215; + first Prayer Book of (1549), 220, 261-262; + second Prayer Book of (1552), 231, 265; + names Lady Jane Grey his heir, 267-268 + + Effingham, Lord Howard of, 316, 379, 383, 384 + + Elizabeth of York, 7-8, 31-32 + + Elizabeth, Queen, birth of, 248; + Lord Seymour’s schemes regarding, 228-229; + caution during Mary’s reign, 289; + accession, 288; + financial policy, 298-299; + attitude towards Protestantism, 306; + position in Continental politics, 47-48; + Papal Bull deposing, 308-309, 350; + sends Walsingham to the Netherlands, 341-342; + encourages privateering, 312, 314, 341; + policy of vacillation, 314; + relations with Walsingham, 325-326, 342-343, 345, 355; + Anjou marriage project, 334-335; + Alençon marriage project, 335-336, 341, 343-344, 347; + _rapprochement_ with Philip, 338; + relations with Raleigh, 356, 365; + in league with the Netherlands (1585), 315-316, 348; + characteristics of, 15, 279-280, 291, 333-334, 348; + estimate of, 325 + + Empson, 22-23, 29, 39, 83, 160 + + Erasmus, 79-80, 83, 97, 240 + + Essex, Earl of, 376, 378-380, 383, 384, 385 + + Exeter, Marquis of (1538), 144 + + Exeter, Lord (Thomas Cecil), 282-283 + + + F + + Ferdinand of Aragon, 19, 24, 25-27, 39-41, 44-45, 161-162, 200 + + Field of the Cloth of Gold, 49, 166 + + Fisher, Bishop, 104-105, 137, 241, 249 + + Fleet, English, 19, 201, 362 + + Fox, Bishop, 40, 65, 161, 241, 242 + + France: + Antagonism with, before Henry VIII., 292 + Charles V.’s relations with, 146-147, 152-154, 184 + Guise party in, 294, 333, 338 + Henry VII.’s relations with, 25-26, 40-41 + Huguenot position in (1571), 330-333 + Philip II.’s relations with, 295-296, 304 + _Politique_ party in, 295, 304, 330, 331 + St. Bartholomew massacres, 309, 336-337 + Scotland allied with, 42, 189, 216, 293, 300 + War with (1522), 46-47, 51, 167-169; 188, 189; + (1558), 293 + + Francis I., King, accession of, 40; + relations with Spain, 46-47, 152-154, 184; + relations with England, 146-147; + Pavia, 169; + death of, 210; + contrasted with Henry VIII., 193 + + Frith, John, 255 + + Frobisher, 378, 379 + + Froude, J. A., _cited_, 53, 59, 329 + + + G + + Gardiner, Bishop, introduces Cranmer to Henry VIII., 242; + Henry’s attitude towards, 185; + on the divorce, 127, 247, 252; + excluded from Council of Executors, 198, 209, 218, 258; + imprisoned, 219, 221; + deprived of his see, 231, 268; + attitude towards Cranmer, 247, 261; + otherwise mentioned, 150, 154, 179, 187, 210, 263 + + Germany, Cromwell’s relations with, 146-148, 152-154; + Peasants’ war, 97-98 + + Gilbert, Humphrey, 363-365, 371-372 + + Gondomar (Spanish Ambassador), 389, 390 + + Greater Britain, 362 + + Greek, study of, 78 + + Grenville, Richard, 373, 375, 339, 380 + + Grey, Lady Jane, 228, 267, 282, 283, 286 + + Grey, Katharine, 307 + + Grocyn, 79, 81 + + Gueran de Espes, Don (Spanish Ambassador), 294, 329, 330, 333 + + + H + + Hales, 267 + + Hatton, 370 + + Hawkins, Captain John, 310, 317, 367, 378, 383 + + Heath, Bishop, 231, 268 + + Henry VII., King, early years of, 5-7; + position as king, 7-9; + moderation, 9, 28; + fines and confiscations, 10-11, 13; + financial policy, 14, 16, 22-23; + commercial policy, 16-18; + maritime policy, 18-20; + judicial policy, 21; + foreign policy, 16, 25-27; + dispenses with Parliament, 178; + Wolsey appointed chaplain to, 38; + characteristics of, 27-32; + prestige of, 43; + Bacon’s estimate of, 3; + general attitude towards, 4 + + Henry VIII., King, education and youth of, 159-160; + accession, 39, 160; + place in European politics, 162-163; + Wolsey’s position with, 8, 41-42, 163, 165, 169-173, 176; + candidature for the Empire, 164-165; + war with France (1522), 168-169, 188; + attitude towards Parliament, 52, 179-180; + rise of More, 84, 96; + _apologia_ for the Papacy, 97, 177, 241; + relations with Katharine of Aragon, 193-194, 199; + the divorce, 53-61, 96, 103-104, 127, 134-135, 170-175, 178, 179, + 188, 242-243, 245, 249; + makes Cranmer archbishop, 134, 185, 246-247; + anti-clerical campaign, 102-103, 181, 246; + crushes Wolsey, 102, 158, 176; + marriage with Anne Boleyn, 55-56, 104, 136, 170, 195, 248; + Cranmer’s relations with, 185-186, 218, 257; + marriage with Jane Seymour, 195; + Cromwell’s rise in favour, 126-129; + proclaimed Supreme Head of the Church, 131, 181; + breach with the Papacy (1533), 135-136; + Acts of Succession, 105, 138-139; + Oath of Supremacy, 105, 138-139, 249; + Treasons Act, 139-140; + crushes More, 105-106, 137-139, 200; + Cromwell’s position with, 179-181; + differences with Cromwell, 183-186; + Six Articles Act, 151, 152, 186, 199, 218; + death of Jane Seymour, 148; + marriage with Anne of Cleves, 153, 184, 196-197; + fall of Cromwell, 153-154, 158, 186; + marriage with Katharine Howard, 196; + marriage with Katharine Parr, 197; + debasement of the coinage, 190, 298; + later war with France, 189; + naval policy, 19, 201; + Scottish policy, 189-190, 213, 300; + theological views, 150, 183-184, 199; + closing years, 191; + death, 198-199; + will and executors, 198, 208-209, 218, 267; + characteristics, 15, 83, 174-175, 178, 193, 199-202; + estimates, 157-159 + + Henry of Anjou, 330-333 + + Henry of Navarre, 318, 336, 347, 356, 378 + + Herbert, 218, 230 + + Hertford, Earl of. _See_ Somerset + + Howard, Katharine, 196 + + Howard, Lord Thomas, 316, 379, 383, 384 + + Howard, Charles (Effingham). _See_ Effingham + + + I + + Ideals, 86-87 + + Imagination, illusions of, 88 + + Ireland under Elizabeth, 299, 320, 331, 344, 364-365 + + Italy, religious condition of, 121 + + + J + + James I., King, 385-386, 388 + + John, Don, 335, 340, 343 + + Judicature, 21-23 + + + K + + Katharine de Medici. _See_ Catherine + + Katharine Howard, 196 + + Katharine of Aragon, betrothal of, to Prince Arthur, 26; + Henry VII.’s plans regarding, 29; + policy of, 169, 194; + relations with Henry VIII., 193-194, 199; + the divorce question, 52-61, 96, 103-104, 127, 134-135, 170-175, + 178, 179, 188, 242-243, 245, 249; + death of, 147 + + Katharine Parr, 197, 228-229 + + Ket’s rebellion, 262 + + Kildare, Earl of, 10 + + Knox, John, 264, 265, 354 + + + L + + Latimer, Bishop, 185, 269, 270, 272 + + Leicester, Earl of (Robert Dudley), 307, 333, 339, 376 + + Liberalism and Conservatism, 75-76 + + Louis XI., King of France, 7, 23 + + Louis XII., King of France, 25, 40, 43 + + Luther, Martin, 95, 96-98, 177, 241 + + + M + + Machiavelli, 120, 123-125 + + Margaret, Dowager Duchess of Burgundy, 8 + + Mary of Guise, Queen, 189, 210, 294, 301, 302 + + Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, projected marriage of, with Edward, 213, + 215; + taken to France, 216, 301; + marriage with the Dauphin, 293; + Queen of France, 295; + returns to Scotland a widow, 302; + Elizabeth’s policy towards, 303; + marriage with Bothwell, 307; + projected marriage with Anjou, 330-332; + Spanish plots, 308-310, 329-330, 333, 335, 349-350, 352, 366-367; + trial and condemnation, 353-355; + execution, 315 + + Mary Tudor, Queen, 172; + birth of, 194; + Henry’s later treatment of, 199; granted licence for the Mass, 232; + accession, 268; + early moderation, 269; + imprisonment of Cranmer, 269-270; + vindictive persecution of Cranmer, 273 + + Maximilian, Emperor, 24-26, 39-41, 200 + + Mendoza, Bernardino de, 341, 344, 347, 354 + + Monasteries, suppression of, 141-145, 211, 224, 253 + + Moray, Earl of, 303, 331 + + More, John, 77-78 + + More, Sir Thomas, family and youth of, 77-78; + law studies, 78, 81; + friendship with Erasmus, 79-80, 241; + in Parliament, 29, 81; + marriage, 82; + appointed Under-Sheriff in the City, 83; + on the Netherlands embassy, 84; + at Court, 84; + second marriage, 84; + the “Utopia,” 85-94, 98-99, 241; + as Privy Councillor, 94; + knighted, 95; + as Speaker, 95; + views on the royal divorce, 96, 178, 247; + attitude towards the Papacy, 63, 97; + towards heresy, 99-101, 106; + as Lord Chancellor, 101-102; + resignation of office, 102, 108, 134, 168; + crushed by Henry, 105, 137-139, 249; + in the Tower, 109; + executed, 106, 110-111, 200; + characteristics, 80, 106-108, 174; + estimates, 76-77 + + Morton, Cardinal, 4, 14 + + Morton, Earl of, 331, 339-340 + + + N + + Navigation Acts, 18-19 + + Navy, 19, 201, 362 + + Netherlands, revolt of, against Spain, 304-305, 307-308, 311, 330, + 335, 338, 347; + the “Spanish Fury,” 340; + Walsingham’s mission, 341-342 + + Nobles, 13, 50 + + Norfolk, Duke of, 108-109, 128, 143, 154, 187, 196, 198, 208 + + Norreys, Sir John, 317, 364 + + Norris, Sir Henry, 332 + + Northampton, Earl of, 229 + + Northumberland, Earl of, 250-251 + + Northumberland, Duke of (Dudley-Warwick), deposes Somerset, 221, 231, + 285; + crushes him, 233, 266; + relations with Burghley, 284-285; + ecclesiastical policy, 218, 263, 265; + debasing of coinage, 190; + scheme for the succession, 267, 286; + execution, 268; + contrasted with Somerset, 205-206 + + Nun of Kent, 104, 139 + + + O + + Oaths, nature of, 247-248 and _note_ + + Orderly element of society, 12-13 + + Orange, Prince of, 333-336, 339, 341, 343-345, 347 + + Oxford, Earl of, 14-15 + + + P + + Pace, Richard, 44, 164 + + Paget, 209, 218, 230, 232 + + Parliament: + Cromwell’s description of, 119 + Henry VII.’s attitude towards, 178 + Henry VIII.’s attitude towards, 52, 179-180 + Somerset’s attitude towards, 227 + Wolsey’s treatment of, 51, 95 + + Parma, Duke of, 315, 343, 347 + + Parr, Katharine, 197, 228-229 + + Peasants’ War in Germany, 97-98 + + Perrot, Sir John, 192 + + Philip II., King of Spain, policy of, 295, 304; + embarrassments, 331; + _rapprochement_ with Elizabeth, 338; + annexation of Portugal, 344; + death, 318 + + Pilgrimage of Grace, 143 + + Pinkie Cleugh, 215-216 + + Pole, Cardinal, 120, 144, 271-273 + + Pollard, A. F., _cited_, 206 + + Proclamation, government by, 210 + + + R + + Raleigh, Sir Walter, family and early years of, 363-364; + voyage with Humphrey Gilbert, 364; + in Ireland, 364-365; + at Court, 365, 370, 378; + Elizabeth’s relations with, 356; + anti-Spanish policy, 366, 377, 386; + Spanish negotiations story, 366-367; + 1568-1581, 369; + knighted, 372; + expeditions to Virginia, 372-375; + the Lisbon expedition, 378; + disgrace and imprisonment, 379; + marriage with Elizabeth Throgmorton, 379; + expedition to the Orinoco, 381-382; + Cadiz expedition, 383; + restored to favour at Court, 384; + the Islands voyage, 384; + tried for treason under James, 386; + appeal for life, 389; + twelve years’ imprisonment, 387; + writings, 362, 387, 388; + release and last voyage, 389-390; + return and execution, 390-391; + estimate, 361-363 + + Reformation: + Act in Restraint of Appeals, 135, 137 + Annates Act, 132, 135, 182 + Aspects of, political and religious, 62-63 + Cranmer’s influence on, 238-239, 260, 266 + Eucharist, question of, 264-265 + Forms and ceremonies, question of, 265 + Monasteries, suppression of, 141-145, 211, 224, 253 + Organisation of, by Cromwell, 127-129 + Pilgrimage of Grace, 143 + Scholars’ attitude towards, in early days, 240-241 + Scottish attitude towards, 210 + Somerset’s attitude towards, 217 + Tendencies and development of, 263-266 + Thirty-nine Articles, 265 + + Requesens, 339, 340 + + Religious repression, 99-100 + + Richmond, Duke of, 192-193 + + Ridley, Bishop, 231, 265, 266, 269, 270, 272 + + Ridolfi plot, 309, 310, 329-330, 333, 335 + + Rizzio, 303 + + Rogers, 271 + + Roper, Margaret, 106, 108-110 + + Roper, William, _cited_, 81, 82 _note_, 96, 106, 108, 139 + + Royal Proclamations Act (1539), 141, 145 + + Russell, 218, 230 + + + S + + Scotland: + Burghley’s policy, as to, 301-303 + Elizabeth’s policy as to, 339-340 + England menaced by, 42 + English supremacy impossible in, 212-213 + French alliance with, 189, 216, 293, 300 + Henry VII.’s policy as to, 213 + Henry VIII.’s policy as to, 189-190, 213, 300 + Military operations against, 208; + condition during Somerset’s Protectorates, 210; + his policy, 214-217, 300 + Moray’s assassination, 331 + Protestantism in, 301-302 + Reformation, attitude towards, 210 + Treaty of Edinburgh, 302 + + Seymour, Admiral Lord, 197, 228-230 + + Seymour, Edward. _See_ Somerset + + Seymour, Jane, 148, 193, 195-197 + + Sharington, 229 + + Sheep-farming, 20, 211, 223, 262 + + Simnel, Lambert, 8, 9 + + Sitsilt, Richard, 281 + + Six Articles Act (1539), 151, 152, 186, 199, 218, 256; + repeal of, 220, 260 + + Somerset, Duke of (Earl of Hertford), family and rise of, 207-208; + position on Henry’s death, 198, 208, 258; + appointed Lord Protector, 209; + aims, 212; + Scottish policy, 214-217, 300; + religious views, 217; + religious policy, 101, 219-222, 226, 232, 261; + social policy, 225-226; + Court of Requests, 225, 262; + Cranmer’s relations with, 221, 260; + Cecil’s relations with, 283; + Treason Act, 227; + proceedings against Lord Seymour, 228-230; + deposed, 226, 230-231, 285; + arrested and executed, 205, 233-234, 266; + characteristics, 234, 283; + contrasted with Northumberland, 206; + with Burghley, 321; + estimates, 205-207 + + Spain: + Armada, 315-316, 367-369 + Cadiz expedition, 383-384 + English attitude towards, under Elizabeth, 310-314; + war, 316-318 + Henry VII.’s relations with, 25-27 + Inquisition, 308-310 + Philip’s policy. _See_ Philip + Raleigh’s attitude towards, 366-367, 377, 386 + + Star Chamber, 21-22 + + Stokesley, Bishop, 247, 252, 254 + + Stuart, Arabella, 385-386 + + Stuart, Mary. _See_ Mary Stuart + + Stukely, 331, 333 + + Suffolk, Duchess of (Frances Brandon), 267 + + Suffolk, Duke of (Charles Brandon), 143, 162 + + Suffolk, Earl of (Edmund de la Pole), 29, 177 + + Surrey, Thomas and Earl of, 10, 40 + + Surrey, Henry Earl of, 192, 198, 208 + + + T + + Taunton, Father, _cited_, 57-59 + + Throgmorton, Elizabeth, 379 + + Throgmorton conspiracy, 315, 347, 352 + + Toleration, 101, 220-221, 226, 232 + + Torture, 233, 320-321, 351 + + Treasons Acts of Henry VIII., 139-140, 226; + of Somerset, 227; + of Northumberland, 227, 232 + + Tudor absolutism, 12 + + Tunstal, Bishop, 84, 164-165, 211, 218, 231, 258, 268 + + + U + + “Utopia,” 85-94, 98-99, 241 + + + V + + Villiers, George, 389 + + Virginia, 372-375 + + + W + + Walsingham, Sir Francis, family and early years of, 328; + residence abroad, 328; + employed on secret service, 328-330; + Ambassador in France, 330, 332-334, 337-338; + appointed Secretary of State, 339; + Netherlands mission, 341-342; + Protestant sympathies, 280, 306, 343, 348; + relations with Queen Elizabeth, 279-280, 342-343; + relations with Burghley, 326, 346, 356; + on colonial expansion, 372; + mission to Paris, 344-347; + measures against the Queen of Scots, 353-355; + closing years and death, 356-357, 377; + characteristics, 325-327; + estimate, 326-327 + + Warbeck, Perkin, 9, 11, 18 + + Warham, Archbishop, 134, 241, 246 + + Warwick (Dudley). _See_ Northumberland + + Warwick, Richard Earl of, 4, 5, 7-9 + + Welsh ancestry, 282 + + Western rising (1549), 230, 261-262 + + Weston, Dean, 271 + + Whitgift, Archbishop, 320 + + Wiltshire, Earl of, 179, 245 + + Wriothesly, Lord Chancellor, 209, 218, 328 + + Wolsey, Cardinal, family and early years of, 38; + rise, 40; + aims, 24, 36, 49; + foreign policy, 41-45, 166-170; + relations with Henry VIII., 41-42, 163, 165, 169-173, 176; + The French War, 46-47, 167-169, 188; + domestic policy, 49-52; + relations with nobility, 50-51, 69; + attempts to overawe Parliament, 51, 95; + the divorce question, 55-61, 170-173, 176, 179; + the Reformation, 63-66; + educational foundations, 65, 240-241; + relations with More, 96; + relations with Cromwell, 120, 125-126; + fall, 52-53, 67-68, 102, 125-126, 158; + at York, 68, 69; + characteristics, 64; + estimates, 35-37, 64, 70-71 + + Wyatt’s rebellion, 270 + + + Y + + Yorkists, 5-6, 8 + + +Printed by BALLANTYNE & CO. LIMITED + +Tavistock Street, London + + + + +Transcriber’s Notes + + +Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a +predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not +changed. + +Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced +quotation marks retained. + +Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained. + +Index not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page references. + +Page 246: “he was again despatched as an enemy to Germany” was printed +that way; perhaps “emissary” was intended. + + + + + + + + + + + + + +A LITTLE GARDEN CALENDAR + +[Illustration] + + + + + A LITTLE GARDEN + CALENDAR + + _For Boys and Girls_ + + + by + + ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE + + _Author of "The Little Lady, Her Book," + "The Arkansaw Bear," Etc._ + + + WITH FORTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS + + + PHILADELPHIA + + HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY + + + + + _Copyright, 1905, by Henry Altemus + Published March, 1905_ + + +BY THE SAME AUTHOR + + The Little Lady, Her Book, $1.00 + + The Arkansaw Bear, 1.00 + + The Wanderings of Joe and Little Em, .50 + + + + +A WORD TO TEACHERS AND PARENTS + + +WHEN Dr. S. P. Langley, Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, +established the Children's Room in that great museum, he took for +his motto, "Knowledge begins in wonder," and he put into this room a +selection of specimens especially intended to excite interest in the +young mind. The biggest bird and the littlest were placed side by side; +curious eggs, nests, and insects--not many in number, but temptingly +displayed--were ranged about to attract attention and to awake the +desire to know more. It was the same Dr. Langley who had once declared +that his chief interests in life were children and fairy stories, and +it is in the little Washington room that we seem to find the thought +embodied, for the children are there, and the fairy stories of nature +are suggested on every hand. + +It is with Dr. Langley's motto in mind that the "Little Garden +Calendar" is offered to parents and teachers, and to children +themselves who are old enough to read. The author has tried to tell in +simple language a few of the wonders of plant life, and to set down +certain easy methods of observation, including planting, tending, and +gathering the harvests, from month to month, throughout the year. Along +with this it has been his aim to call attention to the more curious +characteristics of certain plants--the really human instincts and +habits of some, the family relations of others, the dependence of many +upon mankind, animals, and insects, and the struggle for existence of +all. Simple botany plays a part in the little narrative, which forms a +continuous story from chapter to chapter, interwoven with a number of +briefer stories--traditions, fairy tales, and the like, all relating to +plant life and origin. These are presented by way of entertainment--to +illuminate fact with fancy--to follow, as it were, the path of +knowledge through the garden of imagination. + +The illustrations in this book are from excellent +photographs--especially made for the various chapters--that the student +of plant life may compare and identify with some degree of assurance +as to varieties and particular specimens, especially in the matter of +plant organisms. The volume is divided according to the calendar, for +the reason that in the plant world there is interest for every month +in the year if only someone is by to point the way, and it is for this +purpose that the little story of Prue and Davy and their garden is +offered to instructors in the schoolroom and at home, and to the young +people themselves, with the greetings and good wishes of + + THE AUTHOR. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + JANUARY, 13 + + I You may begin your garden right away + + II Your garden may not look as I have it here + + III Many seeds are given wings + + IV I think seeds know the months + + FEBRUARY, 43 + + I Little plants won't stand much handling + + II Hey for the merry little sweet pease + + III Even clover belongs to the pulse family + + IV Beans and morning-glories twine to the right + + V The honeysuckle twines always to the left + + MARCH, 73 + + I Still it was really a radish + + II The sun swings like a great pendulum + + III Long before there were any railroads and cities + + IV Did you ever see the little man in the pansy? + + APRIL, 103 + + I The yellow dust is a food for the seed + + II The coming of the corn + + III Cross by name and cross by nature + + IV A peppery family + + V For in that dish was Davy's corn + + MAY, 131 + + I Sweet pease have to be put down pretty deep + + II Different families of ants have different droves of + cows + + III There are many ways of producing species + + JUNE, 159 + + I Then they went down into the strawberry patch + + II How the rose became queen + + III The sun is the greatest of all + + JULY, 187 + + I A plant is divided into three principal parts + + II There are exogens and endogens + + III I don't see what weeds are for, anyway + + AUGUST, 211 + + I There are just two kinds of leaves + + II Sometimes I think plants can see and hear + + III There are plants which do not bloom + + IV The princess by the sea + + SEPTEMBER, 241 + + I A flower really has clothes + + II A flower has many servants + + III A flower may really reason + + IV Some flowers live off other flowers and plants + + V The prince and the thread of gold + + OCTOBER, 267 + + I Seeds are made to be planted + + II There are bitter nuts and sweet ones + + III There are many things called fruits + + NOVEMBER, 291 + + I There are annuals, biennials, and perennials + + II Plants know how to spread + + III All thanks for the plants + + DECEMBER, 313 + + I New gardens in the windows + + II To the garden of sleep + + III In the gardens of Christmas + + IV Some verses, and then good-by + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + + PAGE + + _Frontispiece_ + + Davy's window--Prue's window 19 + + The beans at the end of two weeks 23 + + The morning-glories two weeks old 27 + + The pot of radishes 35 + + The pease two weeks old 37 + + The corn at the end of two weeks 47 + + The pease run up straight ladders 53 + + A member of the pulse family 59 + + The morning-glory twines to the right 65 + + The nasturtiums began to hide the little pot 75 + + The very small lettuce leaves 81 + + Davy's pot of radishes 93 + + "Davy's corn sent out a plume at the top" 97 + + "The morning-glories had bloomed and already had seed + pods" 113 + + "Cabbage" was the fat fellow's name 115 + + "They called it nasturtium" 121 + + Alyssum--the sweetest of the "Cross" family 123 + + "Don't you think the blackberry looks a little like a wild + rose?" 135 + + "And the apple blossom, too?" 139 + + Budding 149 + + The Chief Gardener's strawberries 161 + + Big, big berries that looked so good 165 + + The rose stamens and pistil which produce the seed 175 + + "Gardeners often take a rose of one kind and shake it + gently over a rose of another kind" 178 + + "Sometimes the gardener takes up the pollen on a soft + brush and lays it gently on the stigma of another + rose" 179 + + The pistil and stamens of the lily 192 + + A pistil and calyx and a complete flower 193 + + A group of endogens--the lily, hyacinth, and daffodil 195 + + Some simple leaves 217 + + Pine-needles are leaves 218 + + There is a lot of kinds and shapes 221 + + "Beware of the vine with the three-part leaf" 253 + + The dandelion is bound to spread its seed 256 + + "So it blooms below the lawn-mower's cutting-wheel" 257 + + "They cling to everything that passes" 269 + + Three members of the acorn family 277 + + The apple is a calyx. The pistil is the core inside of it 283 + + A raspberry is a cluster of pistils without the core 285 + + The seed and sets of the onion 295 + + A black raspberry vine preparing to spread 299 + + "What are stuck-ins?--oh, slips!" 301 + + The wool that grows on the sheep's back is there because + the sheep feeds on the green grass in summer 307 + + A Japanese fern-ball 316 + + The kind of a tree that nobody but Santa Claus ever raises 323 + + + + +JANUARY + + + + +A LITTLE GARDEN CALENDAR + + + + +JANUARY + + +I + +YOU MAY BEGIN YOUR GARDEN RIGHT AWAY + +THIS is the story of a year, and begins on New Year's day. It is the +story of a garden--a little garden--and of a little boy and girl who +owned the garden, and of the Chief Gardener, who helped them. + +And the name of the little boy was David, after his grandfather. So +they called him Davy, because when grandfather was a little boy, he +had been called Davy, and this little boy wanted to be just as his +grandfather had been--just the same kind of a little boy, with the same +name and all. + +And the name of the little girl was Prudence, and she was called Prue. +For when her mother was a little girl, _she_ had been called Prue, and +the Chief Gardener still called her that, sometimes, when he did not +call her just Mamma. And the little girl was five years old, and the +little boy was 'most seven--"going-on seven" the little boy always +said, when you asked him. + +The garden was in a window, at first--in two windows, side by +side--called a double window. It had to be in a window, because outside +it was very cold, and the snow was white and deep on the beds where the +Chief Gardener had flowers and vegetables in summer-time. + +Prue and Davy were looking out on this white, snow-covered garden on +New Year's afternoon. Christmas was over, and spring seemed far away. +And there had been _so_ much snow that they were tired of their sleds. + +"I wish it would be warm again," said Davy, "so there would be +strawberries and nice things to eat in the garden; don't you, Prue?" + +"And nice green grass, and dandelions and pinks and morning-glories," +said Prue, who loved flowers. + +Then the little girl went over to where the Chief Gardener was reading. +She leaned over his knee and rocked it back and forth. + +"Will it _ever_ be warm again?" she asked. "Will we _ever_ have another +garden?" + +The Chief Gardener turned another page of his paper. Prue rocked his +knee harder. + +"I want it to be warm," she said. "I want it to be so we can plant +flowers." + +"And things," put in Davy, "_nice_ things, to eat; pease and berries +and radishes." + +"Oh, Davy, you always want things to eat!" said the little girl. "We've +just had our New Year's dinner!" + +"But I'd be hungry again before the things grew, wouldn't I? And you +like strawberries, too, and short-cake." + +The Chief Gardener laid down his paper. + +"What's all this about strawberry short-cake and morning-glories?" he +asked. + +"We want it to be warm," said Prue, "so we can have a garden, with +pinks and pansies--" + +"And pease--" began Davy. + +"And a short-cake tree," put in the Chief Gardener, "with nice +short-cakes covered with whipped cream, hanging on all the branches. +That would suit you, wouldn't it, Davy boy?" + +The very thought of a tree like that made Davy silent with joy; but +Prue still rocked the knee and talked. + +"When _will_ it be warm? When _can_ we have a garden?" she kept asking. + +"It is warm, _now_, in this room," said the Chief Gardener, "and you +may begin your garden right away, if you like." + +The children looked at him, not knowing just what he meant. + +"In the window," he went on. "There are two, side by side. They are +a part of the garden, you know, for we always see the garden through +them, in summer. You remember, we said last year they were like frames +for it. Now, suppose we really put a little piece of garden in the +windows." + +Prue was already dancing. + +"Oh, yes! And I'll have pansies, and roses, and hollyhocks, and pinks, +and morning-glories, and--" + +"And I'll have peaches, and apples, and strawberries, and pease--" + +"And a field of corn and wheat," laughed the Chief Gardener, "and +a grove of cocoanut trees! What magic windows we must have to hold +all the things you have named. They will be like the pack of Santa +Claus--never too full to hold more." + +"But can't we have all the things we like?" asked Davy, anxiously. + +"Not _quite_ all, I'm afraid. The hollyhocks and roses that Prue +wants do not bloom the first year from seed. It would hardly pay to +plant them in a window-garden, and as for peach and apple trees, I am +afraid you would get very tired waiting for them to bear. It takes at +least five years for apple-trees to give us fruit, often much longer. +Peach-trees bear about the third year. I think we would better try a +few things that bloom and bear a little more quickly." + + +II + +YOUR GARDEN MAY NOT LOOK AS I HAVE IT HERE + +THE Chief Gardener took his pencil and a piece of paper, and drew +a little plan. He was not much of an artist, and sometimes when he +drew things he had to write their names below, so that Prue and Davy +could tell which was the rabbit and which was the donkey, and so they +wouldn't think the kitten was a lion. But a window was not so hard, and +then he could put names under the plants, too. On the next page is the +picture that the Chief Gardener drew. + +While he was making the picture, the children had been asking questions. + +"Which is my side? Oh, what's that in the center--that tall plant? What +are those vines? What will we have in those littlest pots? Oh, I know +what those are! Those are morning-glories! Oh, goody!" + +[Illustration: DAVY'S WINDOW PRUE'S WINDOW] + +The last was from Prue, when she saw the artist putting the flowers +along the vines that he had made climbing up the sides of her window. + +"Yes," said the Chief Gardener, "those are morning-glories. You can +have two vines in each pot, if you wish, and in that way get four +colors--blue, white, purple, and pink. On Davy's side I have made +climbing beans--scarlet and white runners--because they are very +pretty, and also very good to eat. Davy's is a vegetable, and yours a +flower, garden. Then, if Davy wants some flowers, and you get hungry, +you can give him flowers for vegetables." + +"Oh, that will be playing 'market,' won't it? I just love to play +'store' and 'going to market.'" + +"My beans look a good deal like Prue's morning-glories, all but the +flowers," said Davy. + +"So they do, Davy; and they really look something the same in +the garden. The leaves are nearly the same shape, only that the +morning-glory's is more heart-shaped, and then beans have three leaves +to the stem instead of one. Sometimes I have taken a morning-glory for +a bean, just at first." + +"What else have we?" asked Prue. "What are the little flowers, and the +big one in the center?" + +If the Chief Gardener felt hurt because his pictures did not show just +what all the flowers were, without telling, he did not say so. He said: + +"Well, in the center of your window, Prue, the big flower is made for a +sunflower. Not the big kind, but the small western sunflower, such as +we had along the back fence last summer. I think we can raise those in +the house." + +"I just love those," nodded Prue. + +"Then those two slender plants are sweet-pease on your side, and +garden-pease on Davy's. I put two in each window, because I know that +you love sweet-pease, while Davy is very fond of the vegetable kind." + +"I'd like a whole bushel of sweet-pease!" said Prue. + +"And I wish I had a bushel of eating pease!" said Davy, "and I know +that's sweet corn in the middle of my window. I just love it!" + +"Yes," said the Chief Gardener, "and a little pot of radishes on one +side, and a pot of lettuce salad on the other. Do you think you like +that, Davy?" + +"Can't I have strawberries, instead of the salad?" asked Davy. + +"Strawberries don't bear from seed the first season, and I can't +remember any fruit that does, unless you call tomatoes fruit, and I +don't think a tomato vine would be quite pleasant in the house. It +doesn't always have a sweet odor." + +"Oh, well, I can eat lettuce," said Davy. "I can eat anything that's +good." + +"What are in my other little pots?" asked Prue for the third or fourth +time. + +"Well, one is meant for a pot of pansies--" + +"Oh, pansies! pansies! Can't I have two pots of pansies?" + +"You can have three or four plants in one pot--perhaps that will do. +Then you can put nasturtiums in the other little pot. They are easy to +grow, and very beautiful." + +"Yes," said Prue, "I never saw anything so _lovely_ as your nasturtiums +by the house, last year." + +The Chief Gardener looked at the sketch and tapped it with his pencil. + +[Illustration: THE BEANS AT THE END OF TWO WEEKS] + +"Of course," he said, "your garden may not look just as I have it here. +I don't draw very well, but I can make things about the right sizes +to fit the windows, and that isn't so hard to do with a pencil as it +is with the plants themselves. Plants, like children, don't always +grow just as their friends want them to, and they are not always well +behaved. You see--" + +"But won't my bean vines and corn grow up like that?" asked Davy. + +"And won't my morning-glories have flowers on them?" asked Prue. + +"I hope they will, and we will try to coax them. But you see things may +happen. Sometimes it comes a very cold night when the fires get low, +and then plants are likely to chill, or perhaps freeze and die. We can +only try to be very careful." + +"How long will it take them to grow?" asked Davy. + +"That is not easy to say. When everything is just right, some seeds +start very soon. I have known radishes to pop up within three days, +when the weather was warm and damp. Corn will sprout in about a week, +in warm weather. Sweet-pease take a good deal longer, though we can +hurry them a little by soaking them in warm water before we plant them. +But we will talk about all that later. First, let's see about the pots +and earth, and the seeds." + + +III + +MANY SEEDS ARE GIVEN WINGS + +THE Chief Gardener took Davy and Prue down in the basement, where in +one corner he kept his flower-pots and garden-tools. + +"I'm going to use the hoe," said Davy, reaching for the long handle. + +"I'll have the rake for my garden," said Prue. + +The Chief Gardener smiled. + +"I don't think we'll need either for this gardening. A small weeder or +an old kitchen-knife will be about the largest tool you can use." + +Then he picked out some pots, set them side by side on a table, and +measured them to see how long a row they made. Then he changed them and +measured again. + +"There," he said, "those will just fit one window. Now, another set for +the other window and we are ready for the soil." + +"Where will you get dirt? Everything is frozen hard," said Davy. + +The Chief Gardener took up a spading-fork from among the tools. + +"We'll get our hats and coats, first," he said, "then we'll see what we +can find." + +Outside it was really very cold, but the children, with their thick +wraps, did not mind. They raced in the snow across the empty little +garden, and followed the Chief Gardener to a small mound in one corner. +Here he pushed away the snow, and with the fork lifted up a layer of +frozen-looking weeds; then another layer, not quite so frozen and not +quite so weedy; then still another layer that did not seem at all +frozen, but was just a mass of damp leaves and bits of grass. And under +this layer it must have been quite warm, for steam began to rise white +in the cold air. + +"Oh, see!" said Prue. "What makes the smoke?" + +"That's steam," said Davy, wisely; "but what makes it warm?" + +[Illustration: THE MORNING-GLORIES TWO WEEKS OLD] + +"Fever," said the Chief Gardener, "just as you had, Davy, that night +you ate too much layer-cake. You said you were burning up, but it was +only nature trying to burn up the extra food. That is what nature is +doing here--trying to burn up and turn to earth the pile of weeds and +grass I threw here last summer for compost. Next spring the fire will +be out, and leave only a heap of rich soil for the garden." + +Beneath the last layer there was warm, dark earth. The Chief Gardener +filled the basket he had brought, and they hurried back to the basement +to fill the pots. + +"Not too full--we must leave room at the top for digging and watering, +without spilling dirt and water on the floor. Then the plants will help +fill up by and by, too, and I think we would better put in a little of +this compost at the bottom. When the roots run down they will be glad +to find some fresh, rich food. Don't pack the earth too tightly, Davy; +just jar the pot a little to settle it, and it should be fine and quite +dry. Perhaps we'd better dry it a little," the Chief Gardener added, as +he saw by the children's hands that some of the earth was rather damp +and sticky. + +So he brought out a flat box, emptied all the pots into it, and set the +box on top of the furnace. + +"While it's drying, we'll go upstairs and pick out the seeds," he said. + +"Oh, see my beans! How pretty they are!" cried Davy, as the Chief +Gardener pointed out the purple-mottled seeds of the scarlet runners. + +Prue looked a little envious. She was fond of pretty things. + +"But my pease are better-looking than those crinkly things of yours," +she said; "mine are most like little beads; and see my nasturtium seed! +They look good to eat, like little peanuts." + +It was Davy's turn now to be envious. Anything that looked like peanuts +must be very good to eat. + +"People often pickle nasturtium pods," said the Chief Gardener. "They +are fine and peppery. So Prue will really have something to eat in her +garden, while Davy will have beautiful flowers on his scarlet runners." + +"See my morning-glory seed, like quarters of a little black apple, and +how tiny my pansy seeds are!" cried Prue, holding out the papers. + +Davy was looking at the little round, brown kernels that the Chief +Gardener had said were radish seeds, and the light little flakes that +were to grow into lettuce. + +"What makes seeds so different?" he asked soberly. + +"Ah, Davy, that is a hard question," answered the Chief Gardener. "A +great many very great people have tried to answer it." + +He opened a little paper and held it out for them to see. + +"What funny little feather-tops!" said Prue. + +"Like little darts," said Davy. "What are they?" + +"Marigold seeds. They are very light, and the little tufts or wings +are to carry them through the air, so they will be scattered and sown +by the wind. Many seeds are given wings of different kinds. Maple +seeds have a real pair of wings. Others have a tuft of down on them, +so light that they are carried for miles. But many seeds are hard to +explain. Plants very nearly alike grow from seeds that are not at all +alike, while plants as different as can be grow from seeds that can +hardly be told apart, even under the magnifying-glass." + +The pots filled with the warm earth were brought up and ranged in the +windows. + +"How deep, and how many seeds in a pot?" asked Davy. + +"That depends," the Chief Gardener answered. "I believe there is a +rule that says to plant twice as deep as the seed is long, though +sweet-pease and some other things are planted deeper; and you may +plant more seeds than you want plants, so that enough are pretty sure +to grow; four beans in each pot, Davy--two white and two colored, and +three grains of corn in the large center pot." + +The children planted the seeds--the Chief Gardener helping, showing +how to cover them with fine earth--the corn and beans quite deeply, +the sweet-pease still deeper, fully an inch or more, the smaller seeds +thinly and evenly: then how to pat them down so that the earth might be +lightly but snugly packed about the sleeping seeds. + +"Now we will dampen them a little," he said, "and when they feel their +covering getting moist, perhaps they will think of waking." + +So he brought a cup of warm water, and the children dipped in their +fingers and sprinkled the earth in each pot until it was quite damp. +Then they drew up chairs and sat down to look at their garden, as if +expecting the things to grow while they waited. + + +IV + +I THINK SEEDS KNOW THE MONTHS + +BUT the seeds did not sprout that day, nor the next, nor for many days +after they were planted. + +Prue and Davy watered them a little every morning, and were quite sure +the room had been warm, but it takes sunshine, too, to make seeds +think of waking from their long nap, and the sun does not always shine +in January. Even when it does, it is so low in the sky, and stays such +a little time each day, that it does not find its way down into the +soil as it does in spring and summer time. + +"You said that corn sprouts in a week," said Davy to the Chief +Gardener, one morning, "and it's a week to-day since we planted it, and +even the radishes are not up yet." + +Prue also looked into her little row of pots, and said sadly that there +was not even a little teeny-weeny speck of anything coming up that she +could see. + +"I'm sorry," said the Chief Gardener, "but you know I really can't make +the sun shine, and even if I could, perhaps they would be slow about +coming, at this season. Sometimes I think seeds know the months as well +as we do, for I have known seeds to sprout in June in a place where +there was very little warmth or moisture and no sunshine at all. Yes, +I think the seeds know." + +"And won't my pansies come at all?" whimpered little Prue. + +"Oh, I think so. They only need a little more coaxing. Suppose we see +just what is going on. You planted a few extra radish seeds, Davy. We +will do as little folks often do--dig up one and see what has happened." + +So the Chief Gardener dug down with his pocket-knife and lifted a bit +of the dirt, which he looked at carefully. Then he held it to the light +and let the children look. Sticking to the earth there was a seed, but +it was no longer the tiny brown thing which Davy had planted. It was so +large that Davy at first thought it was one of his pease, and on one +side of it there was an edge of green. + +"It's all right, Davy boy. They'll be up in a day or two," laughed the +Chief Gardener. "Now, we'll try a pansy." + +"Oh, yes, try a pansy! try a pansy!" danced little Prue, who was as +happy as Davy over the sprouting of the radish. + +[Illustration: THE POT OF RADISHES] + +So the Chief Gardener dug down into the pansy-pot, but just at first +could not find a pansy seed, they were so small. Then he did find one, +and coming out of it were two tiny pale-green leaves, and a thread of +white rootlet that had started downward. + +Prue clapped her hands and wanted the Chief Gardener to dig in all the +pots, but he told them that it would not be good gardening to do that, +and that they must be patient now, and wait. So then another anxious +week went by. And all at once, one morning very early, Prue and Davy +came shouting up the stairs to where the Chief Gardener was shaving. + +"They're up! They're up!" + +"My pansies!" + +"And my radishes! They've lifted up a piece of dirt over every seed, +and there's one little green point in the corn-pot, too!" + +The Chief Gardener had to leave his shaving to see. Sure enough! Davy's +radishes and Prue's pansies were beginning to show, and one tender +shoot of Davy's corn. And in less than another week Davy's lettuce and +pease and beans were breaking the ground above each seed, while Prue's +garden was coming too, all but the sweet-pease, which, because of their +hard shell, sprouted more slowly, even though they had been soaked in +warm water before planting. But in another week they began to show, +too, and everything else was quite above ground. + +[Illustration: THE PEASE TWO WEEKS OLD] + +Then the Chief Gardener dug up one each of the extra seeds, root and +all, and showed them just how they had sprouted and started to grow. He +showed them how the shell or husk of the seed still clung to the two +first leaves of some of the morning-glory and radish plants, how when +the little plant had awakened from its long nap, it had stretched, +just as a little boy would stretch, getting up out of bed, and how, +being hungry, it had made its breakfast on a part of the tender kernel +packed about it in the seed, and then pushed its leaves up for light +and air. He also showed them how the grain of corn and the pea stayed +below the ground to feed the little shoots that pushed up and the +sprangled roots that were starting down to hunt for richness. But they +all laughed at the beans, for the beans left only the husk below and +pushed the rich kernel up into the air--coming up topsy-turvy, Davy +said, while Prue thought the leaves must be very greedy to take the +kernel all away from the roots, instead of leaving it where both could +have a share. + +And now another week passed, and other tiny leaves began to show on +most of the plants. These were different shaped from the first oval or +heart-shaped seed-leaves--real, natural leaves, Prue said, such as they +would have when they were grown. Only the corn did not change, but +just unfolded and grew larger. + +And so in every pot there were tender green promises of fruit and +flower. The little garden was really a garden at last. + + + + +FEBRUARY + + + + +FEBRUARY + + +I + +LITTLE PLANTS WON'T STAND MUCH HANDLING + +YET the little garden seemed to grow slowly. The sun in February was +getting farther to the north, and came earlier and stayed later than +it had in January, and was brighter, too. But for all that, to Davy +and Prue, each new leaf came quite slowly--just a tiny point or bud at +first, then a little green heart or oval or crinkly oblong with a wee +stem of its own. It was very hard to see each morning, just what had +grown since the morning before. + +Of course they did grow--little by little, and inch by inch--just as +children grow, and a good deal faster, for when they measured their +bean and morning-glory vines, they found one morning that they had +grown at least a half an inch since the day before, and that would be a +good deal for a little boy or girl to grow in one day. + +But Davy perhaps remembered the story of "Jack and the Beanstalk" and +how Jack's bean had grown to the sky in a very short time; and, of +course, remembering a story like that is apt to make anybody impatient +with a bean that grows only half an inch a day. + +"I think it would be a good plan," he said one morning, "to tie a +rubber band to the top of each of my bean vines, and then fasten the +other end higher up the window to help pull the vines along." + +And little Prue said: + +"I pulled my morning-glories along yesterday a little, with my fingers. +I know they grew a tiny speck then, but they don't look quite so nice +this morning." + +The Chief Gardener came over to see what was going on. + +"I don't think we'd better try any new plans," he said. "I'm afraid +if we pull our plants to make them grow, we will have to pull them up +altogether, pretty soon, and plant new ones. Tender little plants won't +stand much handling." + +The Chief Gardener was not cross, but his voice was quite solemn. +Little Prue looked frightened and her lip quivered the least bit. + +"Oh, will my morning-glories die now?" she asked; "and I pulled the +pansies just a tiny speck, too. Will they die?" + +"Not this time, I think; but I wouldn't do it again. Just give them +a little water now and then, and dig in the pots a little, and turn +them around sometimes so that each side of the plant gets the light, +and nature will do the rest. Of course you can't turn the bean and +morning-glory pots after they get to climbing the strings, but they +will twine round and round and so turn themselves. Your garden looks +very well for the time of year. Perhaps if you did not watch it so +much it would grow faster. They say that a watched pot never boils, so +perhaps a watched plant does not grow well. I am sure they do not like +to be stretched up to a measuring-stick every morning at eight o'clock. +Suppose now we put up the strings for the morning-glories and beans to +climb on, and some nice branchy twigs for the pease, then water them +well and leave them for a few days and see what happens." + +So then the Chief Gardener and the two little gardeners went down in +the basement, where they found some tiny screw-hooks and some string, +and where they cut some nice sprangly little limbs from the Christmas +tree that still stood in one corner, and was getting very dry. Then +they all came up again and put up strings for the scarlet runners and +morning-glories, by tying one end of each string to a stout little +stick which the Chief Gardener pushed carefully into the soil between +the plants, and then carried the string to the small screw-hooks, which +were put about half-way up, and at the top of the window-casings. The +branchy twigs were stuck carefully into the pots where the pease grew, +and stood up straight and fine--like little ladders, Prue said--for the +pease to climb. + +[Illustration: THE CORN AT THE END OF TWO WEEKS] + +"It's just like a circus," said Davy. "The beans and morning-glories +will be climbing ropes, and the pease will be running up straight +ladders." + +"And while we are waiting for the performance to begin," added the +Chief Gardener, "suppose you let me tell you something about the +performers--where they came from, and some stories that are told of +them." + + +II + +HEY FOR THE MERRY LITTLE SWEET-PEA + +THE Chief Gardener went into the next room, which was the library, and +drew a cozy little settee up before the bright hickory fire. It was +just wide enough for three, and when he sat down, Davy and Little Prue +promptly hopped up, one on each side. In a low rocker near the window +Big Prue was doing something with silks and needles and a very bright +pair of scissors. The Chief Gardener stirred the fire and looked into +it. Then he said: + +"Speaking of pease, I wonder if you ever heard this little song about + + 'THE TWO PEAS + + 'Oh, a little sweet-pea in the garden grew-- + Hey, for the merry little sweet-pea! + + And a garden-pea, it grew there, too-- + Hi, for the happy little eat-pea! + In all kinds of weather + They grew there together-- + Ho, for the pease in the garden! + Hey, for the sweet-pea! Hi, for the eat-pea! + Hey, he, hi, ho, hum! + + 'Oh, the sweet-pea bloomed and the eat-pea bore-- + Hey, for the merry little sweet-pea! + And they both were sent to a poor man's door-- + Hi, for the happy little eat-pea! + In all kinds of weather + They came there together! + Ho, for the pease from the garden! + Hey, for the sweet-pea! Hi, for the eat-pea! + Hey, he, hi, ho, hum! + + 'Now, the poor man's poor little girl lay ill-- + What a chance for a merry little sweet-pea! + And there wasn't a cent in the poor man's till-- + Good-by to the jolly little eat-pea! + In all kinds of weather + They brought joy together + When they came from the happy little garden! + Hey, for the sweet-pea! Hi, for the eat-pea! + Hey, he, hi, ho, hum!'" + +"Was there really ever a poor man and a little sick girl who had pease +sent to them?" asked little Prue, as the Chief Gardener finished. + +"Oh, I am sure there must have been! A great many of them." + +"But the ones you sung about. Those really same ones--did they ever +really live, or did you make it up about them?" + +"I don't think my pease would be quite enough for a poor man who didn't +have a cent of money," said Davy, after thinking about it. + +"But my sweet-pease will be enough, only I want to know if there is +really such a little girl, so I can send them. Is there, Papa?" + +"Well, I am sure we can find such a little girl, if we try. And I know +she'd be glad for some sweet-pease. And now here's a little story that +I really didn't make up, but read a long time ago. + +"Once upon a time there were two friars--" + +"What are friars?" asked Prue. "Do they fry things?" + +"Well, not exactly, though one of these did do some stewing, and the +other, too, perhaps, though in a different way. A friar is a kind of +priest, and these two had done something which the abbot, who is the +head priest, did not like, so he punished them." + +"What did they do?" asked Prue, who liked to know just what people +could be punished for. + +"I don't remember now. It's so long--" + +"What do you _s'pose_ it was?" + +"Well, I really can't s'pose, but it may have been because they forgot +their prayers. Abbots don't like friars to forget their prayers--" + +"If I should forget my prayers, I'd say 'em twice to make up." + +"Oh, Prue!" said Davy, "_do_ let Papa go on with the story!" + +"But I would. I'd say 'em sixty times!" + +"Yes," said the Chief Gardener, "friars have to do that, too, I +believe; but these had to do something different. They had to wear +pease in their shoes." + +"Had to wear pease! In their shoes!" + +"Yes, pease, like those we planted, and they had to walk quite a long +ways, and, of course, it wouldn't be pleasant to walk with those little +hard things under your feet. + +"Well, they started, and one of them went limping and stewing along, +and making an awful fuss, because his feet hurt him so, but when he +looked at the other he saw that instead of hobbling and groaning as +he was, he was walking along, as lively as could be, and seemed to be +enjoying the fine morning, and was actually whistling. + +"'Oh, dear!' said the one who was limping, 'how is it you can walk +along so spry, and feel so happy, with those dreadful pease in your +shoes?' + +"'Why,' said the other, 'before I started, I took the liberty to _boil +my_ pease!'" + +"But, Papa," began little Prue, "I don't see--" + +"I do," said Davy, "it made them soft, so they didn't hurt." + +"What kind of pease were they?" asked Prue. "Like Davy's or mine?" + +[Illustration: THE PEASE RUN UP STRAIGHT LADDERS] + +"Well, I've never heard just what kind they were. There are a good many +kinds of pease, and they seem to have come from a good many places. +Besides the sweet-pease and garden-pease, there are field-pease, used +dry for cattle, and in England there is what is called a sea-pea, +because it was first found growing on the shore of a place called +Sussex, more than three hundred and fifty years ago, in a year of +famine. There were many, many of them and they were in a place where +even grass had not grown before that time. The people thought they +must have been cast up by some shipwrecked vessel, and they gathered +them for food, and so kept from going hungry and starving to death. +The garden-pea is almost the finest of vegetables, and there are +many kinds--some large, some small, some very sweet, some that grow +on tall vines and have to have stakes, and some that grow very short +without stakes, and are called dwarfs. There are a good many kinds +of sweet-pease, too, different sizes and colors, but I think all the +different kinds of garden-pease and sweet-pease might have come from +one kind of each, a very, very long time ago, and that takes me to +another story which I will have to put off until next time. I have +some books now to look over, and you and Davy, Prue, can go for a run +in the fresh air." + + +III + +EVEN CLOVER BELONGS TO THE PULSE FAMILY + +IT was on the same evening that Prue and Davy asked for the other +story. And of course the Chief Gardener had to tell it, for he had +promised, and little Prue, especially, didn't like to put off anything +that had been promised. So this is the story that the Chief Gardener +told: + +"The Pulse family is a very large one. I don't know just where the +first old great-grandfather Pulse ever did come from, but it is thought +to be some place in Asia, a great country of the far East. It may be +that the first Pulse lived in the Garden of Eden, though whether as a +tree or a vine or a shrub, or only as a little plant, we can't tell +now." + +"I think it's going to be a fairy story," said Prue, settling down to +listen. "Is it, Papa? A real, true fairy story?" + +"Well, perhaps it is a sort of a fairy story, and I'll try to tell it +just as truly as I can. Anyway, the story goes, that a long time after +the Garden of Eden was ruined and the Pulse family started west, there +were two cousins, and these two cousins were vines, though whether they +were always vines, or only got to be vines so they could travel faster, +I do not know. Some of their relations were trees then, and are now; +the locust tree out in the corner of the yard is one of them." + +Davy looked up, and was about to ask a question. The Chief Gardener +went on. + +"The cousins I am talking about, being vines, traveled quite fast in +the summer-time, but when it came winter, they lay down for a long nap, +and only when spring came they roused up and traveled on. One of them +was a very fine fellow, with gay flowers that had a sweet smell, and +people loved him for his beauty and fragrance. The other brought only +greenish-white flowers, not very showy, but some thought him far more +useful than his pretty cousin, for he gave the people food as he passed +along. + +"So they journeyed on, down by the way of the Black Sea, which you will +know about when you are a little older, and still farther west until +at last the pretty Pulse cousin and the plain but useful Pulse cousin +had spread their families all over Europe, and were called P's, perhaps +because the first letter of their family name began with P. Then by +and by it was spelled p-e-a, and they were called garden-pease and +sweet-pease, and were planted everywhere, one for the lovely flowers, +and the other for food. Now we have them side by side in your windows, +just as they were when they first started on their travels, so very, +very long ago." + +"Did they really travel as you have told?" asked Davy, looking into the +fire. + +"Well, I have never been able to find any printed history of their +travels, so it may have been something like that." + +"They did, didn't they, Papa?" insisted little Prue, who always wanted +to believe every word of every fairy story. "They went hand in hand, +just as Davy and I do when we go walking, didn't they?" + +"And Davy is the garden-pea and you the sweet-pea, is that it? Well, +they did come a long way--that is true--and they do belong to a very +large family. Why, even the clover belongs to the Pulse family, and +the peanut, and the locust, and the laburnum, and there is one distant +branch of the family that is so modest and sensitive that at the least +habits--no habits at all, in fact; and the one great passion of his +simple heart is love without a limit for Mollie and little Davy. He +lives for them; the least of their desires is the great concern of +Mike’s life. Therefore, when his income shrinks from twelve dollars to +six, it creeps up on him and chills him as a loss to Mollie and Davy. +And peculiarly does this sorrowful business of a ruined Christmas for +Davy prey on poor Mike. + +“You and I won’t mind,” says housewife Mollie, looking up in Mike’s face +with the sage dignity of her eleven years, “because we’re old enough to +understand; but I feel bad about little Davy. It’s the first real awful +Christmas we’ve ever had.” + +Mollie is as bright and wise as Mike is dull. Seven years her senior, +still Mike has grown to believe in and rely altogether on Mollie as a +guide. He takes her commands without question, and does her will like +a slave. To Mollie goes every one of Mike’s dollars; it is Mollie who +disposes of them, while Mike never gives them a thought. They have been +devoted to the one purpose of Mike’s labors; they have gone to Mollie +and little Davy of the crutch; why, then, should Mike pursue them +further? + +Following housewife Mollie’s regrets over a sad Christmas that was not +because of their poverty to be a Christmas, Mike sits solemnly by the +window looking out on the gathering gloom and hurrying holiday crowds of +Pitt Street. The folk are all poor; yet each seems able to do a bit for +Christmas. As they hurry by, with small bundles and parcels, and now +and then a basket from which protrude mayhap a turkey’s legs or other +symptom of the victory of Christmas, Mike, in the midst of his sluggish +amiabilities, discovers a sense of pain--a darkish thought of trouble. + +And as if grief were to sharpen his wits, Mike has for almost a first +and last time an original idea. It is the thought natural enough, when +one reflects on Mike’s engagements, evening in and evening out, with +Professor O’Punch. + +[Illustration: 0115] + +That day Mike, in passing through the Bowery, read the two hundred +dollars offer of the selfconfident Terror. At that time Mike felt +nothing save wonder that so great a fortune might be the reward of so +small an effort. But it did not occur to him that he should try a tilt +with the Terror. In his present stress, however, and with the woe upon +him of a bad Christmas to dawn for little Davy, the notion marches +slowly into Mike’s intelligence. And it seems simple enough, too, now +Mike has thought of it; and with nothing further of pro or con, he +prepares himself for the enterprise. + +For causes not clear to himself he says nothing to housewife Mollie of +his plans. But he alarms that little lady of the establishment’s few +sparse pots and kettles by declining to eat his supper. Mollie fears +Mike is ill. The latter, knowing by experience just as any animal might, +that with twelve minutes of violent exercise before him, he is better +without, while denying the imputation of illness, sticks to his +supperless resolve. + +Then Mike goes into the rear room and dons blue tights, blue sleeveless +shirt, canvas trunks, and light shoes; his working costume. Over +these he draws trousers and a blue sweater; on top of all a heavy +double-breasted jacket. Thrusting his feet, light shoes and all, into +heavy snow-proof overshoes, and pulling on a bicycle cap, Mike is +arrayed for the street. Mollie knows of these several preparations, the +ring costume under the street clothes, but thinks naught of it, such +being Mike’s nightly custom as he departs for the academy of Professor +O’Punch. At the last moment, Mike kisses both Mollie and little Davy; +and then, with a sudden original enthusiasm, he says: + +“I’ve been thinkin’, Mollie; mebby I can get some money. Mebby we’ll see +a good Christmas, after all.” + +Mollie is dazed by the notion of Mike thinking; but she looks in +his face, with its honest eyes full of love for her and Davy, and as +beautiful as a god’s and as unsophisticated, and in spite of herself a +hope begins to live and lift up its head. Possibly Mike may get money; +and Christmas, and the rent, and many another matter then pinching the +baby housekeeper and of which she has made no mention to Mike, will be +met and considered. + +“It’ll be nice if you should get money, Mike,” is all Mollie trusts +herself to say, as she returns Mike’s good-bye kiss. + +When Mike gets into Pitt Street he moves slowly. There’s the crowd, for +one thing. Then, too, it’s over early for his contest with the Terror. +Mike prefers to arrive at the theatre just in time to strip and make +the required application for those two hundred dollars. It may appear +strange, but it never once occurs to Mike that he will not last the +demanded four rounds. But it seems such a weighty sum! Mike doubts if +the offer be earnest; hesitates with the fear that the management will +refuse to give him the money at the end. + +“But surely,” decides Mike, “they will feel as though they ought to give +me something. I lose a dollar by not going to Professor O’Punch’s; they +must take account of that.” + +Mike loiters along with much inborn ease of heart. Occasionally he +pauses to gaze into one of the cheap shop windows, ablaze and garish of +the season’s wares. There is no wind; the air has no point; but it is +snowing softly, persistently, flakes of a mighty size and softness. + +Ten minutes before he arrives at that theatre which has been the scene +of the Terror’s triumphs, Mike enters a bakery whereof the proprietor, a +German, is known to him. Mike has no money but he feels no confusion for +that. + +“John,” says Mike to the German; “I’ve got to spar a little to-night and +I want a big plate of soup.” + +“Sure!” says John, leading the way to a rear room which thrives greasily +as a kind of restaurant. “And here, Mike,” goes on John, as the soup +arrives, “I’ll put a big drink of sherry in it. You will feel good +because of it, and the sherry and the hot soup will make you quick and +strong already.” + +At the finish, Mike, with an eye of bland innocence--for he is certain +the theatre will give him something, even if it withhold the full two +hundred--tells John he will pay for the soup within the hour, when he +returns. + +“That’s all right, Mike,” cries the good-natured baker, “any time will +do.” + +“This w’y, me cove,” observes a person with a cockney accent, as the +sharp gamin delivers Mike, together with the message to the Terror, at +the stage door; “this w’y; ’ere’s a dressin’ room for you to shift +your togs.” + +Later, when Mike’s outer husks are off and he stands arrayed for the +ring, this person, who is old and gray and wears a scarred and battered +visage, looks Mike over in approval: + +“You seems an amazin’ bit of stuff, lad,” says this worthy man; “the +build of Tom Sayres at his best, but’eavier. I ’opes you’ll do this +Mick, but I’m afeared on it. You looks too pretty; an’ you ain’t got a +fightin’ face. How ’eavy be you, lad?” + +“One hundred and eighty-one,” replies Mike, smiling on the Englishman +with his boy’s eyes. + +“Can you spar a bit?” asks the other. + +“Why, of course I can!” and Mike’s tones exhibit surprise. + +“Well, laddy,” says the other; “don’t let this Dublin bloke rattle you. +’E’s a great blow’ard, I takes it, an’ will quit if he runs ag’in two +or three stiff ’uns. A score of years ago, I’d a-give ’im a stone +an’ done for ’im myself. I’m to be in your corner, laddy, an�� I trusts +you’ll not disgrace me.” + +“Who are you?” asks Mike. + +“Oh, me?” says the other; “I works for the theayter, laddy, an’, bein’ +as ’ow I’m used to fightin’, I goes on to ’eel an’ ’andle the +amatoors as goes arter the Terror. It’s all square, laddy; I’ll be +be’ind you; an’ I’ll ’elp you to win those pennies if I sees a w’y.” + +“I have also the honor,” shouts the loud master of ceremonies, “to +introduce to you Mike Men-ares, who will contend with the Dublin +Terror. Should he stay four rounds, Marquis of Queens-berry rules, the +management forfeits two hundred dollars to the said Menares.” + +“What a model for my Jason,” says a thin shaving of a man who stands +as a spectator in the wings. He is an artist of note, and speaks to a +friend at his elbow. “What a model for my Jason! I will give him five +dollars an hour for three hours a day. What’s his name? Mike what?” The +battle is about to commence; the friend, tongue-tied of interest, makes +no reply. + +The Dublin Terror is a rugged, powerful ruffian, with lumpy shoulders, +thick short neck, and a shock gorilla head. His little gray eyes are +lighted fiercely. His expression is as savagely bitter as Mike’s is +gentle. The creature, a fighter by nature, was born meaning harm to +other men. + +There is a roped square, about eighteen feet each way, on the stage, in +which the gladiators will box. The floor is canvas made safe with rosin. +The master of cermonies, himself a pugilist of celebration, will act as +referee. The old battered man of White Chapel is in Mike’s corner. + +Another gentleman, with face similarly marred, but with Seven Dials as +his nesting place, is posted opposite to befriend the Terror. There +is much buzz in the audience--a rude gathering, it is--and a deal of +sympathetic admiration and not a ray of hope for Mike in the eyes of +those present. + +The Terror is replete of a riotous confidence and savage to begin. For +two nights, such is the awe of him engendered among local bruisers, no +one has presented himself for a meeting. This has made the Terror hungry +for a battle; he feels like a bear unfed. As he stands over from Mike +awaiting the call of “Time,” he looks formidable and forbidding, with +his knotted arms and mighty hands. + +Mike lounges in his place, the perfection of the athlete and picture of +grace with power. His face, full of vacant amiability, shows pleased +and interested as he looks out on the crowded, rampant house. Mike has +rather the air of a spectator than a principal. The crowd does not shake +him; he is not disturbed by the situation. In a fashion, he has been +through the same thing every night, save Sunday, for three years. It +comes commonplace enough to Mike. + +In a blurred way Mike resents the blood-eagerness which glows in the +eyes of his enemy; but he knows no fear. It serves to remind him, +however, that no restraints are laid upon him in favor of the brute +across the ring, and that he is at liberty to hit with what lust he +will. + +“Time!” suddenly calls the referee. + +Those who entertained a forbode of trouble ahead for Mike are agreeably +surprised. With the word “Time!” Mike springs into tremendous life like +a panther aroused. His dark eyes glow and gleam in a manner to daunt. + +The Terror, a gallant headlong ruffian, throws himself upon Mike like a +tornado. For full two minutes his blows fall like a storm. It does not +seem of things possible that man could last through such a tempest. +But Mike lasts; more than that, every blow of the Terror is stopped or +avoided. + +It runs off like a miracle to the onlookers, most of whom know somewhat +of self-defensive arts. That Mike makes no reprisals, essays no +counterhits, does not surprise. A cautious wisdom would teach him to +feel out and learn his man. Moreover, Mike is not there to attack; his +mere mission is to stay four rounds. + +While spectators, with approving comment on Mike’s skill and quickness, +are reminding one another that Mike’s business is “simply to stay,” Mike +himself is coming to a different thought. He has grown disgusted rather +than enraged by the attacks of the Terror. His thrice-trained eye notes +each detail of what moves as a whirlwind to folk looking on; his arm and +foot provide automatically for his defense and without direct effort +of the brain. This leaves Mike’s mind, dull as it is, with nothing to +engage itself about save a contemplation of the Terror. In sluggish sort +Mike begins to hold a vast dislike for that furious person. + +As this dislike commences to fire incipiently, he recalls the picture +of Mollie and little Davy of the crutch. Mike remembers that it is +after ten o’clock, and his two treasures must be deep in sleep. Then +he considers of Christmas, now but a day away; and of the money so +necessary to the full pleasure of his sleeping Mollie and little Davy. + +As those home-visions come to Mike, and his antipathy to the Terror +mounting to its height, the grim impulse claims him to attack. Tigerlike +he steps back to get his distance; then he springs forward. It is too +quickly done for eye to follow. The Terror’s guard is opened by a feint; +and next like a flash Mike’s left shoots cleanly in. There is a sharp +“spank!” as the six-ounce glove finds the Terror’s jaw; that person goes +down like an oak that is felled. As he falls, Mike’s right starts with +a crash for the heart. But there is no need: Mike stops the full blow +midway--a feat without a mate in boxing. The Terror lies as one without +life. + +“W’y didn’t you let ’im ’ave your right like you started, laddy?” + screams the old Cockney, as Mike walks towards his corner. + +Mike laughs in his way of gentle, soft goodnature, and points where the +Terror, white and senseless, bleeds thinly at nose and ear. + +“The left did it,” Mike replies. + +Out of his eyes the hot light is already dying. He takes a deep, deep +breath, that arches his great breast and makes the muscles clutch and +climb like serpents; he stretches himself by extending his arms and +standing high on his toes. Meanwhile he beams pleasantly on his grizzled +adherent. + +“It wasn’t much,” says Mike. + +“You be the coolest cove, laddy!” retorts the other in a rapt whisper. +Then he towels deftly at the sweat on Mike’s forehead. + +The decision has been given in Mike’s favor. And to his delight, without +argument or hesitation, the loud young man of the vociferous garb comes +behind the scenes and endows him with two hundred dollars. + +“Say,” observes the loud young man, admiringly, “you ain’t no wonder, I +don’t t’ink!” + +“But how did you come to do it, Mike?” asks the good-natured baker, as +Mike lingers over a midnight porterhouse at the latter’s restaurant. + +“I had to, John,” says Mike, turning his innocent face on the other; “I +had to win Christmas money for Mollie and little Davy.” + +“And what,” said the Sour Gentleman, “became of this Mike Menares?” + +“I should suppose,” broke in the Red Nosed Gentleman, who had followed +the Jolly Doctor’s narrative with relish, “I should suppose now he posed +for the little sculptor’s Jason.” + +“It is my belief he did,” observed the Jolly Doctor, with a twinkle, +“and in the end he became full partner of the bruiser, O’Punch, and +shared the profits of the gymnasium instead of taking a dollar a night +for his labors. His sister grew up and married, which, when one reflects +on the experience of her mother, shows she owned no little of her +brother’s courage.” + +“Your story,” remarked the Red Nosed Gentleman to the Jolly Doctor, “and +the terrific blow which this Menares dealt the Dublin Terror brings to +mv mind a blow my father once struck.” This was a cue to the others and +one quickly seized on; the Red Nosed Gentleman was urged to give the +story of that paternal blow. First seeing to it that the stock of +burgundy at his elbow was ample, and freighting his own and the Jolly +Doctor’s glasses to the brim, the Red Nosed Gentleman coughed, cleared +his throat, and then gave us the tale of That Stolen Ace of Hearts. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII.--THAT STOLEN ACE OF HEARTS. + +When I, at the unripe age of seventeen, left my father’s poor +cottage-house on Tom’s Run and threw myself into life’s struggle, I +sought Pittsburg as a nearest promising arena of effort. I had a +small place at a smaller wage as a sort of office boy and porter for +a down-town establishment devoted to a commerce of iron; but as I came +early to cut my connection with that hard emporium we will not dwell +thereon. + +I have already told you how by nature I was a gambler. I had inborn +hankerings after games of chance, and it was scant time, indeed, before +I found myself on terms of more or less near acquaintance with every +card sharper of the city. And I became under their improper tutelage +an expert cheat myself. At short cards and such devices as faro +and roulette, I soon knew each devious turn and was in excellent +qualification to pillage my way to eminence if not to riches among the +nimble-fingered nobility of the green tables into whose midst I had +coaxed or crowded my way. Vast was my ambition to soar as a blackleg, +and no student at his honest books burned with more fire to succeed. +I became initiate into such mysteries as the “bug,” the “punch,” the +“hold-out”; I could deal “double” or “from the bottom;” was a past +master of those dubious faro inventions, the “snake,” the “end squeeze,” + and the “balance top;” could “put back” with a clean deftness that might +deceive even my masters in evil doing, and with an eye like a hawk read +a deck of marked cards with the same easy certainty that I read the +alphabet. It was a common compliment to my guilty merit that no better +craftsman at crooked play ever walked in Diamond Alley. + +No, as I’ve heretofore explained, there dawned a day when I gave up card +gambling and played no more. It is now twenty years since I wagered so +much as a two-bit piece in any game other than the Wall Street game of +stocks. And yet it was no moral arousal that drew me from roulette, +from farobank and from draw poker. I merely awoke to the truth that the +greatest simpleton of cards is the professional gambler himself; and +with that I turned my back on the whole scurvy business and quit the +dens for the exchange. And with no purpose to preach, I say openly and +with a fullest freedom that the game of stock speculation is as replete +of traps and pitfalls, and of as false and blackleg character as any +worst game of iniquitous faro that is dealt with trimmed and sanded deck +from a dishonest box. As an arena of morals the stock exchange presents +no conscious improvement beyond what is offered by the veriest dead-fall +ever made elate with those two rings at the bell which tell the waiting +inmates that some “steerer” is on the threshold with rustic victim to +be fleeced. I once read that the homestead of Captain Kidd, the pirate, +stood two centuries ago on that plot of ground now covered by the New +York Stock Exchange; and I confess to a smile when I reflected how +the spirit of immortal rapine would seem to hover over the place. The +exchange is a fit successor to the habitat of that wild freebooter +who died and dried in execution dock when long ago the Stuart Anne was +queen. + +During those earlier months in Pittsburg, I was not permitted by my +father--who had much control of me, even unto the day of his death--to +altogether abandon Tom’s Run, and the good, grimy miner folk, its +inhabitants. My week’s holiday began with each Saturday’s noon; from +that hour until Monday morning I was free; and thus, obeying my father’s +behests, Saturday evening and Sunday, I was bound to pass beneath my +parents’ roof. + +It was during one of these visits home when I first cheated at +cards--memorable event!--and it was on another that my roguery was +discovered and my father struck that blow. + +As already stated, my father was of Welsh extraction. It was no less +the fact, however, that his original stock was Irish; his grandfather--I +believe it to have been that venerable and I trust respected +gentleman--coming to Wales from somewhere on the banks of the +Blackwater. And my father, excellent man! had vast pride in his Irish +lineage and grew never so angry, particularly if a bit heated of his +Saturday evening cups, as when one spoke of him as offshoot of the rocky +land of leeks and saintly David. + +“What!” he would cry; “because I was born in Wales, do you take me for +an onion-eating Welshman? Man, I’m Irish and don’t make that mistake +again!” + +The vigor wherewith his mine-hardened fist smote the table as conclusion +to this, carried such weight of emphasis that no man was ever found to +fall a second time into the error. + +For myself, the question whether my ancestors were Welsh or Irish held +little interest. I was looking forward not backward, and a hot avarice +to hunt dollars drove from my bosom the last trace of concern touching a +genealogy. I would sooner have one year’s run of uninterrupted luck at +a gambling table than to know myself a direct descendant of the +Plantagenets. Not so my dear old father; to the hour when death closed +his eyes--already sightless for ten years--burned out with a blast, +they were--he ceased not to regale me with tales of that noble line of +dauntless Irish from whom we drew our blood. For the ten years following +the destruction of his eyes by powder, I saw much of my father, for I +established him at a little country tavern near enough to the ocean to +hear the surf and smell the salt breath of it, and two or three times a +week I made shift to get down where he was. And whether my stay was for +an hour or for a night--as on Sunday this latter came often to be the +chance--he made his pedigree, or what he dreamed was such, the proud +burden of his conversation. + +Brian Boru, I remember, was an original wellhead of our family. My +father was tireless in his settings forth of this hero king of Munster; +nor did he fail at the close of his story to curse the assassin who +struck down Boru at Clontarf. Sometimes to tease him, I’d argue what +must have been the weak and primitive inconsequence of the royal Boru. +I’d suggest that by the sheer narrowness and savagery of the hour +wherein that monarch lived, he could have been nothing more royal than +the mere king of a kale patch, and probably wore less of authority +with still less of revenue and reverence than belong commonly with any +district leader of Tammany Hall. + +At these base doubtings my parent’s wrath would mount. He would wax +vivid with a picture of the majesty and grandeur of the great Boru; and +of the halls wherein he fed and housed a thousand knights compared with +whom in riches, magnificence, and chivalrous feats those warriors who +came about King Arthur’s round table showed paltry, mean and low. To +crown narration he would ascribe to Boru credit as a world’s first law +giver and hail him author of the “Code Brian.” + +“Shure!” he would say; “he called his scholars and his penmen about him +and he made them write down as the wor-rds fell from th’ mouth av him +th’ whole of th’ Code Brian; an’ this in tur-rn was a model of th’ Code +Napoleon that makes th’ law av Fr-rance to-day.” + +It was in vain I pointed out that Napoleon’s Code found its roots and +as well, its models, in the Corpus Juris Civilis of Justinian--I had +learned so much Latin from Father Glennon--and that nowhere in the +English law was the Code Brian, as he called it, so much as adverted to. + +“An’ that’s th’ Sassenach jealousy av thim!” he would say. “An’ who was +this Justinian? Who, indade, but a thievin’ Roman imp’ror who shtole his +laws from King Boru just as th’ Dagoes now are shtealin’ th’ jobs at th’ +mines from th’ Irish an’ Welsh lads to whom they belong av r-rights.” + +After this I said no more; I did not explain that Justinian and his +Pandects and the others of his grand body of civil law were in existence +five centuries before the martyred Boru was born. That discovery would +have served no purpose beyond my parent’s exasperation and earned for +myself as well as the world’s historians naught save a cataract of hard +words. + +You marvel, perhaps, why I dwell with such length on the memory of my +father--a poor, blind, ignorant miner of coal! I loved the old man; and +to this day when my hair, too, is gray and when I may win my wealth and +count my wealth and keep my wealth with any of the land, I recall him +as the only man for whom I ever felt either love or confidence or real +respect. + +Yes; I heard much of the blood of the truculent yet wise Boru; also of +younger ancestors who fought for the Stuarts against Cromwell, against +Monmouth, against William; and later in both the “Fifteen” and in +the “Forty-five.” Peculiarly was I made to know of my mother’s close +connection by blood with the house of that brave Sarsfield “who,” as my +father explained, “fairly withstud th’ Dootchman at th’ Boyne; an’ later +made him quit befure th’ walls av Limerick.” There was one tradition of +the renowned Sarsfield which the old gentleman was peculiarly prone to +relate, and on the head of him who distrusted the legend there was sure +to fall a storm. That particular tale concerned the Irish soldier and +the sword of Wallace wight. + +“Thish William Wallace,” my father was wont to say as he approached the +myth, “was a joint (giant), no less. He was nine fut ’leven inches +tall an’ his soord was eight fut foore inches long. It’s in Stirlin’ +Cashtle now, an’ there niver was but one man besides Wallace who cud +handle it. Th’ Black Douglas an’ all av thim Scotchmen thried it an’ +failed. Whin, one day, along comes Gin’ral Patrick Sarsfield--a little +bit av a felly, only five fut siven inches tall--an’ he tuk that soord +av William Wallace in one hand an’, me son, he made it whishtle.” + +But I must press to my first crime of cards or your patience will +desert. During those summer months on Tom’s Run when the mines were open +and my father and his mates of the pick and blast were earning their +narrow pay, it was the habit of himself and four or five other gentlemen +of coal to gather in the Toni’s Run Arms when Saturday evening came on, +and relax into that amusement dear to Ireland as “forty-five.” Usually +they played for a dime a corner; on occasional rich evenings the stakes +mounted dizzily to two-bits, though this last was not often. + +Now I was preyed on by a desire to make one at this Saturday contention, +but my father would never consent. + +“Jack,” he’d say; “you’d only lose your money. Shure! you’re nawthin’ +but a boy an’ not fit to pla-ay cards with th’ loikes av grown-up +men.” + +But I persisted; I argued--to myself, you may be certain--while I might +be no match for these old professors of forty-five who played the game +with never a mistake, if I, like them, played honestly, that the cunning +work I meditated could not fail to bring me in the wealth. + +At last one of the others came to my rescue. + +“Let him pla-ay, Mishter Roche,” he said. “Let’s win his money fr-rom +him an’ it’ll be a lesson. He’ll not lose much befure he’ll be gla-ad to +quit.” + +“All right, thin,” replied my father; “you can pla-ay, Jack, till you +lose fifty cints; an’ that’ll do ye. Moind now! whin you lose fifty +cints you shtop.” And so I was made one of the circle. + +As I foresaw, I did not lose the four-bits which my indulgent parent had +marked as the limits of farthest sacrifice to my ambitious innocence. +Already I had brought back to Tom’s Run a curious trick or two from +Pittsburg. It soon came to be my “deal,” and the moment I got the cards +in my hands I abstracted the ace of hearts--a most doughty creature in +this game of forty-five!--and dropped it in my lap, covering the fact +from vulgar eyes with a fold of my handkerchief. That was all the +chicane I practiced; I kept myself in constant possession of the ace of +hearts and played it at a crisis; and at once the wagered dimes of the +others began to travel into my illicit pockets where they made a merry +jingle, I warrant you! + +The honest Irish from whom I was filching these small tributes never +once bethought that I might play them sharp; they attributed my gains to +luck and loud was exclamation over my good fortune. Time and again, for +I was not their equal as a mere player, I’d board the wrong card. When +I’d make such a mistake, one of them would cry: “D’ye moind that now! +D’ye moind how ba-ad he plays!” + +“An’ yet,” another would add, “an’ yet he rakes th’ money!” + +Altogether I regarded my entrance into this ten-cent game of forty-five +a most felicitous affair. I won at every sitting; getting up on some +occasions with as much as eight dollars of profit for my evening’s work. +In those days I went willingly to Tom’s Run, quitting Pittsburg without +a sigh; and such was my ardor to fleece these coaldigging comrades of +my father--and for that matter, my father, also; for like your true +gambler, I played no favorites and was as warm to gather in the dimes of +my parent as any--that I was usually found waiting about the forty-five +table when, following supper, they appeared. And it all went favorably +with me for perhaps a dozen sittings; my aggregate gains must have +reached the mighty sum of sixty dollars. Of a merry verity! silver was +at high tide in my hands! + +One evening as the half dozen devoted to the science of forty-five +drew up to the table--myself a stripling boy, the others bearded miner +men--my father complained of an ache in his head or an ache in his +stomach or some malady equally cogent, and said he would not play. + +“I’ll have me poipe an’ me mug av beer,” he said, “an’ resht mesilf a +bit. It’s loike I’ll feel betther afther a whoile an’ then I’ll take a +haand.” + +Play began, while my suffering father with his aches, his tobacco and +his beer, sat nursing himself at a near-by table. I lost no time in +acquiring my magic ace of hearts and at once the stream of usual fortune +set in to flow my way. + +Ten years, yes, one year later, my suspicions touching my father’s +illness and his reasons for this unprecedented respite from the cares of +forty-five would have stood more on tiptoe. As it was, however, it never +assailed me as a thought that I had become the subject of ancestral +doubts. I cheated on and on, and made hay while the sun shone with never +a cloud in the sky. + +It was not noticed by me, but following a halfhour’s play and while I +was shuffling the cards for a deal, my parent stole noiselessly +behind my chair. He reached under my arm and lifted the corner of the +concealing handkerchief which filled my lap. Horrors! there lay the +tell-tale ace of hearts! + +Even then I realized nothing and knew not that my villainy was made +bare. This news, however, was not long in its arrival. + +“Niver did I r-raise a boy to be a r-robber!” roared my father. + +Coincident with this remark, the paternal hand--not the lightest nor +least formidable on Tom’s Run--dealt me a buffet on the head that lifted +me from my sinful chair and hurled me across the room and against the +wall full fifteen feet away. My teeth clattered, my wits reeled, while +my ill-gotten silver danced blithely to metallic music of its own. + +“Niver did I r-raise a boy to be a r-robber!” again shouted my father. +Then seizing me by the collar, he lifted me to my feet. “Put all your +money on the ta-able!” he cried; “put ivry groat av it!” + +There was no escape; I was powerless in the talons of an inexorable +fate. My pockets yielded a harvest of hardby seventy-five +dollars--something more than the total of my winnings--and this was +placed in the center of the table which had so lately witnessed my +skill. An even distribution was then made by my father among the +victims, each getting his share of the recovered treasure; my father +keeping none for himself though urged by the others to that end. + +“No,” said my father; “I’ll touch niver a penny av it. You take th’ +money; I’ll make shift that the dishgrace of bein’ fa-ather to a +rapparee shall do for me share!” + +With that, he withdrew from the scene of my downfall, carrying me fast +in his clutch; and later--bathed in tears of pain and shame--I was +dragged into the presence of my mother and Father Glennon by the +ignominious ear. + +It did not cure me of cards, however; I ran the whole gamut of gambling +and won dangerous prominence as a sharper of elevation and rank. +To-morrow evening, should you care to listen, I may unfold concerning +other of my adventures; I may even relate--as a tale most to my +diplomatic glory, perhaps--how I brought Casino Joe to endow me with +that great secret, richer, in truth! than the mines of Peru! of “How to +Tell the Last Four.” + +***** + +“Speakin’ of gamblin’,” observed the Old Cattleman when the Red Nosed +Gentleman had come to a full stop, “I’ll bet a bloo stack that +as we-alls sets yere talkin’, the games is goin’ brisk an’ hot in +Wolfville. Thar won’t be no three foot of snow to put a damper on trade +an’ hobble a gent’s energies in Arizona.” This last with a flush of +pride. + +“Does everybody gamble in the West?” asked the Sour Gentleman. + +“Every sport who’s got the dinero does,” responded the Old Cattleman. +“White folks, Injuns an’ Mexicans is right now at roulette an’ faro bank +an’ monte as though they ain’t got a minute to live. I hates to +concede ’em so much darin’, but the Mexicans, speshul, is zealous for +specyoolations. Which they’d shore wager their immortal souls on the +turn of a kyard, only a Greaser’s soul don’t own no market valyoo.” + +“If you will,” said the Jolly Doctor, “you might tell us something of +Mexicans and their ways, their labors and relaxations--their loves and +their hates. I’d be pleased to hear of those interesting people from one +who knows them so thoroughly.” + +“Which I shore knows ’em,” returned the Old Cattleman, “an’ as +I concedes how each gent present oughter b’ar his share of the +entertainment, I’ll tell you of Chiquita of Chaparita.” + + + + +CHAPTER IX.--CHIQUITA OF CHAPARITA. + +Which I doubts some if I’m a proper party to be a historian of +Mexicans. Nacherally I abhors ’em; an’ when a gent abhors anything, +that is a Caucasian gent, you-all can gamble the limit he won’t do it +jestice. His prejudices is bound to hit the surface like one of these +yere rock ledges in the mountains. Be white folks ag’in Mexicans? Gents, +the paleface is ag’in everybody but himse’f; ag’in Mexicans, niggers, +Injuns, Chinks--he’s ag’in ’em all; the paleface is overbearin’ an’ +insolent, an’ because he’s the gamest fighter he allows he’s app’inted +of Providence to prance ‘round, tyrannizin’ an’ makin’ trouble for +everybody whose color don’t match his own. Shore, I’m as bad as others; +only I ain’t so bigoted I don’t savey the fact. + +Doc Peets is the one white gent I encounters who’s willin’ to mete out +to Mexicans a squar’ deal from a squar’ deck. I allers reckons these +yere equities on Peets’ part arises a heap from his bein’ a scientist. +You take a scientist like Peets an’ the science in him sort o’ submerges +an’ drowns out what you-all might term the racial notions native to +the hooman soil. They comes to concloosions dispassionate, that a-way, +scientists does; an’ Mexicans an’ Injuns reaps a milder racket at their +hands. With sech folks as Old Man Enright an’ me, who’s more indoorated +an’ acts on that arrogance which belongs with white folks at birth, +inferior races don’t stand no dazzlin’ show. + +Mexicans, as a herd, is stunted an’ ondeveloped both mental an’ +physical. They bears the same compar’son to white folks that these yere +little broncos does to the big hosses of the States. In intellects, +Mexicans is about ’leven hands high. To go into one of their jimcrow +plazas is like retreatin’ back’ard three hundred years. Their idees of +agriculture is plenty primitive. An’ their minds is that bogged down +in ignorance you-all can’t teach ’em nothin’. They clings to their +worm-eaten customs like a miser to his money. Their plow is a wedge +of wood; they hooks on about three yoke of bulls--measley, locoed +critters--an’ with four or five Greasers to screech an’ herd an’ chunk +up the anamiles they goes stampedin’ back’ard an’ for’ard on their +sandy river-bottom fields--the same bein’ about as big as a saddle +blanket--an’ they calls that plowin’. They sows the grain as they plows, +sort o’ scratches it in; an’ when it comes up they don’t cut it none +same as we-all harvests a crop. No; they ain’t capable of sech wisdom. +They pulls it up by the roots an’ ties it in bundles. Then they sweeps +off a clean spot of earth like the floor of one of these yere brickyards +an’ covers it with the grain same as if it’s a big mat. Thar’s a corral +constructed ‘round it of posts an’ lariats; an’ next, on top of the mat +of grain, they drives in the loose burros, cattle, goats, an’ all things +else that’s got a hoof; an’ tharupon they jams this menagerie about +ontil the grain is trodden out. That’s what a Greaser regyards as +threshin’ grain, so you can estimate how ediotic he is. When it’s +trompled sufficient, he packs off the stalks an’ straw to make mats an’ +thatches for the ’dobies; while he scrapes up the dust an’ wheat into a +blanket an’ climbs onto the roof of his _casa_ an’ pours it down slow +onto the ground, an’ all so it gives the wind a openin’ to get action +an’ blow away the chaff an’ dust. + +But what’s the use of dilatin’ on savageries like that? I could push +for’ard an’ relate how they makes flour with a stone rollin’-pin in a +stone trough; how they grinds coffee by wroppin’ it in a gunny sack an’ +beatin’ it with a rock; but where’s the good? It would only go lowerin’ +your estimates of hooman nature to no end. + +Whatever be their amoosements? Everything on earth amooses ’em. They +has so many holidays, Mexicans does, they ain’t hardly left no time for +work. They’re pirootin’ about constant, grinnin’ an’ chatterin’ like a +outfit of bloo-jays. + +No; they ain’t singers none. Takin’ feet an’ fingers, that a-way, a +Mexican is moosical. They emerges a heap strong at dancin’, an’ when +it conies to a fandango, hens on hot griddles is examples of listless +abstraction to ’em. With sech weepons, too, as guitars an’ fiddles +an’ a gourd half-full of gravel to shake an’ beat out the time, they +can make the scenery ring. Thar they stops, however; a Greaser’s +moosic never mounts higher than the hands. At singin’, crows an’ guinea +chickens lays over ’em like a spade flush over nines-up. + +Most likely if I reelates to you-all the story of a day among the +Mexicans you comes to a cl’arer glimpse of their loves an’ hates an’ +wars an’ merry-makin’s. Mexicans, like Injuns when a paleface is about, +lapses into shyness an’ timidity same as one of these yere cottontail +rabbits. But among themse’fs, when they feels onbuckled an’ at home, +their play runs off plenty different. Tharfore a gent’s got to study +Mexicans onder friendly auspices, an’ from the angle of their own +home-life, if he’s out to rope onto concloosions concernin’ them that’ll +stand the tests of trooth. + +It’s one time when I’m camped in the Plaza Chaparita. It’s doorin’ the +eepock when I freights from Vegas to the Canadian over the old Fort +Bascom trail. One of the mules--the nigh swing mule, he is--quits on me, +an’ I has to lay by ontil that mule recovers his sperits. + +It’s a _fieste_ or holiday at the Plaza Chaparita. The first local sport +I connects with is the padre. He’s little, brown, an’ friendly; an’ has +twinklin’ beady eyes like a rattlesnake; the big difference bein’ that +the padre’s eyes is full of fun, whereas the optics of rattlesnakes is +deevoid of humor utter. Shore; rattlesnakes wouldn’t know a joke from +the ace of clubs. + +The padre’s on his way to the ’dobe church; an’ what do you-all figger +now that divine’s got onder his arm? Hymn books, says you? That’s where +you’re barkin’ at a knot. The padre’s packin’ a game chicken--which +the steel gaffs, drop-socket they be an’ of latest sort, is in his +pocket--an’ as I goes squanderin’ along in his company, he informs me +that followin’ the services thar’ll be a fight between his chicken an’ +a rival brass-back belongin’ to a commoonicant named Romero. The padre +desires my presence, an’ in a sperit of p’liteness I allows I’ll come +idlein’ over onless otherwise engaged, the same bein’ onlikely. + +Gents, you should have witnessed that battle! It’s shore lively carnage; +yes, the padre’s bird wins an’ downs Romero’s entry the second buckle. + +On the tail of the padre’s triumph, one of his parishioners gets locoed, +shakes a chicken outen a bag an’ proclaims that he’ll fight him ag’in +the world for two dollars a side. At that another enthoosiast gives +notice that if the first parishioner will pinch down his bluff to one +dollar--he says he don’t believe in losin’ an’ winnin’ fortunes on a +chicken--he’ll prodooce a bird an’ go him once. + +The match is made, an’ while the chickens is facin’ each other a heap +feverish an’ fretful, peckin’ an’ see-sawin’ for a openin’, the various +Greasers who’s bet money on ’em lugs out their beads an’ begins +to pray to beat four of a kind. Shore, they’re prayin’ that their +partic’lar chicken ’ll win. Still, when I considers that about as many +Greasers is throwin’ themse’fs at the throne of grace for one as for the +other, if Providence is payin’ any attention to ’em--an’ I deems it +doubtful--I estimates that them orisons is a stand-off. + +As the birds goes to the center, one party sprinkles something on his +chicken. At that the opposition grabs up his bird an’ appeals to +the padre. He challenges the other’s bird because he says he’s been +sprinkled with holy-water. + +The padre inquires, an’ the holy-water sharp confesses his guilt. Also, +he admits that he hides the gaffs onder the altar cloth doorin’ the +recent services so they’ll acquire extra grace an’ power. + +The padre turns severe at this an’ declar’s the fight off; an’ he +forfeits the doctored chicken an’ the gaffs to himse’f a whole lot--he +representin’ the church--to teach the holy-water sharp that yereafter +he’s not to go seizin’ onfair advantages, an’ to lead a happier an’ a +better life. That culprit don’t say a word but passes over his chicken +an’ the steel regalia for its heels. You can bet that padre’s word is +law in the Plaza Chaparita! + +Followin’ this fiasco of the holy-water chicken the Mexicans disperses +themse’fs to pulque an’ monte an’ the dance. The padre an’ me sa’nters +about; me bein’ a Americano, an’ him what you might call professionally +sedate, we-all don’t go buttin’ into the _baile_ nor the pulque nor the +gamblin’. The padre su’gests that we go a-weavin’ over to his own camp, +which he refers to as Casa Dolores--though thar’s nothin’ dolorous about +it, the same bein’ the home of mirth an’ hilarity, that a-way--an’ +he allows he’s got some Valley Tan hived up that’ll make me forget my +nationality if stoodiously adhered to. It’s needless to observe that I +accompanies the beady-eyed padre without a struggle. An’ I admits, +free an’ without limitation, that said Valley Tan merits the padre’s +encomiums an’ fixes me in my fav’rite theery that no matter what +happens, the best happens to the church. + +As we crosses the little Plaza on our way to Casa Dolores we passes +in front of the church. Thar on the grass lays the wooden image of the +patron saint of the Plaza Chaparita. This figger is about four foot +long, an’ thar’s a hossha’r lariat looped onto it where them Mexicans +who gets malcontent with the saint ropes him off his perch from up in +front of the church. They’ve been haulin’ the image about an’ beatin’ it +with cactus sticks an’ all expressive of disdain. + +I asks the padre why his congregation engages itse’f in studied +contoomely towards the Plaza’s saint. He shrugs his shoulders, spreads +his hands palm out, an’ says it’s because the Plaza’s sheep gets sick. +I su’gests that him an’ me cut in an’ rescoo the saint; more partic’lar +since the image is all alone, an’ the outfit that’s been beatin’ him +up has abandoned said corrections to drink pulque an’ exercise their +moccasins in the _baile_. But the padre shakes his head. He allows it’s +a heap better to let the public fully vent its feelin’s. He explains +that when the sheep gets well the congregation ’ll round-up the image, +give him a reproachful talk an’ a fresh coat of paint, an’ put him back +on his perch. The saint ’ll come winner on the deal all right, the padre +says. + +“Besides,” argues the padre, “it is onneces-sary for pore blinded +mortals to come pawin’ about to protect a saint. These yere images,” + he insists, “can look after themse’fs. They’ll find the way outen their +troubles whenever they gets ready.” + +At that we proceeds for’ard to Casa Dolores an’ the promised Valley Tan, +an’ leaves the wooden saint to his meditations on the grass. After all, +I agrees with the padre. It’s the saint’s business to ride herd on +the interests of the Plaza Chaparita; an’ if he goes to sleep on the +lookout’s stool an’ takes to neglectin’ sech plays as them sheep gettin’ +sick, whatever is the Greasers goin’ to do? They’re shore bound to +express their disapproval; an’ I reckons as good a scheme as any is to +caper up, yank the careless image outen his niche with a lariat, an’ lam +loose an’ cavil at him with a club. + +This yere _fieste_ at the Plaza Chaparita is a day an’ night of +laughter, dance an’ mirth. But it ends bad. The padre an’ me is over to +the dance-hall followin’ our investigations touchin’ the Valley Tan +an’ the padre explains to me how he permits to his people a different +behavior from what’s possible among Americanos. + +“I studies for the church in Baltimore,” the padre says, “an’ thar the +priest must keep a curb on his Americano parishioners. They are not like +Mexicanos. They’re fierce an’ headlong an’ go too far. If you let them +gamble, they gamble too much; if you let them drink, they drink too +much. The evil of the Americano is that he overplays. It is not so +with the Mexicano. If the Mexicano gambles, it is only a trifle an’ for +pleasure; if he drinks, it is but enough to free a bird’s song in his +heart. All my people drink an’ dance an’ gamble; but it’s only play, +it is never earnest. See! in the whole Plaza Chaparita you find no +drunkard, no pauper; no one is too bad or too good or too rich or too +poor or too unhappy.” + +Then the priest beams on me like he disposes of the question; an’ since +I’ve jest been drinkin’ his Valley Tan I don’t enter no protests to what +he states. From what ensoos, however, I should jedge the padre overlooks +his game in one partic’lar. + +As me an’ the padre sits gazin’ on at the dance, a senorita with a dark +shawl over her head, drifts into the door like a shadow. She’s little; +an’ by what I sees of her face, she’s pretty. As she crosses in front +of the padre she stops an’ sort o’ drops down on one knee with her head +bowed. The padre blesses her an’ calls her “Chiquita;” then she goes on. +I don’t pay no onusual attention; though as me an’ the padre talks, +I notes her where she stands with her shawl still over her head in a +corner of the dance hall. + +Across from the little Chiquita is a young Greaser an’ his sweetheart. +This girl is pretty, too; but her shawl ain’t over her head an’ she +an’ her _muchacho_, from their smiles an’ love glances, is havin’ the +happiest of nights. + +“It looks like you’ll have a weddin’ on your hands,” I says to the +padre, indicatin’ where the two is courtin’. + +“Chiquita should not stay here,” says the padre talkin’ to himse’f. With +that he organizes like he’s goin’ over to the little shawled senorita in +the corner. + +It strikes me that the padre’s remark is a heap irrelevant. But I soon +sees that he onderstands the topics he tackles a mighty sight better +than me. The padre’s hardly moved when it looks like the senorita +Chiquita saveys he’s out to head her off. With that she crosses the +dance-hall swift as a cat an’ flashes a knife into the heart of the +laughing girl. The next moment the knife is planted in her own. + +It’s the old story, so old an’ common thar’s not a new word to be said. +Two dead girls; love the reason an’ the jealous knife the trail. Thar’s +not a scream, not a word; that entire _baile_ stands transfixed. As the +padre raises the little Chi-quita’s head, I sees the tears swimmin’ in +his eyes. It’s the one time I comes nearest thinkin’ well of a Mexican; +that padre, at least, is toler’ble. + +“That is a very sad finale--the death of the girls,” observed the Sour +Gentleman, reaching for the Scotch whiskey as though for comfort’s sake. +“And still, the glimpse you gave would move me to a pleasant estimate of +Mexicans.” + +“Why then,” returned the Old Cattleman, becoming also an applicant for +Scotch, “considered as abstract prop’sitions, Mexicans aint so bad. +Which they’re like Injuns; they improves a lot by distance. An’ they has +their strong p’ints, too; gratitoode is one. You-all confer a favor on a +Mexican, an’ he’ll hang on your trail a hundred years but what he’ll do +you a favor in return. An’ he’ll jest about pay ten for one at that. + +“Speakin’ of gratitoode, Sioux Sam yere tells a story to ’llustrate +how good deeds is bound to meet their reward. It’s what the squaws tells +the papooses to make ’em kind.” Then to Sioux Sam: “Give us the tale +of Strongarm an’ the Big Medicine Elk. The talk is up to you.” + +Sioux Sam was in no sort diffident, and readily told us the following: + + + + +CHAPTER X.--HOW STRONGARM WAS AN ELK. + +Moh-Kwa was the wisest of all the beasts along the Upper Yellowstone; +an’ yet Moh-Kwa could not catch a fish. This made Moh-Kwa have a bad +heart, for next to honey he liked fish. What made it worse was that in +Moh-Kwa’s cavern where he lived, there lay a deep pool which was the +camp of many fish; an’ Moh-Kwa would sit an’ look at them an’ long for +them, while the fish came close to the edge an’ laughed at Moh-Kwa, for +they knew beneath their scales that he could not catch them; an’ the +laughter of the fish made a noise like swift water running among rocks. +Sometimes Moh-Kwa struck at a fish with his big paw, but the fish never +failed to dive out of reach; an’ this made the other fish laugh at +Moh-Kwa more than before. Once Moh-Kwa got so angry he plunged into the +pool to hunt the fish; but it only made him seem foolish, for the fish +swam about him in flashing circles, an’ dived under him an’ jumped over +him, laughing all the time, making a play an’ a sport of Moh-Kwa. At +last he gave up an’ swam ashore; an’ then he had to sit by his fire an’ +comb his fur all day to dry himself so that he might feel like the same +bear again. + +One morning down by the Yellowstone, Moh-Kwa met Strongarm, the young +Sioux, an’ Strongarm had a buffalo fish which he had speared in the +river. An’ because Moh-Kwa looked at the fish hungrily an’ with water +in his mouth, Strongarm gave him the buffalo fish. Also he asked Moh-Kwa +why he did not catch fish since he liked them so well an’ the pool in +his cavern was the camp of many fish. An’ Moh-Kwa said it was because +the fish were cowards an’ would not stay an’ fight with him, but ran +away. + +“They are not so brave as the bees,” said Moh-Kwa, “for when I find a +bee-tree, they make me fight for the honey. The bees have big hearts +though little knives, but the fish have no hearts an’ run like water +down hill if they but see Moh-Kwa’s shadow from his fire fall across the +pool.” + +Strongarm said he would catch the fish for Moh-Kwa; an’ with that he +went to the Wise Bear’s house an’ with his spear took many fish, being +plenty to feed Moh-Kwa two days. Moh-Kwa was very thankful, an’ because +Strong-arm liked the Wise Bear, he came four times each moon an’ speared +fish for Moh-Kwa who was never so well fed with fish before. + +Strongarm was a mighty hunter among the Sioux an’ killed more elk than +did the ten best hunters of his village. So many elk did Strong-arm slay +that his squaw, the Blossom, made for their little son, Feather-foot, a +buckskin coat on which was sewed the eye-teeth of elk, two for each elk, +until there were so many eye-teeth on Feather-foot’s buckskin coat it +was like counting the leaves on a cottonwood to find how many there +were. An’ the Blossom was proud of Feather-foot’s coat, for none among +the Sioux had so beautiful a garment an’ the eye-teeth of the elk told +how big a hunter was Strongarm. + +While the Sioux wondered an’ admired at the elk-tooth coat, it made the +Big Medicine Elk, who was chief of the Elk people, hot an’ angry, an’ +turned his heart black against Strongarm. The Big Medicine Elk said he +would have revenge. + +Thus it happened one day that when Strong-arm stepped from his lodge, he +saw standing in front a great Elk who had antlers like the branches of a +tree. An’ the great Elk stamped his foot an’ snorted at Strongarm. Then +Strongarm took his bow an’ his lance an’ his knife an’ hunted the great +Elk to kill him; but the great Elk ran always a little ahead just out of +reach. + +At last the great Elk ran into the Pouch canyon an’ then Strongarm took +hope into his heart like a man takes air into his mouth, for the sides +of the Pouch canyon were high an’ steep an’ it ended with a high wall, +an’ nothing save a bird might get out again once it went in; for the +Pouch canyon was a trap which the Great Spirit had set when the world +was new. + +Strongarm was happy in his breast as he followed the great Elk into the +Pouch canyon for now he was sure. An’ he thought how the big eye-teeth +of so great an Elk would look on the collar of Feather-foot’s buckskin +coat. + +When Strongarm came to the upper end of the Pouch canyon, there the +great Elk stood waiting. + +“Hold!” said the great Elk, when Strongarm put an arrow on his +bowstring. + +[Illustration: 0157] + +But Strongarm shot the arrow which bounded off the great Elk’s hide an’ +made no wound. Then Strongarm ran against the great Elk with his lance, +but the lance was broken as though the great Elk was a rock. Then +Strongarm drew his knife, but when he went close to the great Elk, the +beast threw him down with his antlers an’ put his forefoot on Strongarm +an’ held him on the ground. + +“Listen,” said the great Elk, an’ Strongarm listened because he couldn’t +help it. “You have hunted my people far an’ near; an’ you can never get +enough of their blood or their eye-teeth. I am the Big Medicine Elk an’ +chief of the Elk people; an’ now for a vengeance against you, I shall +change you from the hunter to the hunted, an’ you shall know how good it +is to have fear an’ be an elk.” + +As the great Elk said this, Strongarm felt his head turn heavy with +antlers, while his nose grew long an’ his mouth wide, an’ hair grew out +of his skin like grass in the moon of new grass, an’ his hands an’ feet +split into hoofs; an’ then Strong-arm stood on his four new hoofs an’ +saw by his picture in the stream that he was an elk. Also the elk-fear +curled up in his heart to keep him ever in alarm; an’ he snuffed the +air an’ walked about timidly where before he was Strongarm and feared +nothing. + +Strongarm crept home to his lodge, but the Blossom did not know her +husband; an’ Feather-foot, his little son, shot arrows at him; an’ as +he ran from them, the hunters of his village came forth an’ chased +him until Strongarm ran into the darkness of the next night as it came +trailing up from the East, an’ the darkness was kind an’ covered him +like a blanket an’ Strongarm was hid by it an’ saved. + +When Strongarm did not come with the next sun to spear fish for Moh-Kwa, +the Wise Bear went to Strongarm’s lodge to seek him for he thought that +he was sick. An’ Moh-Kwa asked the Blossom where was Strongarm? An’ the +Blossom said she did not know; that Strongarm chased the great Elk +into the Pouch canyon an’ never came out again; an’ now a big Doubt had +spread its blankets in her heart an’ would not leave, but was making a +long camp, saying she was a widow. Then the Blossom wept; but Moh-Kwa +told her to wait an’ he would see, because he, Moh-Kwa, owed Strongarm +for many fish an’ would now pay him. + +Moh-Kwa went to the Big Medicine Elk. + +“Where is the Strongarm?” said Moh-Kwa. + +“He runs in the hills an’ is an elk,” said the Big Medicine Elk. “He +killed my people for their teeth, an’ a great fright was on all my +people because of the Strongarm. The mothers dare not go down to the +river’s edge to drink, an’ their children had no time to grow fat for +they were ever looking to meet the Strongarm. Now he is an elk an’ my +people will have peace; the mothers will drink an’ their babies be fat +an’ big, being no more chased by the Strongarm.” + +Then Moh-Kwa thought an’ thought, an’ at last he said to the Big +Medicine Elk: + +“That is all proud talk. But I must have the Strongarm back, for he +catches my fish.” + +But the Big Medicine Elk said he would not give Moh-Kwa back the +Strongarm. + +“Why should I?” asked the Big Medicine Elk. “Did not I save you in the +Yellowstone,” said Moh-Kwa, “when as you swam the river a drifting tree +caught in your antlers an’ held down your head to drown you? An’ did you +not bawl to me who searched for berries on the bank; an’ did I not swim +to you an’ save you from the tree?” Still the Big Medicine Elk shook his +antlers. + +“What you say is of another day. You saved me an’ that is ended. I will +not give you back the Strongarm for that. One does not drink the water +that is gone by.” + +Moh-Kwa then grew so angry his eyes burned red like fire, an’ he +threatened to kill the Big-Medicine Elk. But the Big Medicine Elk +laughed like the fish laughed, for he said he could not be killed by any +who lived on the land. + +“Then we will go to the water,” said Moh-Kwa; an’ with that he took the +Big Medicine Elk in his great hairy arms an’ carried him kicking an’ +struggling to the Yellowstone; for Moh-Kwa could hold the Big Medicine +Elk though he could not hurt him. + +When Moh-Kwa had carried the Big Medicine Elk to the river, he sat down +on the bank an’ waited with the Big Medicine Elk in his arms until a +tree came floating down. Then Moh-Kwa swam with the Big Medicine Elk to +the tree an’ tangled the branches in the antlers of the Big Medicine Elk +so that he was fast with his nose under the water an’ was sure to drown. + +“Now you are as you were when I helped you,” said Moh-Kwa. + +An’ the Catfish people in the river came with joy an’ bit the legs of +the Big Medicine Elk, an’ said, “Thank you, Moh-Kwa; you do well to +bring us food now an’ then since you eat so many fish.” + +As Moh-Kwa turned to swim again to the bank, he said over his shoulder +to the Big Medicine Elk: + +“Now you may sing your death song, for Pauguk, the Death, is in the +river with you an’ those are Pauguk’s catfish which gnaw your legs.” + +At this the Big Medicine Elk said between his cries of grief an’ fear +that if Moh-Kwa would save him out of the river, he would tell him how +to have the Strongarm back. So Moh-Kwa went again an’ freed the Big +Medicine Elk from the tree an’ carried him to the bank, while the +Catfish people followed, angrily crying: + +“Is this fair, Moh-Kwa? Do you give an’ then do you take away? Moh-Kwa! +you are a Pawnee!” + +When the Big Medicine Elk had got his breath an’ wiped the tears from +his eyes, he told Moh-Kwa that the only way to bring the Strongarm back +to be a hunter from being one of the hunted was for Feather-foot, his +son, to cut his throat; an’ for the Blossom, his squaw, to burn his +elk-body with cedar boughs. + +“An’ why his son, the Feather-foot?” asked Moh-Kwa. + +“Because the Feather-foot owes the Strongarm a life,” replied the Big +Medicine Elk. “Is not Strongarm the Feather-foot’s father an’ does not +the son owe the father his life?” + +Moh-Kwa saw this was true talk, so he let the Big Medicine Elk go free. + +“I will even promise that the Strongarm,” said Moh-Kwa, as the two +parted, “when again he is a Sioux on two legs, shall never hunt the Elk +people.” + +But the Big Medicine Elk, who was licking his fetlocks where the Catfish +people had hurt the skin, shook his antlers an’ replied: + +“It is not needed. The Strongarm has been one of the Elk people an’ will +feel he is their brother an’ will not hurt them.” + +Moh-Kwa found it a hard task to capture Strongarm when now he was an elk +with the elk-fear in his heart. For Strongarm had already learned the +elk’s warning which is taught by all the Elk people, an’ which says: + + Look up for danger and look down for gain; + + Believe no wolf’s word, and avoid the plain. + +Strongarm would look down for the grass with one eye, while he kept an +eye up among the branches or along the sides of the canyon for fear of +mountain lions. An’ he stuck close in among the hills, an’ would not go +out on the plains where the wolves lived; an’ he wouldn’t talk with a +wolf or listen to his words. + +But Strongarm, while he ran an’ hid from Moh-Kwa and the others, was not +afraid of the Blossom, who was his squaw, but would come to her gladly +if he might find her alone among the trees. + +“It is not the first time,” said the Wise Bear, “that the hunter has +made his trap of love.” + +With that he told the Blossom to go into the hills an’ call Strongarm +to her with her love. Then she was to bind his feet so that he might not +get away an’ run. + +The Blossom called Strongarm an’ he came; but he was fearful an’ +suspicious an’ his nose an’ his ears an’ his eyes kept guard until the +Blossom put her hand on his neck; an’ then Strongarm’s great love for +the Blossom smothered out his caution as one might smother a fire with +a robe; an’ the Blossom tied all his feet with thongs an’ bound his eyes +with her blanket so that Strongarm might not see an’ be afraid. + +Then came Feather-foot, gladly, an’ cut Strong-arm’s throat with his +knife; for Feather-foot did not know he killed his father--for that was +a secret thing with Moh-Kwa an’ the Blossom--an’ thought only how he +killed a great Elk. + +When Strongarm was dead, Moh-Kwa toiled throughout the day carrying +up the big cedar; an’ when a pile like a hill was made, Moh-Kwa put +Strongarm’s elk-body on its top, an’ brought fire from his house in the +rocks, an’ made a great burning. + +In the morning, the Blossom who had stayed with Moh-Kwa through the +night while the fire burned, said, “Now, although the big elk is gone +into ashes, I do not yet see the Strongarm.” But Moh-Kwa said, “You +will find him asleep in the lodge.” An’ that was a true word, for when +Moh-Kwa an’ the Blossom went to the lodge, there they found Strongarm +whole an’ good an’ as sound asleep as a tree at midnight. + +Outside the lodge they met the little Feather-foot who cried, “Where +is the big elk, Moh-Kwa, that I killed?” An’ the Blossom showed him his +father, Strongarm, where he slept, an’ said, “There is your big elk, +Feather-foot; an’ this will ever be your best hunting for it found you +your father again.” + +When Moh-Kwa saw that everything was settled an’ well, an’ that he would +now have always his regular fish, he wiped the sweat out of his eyes +with his paws which were all singed fur an’ ashes, an’ said, “I am the +weariest bear along the whole length of the Yellowstone, for I carried +some heavy trees an’ have worked hard. Now I will sleep an’ rest.” + +An’ with that Moh-Kwa lay down an’ snored an’ slept four days; then he +arose an’ eat up the countless fish which Strongarm had speared to be +ready for him. This done, Moh-Kwa lighted his pipe of kinnikinick, an’ +softly rubbing his stomach where the fish were, said: “Fish give Moh-Kwa +a good heart.” + +“Now that is what I call a pretty story,” said the Jolly Doctor. + +“It is that,” observed the Red Nosed Gentleman, with emphasis. “And I’ve +no doubt the Strongarm made it a point thereafter to be careful as to +what game he hunted. But, leaving fable for fact, my friend,”--the Red +Nosed Gentleman addressed now the Sour Gentleman--“would you not call +it your turn to uplift the spirits of this company? We have just enough +time and I just enough burgundy for one more story before we go to bed.” + +“While our friend, the Sioux Gentleman,” responded the Sour Gentleman, +“was unfolding his interesting fable, my thoughts--albeit I listened to +him and lost never a word--were to the rear with the old days which came +on the back of that catastrophe of tobacco. They come to me most clearly +as I sit here smoking and listening, and with your permission I’ll +relate the story of The Smuggled Silk.” + + + + +CHAPTER XI.--THAT SMUGGLED SILK. + +Should your curiosity invite it, and the more since I promised you +the story, we will now, my friends, go about the telling of that one +operation in underground silk. It is not calculated to foster the pride +of an old man to plunge into a relation of dubious doings of his youth. +And yet, as I look backward on that one bit of smuggling of which I was +guilty, so far as motive was involved, I exonerate myself. I looked on +the government, because of the South’s conquest by the North, and that +later ruin of myself through the machinations of the Revenue office, as +both a political and a personal foe. And I felt, not alone morally free, +but was impelled besides in what I deemed a spirit of justice to myself, +to wage war against it as best I might. It was on such argument, where +the chance proffered, that I sought wealth as a smuggler. I would +deplete the government--forage, as it were, on the enemy--thereby to +fatten my purse. + +As my hair has whitened with the sifting frosts of years, I confess +that my sophistries of smuggling seem less and less plausible, while +smuggling itself loses whatever of romantic glamour it may once have +been invested with, or what little color of respect to which it might +seem able to lay claim. This tale shall be told in simplest periods. +That is as should be; for expression should ever be meek and subjugated +when one’s story is the mere story of a cheat. There is scant room in +such recital for heroic phrase. Smuggling, and paint it with what genius +one may, can be nothing save a skulking, hiding, fear-eaten trade. +There is nothing about it of bravery or dash. How therefore and avoid +laughter, may one wax stately in any telling of its ignoble details? + +When, following my unfortunate crash in tobacco, I had cleared away the +last fragment of the confusion that reigned in my affairs, I was driven +to give my nerves a respite and seek a rest. For three months I had been +under severest stress. When the funeral was done--for funeral it seemed +to me--and my tobacco enterprise and those hopes it had so flattered +were forever laid at rest, my soul sank exhausted and my brain was in +a whirl. I could neither think with clearness nor plan with accuracy. +Moreover, I was prey to that depression and lack of confidence in +myself, which come inevitably as the corollary of utter weariness. + +Aware of this personal condition, I put aside thought of any present +formulation of a future. I would rest, recover poise, and win back that +optimism that belongs with health and youth. + +This was wisdom; I was jaded beyond belief; and fatigue means dejection, +and dejection spells pessimism, and pessimism is never sagacious nor +excellent in any of its programmes. + +For that rawness of the nerves I speak of, many apply themselves +to drink; some rush to drugs; for myself, I take to music. It was +midwinter, and grand opera was here. This was fortunate. I buried myself +in a box, and opened my very pores to those nerve-healthful harmonies. + +In a week thereafter I might call myself recovered. My soul was cool, +my eye bright, my mind clear and sensibly elate. Life and its promises +seemed mightily refreshed. + +No one has ever called me superstitious and yet to begin my +course-charting for a new career, I harked back to the old Astor House. +It was there that brilliant thought of tobacco overtook me two years +before. Perhaps an inspiration was to dwell in an environment. Again +I registered, and finding it tenantless, took over again my old room. +Still I cannot say, and it is to that hostelry’s credit, that my +domicile at the Astor aided me to my smuggling resolves. Those last had +growth somewhat in this fashion: + +I had dawdled for two hours over coffee in the café--the room and the +employment which had one-time brought me fortune--but was incapable +of any thought of value. I could decide on nothing good. Indeed, I did +naught save mentally curse those revenue miscreants who, failing of +blackmail, had destroyed me for revenge. + +Whatever comfort may lurk in curses, at least they carry no money +profit; so after a fruitless session over coffee and maledictions, I +arose, and as a calmative, walked down Broadway. + +At Trinity churchyard, the gates being open, I turned in and began +ramblingly to twine and twist among the graves. There I encountered a +garrulous old man who, for his own pleasure, evidently, devoted himself +to my information. He pointed out the grave of Fulton, he of the +steamboats; then I was shown the tomb of that Lawrence who would “never +give up the ship;” from there I was carried to the last low bed of the +love-wrecked Charlotte Temple. + +My eye at last, by the alluring voice and finger of the old guide, was +drawn to a spot under the tower where sleeps the Lady Cornbury, dead now +as I tell this, hardby two hundred years. Also I was told of that Lord +Cornbury, her husband, once governor of the colony for his relative, +Queen Anne; and how he became so much more efficient as a smuggler and +a customs cheat, than ever he was as an executive, that he lost his high +employ. + +Because I had nothing more worthy to occupy my leisure, I +listened--somewhat listlessly, I promise you, for after all I was +thinking on the future, not the past, and considering of the living +rather than those old dead folk, obscure, forgotten in their slim +graves--I listened, I say, to my gray historian; and somehow, after I +was free of him, the one thing that remained alive in my memory was the +smuggling story of our Viscount Cornbury. + +Among those few acquaintances I formed during my brief prosperity, was +one with a gentleman named Harris, who owned apartments under mine +on Twenty-second Street. Harris was elegant, educated, traveled, and +apparently well-to-do of riches. Busy with my own mounting fortunes, the +questions of who Harris was? and what he did? and how he lived? never +rapped at the door of my curiosity for reply. + +One night, however, as we sat over a late and by no means a first bottle +of wine, Harris himself informed me that he was employed in smuggling; +had a partner-accomplice in the Customs House, and perfect arrangements +aboard a certain ship. By these last double advantages, he came aboard +with twenty trunks, if he so pleased, without risking anything from +the inquisitiveness or loquacity of the officers of the ship; and later +debarked at New York with the certainty of going scatheless through the +customs as rapidly as his Inspector partner could chalk scrawlingly “O. +K.” upon his sundry pieces of baggage. + +Coming from Old Trinity, still mooting Corn-bury and his smugglings, +my thoughts turned to Harris. Also, for the earliest time, I began to +consider within myself whether smuggling was not a field of business +wherein a pushing man might grow and reap a harvest. The idea came to +me to turn “free-trader.” The government had destroyed me; I would make +reprisal. I would give my hand to smuggling and spoil the Egyptian. + +At once I sought Harris and over a glass of champagne--ever a favorite +wine with me--we struck agreement. As a finale we each put in fifteen +thousand dollars, and with the whole sum of thirty thousand dollars +Harris pushed forth for Europe while I remained behind. Harris visited +Lyons; and our complete investment was in a choicest sort of Lyons silk. +The rich fabrics were packed in a dozen trunks--not all alike, those +trunks, but differing, one from another, so as to prevent the notion as +they stood about the wharf that there was aught of relationship between +them or that one man stood owner of them all. + +It is not needed to tell of my partner’s voyage of return. It was +without event and one may safely abandon it, leaving its relation to +Harris himself, if he be yet alive and should the spirit him so move. +It is enough for the present purpose that in due time the trunks holding +our precious silk-bolts, with Harris as their convoy, arrived safe in +New York. + +I had been looking for the boat’s coming and was waiting on the wharf as +her lines and her stagings were run ashore. + +Our partner, the Inspector, and who was to enjoy a per cent, of the +profits of the speculation, was named Lorns. He rapidly chalked “O. K.” + with his name affixed to the end of each several trunk and it thereupon +with the balance of inspected baggage was promptly piled upon the wharf. + +There had been a demand for drays, I remember, and on this day when +our silks came in, I was able to procure but one. The ship did not dock +until late in the afternoon, and at eight o’clock of a dark, foggy April +evening, there still remained one of our trunks--the largest of all, it +was--on the wharf. The dray had departed with the second load for that +concealing loft in Reade Street which, during Harris’ absence, I had +taken to be used as the depot of those smuggling operations wherein we +might become engaged. I had made every move with caution; I had never +employed our real names not even with the drayman. + +As I tell you, the dray was engaged about the second trip. This last +large silk-trunk was left behind perforce; pile it how one might there +had been no safe room for it on the already overloaded dray. The drayman +promised to return and have it safely in our loft that night. + +For myself, I was from first to last lounging about the wharf, +overseeing the going away of our goods. Harris, so soon as I gave him +key and street-number, had posted to Reade Street to attend the silk’s +reception. + +Waiting for the coming back of the conveying dray proved but a slow, +dull business, and I was impatiently, at the hour I’ve named, walking +up and down, casting an occasional glance at the big last trunk where it +stood on end, a bit drawn out and separated from the common mountain of +baggage wherewith the wharf was piled. + +One of the general inspectors, a man I had never seen but whom I knew, +by virtue of his rank, to be superior to our chalk-wielding coparcener, +also paced the wharf and appeared to bear me company in a distant, +non-communicative way. This customs captain and myself, save for an +under inspector named Quin, had the dock to ourselves. The boat was +long in and most land folk had gotten through their concern with her +and wended homeward long before. There were, however, many passengers of +emigrant sort still held aboard the ship. + +As I marched up and down, Lorns came ashore and pretended some business +with his superior officer. As he returned to the ship and what duties he +had still to perform there, he made a slight signal to both myself and +his fellow inspector, Quin, to follow him. I was well known to Lorns, +having had several talks with him, while Harris was abroad. Quin I had +never met; but it quickly appeared that he was a confidant of Lorns, and +while without money interest in our affairs was ready to bear helping +hand should the situation commence to pinch. + +Quin and I went severally and withal carelessly aboard ship, and not at +all as though we were seeking Lorns. This was to darken the chief, whom +we both surmised to be the cause of Lorn’s signal. + +Once aboard and gathered in a dark corner, Lorns began at once: + +“Let me do the talking,” said Lorns with a nervous rapidity that at once +enlisted the ears of Quin and myself. “Don’t interrupt, but listen. The +chief suspects that last trunk. I can tell it by the way he acts. A bit +later, when I come ashore, he’ll ask to have it opened. Should he do so, +we’re lost; you and I.” This last was to me. Then to Quin: “Do you see +that long, bony Swiss, with the boots and porcelain pipe? He’s in an +ugly mood, doesn’t speak English, and within one minute after you return +to the wharf, he and I will be entangled in a rough and tumble riot. +I’ll attend to that. The row will be prodigious. The chief will be sent +for to settle the war, and when he leaves the wharf, Quin, don’t wait; +seize on that silk trunk and throw it into the river. There’s iron +enough clamped about the corners to sink it; besides, it’s packed so +tightly it’s as heavy as lead, and will go to the bottom like an anvil. +Then from the pile pull down some trunk similar to it in looks and stand +it in its place. It’ll go in the dark. Give the new trunk my mark, as +the chief has already read the name on the trunk. Go, Quin; I rely on +you.” + +“You can trust me, my boy,” retorted Quin, cheerfully, and turning on +his heel, he was back on the wharf in a moment, and apparently busy +about the pile of baggage. + +Suddenly there came a mighty uproar aboard ship. Lorns and the Swiss, +the latter already irate over some trouble he had experienced, were +rolling about the deck in a most violent scrimmage, the Swiss having +decidedly the worst of the trouble. The chief rushed up the plank; Lorns +and the descendant of Tell and Winkelried, were torn apart; and then a +double din of explanation ensued. After ten minutes, the chief was able +to straighten out the difficulty--whatever its pretended cause might be +I know not; for I held myself warily aloof, not a little alarmed by +what Lorns had communicated--and repaired again to his station upon the +wharf. + +As the chief came down the plank, Quin, who had not been a moment behind +him in going aboard to discover the reasons of the riot, followed. Brief +as was that moment, however, during which Quin had lingered behind, +he had made the shift suggested by Lorns; the silk trunk was under the +river, a strange trunk stood in its stead. + +As the chief returned, he walked straight to this suspected trunk and +tipped it down with his foot. Then to Quin: + +“Ask Lorns to step _here_.” + +Quin went questing Lorns; shortly Lorns and Quin came back together. The +chief turned in a brisk, sharp, official way to Lorns: + +“Did you inspect this trunk?” + +“I did,” said Lorns, looking at the chalk marks as if to make sure. + +“Open it!” + +No keys were procurable; the owners, Lorns said, had long since left the +docks. But Lorns suggested that he get hammer and cold-chisel from the +ship. + +The trunk was opened and found free and innocent of aught contraband. +The chief wore a puzzled, dark look; he felt that he’d been cheated, +but he couldn’t say how. Therefore, being wise, the chief gulped, said +nothing, and as life is short and he had many things to do, soon after +left the docks and went his way. + +“That was a squeak!” said Lorns when we were at last free of the +dangerous chief. “Quin, I thank you.” + +“That’s all right,” retorted Quin, with a grin; “do as much for me some +time.” + +That night, with the aid of a river pirate, our trunk, jettisoned by the +excellent Quin, was fished up; and being tight as a drum, its contents +had come to little harm with the baptism. At last, our dozen silk +trunks--holding a treasure of thirty thousand dollars and whereon we +looked to clear a heavy profit--were safe in the Reade Street loft; and +my hasty heart, which had been beating at double speed since that almost +fatal interference, slowed to normal. + +One might now suppose our woes were at an end, all danger over, and +nothing to do but dispose of that shimmering cargo to best advantage. +Harris and I were of that spirit-lifting view; we began on the very next +day to feel about for customers. + +Harris, whose former smuggling exploits had dealt solely with gems, +knew as little of silk as did I. Had either been expert he might have +foreseen a coming peril into whose arms we in our blindness all but +walked. No, our troubles were not yet done. We had escaped the engulfing +suck of Charybdis, only to be darted upon by those six grim mouths of +her sister monster, Scylla, over the way. + +Well do I recall that morning. I had seen but two possible purchasers of +silks when Harris overtook me. His eye shone with alarm. Lorns had +run him down with the news--however he himself discovered it, I never +knew--that another danger yawned. + +Harris hurried me to our Reade Street lair and gave particulars. + +“It seems,” said Harris, quite out of breath with the speed we’d made +in hunting cover, “that Stewart is for America the sole agent of these +particular brands of silk which we’ve brought in. Some one to whom we’ve +offered them has notified the Stewart company. At this moment and as we +sit here, the detectives belonging to Stewart, and for all I may +guess, the whole Central Office as well, are on our track. They want to +discover who has these silks; and how they came in, since the customs +records show no such importations. And there’s a dark characteristic to +these silks. Each bolt has its peculiar, individual selvage. Each, with +a sample of its selvage, is registered at the home looms. Could anyone +get a snip of a selvage he could return with it to Lyons, learn from the +manufacturers’ book just when it was woven, when sold, and to whom. I +can tell you one thing,” observed Harris, as he concluded his story, +“we’re in a bad corner.” + +How the cold drops spangled my brows! I began to wish with much heart +that I’d never met Harris, nor heard, that Trinity churchyard day, of +Cornbury and his smuggling methods of gathering gold. + +There was one ray of hope; neither Harris nor I had disclosed our names, +nor the whereabouts or quantity of the silks; and as each had been +dealing with folk with whom he’d never before met, we were both as yet +mysteries unsolved. + +Nor were we ever solved. Harris and I kept off the streets during +daylight hours for a full month. We were not utterly idle; we +unpleasantly employed ourselves in trimming away that telltale selvage. + +Preferring safety to profit, we put forth no efforts to realize on our +speculations for almost a year. By that time the one day’s wonder of +“Who’s got Stewart’s silks?” had ceased to disturb the mercantile world +and the grand procession of dry goods interest passed on and over it. + +At last we crept forth like felons--as, good sooth! we were--and +disposed of our mutilated silks to certain good folk whose forefathers +once ruled Palestine. These gentry liked bargains, and were in no wise +curious; they bought our wares without lifting an eyebrow of inquiry, +and from them constructed--though with that I had no concern--those long +“circulars,” so called, which were the feminine joy a third of a century +gone. + +As to Harris and myself; what with delays, what with expenses, what with +figures reduced to dispose of our plunder, we got evenly out. We got +back our money; but for those fear-shaken hours of two separate perils, +we were never paid. + +I smuggled no more. Still, I did not relinquish my pious purpose to +despoil that public treasury Egyptian quoted heretofore. Neither did I +give up the Customs as a rich field of illicit endeavor. But my methods +changed. I now decided that I, myself, would become an Inspector, like +unto the useful Lorns, and make my fortune from the opulent inside. I +procured the coveted appointment, for I could bring power to bear, and +later I’ll tell you of The Emperor’s Cigars. + +***** + +When I was in my room that night, making ready for bed, I could still +hear the soft, cold fingers of the snow upon the pane. What a storm was +that! Our landlord who had been boy and man and was now gray in that old +inn, declared how he had never witnessed the smothering fellow to it. + +The following day, while still and bright and no snow to fall, showed a +temperature below zero. The white blockade still held us fast, and now +the desperate cold was come to be the ally of the snow. Departure was +never a question. + +As we kicked the logs into a cheerful uproar of sparks, and drew that +evening about the great fireplace, it was the Old Cattleman to break +conversational ground. + +“Do you-all know,” said he, “I shore feels that idle this evenin’ it’s +worse’n scand’lous--it’s reedic’lous.” Here he threw himself back in +his armchair and yawned. “Pardon these yere demonstrations of weariness, +gents,” he observed; “they ain’t aimed at you none. That’s the fact, +though; this amazin’ sensation of bein’ held a prisoner is beginnin’ to +gnaw at me a heap. Talk of ‘a painted ship upon a painted ocean,’ +like that poem sharp wrote of! Why that vessel’s sedyoolously employed +compared to us!” + +“You should recall,” remarked the Jolly Doctor, “how somewhere it is +said that whatever your hand finds to do, you should do it with all your +heart. Now, I would say the counsel applies to our present position. +Since we must needs be idle, let us be idle heartily and happily, and +get every good to lie hidden in what to me, at least, is a most pleasant +companionship.” + +“I shore unites with you,” responded the Old Cattleman, “in them +script’ral exhortations to do things with all your heart. It was Wild +Bill Hickox’s way, too; an’ a Christian adherence to that commandment, +not only saves Bill’s life, but endows him with the record for +single-handed killin’s so far as we-all has accounts.” + +“Is it a story?” asked the Red Nosed Gentleman. “Once in a while I +relish a good blood and thunder tale.” + +“It’s this a-way,” said the Old Cattleman. “Bill’s hand is forced by the +Jake McCandlas gang. Bill has ’em to do; an’ rememberin’, doubtless, +the Bible lessons of his old mother back in Illinois, he shore does +’em with all his heart, as the good book says. This yere is the story +of ‘The Wiping Out of McCandlas.’” + + + + +CHAPTER XII.--THE WIPING OUT OF McCANDLAS. + +Tell you-all a tale of blood? It shore irritates me a heap, gents, when +you eastern folks looks allers to the west for stories red an’ drippin’ +with murder. Which mighty likely now the west is plenty peaceful +compared with this yere east itse’f. Thar’s one thing you can put in +your mem’randum book for footure ref’rence, an’ that is, for all them +years I inhabits Arizona an’ Texas an’ sim’lar energetic localities, +I never trembles for my life, an’ goes about plumb furtive, expectin’ +every moment is goin’ to be my next that a-way, ontil I finds myse’f +camped on the sunrise side of the Alleghenies. + +Nacherally, I admits, thar has been a modicum of blood shed west an’ +some slight share tharof can be charged to Arizona. No, I can’t say I +deplores these killin’s none. Every gent has got to die. For one, I’m +mighty glad the game’s been rigged that a-way. I’d shore hesitate a lot +to be born onless I was shore I’d up an’ some day cash in. Live forever? +No, don’t confer on me no sech gloomy outlook. If a angel was to appear +in our midst an’ saw off on me the news that I was to go on an’ on as +I be now, livin’ forever like that Wanderin’ Jew, the information would +stop my clock right thar. I’d drop dead in my moccasins. + +It don’t make much difference, when you gives yourse’f to a ca’m +consid’ration of the question as to when you dies or how you dies. The +important thing is to die as becomes a gent of sperit who has nothin’ to +regret. Every one soon or late comes to his trail’s end. Life is like +a faro game. One gent has ten dollars, another a hundred, another a +thousand, and still others has rolls big enough to choke a cow. But +whether a gent is weak or strong, poor or rich, it’s written in advance +that he’s doomed to go broke final. He’s doomed to die. Tharfore, when +that’s settled, of what moment is it whether he goes broke in an hour, +or pikes along for a week--dies to-day or postpones his funeral for +years an’ mebby decades? + +Holdin’ to these yere views, you can see without my tellin’ that a +killin’, once it be over, ain’t likely to harass me much. Like the +rest of you-all, I’ve been trailin’ out after my grave ever since I was +foaled--on a hunt for my sepulcher, you may say--an’ it ought not to +shock me to a showdown jest because some pard tracks up ag’inst his last +restin’ place, spreads his blankets an’ goes into final camp before it +come my own turn. + +But, speakin’ of killin’s, the most onusual I ever hears of is when +Wild Bill Hickox cleans up the Jake McCandlas gang. This Bill I knows +intimate; he’s not so locoed as his name might lead a gent to concloode. +The truth is, he’s a mighty crafty, careful form of sport; an’ he never +pulled a gun ontil he knew what for an’ never onhooked it ontil he knew +what at. + +An’ speakin’ of the latter--the onhookin’ part--that Wild Bill never +missed. That’s his one gift; he’s born to make a center shot whenever +his six-shooter expresses itse’f. + +This McCandlas time is doorin’ them border troubles between Missouri +an’ Kansas. Jest prior tharunto, Bill gets the ill-will of the Missouri +outfit by some gun play he makes at Independence, then the eastern end +of the old Santa Fe trail. What Bill accomplishes at Independence is a +heap effectual an’ does him proud. But it don’t endear him none to the +Missouri heart. Moreover, it starts a passel of resentful zealots to +lookin’ for him a heap f’rocious, an’ so he pulls his freight. + +It’s mebby six months later when Bill is holdin’ down a stage station +some’eres over in Kansas--it’s about a day’s ride at a road-gait from +Independence--for Ben Holiday’s overland line. Thar’s the widow of a +_compadre_ of Bill who has a wickeyup about a mile away, an’ one day +Bill gets on his hoss, Black Nell, an’ goes romancin’ over to see +how the widow’s gettin’ on. This Black Nell hoss of Bill’s is some +cel’brated. Black Nell is tame as a kitten an’ saveys more’n a hired +man. She’d climb a pa’r of steps an’ come sa’n-terin’ into a dance hall +or a hurdy gurdy if Bill calls to her, an’ I makes no doubt she’d a-took +off her own saddle an’ bridle an’ gone to bed with a pa’r of blankets, +same as folks, if Bill said it was the proper antic for a pony. + +It’s afternoon when Bill rides up to pow-wow with this relict of his +pard. As he comes into the one room--for said wickeyup ain’t palatial, +an’ consists of one big room, that a-way, an’ a jim-crow leanto--Bill +says: + +“Howdy, Jule?” like that. + +“Howdy, Bill?” says the widow. “’Light an’ rest your hat, while I +roam ’round an’ rustle some chuck.” This widow has the right idee. + +While Bill is camped down on a stool waitin’ for the promised _carne_ +an’ flap-jacks, or whatever may be the grub his hostess is aimin’ to +on-loose, he casts a glance outen the window. He’s interested at once. +Off across the plains he discerns the killer, McCandlas an’ his band +p’intin’ straight for the widow’s. They’re from Missouri; thar’s ’leven +of ’em, corral count, an’ all “bad.” As they can see his mare, Black +Nell, standin’ in front of the widow’s, Bill argues jestly that the +McCandlas outfit knows he’s thar; an’ from the speed they’re makin’ in +their approach, he likewise dedooces that they’re a heap eager for his +company. + +Bill don’t have to study none to tell that thar’s somebody goin’ to get +action. It’s likely to be mighty onequal, but thar’s no he’p; an’ so +Bill pulls his gun-belt tighter, an’ organizes to go as far as he can. +He has with him only one six-shooter; that’s a severe setback. Now, if +he was packin’ two the approaching war jig would have carried feachers +of comfort. But he’s got a nine-inch bowie, which is some relief. When +his six-shooter’s empty, he can fall back on the knife, die hard, an’ +leave his mark. + +As Bill rolls the cylinder of his gun to see if she’s workin’ free, +an’ loosens the bowie to avoid delays, his eye falls on a rifle hangin’ +above the door. + +“Is it loaded, Jule?” asks Bill. + +“Loaded to the gyards,” says the widow. + +“An’ that ain’t no fool of a piece of news, neither,” says Bill, as he +reaches down the rifle. “Now, Jule, you-all better stampede into the +cellar a whole lot ontil further orders. Thar’s goin’ to be heated times +’round yere an’ you’d run the resk of gettin’ scorched.” + +“I’d sooner stay an’ see, Bill,” says the widow. “You-all knows how +eager an’ full of cur’osity a lady is,” an’ here the widow beams on Bill +an’ simpers coaxin’ly. + +“An’ I’d shore say stay, Jule,” says Bill, “if you could turn a trick. +But you sees yourse’f, you couldn’t. An’ you’d be in the way.” + +Thar’s a big burrow out in the yard; what Kansas people deenominates as +a cyclone cellar. It’s like a cave; every se’f-respectin’ Kansas fam’ly +has one. They may not own no bank account; they may not own no good +repoote; but you can gamble, they’ve got a cyclone cave. + +Shore, it ain’t for ornament, nor yet for ostentation. Thar’s allers a +breeze blowin’ plenty stiff across the plains. Commonly, it’s strenyous +enough to pick up a empty bar’l an’ hold it ag’inst the side of a +buildin’ for a week. Sech is the usual zephyr. Folks don’t heed them +none. But now an’ then one of these yere cyclones jumps a gent’s camp, +an’ then it’s time to make for cover. Thar’s nothin’ to be said back to +a cyclone. It’ll take the water outen a well, or the money outen your +pocket, or the ha’r off your head; it’ll get away with everything about +you incloodin’ your address. Your one chance is a cyclone cellar; an’ +even that refooge ain’t no shore-thing, for I knowed a cyclone once that +simply feels down an’ pulls a badger outen his hole. Still, sech as the +last, is onfrequent. + +The widow accepts Bill’s advice an’ makes for the storm cave. This +leaves Bill happy an’ easy in his mind, for it gives him plenty of +room an’ nothin’ to think of but himse’f. An’ Bill shore admires a good +fight. + +He don’t have long to wait after the widow stampedes. Bill hears the +sweep of the ’leven McCandlas hosses as they come chargin’ up. No, +he can’t see; he ain’t quite that weak-minded as to be lookin’ out the +window. + +As the band halts, Bill hears McCandlas say: + +“Shore, gents; that’s Wild Bill’s hoss. We’ve got him treed an’ out on +a limb; to-morry evenin’ we’ll put that long-ha’red skelp of his in a +showcase in Independence.” Then McCandlas gives a whoop, an’ bluffs Bill +to come out. “Come out yere, Bill; we needs you to decide a bet,” yells +McCandlas. “Come out; thar’s no good skulkin’.” + +“Say, Jake,” retorts Bill; “I’ll gamble that you an’ your hoss thieves +ain’t got the sand to come after me. Come at once if you comes; I +despises delays, an’ besides I’ve got to be through with you-all an’ +back to the stage station by dark.” + +“I’ll put you where thar ain’t no stage lines, Bill, long before dark,” + says McCandlas. An’ with that he comes caperin’ through the window, +sash, glass, an’ the entire lay-out, as blithe as May an’ a gun in each +hand. + +Bill cuts loose the Hawkins as he’s anxious to get the big gun off his +mind. It stops McCandlas, “squar’ in the door,” as they says in monte; +only it’s the window. McCandlas falls dead outside. + +“An’ I’m sorry for that, too,” says Bill to him-se’f. “I’m preemature +some about that shot. I oughter let Jake come in. Then I could have got +his guns.” + +When McCandlas goes down, the ten others charges with a whoop. They +comes roarin’ through every window; they breaks in the door; they +descends on Bill’s fortress like a ’possum on a partridge nest! + +An’ then ensoos the busiest season which any gent ever cuts in upon. The +air is heavy with bullets an’ thick with smoke. The walls of the room +later looks like a colander. + +It’s a mighty fav’rable fight, an’ Bill don’t suffer none in his repoote +that Kansas afternoon. Faster than you can count, his gun barks; an’ +each time thar’s a warrior less. One, two, three, four, five, six; they +p’ints out after McCandlas an’ not a half second between ’em as they +starts. It was good luck an’ good shootin’ in combination. + +It’s the limit; six dead to a single Colt’s! No gent ever approaches it +but once; an’ that’s a locoed sharp named Metzger in Raton. He starts in +with Moulton who’s the alcade, an’ beefs five an’ creases another; an’ +all to the same one gun. The public, before he can reload, hangs Metzger +to the sign in front of the First National Bank, so he don’t have much +time to enjoy himse’f reviewin’ said feats. + +Rifle an’ six-shooter empty; seven dead an’ done, an’ four to take his +knife an’ talk it over with! That’s the situation when Bill pulls his +bowie an’ starts to finish up. + +It shore ain’t boy’s play; the quintette who’s still prancin’ about the +field is as bitter a combination as you’d meet in a long day’s ride. +Their guns is empty, too; an’ they, like Bill, down to the steel. An’ +thar’s reason to believe that the fight from this p’int on is even +more interestin’ than the part that’s gone before. Thar’s no haltin’ or +hangin’ back; thar ain’t a bashful gent in the herd. They goes to the +center like one man. + +Bill, who’s as quick an’ strong as a mountain lion, with forty times the +heart an’ fire, grips one McCandlas party by the wrist. Thar’s a twist +an’ a wrench an’ Bill onj’ints his arm. + +That’s the last of the battle Bill remembers. All is whirl an’ smoke an’ +curse an’ stagger an’ cut an’ stab after that, with tables crashin’ an’ +the wreck an’ jangle of glass. + +But the end comes. Whether the struggle from the moment when it’s got +down to the bowies lasts two minutes or twenty, Bill never can say. When +it’s over, Bill finds himse’f still on his feet, an’ he’s pushin’ the +last gent off his blade. Split through the heart, this yere last sport +falls to the floor in a dead heap, an’ Bill’s alone, blood to both +shoulders. + +Is Bill hurt? Gents, it ain’t much likely he’s put ’leven fightin’ +men into the misty beyond, the final four with a knife, an’ him plumb +scatheless! No, Bill’s slashed so he wouldn’t hold hay; an’ thar’s more +bullets in his frame than thar’s pease in a pod. The Doc who is called +in, an’ who prospects Bill, allers allowed that it’s the mistake of his +life he don’t locate Bill an’ work him for a lead mine. + +When the battle is over an’ peace resoomes its sway, Bill begins to +stagger. An’ he’s preyed on by thirst. Bill steadies himse’f along the +wall; an’ weak an’ half blind from the fogs of fightin’, he feels his +way out o’ doors. + +Thar’s a tub of rain-water onder the eaves; it’s the only thing Bill’s +thinkin’ of at the last. He bends down to drink; an’ with that, faints +an’ falls with his head in the tub. + +It’s the widow who rescoos Bill; she emerges outen her cyclone cellar +an’ saves Bill from drownin’. An’ he lives, too; lives to be downed +years afterward when up at Deadwood a timid party who don’t dare come +’round in front, drills Bill from the r’ar. But what can you look for? +Folks who lives by the sword will perish by the sword as the scripters +sets forth, an’ I reckons now them warnin’s likewise covers guns. + +“And did that really happen?” asked the Red Nosed Gentleman, drawing a +deep breath. + +“It’s as troo as that burgundy you’re absorbin’,” replied the Old +Cattleman. + +“I can well believe it,” observed the Sour Gentleman; “a strong hour +makes a strong man. Did this Wild Bill Hickox wed the widow who pulled +him out of the tub?” + +“Which I don’t think so,” returned the Old Cattleman. “If he does, Bill +keeps them nuptials a secret. But it’s a cinch he don’t. As I says at +the jump, Bill is a mighty wary citizen an’ not likely to go walkin’ +into no sech ambuscade as a widow.” + +“You do not think, then,” observed the Red Nosed Gentleman, “that a wife +would be a blessing?” + +“She wouldn’t be to Wild Bill Hickox,” said the Old Cattleman. “Thar is +gents who ought never to wed, an’ Bill’s one. He was bound to be killed +final; the game law was out on Bill for years. Now when a gent is shore +to cash in that a-way, why should he go roundin’ up a wife? Thar oughter +be a act of congress ag’in it, an’ I onderstand that some sech measure +is to be introdooced.” + +“Passing laws,” remarked the Jolly Doctor, “is no such easy matter, now, +as passing the bottle.” Here the Jolly Doctor looked meaningly at the +Red Nosed Gentleman, who thereupon shoved the burgundy into the Jolly +Doctor’s hand with all conceivable alacrity. Like every good drinker, +the Red Nosed Gentleman loved a cup companion. “There was a western +person,” went on the Jolly Doctor, “named Jim Britt, who came east to +have a certain law passed; he didn’t find it flowers to his feet.” + +“What now was the deetails?” said the Old Cattleman. “The doin’s an’ +plottin’s an’ doubleplays of them law-makin’ mavericks in congress is +allers a heap thrillin’ to me.” + +“Very well,” responded the Jolly Doctor; “let each light a fresh cigar, +for it’s rather a long story, and when all are comfortable, I’ll give +you the history of ‘How Jim Britt Passed His Bill.’” + + + + +CHAPTER XIII.--HOW JIM BRITT PASSED HIS BILL. + +Last Chance was a hamlet in southeastern Kansas. Last Chance, though +fervid, was not large. Indeed, a cowboy in a spirit of insult born of +a bicker with the town marshal had said he could throw the loop of +his lariat about Last Chance and drag it from the map with his pony. +However, this was hyperbole. + +Jim Britt was not the least conspicuous among the men of Last Chance. +Withal, Jim Britt was much diffused throughout the commerce of that +village and claimed interests in a dozen local establishments, from +a lumber yard to a hotel. Spare of frame, and of an anxious predatory +nose, was Jim Britt; and his gray eyes ever roving for a next +investment; and the more novel the enterprise, the more leniently did +Jim Britt regard it. The new had for him a fascination, since he was in +way and heart an Alexander and hungered covetously for further worlds to +conquer. Thus it befell that Jim Britt came naturally to his desire to +build a railway when the exigencies of his affairs opened gate to the +suggestion. + +Jim Britt became the proprietor of a lead mine--or was it zinc?--in +southeastern Missouri, and no mighty distance from his own abode of Last +Chance. The mine was somewhat thrust upon Jim Britt by Fate, since +he accepted it for a bad debt. It was “lead mine or nothing,” and Jim +Britt, whose instincts, like Nature, abhorred a vacuum, took the mine. +It was a good mine, but a drawback lurked in the location; it lay over +the Ozark Hills and far away from any nearest whistle of a railroad. + +This isolation taught Jim Britt the thought of connecting his mine by +rail with Last Chance; the latter was an easiest nearest point, and the +route offered a most accommodating grade. A straight line, or as the +crow is said to fly but doesn’t, would make the length of the proposed +improvement fifty miles. When done, it would serve not only Jim Britt’s +mine, but admirably as a feeder for the Fort Scot and Gulf; and Jim +Britt foresaw riches in that. Altogether, the notion was none such +desperate scheme. + +There was a side serious, however, which must be considered. The line +would cross the extreme northeast angle of the Indian Territory, or as +it is styled in those far regions, the “Nation,” and for this invasion +of redskin holdings the consent of the general government, through its +Congress assembled, must be secured. + +Jim Britt; far from being depressed, said he would go to Washington and +get it; he rather reveled in the notion. Samantha, his wife, shook her +head doubtfully. + +“Jim Britt,” said Samantha, severely, “you ain’t been east since Mr. +Lincoln was shot. You know no more of Washington than a wolf. I’d give +that railroad up; and especially, I’d keep away from Congress. Don’t +try to braid that mule’s tail”--Samantha was lapsing into the metaphor +common of Last Chance--“don’t try to braid that mule’s tail. It’ll kick +you plumb out o’ the stall.” + +But Jim Britt was firm; the mule simile in no sort abated him. + +[Illustration: 0199] + +“But what could you do with Congress?” persisted Samantha; “you, a +stranger and alone?” + +Jim Britt argued that one determined individual could do much; energy +wisely employed would overcome mere numbers. He cited the ferocious +instance of a dim relative of his own, a vivacious person yclept Turner, +who because of injuries fancied or real, hung for years about the tribal +flanks of the Comanches and potted their leading citizens. This the +vigorous Turner kept up until he had corralled sixty Comanche top-nots; +and the end was not yet when the Comanches themselves appealed to their +agent for protection. They said they couldn’t assemble for a green corn +dance, or about a regalement of baked dog, without the Winchester of the +unauthorized Turner barking from some convenient hill; the squaws would +then have nothing left but to wail the death song of some eminent spirit +thus sifted from their midst. When they rode to the hill in hunt of +Turner, he would be miles away on his pony, and adding to his safety +with every jump. The Comanches were much disgusted, and demanded the +agent’s interference. + +Upon this mournful showing, Turner was brought in and told to desist; +and as a full complement of threats, which included among their features +a trial at Fort Smith and a gibbet, went with the request, Turner was +in the end prevailed on to let his Winchester sleep in its rack, and +thereafter the Comanches danced and devoured dog unscared. The sullen +Turner said the Comanches had slain his parent long ago; the agent +expressed regrets, but stuck for it that even with such an impetus a +normal vengeance should have run itself out with the conquest of those +sixty scalps. + +Jim Britt told this story of Turner to Samantha; and then he argued that +as the Comanches were made to feel a one-man power by the industrious +Turner, so would he, Jim Britt, for all he stood alone, compel Congress +to his demands. He would take that right of way across the Indian +Territory from between their very teeth. He was an American citizen and +Congress was his servant; in this wise spake Jim Britt. + +“That’s all right,” argued the pessimistic Samantha; “that’s all right +about your drunken Turner; but he had a Winchester. Now you ain’t goin’ +to tackle Congress with no gun, Jim Britt.” + +Despite the gloomy prophecies of Samantha, whom Jim Britt looked on as +a kind of Cassandra without having heard of Cassandra, our would-be +railroad builder wound up the threads and loose ends of his Last Chance +businesses, and having, as he described it, “fixed things so they +would run themselves for a month,” struck out for Washington. Jim Britt +carried twenty-five hundred dollars in his pocket, confidence in his +heart, and Samantha’s forebode of darkling failure in his ears. + +While no fop and never setting up to be the local Brummel, Jim Britt’s +clothes theretofore had matched both his hour and environment, and held +their decent own in the van of Last Chance fashion. But the farther +Jim Britt penetrated to the eastward in his native land, the more his +raiment seemed to fall behind the age; and at the last, when he was +fairly within the gates of Washington, he began to feel exceeding wild +and strange. Also, it affected him somewhat to discover himself almost +alone as a tobacco chewer, and that a great art preserved in its +fullness by Last Chance had fallen to decay along the Atlantic. These, +however, were questions of minor moment, and save that his rococo garb +drove the sensitive Jim Britt into cheap lodgings in Four-and-one-half +Street, instead of one of the capital’s gilded hotels, they owned no +effect. + +This last is set forth in defence against an imputation of parsimony +on the side of Jim Britt. He was one who spent his money like a king +whenever and wherever his education or experience pointed the way. It +was his clothes of a remote period to make him shy, else Jim Britt would +have shrunk not from the Raleigh itself, but climbed and clambered +and browsed among the timberline prices of its grill-room, as safe and +satisfied as ever browsed mountain goat on the high levels of its upland +home. Yea, forsooth! Jim Britt, like a sailor ashore, could spend his +money with a free and happy hand. + +Jim Britt, acting on a hint offered of his sensibilities, for a +first step reclothed himself from a high-priced shop; following these +improvements, save for the fact that he appalled the eye as a trifle +gorgeous, he might not have disturbed the sacred taste of Connecticut +Avenue itself. In short, in the matter of garb, Jim Britt, while +audible, was down to date. + +With the confidence born of his new clothes--for clothes in some +respects may make the man--Jim Britt sate him down to study Congress. +He deemed it a citadel to be stormed; not lacking in military genius he +began to look it over for a weak point. + +These adventures of Jim Britt now about a record, occurred, you should +understand, almost a decade ago. In that day there should have been +eighty-eight senators and three hundred and fifty-six representatives, +albeit, by reason of death or failure to elect, a not-to-be-noticed +handful of seats were vacant. + +By an industrious perusal of the Congressional directory, wherein the +skeleton of each House was laid out and told in all its divers committee +small-bones, Jim Britt began to understand a few of the lions in his +path. For his confusion he found that Congress was sub-divided into full +sixty committees, beginning with such giant conventions as the Ways and +Means, Appropriations, Military, Naval, Coinage, Weights and Measures, +Banking and Currency, Indian, Public Lands, Postal, and Pensions, and +dwindling down to ignoble riffraff--which owned each a chairman, a +committee room, a full complement of clerks and messengers, and an +existence, but never convened--like the Committee on Acoustics and +Ventliation, and Alcoholic Liquor Traffic. + +Jim Britt learned also of the Sergeants at Arms of Senate and House, and +how these dignitaries controlled the money for those bodies and paid the +members their salaries. Incidentally, and by way of gossip, he was told +of that House Sergeant who had levanted with the riches entrusted to his +hands, and left the broken membership, gnashing its teeth in poverty and +impotent gloom, unable to draw pay. + +Then, too, there was a Document Room where the bills and resolutions +were kept when printed. Also, about each of the five doors of House +and Senate, when those sacred gatherings were in session, there were +situated a host of messengers, carried for twelve hundred dollars a year +each on the Doorkeeper’s rolls. It was the duty and pleasure of these +myrmidons to bring forth members into the corridors, to the end that +they be refreshed with a word of counsel from constituents who had +traveled thither for that purpose; and in the finish to lend said +constituents money to return home. + +Jim Britt, following these first connings of the directory, went +personally to the capitol, and from the galleries, leaning his chin on +the rail the while, gazed earnestly on greatness about the transaction +of its fame. These studies and personally conducted tours, and those +conversations to be their incident which came off between Jim Britt +and chance-blown folk who fell across his pathway, enlarged Jim Britt’s +store of information in sundry fashions. He discovered that full ten +thousand bills and resolutions were introduced each Congress; that by +virtue of a mere narrowness of time not more than five per cent, of this +storm of business could be dealt with, the other ninety-five, whether +for good or ill, being starved to death for lack of occasion. The +days themselves were no longer than five working hours since Congress +convened at noon. + +The great radical difference between House and Senate loomed upon Jim +Britt in a contrast of powers which abode with the presiding officers of +those mills to grind new laws. The president of the Senate owned few +or none. He might enforce Jefferson’s rules for debates and call a +recalcitrant senator to order, a call to which the recalcitrant paid +little heed beyond tart remarks on his part concerning his own high +determinations to yield to no gavel tyranny, coupled with a forceful +though conceited assurance flung to the Senate at large, that he, the +recalcitrant, knew his rights (which he never did), and would uphold +them (which he never failed to do.) The Senate president named no +committees; owned no control over the order of business; indeed he was +limited to a vote on ties, a warning that he would clear the galleries +(which was never done) when the public therein roosting, applauded, and +the right to prevent two senators from talking at one and the same time. +These marked the utmost measure of his influence. Any senator could get +the floor for any purpose, and talk on any subject from Prester John to +Sheep in the Seventeenth Century, while his strength stood. Also, and +much as dogs have kennels permitted them for their habitation, the +presiding officer of the Senate--in other words, the Vice-President of +the nation--was given a room, separate and secluded to himself, into +which he might creep when chagrin for his own unimportance should +overmaster him or otherwise his woes become greater than he might +publicly bear. + +The House Speaker was a vastly different cock, with a louder crow and +longer spur. The Speaker was a king, indeed; and an absolute monarch +or an autocrat or what you will that signifies one who may do as he +chooses, exercise unbridled will, and generally sit beneath the broad +shadows of the vine and the fig tree of his prerogatives with none to +molest him or make him afraid. The Speaker was, so to phrase it, the +entire House, the other three hundred and fifty-five members acting only +when he consented or compelled them, and then usually by his suggestion +and always under his thumb. No bill could be considered without the +Speaker’s permission; and then for so long only as he should allow, and +by what members he preferred. No man could speak to a measure wanting +the gracious consent of this dignitary; and no word could be uttered--at +least persisted in--To which he felt distaste. The Speaker, when lengths +and breadths are measured, was greater than the Moscow Czar and showed +him a handless infant by comparison. + +As a half-glove of velvet for his iron hand, and to mask and soften +his pure autocracy--which if seen naked might shock the spirit of +Americanism--there existed a Rules Committee. This subbody, whereof the +Speaker was chief, carried, besides himself, but two members; and these +he personally selected, as indeed he did the entire membership of every +committee on the House muster-rolls. This Rules Committee, with the +Speaker in absolute sway, acted with reference to the House at large as +do the Board of Judges for a racecourse. It declared each day what bills +should be taken up, limited debate, and to pursue the Track simile to a +last word, called on this race or cleared the course of that race, and +fairly speaking dry-nursed the House throughout its travels, romps and +lessons. + +Jim Britt discovered that in all, counting Speaker, Rules Committee, +and a dozen chairmen of the great committees, there existed no more +than fifteen folk who might by any stretch of veracity be said to have +a least of voice in the transaction of House business. In the gagged +and bound cases of the other three hundred and forty-one, and for what +public good or ill to flow from them, their constituents would have +fared as well had they, instead of electing these representatives, +confined themselves to writing the government a letter setting forth +their wants. + +In reference to his own bill, Jim Britt convinced himself of two +imposing truths. Anybody would and could introduce it in either House or +Senate or in both at once; then, when thus introduced and it had taken +the routine course to the proper committee, the situation would ask +the fervent agreement of a majority in each body, to say nothing of the +Speaker’s consent--a consent as hard to gain as a girl’s--to bring it up +for passage. + +Nor was there any security of concert. The bill might be fashionable, +not to say popular, with one body, while the other turned rigid back +upon it. It might live in the House to die in the Senate, or succeed in +the Senate and perish in the House. There were no safety and little hope +to be won in any corner, and the lone certainty to peer forth upon Jim +Britt was that the chances stood immeasurably against him wherever he +turned his eyes. The camel for the needle’s eye and the rich man +into heaven, were easy and feasible when laid side by side with the +Congressional outlook for his bill. + +While Jim Britt was now sensibly cast down and pressed upon by despair, +within him the eagerness for triumph grew taller with each day. For one +daunting matter, should he return empty of hand, Samantha would wear +the fact fresh and new upon her tongue’s end to the last closing of his +eyes. It would become a daily illustration--an hourly argument in her +practiced mouth. + +There was one good to come to Jim Britt by his investigations and that +was a good instruction. Like many another, Jim Britt, from the deceitful +distance of Last Chance, had ever regarded both House and Senate +as gigantic conspiracies. They were eaten of plot and permeated of +intrigue; it was all chicane and surprise and sharp practice. Congress +was a name for traps and gins and pits and snares and deadfalls. The +word meant tunnels and trap-doors and vaults and dungeons and sinister +black whatnot. Jim Britt never paused to consider wherefore Congress +should, for ends either clean or foul, conceal within itself these +midnight commodities of mask and dark-lantern, and go about its destiny +a perennial Guy Fawkes, ready to explode a situation with a touch and +blow itself and all concerned to far-spread flinders. Had he done so he +might have dismissed these murky beliefs. + +It is, however, never too late to mend. It began now to dawn upon Jim +Britt by the morning light of what he read and heard and witnessed, that +both Houses in their plan and movement were as simple as a wire fence; +no more recondite than is a pair of shears. They might be wrong, but +they were not intricate; they might spoil a deal of cloth in their +cutting, or grow dull of edge or loose of joint and so not cut at +all, but they were not mysterious. Certainly, Congress was no more a +conspiracy than is a flock of geese, and a brooding hen would be as +guilty of a plot and as deep given to intrigue. Congress was a stone +wall or a precipice or a bridgeless gulf or chloroform or what one +would that was stupefying or difficult of passage to the border of the +impossible, but there dwelt nothing occult or secret or unknowable in +its bowels. These truths of simplicity Jim Britt began to learn and, +while they did not cheer, at least they served to clear him up. + +Following two weeks of investigation, Jim Britt secured the introduction +of his bill. This came off by asking; the representative from the Last +Chance district performing in the one body, while one of the Kansas +senators acted in the more venerable convention. + +Now when the bill was introduced, printed, and in the lap of the proper +committee, Jim Britt went to work to secure the bill’s report. He might +as well have stormed the skies to steal a star; he found himself as +helpless as a fly in amber. + +About this hour in his destinies, Jim Britt made a radical and, as +it turned, a decisive move. He had now grown used to Washington and +Washington to him, and while folk still stared and many grinned, Jim +Britt did not receive that ovation as he moved about which marked and +made unhappy his earlier days in the town. Believing it necessary to his +bill’s weal, Jim Britt began to haunt John Chamberlin’s house of call as +then was, and to scrape acquaintance with statesmen who passed hours of +ease and wine in its parlors. + +In the commencement of his Chamberlin experiences Jim Britt met much +to affright him. A snowy-bearded senator from Nevada sat at a table. On +seeing Jim Britt smile upon him in a friendly way--he was hoping to make +the senator’s acquaintance--he of the snow-beard, apropos of nothing, +suddenly thundered: + +“I have this day read John Sherman’s defence of the Crime of +’Seventy-Three. John Sherman contends that no crime was committed +because no criminals were caught.” + +This outburst so dismayed Jim Britt that he sought a far corner and no +more tempted the explosiveness of Snow-Beard. + +Again, Jim Britt would engage a venerable senator from Alabama in talk. +He was instantly taken by the helpless button, and for a quintette of +hours told of the national need of a Panama Canal, and given a list of +what railroads in their venality set the flinty face of their opposition +to its coming about. + +These things, the thunders of Snow-Beard and the exhaustive settings +forth of the senator from the south, pierced Jim Britt; for he reflected +that if the questions of silver and Panama could not be budged for their +benefit by these gentlemen of beard and long experience and who dwelt +well within the breastworks of legislation, then his bill for that small +right of way, and none to aid it save himself in his poor obscurity, +could hope for nothing except death and burial where it lay. + +There was a gentleman of Congress well known and loved as the Statesman +from Tupelo. He was frequent and popular about Chamberlin’s. The +Statesman from Tupelo was a humorist of celebration and one of the +redeeming features of the House of Representatives. His eye fell upon +the queer, ungainly form of Jim Britt, with hungry face, eyes keen but +guileless, and nose of falcon curve. + +The Statesman from Tupelo beheld in Jim Britt with his Gothic simplicity +a self-offered prey to the spear of every joker. The Statesman from +Tupelo, with a specious suavity of accent and a blandness irresistible, +drew forth Jim Britt in converse. The latter, flustered, flattered, went +to extremes of confidence and laid frankly bare his railroad hopes and +fears which were now all fears. + +The Statesman from Tupelo listened with decorous albeit sympathetic +gravity. When Jim Britt was done he spoke: + +“As you say,” observed the Statesman from Tupelo, “your one chance is +to get acquainted with a majority of both Houses and interest them +personally in your bill.” + +“But how might a party do that soonest?” asked Jim Britt. “I don’t want +to camp yere for the balance of my days. Besides, thar’s Samantha.” + +“Certainly, there’s Samantha,” assented the Statesman from Tupelo. Then +following a pause: + +“I suppose the readiest method would be to give a dinner. Could you +undertake that?” + +“Why, I reckon I could.” + +The dinner project obtained kindly foothold in the breast of Jim Britt; +he had read of such banquet deeds as a boy when the papers told the +splendors of Sam Ward and the Lucullian day of the old Pacific Mail. Jim +Britt had had no experience of Chamberlin prices, since his purchases at +that hotel had gone no farther a-field than a now-and-then cigar. He had +for most part subsisted at those cheap restaurants which--for that there +be many threadbare folk, spent with their vigils about Congress, hoping +for their denied rights--are singularly abundant in Washington. These +modest places of regale would give no good notion of Chamberlin’s, but +quite the contrary. Wherefore, Jim Britt, quick with railway ardor and +to get back to the far-away Samantha, took the urgent initiative, and +said he would order the dinner for what night the Statesman from Tupelo +deemed best, if only that potent spirit would agree to gather in the +guests. + +“We will have the dinner, then,” said He of Tupelo, “on next Saturday. +You can tell Chamberlin; and I’ll see to the guests.” + +“How many?” said Chamberlin’s steward, when he received the orders of +Jim Britt. + +The coming railway magnate looked at the Statesman from Tupelo. + +“Say fifty,” remarked the Statesman from Tupelo. + +Jim Britt was delighted. He would have liked sixty guests better, or +if one might, one hundred; but fifty was a fair start. There could come +other dinners, for the future holds a deal of room. In time Jim Britt +might dine a full moiety of Congress. The dinner was fixed; the menu +left to the steward’s ingenuity and taste; and now when the situation +was thus relaid, and Saturday distant but two days, Jim Britt himself +called for an apartment at Chamberlin’s, sent for his one trunk, and +established himself on the scene of coming dinner action to have instant +advantage of whatever offered that might be twisted to affect his +lead-mine road. + +The long tables for Jim Britt’s dinner were spread in a dining room +upstairs. There were fifty covers, and room for twenty more should +twenty come. The apartment itself was a jungle of tropical plants, +and the ground plan of the feast laid on a scale of bill-threatening +magnificence. + +This was but right. For when the steward would have consulted the +exultant Jim Britt whose florid imaginings had quite carried him off his +feet, that gentleman said simply: + +“Make the play with the bridle off! Don’t pinch down for a chip.” + +Thereupon the steward cast aside restraint and wandered forth upon that +dinner with a heart care-free and unrestrained. He would make of it a +moment of terrapin and canvas-back and burgundy which time should date +from and folk remember for long to the Chamberlin praise. + +Saturday arrived, and throughout the afternoon Jim Britt, by grace +of the good steward, who had a pride of his work and loved applause, +teetered in and out of the dining room and with dancing eye and mouth +ajar gave rein to admiration. It would be a mighty dinner; it would land +his bill in his successful hands, and make, besides, a story to amaze +the folk of Last Chance to a standstill. These be not our words; rather +they flowed as the advance jubilations of Jim Britt. + +There was one thought to bear upon Jim Britt to bashful disadvantage. +The prospect of entertaining fifty statesmen shook his confidence and +took his breath. To repair these disasters he called privily from time +to time for whiskey. + +It was not over-long before he talked thickly his encomiums to the +steward. On his last visit to survey that fairyland of a dining room, +Jim Britt counted covers laid for several hundred guests; what was still +more wondrous, he believed they would come and the prospect rejoiced +him. There were as many lights, too, in the chandeliers as stars of a +still winter’s night, while the apartment seemed as large as a ten-acre +lot and waved a broad forest of foliage. + +That he might be certainly present on the arrival of the first +guest--for Jim Britt knew and felt his duties as a host--Jim Britt +lay down upon a lounge which, to one side, was deeply, sweetly bowered +beneath the overhanging palms. Then Jim Britt went earnestly to sleep +and was no more to be aroused than a dead man. + +The Statesman from Tupelo appeared; by twos and threes and tens, +gathered the guests; Jim Britt slept on the sleep of innocence without +a dream. A steering committee named to that purpose on the spot by the +Statesman from Tupelo, sought to recover Jim Britt to a knowledge of +his fortunate honors. Full sixty guests were there, and it was but +right that he be granted the pleasure, not to say the glory, of their +acquaintance. + +It was of no avail; Jim Britt would not be withdrawn from slumbers deep +as death. The steering committee suspended its labors of restoration. As +said the chairman in making his report, which, with a wine glass in his +hand, he subsequently did between soup and fish: + +“Our most cunning efforts were fruitless. We even threw water on him, +but it was like throwing water on a drowned rat.” + +Thus did his slumbers defend themselves, and Jim Britt snore unchecked. + +But the dinner was not to flag. The Statesman from Tupelo took the head +of the table and the chairman of the steering committee the foot, the +repast proceeded while wine and humor flowed. + +It was a dream of a dinner, a most desirable dinner, a dinner that +should stand for years an honor to Jim Britt of Last Chance. It raged +from eight till three. Corks and jokes were popping while laughter +walked abroad; speeches were made and songs were sung. Through it all, +the serene founder of the feast slept on, and albeit eloquence took +up his name and twined about it flowery compliment, he knew it not. +Tranquilly on his lounge he abode in dear oblivion. + +Things mundane end and so did Jim Britt’s dinner. There struck an hour +when the last song was sung, the last jest was made, and the last +guest departed away. The Statesman from Tupelo superintended the +transportation of Jim Britt to his room, and having made him safe, He +of Tupelo went also out into the morning, and that famous banquet was of +the perfumed past. + +It dawned Wednesday before the Statesman from Tupelo called again at +Chamberlin’s to ask for the excellent Jim Britt. The Statesman from +Tupelo explained wherefore he was thus laggard. + +“I thought,” he said to Chamberlin, “that our friend would need Sunday, +Monday and Tuesday to straighten up his head.” + +“The man’s gone,” said Chamberlin; “he departed Monday morning.” + +“And whither?” + +“Home to Last Chance.” + +“What did he go home for?” + +“That dinner broke him, I guess. It cost about eighteen hundred dollars, +and he only had a little over a hundred when the bill was paid.” + +The Statesman from Tupelo mused, while clouds of regret began to gather +on his brow. His conscience had him by the collar; his conscience was +avenging that bankruptcy of Jim Britt. + +The Statesman from Tupelo received Jim Britt’s address from the hands +of Chamberlin’s clerk. The next day the Statesman from Tupelo wrote Jim +Britt a letter. It ran thus: + +Chamberlin’s Hotel. + +My Dear Sir:-- + +Don’t come back. Write me in full the exact story of what you want and +why you want it. I’ve got a copy of your bill from the Document Room, +and so soon as I hear from you, shall urge the business before the +proper committee. + +When Jim Britt’s reply came to hand, the Statesman from Tupelo--whom +nobody could resist--prevailed on the committee to report the bill. Then +he got the Speaker, who while iron with others was as wax in the hands +of the Statesman from Tupelo, to recognize him to bring up the bill. +The House, equally under his spell, gave the Statesman from Tupelo its +unanimous consent, and the bill was carried in the blink of a moment to +its third reading and put upon its passage. Then the Statesman from +Tupelo made a speech; he said it was a confession. + +The Statesman from Tupelo talked for fifteen minutes while the House +howled. He told the destruction of Jim Britt. He painted the dinner and +pointed to those members of the House who attended; he reminded them of +the desolation which their appetites had worked. He said the House was +disgraced in the downfall of Jim Britt, and admitted that he and his +fellow diners were culpable to a last extreme. But there was a way to +repair all. The bill must be passed, the stain on the House must be +washed away, Jim Britt must stand again on his fiscal feet, and then he, +the Statesman from Tupelo, and his fellow conspirators, might once more +look mankind in the eye. + +There be those who will do for laughter what they would not do for +right. The House passed Jim Britt’s bill unanimously. + +The Statesman from Tupelo carried it to the Senate. He explained the +painful situation and described the remedy. Would the Senate unbend from +its stern dignity as the greatest deliberative body of any clime or age, +and come to the rescue of the Statesman from Tupelo and the House of +Representatives now wallowing in infamy? + +The Senate would; by virtue of a kink in Senate rules which permitted +the feat, the Jim Britt Bill was instantly and unanimously adopted +without the intervention of a committee, the ordering a reference or a +roll-call. The Statesman from Tupelo thanked the Senate and withdrew, +pretending emotion. + +There was one more journey to make, one more power to consult, and the +mighty work would be accomplished. The President must sign the bill. The +Statesman from Tupelo walked in on that tremendous officer of state and +told him the tale of injury done Jim Britt. The Statesman from Tupelo, +by way of metaphor, called himself and his fellow sinners, cannibals, +and showed how they had eaten Jim Britt. Then he reminded the President +how he had once before gone to the rescue of cannibals in the case of +Queen Lil. Would he now come to the relief of the Statesman from Tupelo +and his fellow Anthropophagi of the House? + +The President was overcome with the word and the idea; he scribbled his +name in cramped copperplate, and the deed was done. The Jim Britt Bill +was a law, and Jim Britt saved from the life-long taunts of Samantha, +the retentive. The road from Last Chance to the lead mine was built, +and on hearing of its completion the Statesman from Tupelo wrote for an +annual pass. + +***** + +“Then it was luck after all,” said the Red + +Nosed Gentleman, “rather than management to save the day for your Jim +Britt.” + +“Entirely so,” conceded the Jolly Doctor. + +“There’s a mighty deal in luck,” observed the Red Nosed Gentleman, +sagely. “Certainly, it’s the major part in gambling, and I think, +too, luck is a decisive element in every victory or defeat a man +experiences.” + +“And, now,” observed the Sour Gentleman, “now that you mention gambling, +suppose you redeem your promise and give us the story of ‘How to Tell +the Last Four.’ The phrase is dark to me and has no meaning, but I +inferred from what you were saying when you used it, that you alluded +to some game of chance. Assuredly, I crave pardon if I be in error,” and +now the Sour Gentleman bowed with vast politeness. + +“You are not in error,” returned the Red Nosed Gentleman, “and I did +refer to gambling. Casino, however, when played by Casino Joe was no +game of chance, but of science; his secret, he said in explanation, lay +in ‘How to Tell the Last Four.’” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV.--HOW TO TELL THE LAST FOUR. + +Casino Joe, when thirty years ago he came about the Bowery, was in +manner and speech a complete expression of the rustical. His brow was +high and fine and wise; but lank hair of yellow spoiled with its ragged +fringe his face--a sallow face, wide of mouth and with high cheek bones. +His garb was farmerish; kip-skin boots, coat and trousers of gray jeans, +hickory shirt, and soft shapeless hat. Nor was Casino Joe in disguise; +these habiliments made up the uniform of his ancestral New Hampshire. +Countryman all over, was Casino Joe, and this look of the uncouth served +him in his chosen profession. + +Possibly “chosen” as a term is indiscreet. Gamblers are born and not +made; they occur and they do not choose; they are, compared with more +conservative and lawful men, what wolves are to honest dogs--cousins, +truly, but tameless depredators, living lean and hard, and dying when +die they do, neglected, lone and poor. Yet it is fate; they are born to +it as much as is the Ishmael wolf and must run their midnight downhill +courses. + +Gamblers, that is true gamblers, are folk of specialties. Casino Joe’s +was the game which gave to him his name--at casino he throve invincibly. + +“It is my gift,” he said. + +Two things were with Casino Joe at birth; the genius for casino and that +jack-knife talent to whittle which belongs with true-born Yankees. +Of this latter I had proof long after poor Casino Joe wras dead and +nourishing the grass. The races were in Boston; it was when Goldsmith +Maid reigned Queen of the trotting turf. Her owner came to me at the +Adams House and told how the aged sire of Goldsmith Maid, the great +Henry Clay, was in his equine, joint-stiffened dotage pastured on a not +too distant farm. He was eager to have a look at the old horse; and I +went with him for this pilgrimage. + +As we drove up to the tavern which the farmstead we sought surrounded, +my curious eye was caught by a fluttering windmill contrivance perched +upon the gable. It was the figure of a woman done in pine and perhaps +four feet of height, carved in the somewhat airy character of a ballet +dancer. Instead of a dance, however, the lady contented herself with an +exhibition of Indian Club swinging--one in each pine palm; the breeze +offering the whirling impulse--in the execution wherof she poised +herself with one foot on a wooden ball not unlike the arrowing bronze +Diana of Madison Square. This figure, twirling clubs, as a mere windmill +would have been amazing enough; but as though this were not sufficiently +wondrous, at regular intervals our ballet dancer shifted her feet on +the ball, replacing the right with the left and again the left with the +right in measured alternation. The miracle of it held me transfixed. + +The host came fatly to his front stoop and smiled upon my wide-eyed +interest. + +“Where did you get it?” I asked. + +“That was carved with a jack-knife,” replied mine host, “by a party +called ‘Casino Joe.’ It took him’most a year; he got it mounted and +goin’ jest before he died.” + +For long I had lost trace of Casino Joe; it was now at this change house +I blundered on the news how my old gambling friend of the Bowery came +with his consumption and some eight thousand dollars--enough to end +one’s life with--and made this place home until his death. His grave lay +across a field in the little rural burying ground where he had played +when a boy, for Casino Joe was native of these parts. + +There were no cheatings or tricky illicitisms hidden in Joe’s +supremacies of casino. They were works of a wax-like memory which kept +the story of the cards as one makes entries in a ledger. When the last +hands were out between Joe and an adversary, a glance at his mental +entries of cards already played, and another at his own hand, unerringly +informed him of what cards his opponent held. This he called “Telling +the last four.” + +It was as an advantage more than enough to enable Joe to win; and while +I lived in his company, I never knew him to be out of pocket by that +divertisement. The marvel was that he could keep accurate track of +fifty-two cards as they fell one after the other into play, and do +these feats of memory in noise-ridden bar-rooms and amid a swirl of +conversation in which he more or less bore part. + +Those quick folk of the fraternity whom he encountered and who from time +to time lost money to Casino Joe, never once suspected his victories to +be a result of mere memory. They held that some cheat took place. But +as it was not detectable and no man might point it out, no word of fault +was uttered. Joe took the money and never a protest; for it is as much +an axiom of the gaming table as it is of the law that “Fraud must +be proved and will never be presumed or inferred.” With no evidence, +therefore, the losing gamblers made no protesting charge, and Joe went +forward collecting the wealth of any and all who fought with him at his +favorite science. + +Casino Joe, as I have said, accounted for his mastery at casino by his +power to “Tell the last four,” and laid it all to memory. + +“And yet,” said Joe one evening as I urged him to impart to me his +secret more in detail, “it may depend on something else. As I’ve told +you, it’s my gift. Folk have their gifts. Once when I was in the town +of Warrensburg in Western Missouri, I was shown a man who had gifts +for mathematics that were unaccountable. He was a coarse, animalish +creature, this mathematician; a half idiot and utterly without +education. A sullen, unclean beast of a being, he shuffled about in +a queer, plantigrade fashion like a bear. He was ill-natured, yet too +timid to do harm; and besides a genius for figures, his distinguishing +characteristics were hunger measured by four men’s rations and an +appetite for whiskey which to call swinish would be marking a weakness +on one’s own part in the art of simile. Yet this witless creature, +unable to read his own printed name, knew as by an instinct every +mathematical or geometrical term. You might propose nothing as a problem +that he would not instantly solve. He could tell you like winking, +the area of a seven or eight-angled figure so you but gave him the +dimensions; he would announce the surface measurements of a sphere when +told either its diameter or circumference. Once, as a poser, a learned +teacher proposed a supposititious cone seven feet in altitude and with a +diameter of three feet at the base, and asked at what distance from the +apex it should be divided to make both parts equal of bulk and weight. +The gross, growling being made correct, unhesitating reply. This monster +of mathematics seemed also to carry a chronometer in his stomach, for +day or night, he could and would--for a drink of rum--tell you the hour +to any splinter of a second. You might set your watch by him as if he +were the steeple clock. I don’t profess,” concluded Casino Joe, “to +either the habits or the imbecility of this genius of figures, yet it +may well be that my abilities to keep track of fifty-two Cards as +they appear in play and know at every moment--as a bookkeeper does +a balance--what cards are yet to come, are not of cultivation or +acquirement, but were extant within me at my birth.” When Casino +Joe appeared in the Bowery he came to gamble at cards. That buzzing +thoroughfare was then the promenade of the watchful brotherhood of +chance. In that hour, too, it stood more the fashion--for there are +fashions in gambling as in everything else--to win and lose money at +short-cards, and casino enjoyed particular vogue. There were scores +of eminent practitioners about New York, and Joe had little trouble in +securing recognition. Indeed, he might have played the full twenty-four +hours of every day could he have held up his head to such labors. + +There was at the advent of our rural Joe into metropolitan circles none +more alert or breathless for pastmastery in unholy speculation than +myself. About twenty-one should have been my years, and I carried that +bubbling spirit for success common to the youth of every walk. _Aut +Cosar aut nullus!_ was my warcry, and I did not consider Joe and his +career for long before I was slave to the one hope of finally gaining +his secret. One might found fortune on it; like the philosopher’s stone +it turned everything to gold. + +With those others who fell before Joe I also believed his success to be +offspring of some cheat. And while the rustic Joe was engaged against +some fellow immoralist, I’ve sat and watched for hours upon end to +discover what winding thing Joe did. There was no villainy of double +dealing or chicane of cut-shifting or of marked cards at which I was +not adept. And what I could so darkly perform I was equally quick to +discover when another attempted it. But, albeit I eyed poor Joe with a +cat’s vigilance--a vigilance to have saved the life of Argus had he but +emulated it with his hundred eyes--I noted nothing. And the reason was a +simple one. There was literally nothing to discover; Joe played honestly +enough; his advantage dwelt in his memory and that lay hidden within his +head. + +Despairing of a discovery by dint of watching, I made friendly overtures +to Joe, hoping to wheedle a secret which I could not surprise. My +proffers of comradeship were met more than half way. Joe was a kindly +though a lonely soul and had few friends; his queer garb of the +cowpastures together with his unfailing domination at casino kept +others of the fraternity at a distance. Also I had been much educated of +books by Father Glennon, and put in my spare time with reading. As Joe +himself had dived somewhat into books, we were doubly drawn to each +other. Hours have we sat together in Joe’s nobly furnished rooms--for +he lived well if he did not dress well--and overhauled for our mutual +amusement the literature of the centuries back to Chaucer and his Tabard +Inn. + +At this time Joe was already in the coils of that consumption whereof at +last he died. And what with a racking cough and an inability to breathe +while lying down, Joe seldom slept in a bed. The best he might do was to +gain what snatches of slumber he could while propped in an arm-chair. It +thus befell that at his suggestion and to tell the whole truth, at +his generous expense, I came finally to room with Joe. Somebody +should utilize the bed. Being young and sound of nerves, his restless +night-roamings about the floors disturbed not me; I slept serenely +through as I doubtless would through the crack of doom had such calamity +surprised us at that time, and Joe and I prospered bravely in company. + +Beseech and plead as I might, however, Joe would not impart to me that +hidden casino strength beyond his word that no fraud was practiced--a +fact whereof my watchings had made me sure--and curtly describing it as +an ability to “Tell the last four.” + +While Joe housed me as his guest for many months and paid the bills, one +is not to argue therefrom any unhappy pauperism on my boyish part. In +good sooth! I was more than rich during those days, with a fortune of +anywhere from five hundred to as many as four thousand dollars. Like all +disciples of chance I had these riches ever ready in my pocket for what +prey might offer. + +It was now and then well for Joe that I went thus provided. That badly +garbed squire of good dame Fortune, who failed not of a profit at +casino, had withal an overpowering taste to play faro; and as if by some +law of compensation and to preserve an equilibrium, he would seem to sit +down to a faro layout only to lose. + +Time and again he came to his rooms stripped of the last dollar. On +these harrowing occasions Joe would borrow a round-number stake from me +and so return to the legitimate sure harvests of casino, vowing never to +lose himself and his money in any quicksands of farobank again. + +It must be admitted that these anti-faro vows were never kept; once firm +on his feet by virtue of casino renewed, it was not over long ere he +“tried it just once more,” to lose again. These faro bankruptcies would +overtake Joe about once a month. + +One day I made a mild plot; I had foregone all hope of coaxing Joe’s +secret from him; now I resolved to bring against him the pressure of a +small intrigue. I lay in ambush for Joe, waylaid him as it were in the +weak hour of his destitution and ravished from him at the point of his +necessities that which I could come by in no other way. + +It was following a disastrous night at faro when Joe appeared without +so much silver in his pockets as might serve to keep the fiends from +dancing there. Having related his losses he asked for the usual five +hundred wherewith to re-enter the sure lists of casino and begin the +combat anew. + +To his sore amazement and chagrin--and somewhat to his alarm, for at +first he thought me as poor as himself from my refusal--I shook my sage +young head. + +“Haven’t you got it?” asked Joe anxiously. + +“Oh, yes,” I replied, “I’ve got it; and it’s yours on one condition. +Teach me how to ‘Tell the last four,’ and you may have five hundred and +five hundred with it.” + +Then I pointed out to Joe his mean unfairness in not equipping me with +this resistless knowledge. Save for that one pregnant secret I was +as perfect at casino as any sharper on the Bowery. Likewise, were the +situation reversed, I’d be quick to instruct him. I’d lend no more; +there would come no further five hundred save as the price of that +touchstone--the golden secret of how to “Tell the last four.” This I set +forth jealously. + +“Why, then,” said Joe, “I’ll do my best to teach you. But it will cost +a deal of work. You’ll have to put in hours of practice and curry and +groom and train your memory as if it were a horse for a great race. I +tell you the more readily--for I could elsewhere easily get the five +hundred and for that matter five thousand other dollars to keep it +company--since I believe I’ve not many months to live at best”--here, as +if in confirmation, a gust of coughing shook him--“and this secret shall +be your legacy.” + +With these words, Joe got a deck of cards and began a game of casino +with me as an adversary. Slowly playing the cards, he explained and +strove to illustrate those mental methods by which he kept account and +tabbed them as they were played. If I could lay bare this system here +I would; but its very elaboration forbids. It was as though Joe owned a +blackboard in his head with the fifty-two cards told off by numbers in +column, and from which he erased a card the moment it appeared in play. +By processes of elimination, he came finally to “Tell the last four,” + and as the last hands were dealt knew those held by his opposite as +much as ever he knew his own. This advantage, with even luck and perfect +skill made him not to be conquered. + +It took many sittings with many lessons many hours long; but in time +because of my young faculties--not too much cumbered of those thousand +and one concerns to come with years and clamor for remembrance--I grew +as perfect as Joe. + +And it was well I learned the secret when I did. Soon after, I became +separated from Joe; I went southward to New Orleans and when I was next +to New York Joe had disappeared. Nor could I find trace or sign of +his whereabouts. He went in truth to his old village, and my earliest +information thereof came only when the tavern host told the origin +of the club-swinging ballet dancer then toeing it so gallantly on his +gables. + +But while I parted with my friend, I never forgot him. The knowledge he +gave double-armed me at the game. It became the reason of often riches +in my hands, and was ever a resort when I erred over horse races or was +beaten down by some storm of faro. Then it was profitably I recalled +Casino Joe and his instructions; and his invincible secret of “How to +tell the last four.” + +“Is it not strange,” said the Jolly Doctor, when the Red Nosed Gentleman +had finished, “that I who never cared to gamble, should listen with +delight to a story of gamblers and gambling? But so it is; I’ve heard +scores such in my time and always with utmost zest. I’ll even tell one +myself--as it was told me--when it again becomes my duty to furnish this +good company entertainment. Meanwhile, unless my memory fails, it should +be the task of our descendant of Hiawatha”--here the Jolly Doctor turned +smilingly to Sioux Sam--“to take up the burden of the evening.” + +The Old Cattleman, joining with the Jolly Doctor in the suggestion, +and Sioux Sam being in no wise loth to be heard, our half-savage friend +related “How Moh-Kwa Fed the Catfish.” + + + + +CHAPTER XV.--HOW MOH-KWA FED THE CATFISH. + +One day Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, had a quarrel with Ish-koo-dah, the +Fire. Moh-Kwa was gone from home two days, for Moh-Kwa had found a large +patch of ripe blackberries, an’ he said it was prudent to stay an’ eat +them all up lest some other man find them. So Moh-Kwa stayed; an’ though +he ate very hard the whole time an’ never slept, so many an’ fat were +the blackberries, it took two suns to eat them. + +When Moh-Kwa came into his cavern, he found Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, grown +small an’ hot an’ angry, for he had not been fed for two days. Moh-Kwa +gave the Fire a bundle of dry wood to eat, an’ when the Fire’s stomach +was full an’ he had grown big an’ bright with plenty, he sat up on his +bed of coals an’ found fault with Moh-Kwa for his neglect. + +“An’ should you neglect me again for two days,” said the Fire, “I will +know I am not wanted an’ shall go away.” + +Moh-Kwa was much tired with no sleep, so he answered Ish-koo-dah, the +Fire, sharply. + +“You are always hungry,” said Moh-Kwa; “also you are hard to suit. If I +give you green wood, you will not eat it; if the wood be wet, you turn +away. Nothing but old dry wood will you accept. Beggars like you should +not own such fine tastes. An’ do you think, Fire, that I who have much +to do an’ say an’ many places to go--I, Moh-Kwa, who am as busy as the +bees in the Moon of Blossoms, have time to stay ever by your side +to pass you new dry wood to eat? Go to; you are more trouble that a +papoose!” + +Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, did not say anything to this, for the Fire’s +feelings were hurt; an’ Moh-Kwa who was heavy with his labors over the +blackberries lay down an’ took a big sleep. + +When Moh-Kwa awoke, he sat blinking in the darkness of his cavern, for +Ish-koo-dah, while Moh-Kwa slept, had gone out an’ left night behind. + +For five days Moh-Kwa had no fire an’ it gave him a bad heart; for while +Moh-Kwa could eat his food raw an’ never cared for that, he could not +smoke his kinnikinick unless Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, was there to light +his pipe for him. + +For five days Moh-Kwa smoked no kinnikinick; an’ Moh-Kwa got angry +because of it an’ roared an’ shouted up an’ down the canyons, an’ to +show he did not care, Moh-Kwa smashed his redstone pipe on a rock. But +in his stomach Moh-Kwa cared, an’ would have traded Ish-koodah, the +Fire, four armsful of dry cedar just to have him light his kinnikinick +but once. But Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, was gone out an’ would not come +back. + +[Illustration: 0239] + +Openhand, the good Sioux an’ great hunter, heard Moh-Kwa roaring for his +kinnikinick. An’ Openhand told him he behaved badly, like a young squaw +who wants new feathers an’ cannot get them. Then Openhand gave Moh-Kwa +another pine, an’ brought the Fire from his own lodge; an’ again +Moh-Kwa’s cavern blazed with Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, in the middle of the +floor, an’ Moh-Kwa smoked his kinnikinick. An’ Moh-Kwa’s heart felt good +an’ soft an’ pleasant like the sunset in the Moon of Fruit. Also, he +gave Ish-koo-dah plenty of wood to eat an’ never scolded him for being +always hungry. + +All the Sioux loved Openhand; for no one went by his lodge empty but +Openhand gave him a piece of buffalo meat; an’ if a Sioux was cold, he +put a blanket about his shoulders. An’ for this he was named “Openhand,” + an’ the Sioux were never tired of talking good talk of Open-hand, an’ +the noise of his praises never died out. + +Coldheart hated Openhand because he was so much loved. Coldheart was +himself sulky an’ hard, an’ his hand was shut tight like a beaver-trap +that is sprung, an’ it would not open to give anything away. Those who +came hungry went hungry for all of Coldheart; an’ if they were cold, +they were cold. Coldheart wrapped his robes the closer, an’ was the +warmest whenever he thought the frost-wolf was gnawing others. + +“I do not rule the ice,” said Coldheart; “hunger does not come or go +on its war-trail by my orders. An’ if the Sioux freeze or starve, an’ +Pau-guk, the Death, walks among the lodges, it is because the time is +Pau-guk’s an’ I cannot help it.” + +So Coldheart kept his blankets an’ his buffalo meat for himself an’ +his son, the Blackbird, an’ gave nothing away. An’ for these things, +Coldheart was hated while Openhand was praised; an’ the breast of +Coldheart was so eaten with his wrath against Openhand that it seemed as +though Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, had gone into Coldheart’s bosom an’ made a +camp. + +Coldheart would have called Pau-guk to his elbow an’ killed Openhand; +but Coldheart was not sure. The Openhand moved as quick as a fish in the +Yellowstone, an’ stood as tall an’ strong as the big pine on the hill; +there were no three warriors, the bravest of the Sioux, who could have +gone on the trail of Openhand an’ shown his skelp on their return, for +Openhand was a mighty fighter an’ had a big heart, so that even Fear +himself was afraid of Openhand an’ never dared come where he was. + +Coldheart knew well that he could not fight with Openhand; for to find +this out, he made his strongest medicine an’ called Jee-bi, the +Spirit; an’ Jee-bi talked with Pau-guk, the Death, an’ asked Pau-guk +if Coldheart went on the trail of Openhand to take his skelp, which one +Pau-guk would have at the trail’s end. An’ Pau-guk said he would have +Coldheart, for Openhand would surely kill him. When Jee-bi, the Spirit, +told Coldheart the word of Pau-guk, Coldheart saw then that he must go a +new trail with his hate. + +Coldheart smoked an’ smoked many pipes; but the thoughts of Openhand +an’ how he was loved by the Sioux made his kinnikinick bitter. Still +Coldheart smoked; an’ at last the thought came that if he could not kill +Openhand, he would kill the Young Wolf, who was Openhand’s son. When +this thought folded its wings an�� perched in the breast of Coldheart, he +called for the evil Lynx, who was Coldheart’s friend, an’ since he was +the wickedest of the Sioux, would do what Coldheart said. + +The Lynx came an’ sat with Coldheart in his lodge; an’ the lodge was +closed tight so that none might listen, an’ because it was cold. The +Coldheart told the Lynx to go with his war-axe when the next sun was up +an’ beat out the brains of the Young Wolf. + +“An’ when he is dead,” said Coldheart, “you must bring me the Young +Wolf’s heart to eat. Then I will have my revenge on Openhand, his +father, whom I hate; an’ whenever I meet the Openhand I will laugh with +the thought that I have eaten his son’s heart.” + +But there was one who listened to Coldheart while he gave his orders +to the evil Lynx, although she was no Sioux. This was the Widow of the +Great Rattlesnake of the Rocks who had long before been slain by Yellow +Face, his brother medicine. The Widow having hunted long an’ hard had +crawled into the lodge of Cold-heart to warm herself while she rested. +An’ as she slept beneath a buffalo robe, the noise of Coldheart talking +to the evil Lynx woke the Widow up; an’ so she sat up under her buffalo +robe an’ heard every word, for a squaw is always curious an’ would +sooner hear new talk than find a string of beads. + +That night as Moh-Kwa smoked by Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, an’ fed him +dry sticks so he would not leave him again, the Widow came an’ warmed +herself by Moh-Kwa’s side. An’ Moh-Kwa asked the Widow how she fared; +an’ the Widow while hungry said she was well, only that her heart was +made heavy by the words of Coldheart. Then the Widow told Moh-Kwa what +Coldheart had asked the evil Lynx to do, an’ how for his revenge against +Openhand he would eat the Young Wolf’s heart. + +Moh-Kwa listened to the Widow with his head on one side, for he would +not lose a word; an’ when she had done, Moh-Kwa was so pleased that he +put down his pipe an’ went to a nest which the owls had built on the +side of the cavern an’ took down a young owl an’ gave it to the Widow to +eat. An’ the Widow thanked Moh-Kwa an’ swallowed the little owl, while +the old owl flew all about the cavern telling the other owls what +Moh-Kwa had done. The owls were angry an’ shouted at Moh-Kwa. + +“The Catfish people said you were a Pawnee! But you are worse; you are +a Shoshone, Moh-Kwa; yes, you are a Siwash! Bird-robber, little +owl-killer, you an’ your Rattlesnake Widow are both Siwashes!” + +But Moh-Kwa paid no heed; he did not like the owls, for they stole his +meat; an’ when he would sleep, a company of the older owls would get +together an’ hold a big talk that was like thunder in Moh-Kwa’s cavern +an’ kept him awake. Moh-Kwa said at last that if the owls called the +Widow who was his guest a Siwash again, he would give her two more baby +owls. With that the old owls perched on their points of rocks an’ were +silent, for they feared Moh-Kwa an’ knew he was not their friend. + +When the Widow had eaten her little owl, she curled up to sleep two +weeks, for such was the Widow’s habit when she had eaten enough. An’ as +she snored pleasantly, feathers an’ owl-down were blown out through her +nose, but the young owl was gone forever. + +Moh-Kwa left the Widow sleeping an’ went down the canyon in the morning +to meet the evil Lynx where he knew he would pass close by the bank of +the Yellowstone. An’ when Moh-Kwa saw the evil Lynx creeping along with +his war-axe in his hand on the trail of the Young Wolf’s heart, he gave +a great shout: “Ah! Lynx, I’ve got you!” An’ then he started for the +Lynx with his paws spread. For Moh-Kwa loved the Open-hand, who brought +back to him Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, when he had gone out of Moh-Kwa’s +cavern an’ would not return. + +But Moh-Kwa did not reach the Lynx, for up a tree swarmed the Lynx out +of Moh-Kwa’s reach. + +When Moh-Kwa saw the evil Lynx hugging close to the tree, the new +thought made Moh-Kwa laugh. An’ with that he reached up with his great +arms an’ began to bend down the tree like a whip. When Moh-Kwa had bent +the tree enough, he let it go free; an’ the tree sprang straight like +an osage-orange bow. It was so swift an’ like a whip that the Lynx could +not hold on, but went whirling out over the river like a wild duck when +its wing is broken by an arrow; an’ then the Lynx splashed into the +Yellowstone. + +When the Lynx struck splashing into the Yellowstone, all the Catfish +people rushed for him with the Big Chief of the Catfish at their head. +Also, Ah-meek, the Beaver, was angry; for Ahmeek was crossing the +Yellowstone with a bundle of bulrushes in his mouth to help build his +winter house on the bank, an’ the Lynx struck so near to Ah-meek that +the waves washed his face an’ whiskers, an’ he was startled an’ lost the +bulrushes out of his mouth an’ they were washed away. + +Ah-meek who was angry, an’ the Catfish people who were hungry, charged +on the Lynx; but the Lynx was not far enough from the shore for them, +an’ while the Catfish people pinched him an’ Ah-meek, the Beaver, clawed +him, the Lynx crawled out on the bank an’ was safe. + +But Moh-Ivwa met the Lynx when he crawled out of the Yellowstone looking +like Dah-hin-dah, the Bull-frog, an’ Moh-Kwa picked him up with his paws +to throw him back. + +But a second new thought came; an’ although the Catfish people screamed +at him an’ Ah-meek who had lost his bulrushes was black with anger, +Moh-Kwa did not throw the Lynx back into the river but stood him on his +feet an’ told him what to do. An’ when Moh-Kwa gave him the orders, the +Lynx promised to obey. + +Moh-Kwa killed a fawn; an’ the Lynx took its heart in his hand an’ +went with it to Coldheart an’ said it was the heart of Young Wolf. An’ +Coldheart roasted it an’ ate it, thinking it was Young Wolf’s heart. + +For a day was the Coldheart glad, for he felt strong an’ warm with the +thought that now he was revenged against Openhand; an’ Coldheart longed +to tell Openhand that he had eaten his son’s heart. But Coldheart was +too wise to make this boast; he knew that Openhand whether with knife or +lance or arrow would give him at once to Pau-guk, an’ that would end his +revenge. + +Still Coldheart thought he would go to Open-hand’s lodge an’ feed his +eyes an’ ears with Open-hand’s groans an’ mournings when now his son, +the Young Wolf, was gone. But when Coldheart came to the lodge of +Openhand, he was made sore to meet the Young Wolf who was starting forth +to hunt. Coldheart spoke with the Young Wolf to make sure he had been +cheated; an’ then he went back to kill the Lynx. + +But Coldheart was too late; the Lynx had not waited; now he was gone +with his squaws an’ his ponies an’ his blankets to become a Pawnee. The +Lynx was tired of being a Sioux. + +When the Widow’s sleep was out, Moh-Kwa sent her to hide in the lodge +of Coldheart to hear what next he would plan. The Widow went gladly, +for Moh-Kwa promised four more small young owls just out of the egg. The +Widow lay under the buffalo robe an’ heard the words of Coldheart. In a +week, she came back to Moh-Kwa an’ told him what Coldheart planned. + +Coldheart had sent twenty ponies to the Black-foot chief, Dull Knife, +where he lived on the banks of the Little Bighorn. Also, Coldheart sent +these words in the mouth of his runner: + +“My son and the son of my enemy will come to your camp in one moon. You +will marry the Rosebud, your daughter, to my son, while the son of my +enemy you will tie an’ give to your young men to shoot at with their +arrows until he be dead, an’ afterward until they have had enough sport. +My son will bring you a white arrow; the son of my enemy will bring +you a black arrow.” Moh-Kwa laughed when he heard this from the Widow’s +lips; an’ because she had been faithful, Moh-Kwa gave her the four small +owls just from the egg. An’ the older owls took it quietly an’ only +whispered their anger; for Moh-Kwa said that if they screamed an’ +shouted when now he must sit an’ think until his head ached, he would +knock down every nest. + +When his plan was ripe, Coldheart put on a good face an’ went to the +lodge of Openhand an’ gave him a red blanket an’ said he was Openhand’s +friend. An’ Openhand an’ all the Sioux said this must be true talk +because of the red blanket; for Coldheart was never known to give +anything away before. + +Openhand an’ Coldheart sat down an’ smoked; for Moh-Kwa had never told +how Coldheart had sent the Lynx for the Young Wolf’s heart. Moh-Kwa +never told tales; moreover Moh-Kwa had also his own plans as well as +Coldheart. + +When Openhand an’ Coldheart came to part, an’ Coldheart was to go again +to his own lodge, he asked that Openhand send his son, Young Wolf, with +the Blackbird who would go to wed the young squaw, Rosebud, where she +dwelt with Dull Knife, her father, in their camp on the Little Bighorn. +An’ Openhand did not hesitate, but said, “Yes;” an’ the Young Wolf +himself was glad to go, like all boys who hope to see new scenes. + +As Young Wolf an’ the Blackbird next day rode away, Coldheart stuck a +black arrow in the cow-skin quiver of Young Wolf, an’ a white arrow in +that of the Blackbird, saying: + +“Give these to the Dull Knife that he may know you are my sons an’ come +from me, an’ treat you with much love.” + +Many days the young men traveled to reach Dull Knife’s camp on the +Little Bighorn. In the night of their last camp, Moh-Kwa came silently, +an’ while the young men slept swapped Coldheart’s arrows; an’ when +they rode to the lodge of Dull Knife, an’ while the scowling Blackfeet +gathered about--for the sight of a Sioux gives a Blackfoot a hot +heart--the black arrow was in the quiver of the Blackbird an’ the white +arrow in that of Young Wolf. + +“How!” said the young men to Dull Knife. “How! how!” said Dull Knife. +“An’ now, my sons, where are the arrows which are your countersigns?” + +When the young men took out the arrows they saw that they had been +changed; but they knew not their message an’ thought no difference would +come. So they made no talk since that would lose time; an’ Young Wolf +gave Dull Knife the white arrow while the Blackbird gave him the black +arrow. + +An’ holding an arrow in each hand--one white, one black--Dull Knife +said: + +“For the twenty ponies which we have got, the Blackfeet will carry forth +the word of Cold-heart; for the Blackfeet keep their treaties, being +honest men.” + +[Illustration: 0251] + +An’ so it turns that the Blackbird is shot full of arrows until he +bristles like the quills on the back of Kagh, the Hedgepig. But Young +Wolf is taken to the Rosebud, an’ they are married. The Young Wolf would +have said: “No!” for he did not understand; but Dull Knife showed him +first a war-axe an’ next the Rosebud. An’ the Rosebud was more beautiful +in the eye of youth than any war-axe; besides Young Wolf was many days +march from the lodge of his father, Openhand, an’ marriage is better +than death. Thinking all of which, the Young Wolf did not say “no” but +said “yes,” an’ at the wedding there was a great feast, for the Dull +Knife was a big chief an’ rich. + +Ma-ma, the Woodpecker, stood on the top of a dead tree an’ saw the +wedding; an’ when it was over, he flew straight an’ told Moh-Kwa so that +Moh-Kwa might know. + +When Young Wolf an’ the Rosebud on their return were a day’s ride from +the Sioux, Moh-Kwa went to the lodge of Coldheart an’ said: + +“Come, great plotter, an’ meet your son an’ his new squaw.” + +An’ Coldheart came because Moh-Kwa took him by his belts an’ ran with +him; for Moh-Kwa was so big an’ strong he could run with a pony an’ its +rider in his mouth. + +Moh-Kwa told Coldheart how the Blackbird gave Dull Knife the black arrow +an’ was shot with all the arrows of five quivers. Coldheart groaned like +the buffalo when he dies. Then Moh-Kwa showed him where Young Wolf +came on with the beautiful Rosebud; and that he was followed by twenty +pack-ponies which carried the presents of Dull Knife for his daughter +an’ his new son. + +“An’ now,” said Moh-Kwa, “you have seen enough; for you have seen that +you have made your foe happy an’ killed your own son. Also, I have +cheated the Catfish people twice; once with the Big Medicine Elk an’ +once with the Lynx, both of whom I gave to the Catfish people an’ took +back. It is true, I have cheated the good Catfish folk who were once my +friends, an’ now they speak hard of me an’ call me a ‘Pawnee,’ the whole +length of the Yellowstone from the Missouri to the Falls. However, Moh +Kwa has something for the Catfish people this time which he will not +take back, an’ by to-morrow’s sun, the river will ring with Moh-Kwa’s +praises.” + +Moh-Kwa carried Coldheart to the Yellowstone, an’ he sang an’ shouted +for all the Catfish people to come. Then Moh-Kwa took Coldheart to +a deep place in the river a long way from the bank. An’ Moh-Kwa held +Coldheart while the Chief of the Catfish got a strong hold, an’ his +squaw--who was four times bigger than the Catfish Chief--got also a +strong hold; an’ then what others of the Catfish people were there took +their holds. When every catfish was ready Moh-Kwa let Coldheart slip +from between his paws, an’ with a swish an’ a swirl, the Catfish people +snatched Coldheart under the water an’ tore him to pieces. For many days +the Yellowstone was bank-full of good words for Moh-Kwa; an’ all the +Catfish people said he was a Sioux an’ no cheat of a Pawnee who gives +only to take back. + +That night in his cavern Moh-Kwa sat by Ish-koo-dah, the Fire, an’ +smoked an’ told the Widow the story, an’ how it all began by Openhand +bringing the Fire back to be his friend when they had quarreled an’ the +Fire had gone out an’ would not return. An’ while Moh-Kwa told the tale +to the Widow, not an owl said a word or even whispered, but blinked in +silence each on his perch; for the Widow seemed lean an’ slim as she lay +by the fire an’ listened; an’ the owls thought it would be foolish to +remind Moh-Kwa of their presence. + +***** + +“Now, do you know,” said the Red Nosed Gentleman, with his head on one +side as one who would be deemed deeply the critic, “these Indian stories +are by no means bad.” Then leaning across to the Old Cattleman, he +asked: “Does our Sioux friend make them up?” + +“Them tales,” said the Old Cattleman, lighting a new cigar, “is most +likely as old as the Yellowstone itse’f. The squaws an’ the old bucks +tell ’em to the children, an’ so they gets passed along the line. +Sioux Sam only repeats what he’s done heard from his mother.” + +“And now,” remarked the Jolly Doctor, addressing the Sour Gentleman, +“what say you? How about that story of the Customs concerning which you +whetted our interest by giving us the name. It is strange, too, that +while my interest is still as strong as ever, the name itself has clean +slipped through the fingers of my memory.” At this the Jolly Doctor +glared about the circle as though in wonder at the phenomenon of an +interest which remained when the reason of it had faded away. + +“I will willingly give you the story,” said the Sour Gentleman. “That +name you search for is ‘The Emperor’s Cigars.’” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI.--THE EMPEROR’S CIGARS. + +It is not the blood which flows at the front, my friends, that is the +worst of war; it is the money corruption that goes on at the rear. +In old Sparta, theft was not theft unless discovered in process of +accomplishment, and those larcenous morals taught of Lycurgus would +seem, on the tails of our own civil war, to have found widest consent +and adoption throughout every department of government. The public hour +reeled with rottenness, and you may be very sure the New York Customs +went as staggeringly corrupt as the rest. + +It is to my own proper shame that I should have fallen to have art or +part or lot in such iniquities. Yet I went into them with open eyes and +hands, and a heart--hungry as a pike’s--for whatever of spoil chance or +skilfully constructed opportunity might place within my reach. My sole +defense, and that now sounds slight and trivial even to my partial ears, +was the one I advanced the other day; my two-ply hatred of government +both for injuries done my region of the South as well as the personal +ruin visited on me when my ill-wishers struck down that enterprise of +steamed tobacco which was making me rich. That is all I may urge in +extenuation, and I concede its meager insufficiency. + +As I’ve said, I obtained an appointment as an inspector of Customs, and +afterward worked side by side, and I might add hand and glove, with our +old friends, Quin and Lorns of the Story of the Smuggled Silks. That +fearsome honest Chief Inspector who so put my heart to a trot had been +dismissed--for some ill-timed integrity, I suppose--sharply in the wake +of that day he frightened me; and when I took up life’s burdens as an +officer of the Customs, my companions, together with myself, were all +black sheep together. Was there by any chance an honest man among us, he +did not mention it, surely; nor did he lapse into act or deed that might +have been evidence to prove him pure. Yes, forsooth! ignorance could +be overlooked, drunkenness condoned, indolence reproved; but for that +officer of our Customs who in those days was found honest, there +shone no ray of hope. He was seized on and cast into outer unofficial +darkness, there to exercise his dangerous probity in private life. There +was no room for such among us; no peace nor safety for the rest while +he remained. Wherefore, we of a proper blackness, were like so many +descendants of Diogenes, forever searching among ourselves to find an +honest man; but with fell purpose when discovered, of his destruction. +We maintained a strictest quarantine against any infection of truth, and +I positively believe, with such success, that it was excluded from our +midst. That honest Chief Inspector was dismissed, I say; Lorns told me +of it before I’d been actively in place an hour, and the news gave me +deepest satisfaction. + +That gentleman who was official head of the coterie of revenue hunters +to which I was assigned was peculiarly the man unusual. His true name, +if I ever heard it, I’ve forgot; among us of the Customs, he was known +as Betelnut Jack. Lorns took me into his presence and made us known to +one another early in my revenue career. I had been told stories of this +man by both Lorns and Quin. They deeply reverenced him for his virtues +of courage and cunning, and the praises of Betelnut Jack were constant +in their mouths. + +Betelnut Jack was at his home in the Bowery. Jack, in years gone by, had +been a hardy member of one of those Volunteer fire companies which in +that hour notably augmented the perils of an urban life. Jack was +a doughty fighter, and with a speaking trump in one hand and a +spanner-wrench in the other, had done deeds of daring whereof one might +still hear the echo. And he became for these strong-hand reasons a tower +of strength in politics; and obtained that eminence in the Customs which +was his when first we met. + +Betelnut Jack received Lorns and myself in his dingy small coop of a +parlor. He was unmarried--a popular theory in accounting for this being +that he’d been crossed in love in his youth. Besides the parlor, Jack’s +establishment contained only one room, a bedroom it was, a shadow larger +than the bed. + +Betelnut Jack himself was wiry and dark, and with a face which, while +showing marks of former wars, shone the seat of kindly good-humor. + +There had been an actor, Chanfrau, who played “Mose, the Fireman.” + Betelnut Jack resembled in dress his Bowery brother of the stage. His +soiled silk hat stood on a dresser. He wore a long skirted coat, a red +shirt, a belt which upheld--in a manner so absent-minded that one feared +for the consequences--his trousers; these latter garments in their +terminations were tucked inside the gaudy tops of calfskin boots; small +and wrinkleless these, and fitting like a glove, with the yellow seams +of the soles each day carefully re-yellowed to the end that they be +admired of men. Betelnut Jack’s dark hair, a shade of gray streaking it +in places, was crisp and wavy; and a long curl, carefully twisted and +oiled, was brought down as low as the angle of his jaw just forward of +each ear. + +“Be honest, young man!” said Betelnut Jack, at the close of a lecture +concerning my duties; “be honest! But if you must take wrong money, take +enough each time to pay for the loss of your job. Do you see this?” And +Jack’s hand fell on a large morocco-bound copy of “Josephus” which lay +on his table. “Well, Lorns will tell you what stories I look for in +that.” + +And Lorns, as we came away, told me. Once a week it was the practice of +each inspector to split off twenty per cent, of his pillage. He would, +thus organized, pay a visit to his chief, the worthy Betel-nut Jack. As +they gossiped, Jack’s ever-ready hospitality would cause him to retire +for a moment to the bedroom in search of a demijohn of personal whisky. +While alone in the parlor, the visiting inspector would place his +contribution between the leaves of “Josephus,” and thereby the +humiliating, if not dangerous, passage of money from hand to hand was +missed. + +There existed but one further trait of caretaking forethought belonging +with the worthy Betelnut Jack. It would have come better had others +of that crooked clique of customs copied Betelnut Jack in this last +cautious characteristic. Justice is a tortoise, while rascality’s a +hare; yet justice though shod with lead wins ever the race at last. +Betelnut Jack knew this; and while getting darkly rich with the others, +he was always ready for the fall. While his comrades drove fast horses, +or budded brown-stone fronts, or affected extravagant opera and supper +afterward with those painted lilies, in whose society they delighted, +Betelnut Jack clung to his old rude Bowery nest of sticks and straws +and mud, and lived on without a change his Bowery life. He suffered +no improvements whether of habit or of habitat, and provoked no +question-asking by any gilded new prosperities of life. + +As fast as Betelnut Jack got money, he bought United States bonds. With +each new thousand, he got a new bond, and tucked it safely away among +its fellows. These pledges of government he kept packed in a small +hand-bag; this stood at his bed’s head, ready for instant flight with +him. When the downfall did occur, as following sundry years of loot and +customs pillage was the desperate case, Betelnut Jack with the earliest +whisper of peril, stepped into his raiment and his calfskin boots, took +up his satchel of bonds, and with over six hundred thousand dollars of +those securities--enough to cushion and make pleasantly sure the balance +of his days--saw the last of the Bowery, and was out of the country and +into a corner of safety as fast as ship might swim. + +But now you grow impatient; you would hear in more of detail concerning +what went forward behind the curtains of Customs in those later ’60’s. +For myself, I may tell of no great personal exploits. I did not remain +long in revenue service; fear, rather than honesty, forced me to resign; +and throughout that brief period of my office holding, youth and a lack +of talent for practical iniquity prevented my main employment in those +swart transactions which from time to time took place. I was liked, I +was trusted; I knew what went forward and in the end I had my share of +the ill profits; but the plans and, usually, the work came from others +of a more subtile and experienced venality. + +In this affair of The Emperor’s Cigars, the story was this. I call +them The Emperor’s Cigars because they were of a sort and quality made +particularly for the then Imperial ruler of the French. They sold at +retail for one dollar each, were worth, wholesale, seventy dollars a +hundred, and our aggregate harvest of this one operation was, as I now +remember, full sixty thousand dollars. + +My first knowledge was when Lorns told me one evening of the seizure--by +whom of our circle, and on what ship, I’ve now forgotten--of one hundred +thousand cigars. They were in proper boxes, concealed I never knew how, +and captured in the very act of being smuggled and just as they came +onto our wharf. In designating the seizure, and for reasons which I’ve +given before, they were at once dubbed and ever afterwards known among +us as The Emperor’s Cigars. + +These one hundred thousand cigars were taken to the Customs Depot of +confiscated goods. The owners, as was our rule, were frightened with +black pictures of coming prison, and then liberated, never to be seen +of us again. They were glad enough to win freedom without looking once +behind to see what became of their captured property. + +It was one week later when a member of our ring, from poorest tobacco +and by twenty different makers, caused one hundred thousand cigars, +duplicates in size and appearance of those Emperor’s Cigars, to be +manufactured. These cost two and one-half cents each; a conscious +difference, truly! between that and those seventy cents, the wholesale +price of our spoil. Well, The Emperor’s Cigars were removed from their +boxes and their aristocratic places filled by the worthless imitations +we had provided. Then the boxes were again securely closed; and to look +at them no one would suspect the important changes which had taken place +within. + +The Emperor’s Cigars once out of their two thousand boxes were carefully +repacked in certain zinc-lined barrels, and reshipped as “notions” to +Havana to one of our folk who went ahead of the consignment to receive +them. In due course, and in two thousand proper new boxes they again +appeared in the port of New York; this time they paid their honest duty. +Also, they had a proper consignment, came to no interrupting griefs; and +being quickly disposed of, wrought out for us that sixty thousand dollar +betterment of which I’ve spoken. + +As corollary of this particular informality of The Emperor’s Cigars, +there occurred an incident which while grievous to the victims, made no +little fun for us; its relation here may entertain you, and because of +its natural connection with the main story, will come properly enough. +At set intervals, the government held an auction of all confiscated +goods. At these markets to which the public was invited to appear and +bid, the government asserted nothing, guaranteed nothing. In disposing +of such gear as these cigars, no box was opened; no goods displayed. +One saw nothing but the cover, heard nothing but the surmise of an +auctioneer, and thereupon, if impulse urged, bid what he pleased for a +pig in a poke. + +Thus it came to pass that on the occasion when The Emperor’s Cigars +were held aloft for bids, the garrulous lecturer employed in selling the +collected plunder of three confiscation months, took up one of the two +thousand boxes as a sample, and said: + +“I offer for sale a lot of two thousand packages, of which the one I +hold in my hand is a specimen. Each package is supposed to contain fifty +cigars. What am I bid for the lot? What offer do I hear?” + +That was the complete proffer as made by the government; for all that +the bidding was briskly sharp. Those who had come to purchase were there +for bargains not guarantees; moreover, there was the box; and could they +not believe their experience? Each would-be bidder knew by the size +and shape and character of the package that it was made for and should +contain fifty cigars of the Emperor brand. Wherefore no one distrusted; +the question of contents arose to no mind; and competition grew instant +and close. Bid followed bid; five hundred dollars being the mark of +each advance, as the noisy struggle between speculators for the lot’s +ownership proceeded. + +At last those celebrated marketeers, Grove and Filtord, received the +lot--one hundred thousand of The Emperor’s Cigars--for forty-five +thousand dollars. What thoughts may have come to them later, when they +searched their bargain for its merits, I cannot say. Not one word of +inquiry, condemnation or complaint came from Grove and Filtord. Whatever +their discoveries, or whatever their deductions, they maintained a +profound taciturnity. Probably they did not care to court the laughter +of fellow dealers by disclosures of the trap into which they had so +blindly bid their way. Surely, they must in its last chapters have been +aware of the swindle! To have believed in the genuineness of the goods +would have dissipated what remnant of good repute might still have clung +to that last of the Napoleons who was their inventor, and justified the +coming destruction of his throne and the birth of the republic which +arose from its ruins. As I say, however, not one syllable of complaint +came floating back from Grove and Filtord. They took their loss, and +were dumb. + +My own pocket was joyfully gorged with much fat advantage of this +iniquity--for inside we were like whalers, each having a prearranged per +cent, of what oil was made, no one working for himself alone--long prior +to that bidding which so smote on Grove and Filtord. The ring had no +money interest in the confiscation sales; those proceeds went all to +government. We divided the profits of our own disposal of the right true +Emperor’s Cigars on the occasion of their second appearance in port; and +that business was ended and over and division done sundry weeks prior to +the Grove and Filtord disaster. + +That is the story of The Emperor’s Cigars; there came still one little +incident, however, which was doubtless the seed of those apprehensions +which soon drove me to quit the Customs. I had carried his double tithes +to Betelnut Jack. This was no more the work of policy than right. The +substitution of the bogus wares, the reshipment to Cuba of The Emperor’s +Cigars, even the zinc-lined barrels, the repackage and second appearance +and sale of our prizes, were one and all by direction of Betelnut Jack. +He planned the campaign in each least particular. To him was the credit; +and to him came the lion’s share, as, in good sooth! it should if there +be a shadow of that honor among rogues whereof the proverb tells. + +On the evening when I sought Betelnut Jack, we sat and chatted briefly +of work at the wharfs. Not one word, mind you! escaped from either that +might intimate aught of customs immorality. That would have been a gross +breach of the etiquette understood by our flock of customs cormorants. +No; Betelnut Jack and I confined discussion to transactions absolutely +white; no other was so much as hinted at. + +Then came Betelnut Jack’s proposal of his special Willow Run; he retired +in quest of the demijohn; this was my cue to enrich “Josephus,” ready on +the dwarf center table to receive the goods. My present to Betelnut Jack +was five one-hundred-dol-lar bills. + +Somewhat in haste, I took these from my pocket and opened “Josephus” to +lay them between the pages. Any place would do; Betelnut Jack would +know how to discover the rich bookmark. As I parted the book, my eye +was arrested by a sentence. As I’ve asserted heretofore, I’m not +superstitious; yet that casual sentence seemed alive and to spring upon +me from out “Josephus” as a threat: + +“And these men being thieves were destroyed by the King’s laws; and +their people rended their garments, put on sackcloth, and throwing ashes +on their heads went about the streets, crying out.” + +That is what it said; and somehow it made my heart beat quick and little +like a linnet’s heart. I put in my contribution and closed the book. But +the words clung to me like ivy; I couldn’t free myself. In the end, they +haunted me to my resignation; and while I remained long enough to +share in the affair of the German Girl’s Diamonds, and in that of the +Filibusterer, when the hand of discovery fell upon Lorns and Quin, and +others of my one-time comrades, I was far away, facing innocent, if +sometimes dangerous, problems on our western plains. + +“With a profound respect for you,” observed the Jolly Doctor to the +Sour Gentleman when that raconteur had ended, “and disavowing a least +imputation personal to yourself, I must still say that I am amazed by +the corruption which your tale discloses of things beyond our Customs +doors. To be sure, you speak of years ago; and yet you leave one to +wonder if the present be wholly free from taint.” + +“It will be remarkable,” returned the Sour Gentleman, “when any arm of +government is exerted with entire integrity and no purpose save public +good, and every thought of private gain eliminated. The world never +has been so virtuous, nor is it like to become so in your time or mine. +Government and those offices which, like the works of a watch, are made +to constitute it, are the production of politics, and politics, mind +you, is nothing save the collected and harmonised selfishness of men. +The fruit is seldom better than the tree, and when a source is foul the +stream will wear a stain.” Here the Sour Gentleman sighed as though over +the baseness of the human race. + +“While there’s to be no doubt,” broke in the Red Nosed Gentleman, +“concerning the corruption existing in politics and the offices and +office holders bred therefrom, I am free to say that I’ve encountered +as much blackness, and for myself I have been swindled oftener among +merchants plying their reputable commerce of private scales and counters +as in the administration of public affairs.” + +The Red Nosed Gentleman here looked about with a challenging eye as one +who would note if his observation is to meet with contradiction. Finding +none, he relapsed into silence and burgundy. + +“Speakin’ of politics,” said the Old Cattleman, who had listened to the +others as though he found their discourse instructive, “it’s the one +thing I’ve seen mighty little of. The only occasion on which I finds +myse’f immersed in politics is doorin’ the brief sojourn I makes in +Missouri, an’ when in common with all right-thinkin’ gents, I whirls in +for Old Stewart.” + +“Would you mind,” remarked the Jolly Doctor in a manner so amiable it +left one no power to resist, “would you mind giving us a glimpse of that +memorable campaign in which you bore doubtless no inconsiderable part? +We should have time for it, before we retire.” + +“Which the part I bears,” responded the Old Cattleman, “wouldn’t amount +to the snappin’ of a cap. As to tellin’ you-all concernin’ said outburst +of pop’lar enthoosiasm for Old Stewart, I’m plumb willin’ to go as far +as you likes.” Drawing his chair a bit closer to the fire and seeing to +it that a glass of Scotch was within the radius of his reach, the Old +Cattleman began. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII.--THE GREAT STEWART CAMPAIGN. + +As I states, I saveys nothin’ personal of politics. Thar’s mighty +little politics gets brooited about Wolfville, an’ I ain’t none shore +but it’s as well. The camp’s most likely a heap peacefuller as a +com-moonity. Shore, Colonel Sterett discusses politics in that Coyote +paper he conducts; but none of it’s nearer than Washin’ton, an’ it all +seems so plumb dreamy an’ far away that while it’s interestin’, it can’t +be regyarded as replete of the harrowin’ excitement that sedooces a +public from its nacheral rest an’ causes it to set up nights an’ howl. + +Rummagin’ my mem’ry, I never does hear any politics talked local but +once, an’ that’s by Dan Boggs. It’s when the Colonel asks Dan to what +party he adheres in principle--for thar ain’t no real shore-enough +party lurkin’ about in Arizona much, it bein’ a territory that a-way +an’ mighty busy over enterprises more calc’lated to pay--an’ Dan retorts +that he’s hooked up with no outfit none as yet, but stands ready as far +as his sentiments is involved to go buttin’ into the first organization +that’ll cheapen nose-paint, ’liminate splits as a resk in faro-bank, +an’ raise the price of beef. Further than them tenets, Dan allows he +ain’t got no principles. + +Man an’ boy I never witnesses any surplus of politics an’ party strife. +In Tennessee when I’m a child every decent gent has been brought up a +Andy Jackson man, an’ so continyoos long after that heroic captain is +petered. As you-all can imagine, politics onder sech conditions goes +all one way like the currents of the Cumberland. Thar’s no bicker, no +strife, simply a vast Andy Jackson yooniformity. + +The few years I puts in about Arkansaw ain’t much different. Leastwise +we-all don’t have issues; an’ what contests does arise is gen’rally +personal an’ of the kind where two gents enjoys a j’int debate with +their bowies or shows each other how wrong they be with a gun. An’ while +politics of the variety I deescribes is thrillin’, your caution rather +than your intellects gets appealed to, while feuds is more apt to be +their frootes than any draw-in’ of reg’lar party lines. Wherefore I +may say it’s only doorin’ the one year I abides in Missouri when I +experiences troo politics played with issues, candidates, mass-meetin’s +an’ barbecues. + +For myse’f, my part is not spectacyoolar, bein’ I’m new an’ raw an’ +young; but I looks on with relish, an’ while I don’t cut no hercoolean +figger in the riot, I shore saveys as much about what’s goin’ on as the +best posted gent between the Ozarks an’ the Iowa line. + +What you-all might consider as the better element is painted up to beat +Old Stewart who’s out sloshin’ about demandin’ re-election to Jeff City +for a second term. The better element says Old Stewart drinks. An’ this +accoosation is doubtless troo a whole lot, for I’m witness myse’f to the +following colloquy which takes place between Old Stewart an’ a jack-laig +doctor he crosses up with in St. Joe. Old Stewart’s jest come forth from +the tavern, an’ bein’ on a joobilee the evenin’ before, is lookin’ an’ +mighty likely feelin’ some seedy. + +“Doc,” says Old Stewart, openin’ his mouth as wide as a young raven, an’ +then shettin’ it ag’in so’s to continyoo his remarks, “Doc, I wish you’d +peer into this funnel of mine.” + +Then he opens his mouth ag’in in the same egree-gious way, while the +scientist addressed scouts about tharin with his eyes, plenty owley. At +last the Doc shows symptoms of bein’ ready to report. + +“Which I don’t note nothin’ onusual, Gov’nor, about that mouth,” says +the Doc, “except it’s a heap voloominous.” + +“Don’t you discern no signs or signal smokes of any foreign bodies?” + says Old Stewart, a bit pettish, same as if he can’t onderstand sech +blindness. + +“None whatever!” observes the Doc. + +“It’s shore strange,” retorts Old Stewart, still in his complainin’ +tones; “thar’s two hundred niggers, a brick house an’ a thousand acres +of bottom land gone down that throat, an’ I sort o’ reckons some traces +of ’em would show.” + +That’s the trouble with Old Stewart from the immacyoolate standpint of +the better classes; they says he overdrinks. But while it’s convincin’ +to sooperior folks an’ ones who’s goin’ to church an’ makin’ a speshulty +of it, it don’t sep’rate Old Stewart from the warm affections of the +rooder masses--the catfish an’ quinine aristocracy that dwells along the +Missouri; they’re out for him to the last sport. + +“Suppose the old Gov’nor does drink,” says one, “what difference does +that make? Now, if he’s goin’ to try sootes in co’t, or assoome the +pressure as a preacher, thar’d be something in the bluff. But it don’t +cut no figger whether a gov’nor is sober or no. All he has to do is +pardon convicts an’ make notaries public, an’ no gent can absorb licker +s’fficient to incapac’tate him for sech trivial dooties.” + +One of the argyments they uses ag’in Old Stewart is about a hawg-thief +he pardons. Old Stewart is headin’ up for the state house one mornin’, +when he caroms on a passel of felons in striped clothes who’s pesterin’ +about the grounds, tittivatin’ up the scenery. Old Stewart pauses in +front of one of ’em. + +“What be you-all in the pen’tentiary for?” says Old Stewart, an’ he’s +profoundly solemn. + +Tharupon the felon trails out on a yarn about how he’s a innocent an’ +oppressed person. He’s that honest an’ upright--hear him relate the +tale--that you’d feel like apol’gizin’. Old Stewart listens to this +victim of intrigues an’ outrages ontil he’s through; then he goes +romancin’ along to the next. Thar’s five wronged gents in that striped +outfit, five who’s as free from moral taint or stain of crime as Dave +Tutt’s infant son, Enright Peets Tutt. + +But the sixth is different. He admits he’s a miscreant an’ has done +stole a hawg. + +“However did you steal it, you scoundrel?” demands Old Stewart. + +“I’m outer meat,” says the crim’nal, “an’ a band of pigs comes pi +rootin’ about, an’ I nacherally takes my rifle an’ downs one.” + +“Was it a valyooable hawg?” + +“You-all can gamble it ain’t no runt,” retorts the crim’nal. “I shore +ain’t pickin’ out the worst, an’ I’m as good a jedge of hawgs as ever +eats corn pone an’ cracklin’.” + +At this Old Stewart falls into a foamin’ rage an’ turns on the two +gyards who’s soopervisin’ the captives. + +“Whatever do you-all mean,” he roars, “bringin’ this common an’ +confessed hawg-thief out yere with these five honest men? Don’t you know +he’ll corrupt ’em?” + +Tharupon Old Stewart reepairs to his rooms in the state house an’ +pardons the hawg convict with the utmost fury. + +“An’ now, pull your freight,” says Old Stewart, to the crim’nal. “If +you’re in Jeff City twenty-four hours from now I’ll have you shot at +sunrise. The idee of compellin’ five spotless gents to con-tinyoo in +daily companionship with a low hawg-thief! I pardons you, not because +you merits mercy, but to preserve the morals of our prison.” + +The better element concloods they’ll take advantage of Old Stewart’s +willin’ness for rum an’ make a example of him before the multitoode. +They decides they’ll construct the example at a monstrous meetin’ that’s +schedyooled for Hannibal, where Old Stewart an’ his opponent--who stands +for the better element mighty excellent, seein’ he’s worth about a +million dollars with a home-camp in St. Looey, an’ never a idee above +dollars an’ cents--is programmed for one of these yere j’int debates, +frequent in the politics of that era. The conspiracy is the more +necessary as Old Stewart, mental, is so much swifter than the better +element’s candidate, that he goes by him like a antelope. Only two +days prior at the town of Fulton, Old Stewart comes after the better +element’s candidate an’ gets enough of his hide, oratorical, to make a +saddle-cover. The better element, alarmed for their gent, resolves +on measures in Hannibal that’s calc’lated to redooce Old Stewart to +a shorething. They don’t aim to allow him to wallop their gent at the +Hannibal meetin’ like he does in old Callaway. With that, they confides +to a trio of Hannibal’s sturdiest sots--all of ’em acquaintances an’ +pards of Old Stewart--the sacred task of gettin’ that statesman too +drunk to orate. + +This yere Hannibal barbecue, whereat Old Stewart’s goin’ to hold a +open-air discussion with his aristocratic opponent, is set down for +one in the afternoon. The three who’s to throw Old Stewart with copious +libations of strong drink, hunts that earnest person out as early as +sun-up at the tavern. They invites him into the bar-room an’ bids the +bar-keep set forth his nourishment. + +Gents, it works like a charm! All the mornin’, Old Stewart swings an’ +rattles with the plotters an’ goes drink for drink with ’em, holdin’ +nothin’ back. + +For all that the plot falls down. When it’s come the hour for Old +Stewart to resort to the barbecue an’ assoome his share in the +exercises, two of the Hannibal delegation is spread out cold an’ +he’pless in a r’ar room, while Old Stewart is he’pin’ the third--a gent +of whom he’s partic’lar fond--upstairs to Old Stewart’s room, where he +lays him safe an’ serene on the blankets. Then Old Stewart takes another +drink by himse’f, an’ j’ins his brave adherents at the picnic grounds. +Old Stewart is never more loocid, an’ ag’in he peels the pelt from the +better element’s candidate, an’ does it with graceful ease. + +Old Stewart, however, is regyarded as in peril of defeat. He’s mighty +weak in the big towns where the better element is entrenched, an’ +churches grow as thick as blackberries. Even throughout the rooral +regions, wherever a meetin’ house pokes up its spire, it’s onderstood +that Old Stewart’s in a heap of danger. + +It ain’t that Old Stewart is sech a apostle of nose-paint neither; it +ain’t whiskey that’s goin’ to kill him off at the ballot box. It’s the +fact that the better element’s candidate--besides bein’ rich, which is +allers a mark of virchoo to a troo believer--is a church member, an’ +belongs to a congregation where he passes the plate, an’ stands high up +in the papers. This makes the better element’s gent a heap pop’lar with +church folk, while pore Old Stewart, who’s a hopeless sinner, don’t +stand no show. + +This grows so manifest that even Old Stewart’s most locoed supporters +concedes that he’s gone; an’ money is offered at three to one that the +better element’s entry will go over Old Stewart like a Joone rise over a +tow-head. Old Stewart hears these yere misgivin’s an’ bids his folks be +of good cheer. + +“I’ll fix that,” says Old Stewart. “By election day, my learned opponent +will be in sech disrepoote with every church in Missouri he won’t be +able to get dost enough to one of ’em to give it a ripe peach.” Old +Stewart onpouches a roll which musters fifteen hundred dollars. “That’s +mighty little; but it’ll do the trick.” + +Old Stewart’s folks is mystified; they can’t make out how he’s goin’ to +round up the congregations with so slim a workin’ cap’tal. But they has +faith in their chief; an’ his word goes for all they’ve got. When he +lets on he’ll have the churches arrayed ag’inst the foe, his warriors +takes heart of grace an’ jumps into the collar an’ pulls like lions +refreshed. + +It’s the fourth Sunday before election when Old Stewart, by speshul an’ +trusted friends presents five hundred dollars each to a church in St. +Looey, an’ another in St. Joe, an’ still another in Hannibal; said gifts +bein’ in the name an’ with the compliments of his opponent an’ that +gent’s best wishes for the Christian cause. + +Thar’s not a doubt raised; each church believes it-se’f favored +five hundred dollars’ worth from the kindly hand of the millionaire +candidate, an’ the three pastors sits pleasantly down an’ writes +that amazed sport a letter of thanks for his moonificence. He don’t +onderstand it none; but he decides it’s wise to accept this accidental +pop’larity, an’ he waxes guileful an’ writes back an’ says that while he +don’t clearly onderstand, an’ no thanks is his doo, he’s tickled to hear +he’s well bethought of by the good Christians of St. Looey, St. Joe an’ +Hannibal, as expressed in them missives. The better element’s candidate +congratulates himse’f on his good luck, stands pat, an’ accepts his +onexpected wreaths. That’s jest what Old Stewart, who is as cunnin’ as a +fox, is aimin’ at. + +In two days the renown of them five-hundred-dollar gifts goes over the +state like a cat over a back roof. In four days every church in the +state hears of these largesses. An’ bein’ plumb alert financial, as +churches ever is, each sacred outfit writes on to the better element’s +candidate an’ desires five hundred dollars of that onfortunate +publicist. He gets sixty thousand letters in one week an’ each calls for +five hundred. + +Gents, thar’s no more to be said; the better element’s candidate is up +ag’inst it. He can’t yield to the fiscal demands, an’ it’s too late to +deny the gifts. Whereupon the other churches resents the favoritism +he’s displayed about the three in St. Looey, St. Joe an’ Hannibal. +They regyards him as a hoss-thief for not rememberin’ them while his +weaselskin is in his hand, an’ on election day they comes down on him +like a pan of milk from a top shelf! You hear me, they shorely blots +that onhap-py candidate off the face of the earth, an’ Old Stewart is +Gov’nor ag’in. + +On the fourth evening of our companionship about the tavern fire, it was +the Red Nosed Gentleman who took the lead with a story. + +“You spoke,” said the Red Nosed Gentleman, addressing the Jolly Doctor, +“of having been told by a friend a story you gave us. Not long ago I was +in the audience while an old actor recounted how he once went to the aid +of an individual named Connelly. It was not a bad story, I thought; and +if you like, I’ll tell it to-night. The gray Thespian called his +adventure The Rescue of Connelly, and these were his words as he related +it. We were about a table in Browne’s chop house when he told it.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII.--THE RESCUE OF CONNELLY. + +Equipped as we are for the conquest of comfort with fresh pipes, +full mugs, and the flavor of a best of suppers still extant within our +mouths, it may be an impertinence for one to moralize. And yet, as I go +forward to this incident, I will premise that, in every least exigency +of life, ill begets ill, while good springs from good and follows the +doer with a profit. Such has been my belief; such, indeed, has been my +unbroken experience; and the misfortunes of Connelly, and my relief of +them, small matters in themselves, are in proof of what I say. + +At sixty I look back with envy on that decade which followed my issuing +forth from Trinity College, when, hopeless, careless, purposeless beyond +the moment, I wandered the face of the earth and fed or starved at the +hands of chance-born opportunity. I was up or down or rich or poor, and, +with an existence which ran from wine to ditch water and back again +to wine, was happy. I recall how in those days of checkered fortune, +wherein there came a proportion of one hour of shadow to one moment of +sun, I was wont to think on riches and their possession. I would say to +myself: “And should it so befall that I make my millions, I’ll have +none about me but broken folk: I’ll refuse to so much as permit the +acquaintance of a rich man.” I’ve been ever deeply controlled by the +sentiment therein expressed. Sure it is, I’ve been incapable of the +example of the Levite, and could never keep to the other side of the way +when distress appealed. + +My youth was wild, and staid folk called it “vicious.” I squandered my +fortune; melted it, as August melteth ice, while still at Trinity. It +was my misfortune to reach my majority before I reached my graduation, +and those two college years which ensued after I might legally write +myself “man” and the wild days that filled them up, brought me to +face the world with no more shillings than might take me to Australia. +However, they were gay though graceless times--those college years; and +Dublin, from Smock Alley to Sackville Street, may still remember them. + +Those ten years after quitting Dublin were years of hit or miss. I did +everything but preach or steal. Yes, I even fought three prize-fights; +and there were warped, distorted moments when, bloody but victorious, I +believed it better to be a fighter than to be a bishop. + +But for the main, I drifted to the theaters and lived by the drama. +Doubtless I was a wretched actor--albeit I felt myself a Kemble--but the +stage was so far good to me it finally brought me--as an underling of +much inconsequence--to the fair city of New York. I did but little for +the drama, but it did much for me; it led me to America. And now that +I’ve come to New York in this story, I’ve come to Connelly. + +Mayhap I had been in New York three weeks. It was a chill night in +April, and I was going down Broadway and thinking on bed; for, having +done nothing all day save run about, I was very tired. It was under +the lamps at the corner of Twenty-ninth Street, that I first beheld +Connelly. Thin of face as of coat, he stood shivering in the keen air. +There was something so beaten in the pose of the sorrowful figure that I +was brought to a full stop. + +As strange to the land and its courtesies as I was to Connelly, I +hesitated for a moment to speak. I was loth to be looked upon as one +who, from a motive of curiosity, would insult another in bad luck. But I +took courage from my virtue and at last made bold to accost him: + +“Why do you stand shivering here?” I said. “Why don’t you go home?” + +“It’s a boarding-house,” said Connelly. “I owe the old lady thirty +dollars and if I go back she’ll hold me prisoner for it.” + +Then he told me his name, and that the trouble with him came from too +much rum. Connelly had a Dublin accent and it won on me; moreover, I +also had had troubles traceable to rum. + +“Come home,” I said; “you can’t stand here all night. Come home; I’ll go +with you and have a talk with the old lady myself. Perhaps I’ll find a +way to soften her or make her see reason.” + +“She’s incapable of seeing reason,” said Connelly; “incapable of seeing +anything save money. She understands nothing but gold. She’ll hold me +captive a week; then if I don’t pay, she’ll have me arrested. You don’t +know the ‘old lady:’ she’s a demon unless she’s paid.” + +However, I led Connelly over to Sixth Avenue and restored his optimism +with strong drink. Then I bought a quart of whiskey; thus sustained, +Connelly summoned courage and together we sought his quarters. In his +little room we sat all night, discussing the whiskey and Dublin and +Connelly’s hard fate. + +With the morning I was presented to the “old lady,”--an honor to make +one quake. When I reviewed her acrid features, I knew that Connelly +was right. Nothing could move that stony heart but money. I put off, +therefore, those gallantries and blandishments I might otherwise have +introduced, and came at once to the question. + +“How much does Connelly owe?” + +“Thirty dollars!” + +The words were emphasized with a click of teeth that would have done +credit to a rat-trap. + +There was a baleful gleam, too, in the jadestone eye. Clearly, Connelly +had read the signs aright. He might regard himself as a prisoner until +the “old lady” was paid. + +That iron landlady went away to her duties and I counted my fortunes. +They assembled but twenty-four dollars--a slim force and not one +wherewith to storm the citadel of Connelly’s troubles. How should I +augment my capital? I knew of but one quick method and that flowed with +risks--it was the races. + +I turned naturally to the horses, for it was those continuous efforts +which I put forth to name winners that had so dissipated my patrimony. +About the time I might have selected a victor now and then, my wealth +was departed away. It is always thus. Sinister yet satirical paradox! +the best judges of racing have ever the least money! + +There was no new way open to me, however, in this instance of Connelly. +I must pay his debt that day if I would redeem him from this Bastile of +a boarding-house, and the races were my single chance. I explained to +Connelly; obtained him the consolation of a second quart wherewith to +cure the sharper cares of his bondage, and started for the race-course. +I knew nothing of American horses and less of American tracks, but I +held not back for that. In the transaction of a work of virtue I would +trust to lucky stars. + +As I approached the race-course gates, my eyes were pleased with the +vision of that excellent pugilist, Joe Coburn. I had known this unworthy +in Melbourne; he had graced the ringside on those bustling occasions +when I pulled shirt over head and held up my hands for the stakes and +the honor of old Ireland. Grown too fat for fisticuffs, Coburn struggled +with the races for his daily bread. As he was very wise of horses, and +likewise very crooked, I bethought me that Coburn’s advice might do me +good. If there were a trap set, Coburn should know; and he might aid a +former fellow-gladiator to have advantage thereof and show the road to +riches. + +Are races ever crooked? Man! I whiles wonder at the age’s ignorance! +Crooked? Indubitably crooked. There was never rascal like your rascal +of sport; there’s that in the word to disintegrate integrity. I make +no doubt it was thus in every time and clime and that even the Olympian +games themselves were honeycombed with fraud, and the sacred Altis +wherein they were celebrated a mere hotbed of robbery. However, to +regather with the doubtful though sapient Coburn. + +“Who’s to win the first race?” I asked. + +“Play Blue Bells!” and Coburn looked at me hard and as one who held +mysterious knowledge. + +Blue Bells!--I put a cautious five-dollar piece on Blue Bells. I saw +her at the start. Vilest of beasts, she never finished--never met my +eye again. I asked someone what had become of her. He said that, taking +advantage of sundry missing boards over on the back-stretch, Blue Bells +had bolted and gone out through the fence. This may have been fact or +it may have been sarcasmal fiction; the truth important is, I lost my +wager. + +Still true to a first impression--though I confess to confidence a trifle +shaken--I again sought Coburn. + +“That was a great tip you gave me!” I said. “That suggestion of Blue +Bells was a marvel! What do you pick for the next?” + +“Get Tambourine!” retorted Coburn. “It’s a sure thing.” + +Another five I placed on Tambourine; not without misgivings. But what +might I do better? My judgment was worthless where I did not know one +horse from another. I might as well take Coburn’s advice; the more since +he went often wrong and might name a winner by mistake. Five, therefore, +on Tambourine; and when he started my hopes and Connelly--whose +consoling quart must be a pint by now--went with him. + +At the worst I may so far compliment Tambourine as to say that I saw him +again. He finished far in the rear; but at least he had the honesty to +go around the course. Yet it was five dollars lost. When Tambourine went +back to his stable, my capital was reduced by half, and Connelly and +liberty as far apart as when we started. + +Following the disaster of Tambourine I sought no more the Coburn. +Clearly it was not that philosopher’s afternoon for naming winners. Or +if it were, he was keeping their names a secret. + +Thus ruminating, I sat reading the race card, when of a blinking +sudden my eye was caught by the words “Bill Breen.” The title seemed a +suggestion. Bill Breen had been my roommate--my best friend in the days +of old Trinity. I pondered the coincidence. + +“If this Bill Breen,” I reflected, “is half as fast as my Bill Breen, +he’s fit to carry Cæsar and his fortunes.” + +The more I considered, the more I was impressed. It was like sinking in +a quicksand. In the end I was caught. I waxed reckless and placed ten +dollars--fairly my residue of riches--on Bill Breen in one of those +old-fashioned French Mutual pools common of that hour; having done so, I +crept away to a lonesome seat in the grandstand and trembled. It was now +or never, and Bill Breen would race freighted with the fate of Connelly. + +About two seats to my right, and with no one between, sat a round, +bloated body of a man. He looked so much like a pig that, had he been +put in a sty, you would have had nothing save the fact that he wore a +hat to distinguish him from the other inmates. And yet I could tell by +the mien of him, and his airs of lofty isolation and superiority, that +he knew all about a horse--knew so much more than common folk that he +despised them and withdrew from their society. It was like tempting +the skies to speak to him, so wrapped was he in the dignity of his +vast knowledge, but my quaking solicitude over Bill Breen and the awful +stakes he ran for in poor Connelly’s evil case, emboldened me. With a +look, deprecatory at once and apologetic, I turned to this oracle: + +“Do you know a horse named Bill Breen?” I asked. + +“I do,” he replied coldly. Then ungrammatically: “That’s him walking +down the track to the scales for the ‘jock’ to weigh in,” and he pointed +to a greyhound-shaped chestnut. + +“Can he race?” I said, with a gingerly air of merest curiosity. + +“He can race, but he won’t,” and the swinish man twined the huge gold +chain about his right fore-hoof. “I lost fifty dollars on him Choosday. +The horse can race, but he won’t; he’s crazy.” + +“He looks well,” I observed timidly. + +“Sure! he looks well,” assented the swinish one; “but never mind his +looks; he won’t win.” + +Then came the start and the horses got away on the first trial. They +went off in a bunch, and it gave me some color of satisfaction to note +Bill Breen well to the front. + +“He has a good start,” I ventured. + +“Hang the start!” derided the swinish one. + +“He won’t win, I tell you; he’ll go and jump over the fence and never +come back.” + +As the horses went from the quarter to the half mile post, Bill Breen, +running easily, was strongly in the lead and increasing. My blood began +to tingle. + +“He’s ahead at the half mile.” + +“And what of it?” retorted the swinish one, disgustedly. “Now keep your +eye on him. In ten seconds he’ll fly up in the air and stay there. He +won’t win; the horse is crazy.” + +As the field swung into the homestretch and each jockey picked his route +for the run to the wire, Bill Breen was going like a bird, twenty yards +to the good if a foot. The swinish one placed the heavy member that had +been caressing the watch-chain on my shoulder. He did not wait for any +comment from me. + +“Sit still,” he howled; “sit still. He won’t win. If he can’t lose any +other way, he’ll stop back beyant on the stretch and bite the boy off +his back. That’s what he’ll do; he’ll bite the jockey off his back.” + +To this last assurance, delivered with a roar, I made no answer. The +horses were coming like a whirlwind; riders lashing, nostrils straining. +The roll of the hoofs put my heart to a sympathetic gallop. I could not +have said a word if I had tried. With the grandstand in a tumult, the +horses flashed under the wire, Bill Breen winner with a flourish by a +dozen lengths. + +Connelly was saved. + +As the horses were being dismissed, and “Bill Breen” was hung from the +judges’ stand as “first,” the swinish one contemplated me gravely and in +silence. + +“Have you a ticket on him?” + +“I have,” I replied. + +“Then you’ll win a million dollars.” This with a toss as he arose to go. +“You’ll win a million dollars. You’re the only fool who has.” + +It’s like the stories you read. The swinish one was so nearly correct +in his last remark that I found but two tickets besides my own on Bill +Breen. It has the ring of fable, but I was richer by eleven hundred and +thirty-two dollars when that race was over. Blue Bells and Tambourine +were forgotten; Bill Breen had redeemed the day! It was pleasant when +I had cashed my ticket to observe me go about recovering the lost +Connelly. + +“Now, there,” cried the Jolly Doctor, “there is a story which tells of +a joy your rich man never knows--the joy of being rescued from a money +difficulty.” + +“And do you think a rich man is for that unlucky?” asked the Sour +Gentleman. + +“Verily, do I,” returned the Jolly Doctor, earnestly. “I can conceive +of nothing more dreary than endless riches--the wealth that is by the +cradle--that from birth to death is as easy to one’s hand as water. How +should he know the sweet who has not known the bitter? Man! the thorn is +ever the charm of the rose.” + +It was discovered in the chat which followed the Red Nosed Gentleman’s +tale that Sioux Sam might properly be regarded as the one who should +next take up the burden of the company’s entertainment. It stood a +gratifying characteristic of our comrade from the Yellowstone that he +was not once found to dispute the common wish. He never proffered a +story; but he promptly told one when asked to do so. He was taciturn, +but he was no less ready for that, and the moment his name was called he +proceeded with the fable of “Moh-Kwa and the Three Gifts.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIX.--MOH-KWA AND THE THREE GIFTS. + +This is in the long time ago when the sun is younger an’ not so big +an’ hot as now, an’ Kwa-Sind, the Strong Man, is a chief of the Upper +Yellowstone Sioux. It is on a day in the Moon-of-the-first-frost an’ +Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, is gathering black-berries an’ filling his +mouth. As Moh-Kwa pulls the bush towards him, he pierces his paw with +a great thorn so that it makes him howl an’ shout, for much is his rage +an’ pain. Moh-Kwa cannot get the great thorn out; because Moh-Kwa’s +claws while sharp an’ strong are not fingers to pull out a thorn; an’ +the more Moh-Kwa bites his paw to get at the thorn, the further he +pushes it in. At last Moh-Kwa sits growling an’ looking at the thorn an’ +wondering what he is to do. + +[Illustration: 0295] + +While Moh-Kwa is wondering an’ growling, there comes walking Shaw-shaw, +the Swallow, who is a young man of the Sioux. The Swallow has a good +heart; but his spirit is light an’ his nature as easily blown about +on each new wind as a dead leaf. So the Sioux have no respect for the +Swallow but laugh when he comes among them, an’ some even call him +Shau-goh-dah-wah, the Coward, for they do not look close, an’ mistake +lightness for fear. + +When the Swallow came near, Moh-Kwa, still growling, held forth his paw +an’ showed the Swallow how the thorn was buried in the big pad so that +he could not bite it out an’ only made it go deeper. An’ with that the +Swallow, who had a good heart, took Moh-Kwa’s big paw between his knees +an’ pulled out the great thorn; for the Swallow had fingers an’ not +claws like Moh-Kwa, an’ the Swallow’s fingers were deft an’ nimble to do +any desired deed. + +When Moh-Kwa felt the relief of that great thorn out of his paw, he was +grateful to the Swallow an’ thought to do him a favor. + +“You are laughed at,” said Moh-Kwa to the Swallow, “because your spirit +is light as dead leaves an’ too much blown about like a tumbleweed +wasting its seeds in foolish travelings to go nowhere for no purpose +so that only it goes. Your heart is good, but your work is of no +consequence, an’ your name will win no respect; an’ with years you +will be hated since you will do no great deeds. Already men call +you Shau-goh-dah-wah, the Coward. I am Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear of the +Yellowstone, an’ I would do you a favor for taking my paw an’ the thorn +apart. But I cannot change your nature; only Pau-guk, the Death, can do +that; an’ no man may touch Pau-guk an’ live. Yet for a favor I will give +you three gifts, which if you keep safe will make you rich an’ strong +an’ happy; an’ all men will love you an’ no longer think to call you +Shau-goh-dah-wah, the Coward.” + +Moh-Kwa when he had ended this long talk, licked his paw where had been +the great thorn, an’ now that the smart was gone an’ he could put his +foot to the ground an’ not howl, he took the Swallow an’ carried him to +his house in the rocks. An’ Moh-Kwa gave the Swallow a knife, a necklace +of bear-claws, an’ a buffalo robe. + +“While you carry the knife,” said Moh-Kwa, “all men will respect an’ +fear you an’ the squaws will cherish you in their hearts. While you wear +the bear-claws, you will be brave an’ strong, an’ whatever you want you +will get. As for the skin of the buffalo, it is big medicine, an’ if you +sit upon it an’ wish, it will carry you wherever you ask to go.” + +Besides the knife, the bear-claws an’ the big medicine robe, Moh-Kwa +gave the Swallow the thorn he had pulled from his foot, telling him +to sew it in his moccasin, an’ when he was in trouble it would bring +Moh-Kwa to him to be a help. Also, Moh-Kwa warned the Swallow to beware +of a cunning squaw. + +“For,” said Moh-Kwa, “your nature is light like dead leaves, an’ such as +you seek ever to be a fool about a cunning squaw.” + +When the Swallow came again among the Sioux he wore the knife an’ the +bear-claws that Moh-Kwa had given him; an’ in his lodge he spread the +big medicine robe. An’ because of the knife an’ the bear-claws, the +warriors respected an’ feared him, an’ the squaws loved him in their +hearts an’ followed where he went with their eyes. Also, when he wanted +anything, the Swallow ever got it; an’ as he was swift an’ ready to want +things, the Swallow grew quickly rich among the Sioux, an’ his lodge +was full of robes an’ furs an’ weapons an’ new dresses of skins an’ +feathers, while more than fifty ponies ate the grass about it. + +Now, this made Kwa-Sind, the Strong Man, angry in his soul’s soul; for +Kwa-Sind was a mighty Sioux, an’ had killed a Pawnee for each of his +fingers, an’ a Blackfoot an’ a Crow for each of his toes, an’ it +made his breast sore to see the Swallow, who had been also called +Shau-goh-dah-wah, the Coward, thought higher among the Sioux an’ be a +richer man than himself. Yet Kwa-Sind was afraid to kill the Swallow +lest the Sioux who now sung the Swallow’s praises should rise against +him for revenge. + +Kwa-Sind told his hate to Wah-bee-noh, who was a medicine man an’ +juggler, an’ agreed that he would give Wah-bee-noh twenty ponies to make +the Swallow again as he was so that the Sioux would laugh at him an’ +call him Shau-goh-dah-wah, the Coward. + +Wah-bee-noh, the medicine man, was glad to hear the offer of Kwa-Sind, +for he was a miser an’ thought only how he might add another pony to his +herd. Wah-bee-noh told Kwa-Sind he would surely do as he asked, an’ that +the Swallow within three moons would be despised among all the Sioux. + +Wah-bee-noh went to his lodge an’ made his strongest medicine an’ called +Jee-bi, the Spirit. An’ Jee-bi, the Spirit, told Wah-bee-noh of the +Swallow’s knife an’ bear-claws an’ the medicine robe. + +An’ now Wah-bee-noh made a plan an’ gave it to his daughter who was +called Oh-pee-chee, the Robin, to carry out; for the Robin was full of +craft an’ cunning, an’ moreover, beautiful among the young girls of the +Sioux. + +The Robin dressed herself until she was like the red bird; an’ then she +walked up an’ down in front of the lodge of the Swallow. An’ when the +Swallow saw her, his nature which was light as dead leaves at once +became drawn to the Robin, an’ the Swallow laughed an’ made a place by +his side for the Robin to sit down. With that the Robin came an’ sat by +his side; an’ after a little she sang to him Ewah-yeah, the Sleep-song, +an’ the Swallow was overcome; his eyes closed an’ slumber settled down +upon him like a night-fog. + +Then the Robin stole the knife from its sheath an’ the bear-claws from +about the neck of the Swallow; but the medicine robe the Robin could not +get because the Swallow was asleep upon it, an’ if she pulled it from +beneath him he would wake up. + +The Robin took the knife an’ the bear-claws an’ carried them to +Wah-bee-noh, her father, who got twelve ponies from Kwa-Sind for them +an’ added the ponies to his herd. An’ the heart of Wah-bee-noh danced +the miser’s dance of gain in his bosom from mere gladness; an’ because +he would have eight more ponies from Kwa-Sind, he sent the Robin back to +steal the medicine robe when the Swallow should wake up. + +The Robin went back, an’ finding the Swallow still asleep on the +medicine robe, lay down by his side; an’ soon she too fell asleep, for +the Robin was a very tired squaw since to be cunning an’ full of craft +is hard work an’ soon wearies one. + +When the Swallow woke up he missed his knife an’ bear-claws. Also, he +remembered that Moh-Kwa had warned him for the lightness of his spirit +to beware of a cunning squaw. When these thoughts came to the Swallow, +an’ seeing the Robin still sleeping by his side, he knew well that she +had stolen his knife an’ bear-claws. + +Now, the Swallow fell into a great anger an’ thought an’ thought what +he should do to make the Robin return the knife an’ bear-claws she had +stolen. Without them the Sioux would laugh at him an’ despise him as +before, an’ many would again call him Shau-goh-dah-wah, the Coward, an’ +the name bit into the Swallow’s heart like a rattlesnake an’ poisoned it +with much grief. + +While the Swallow thought an’ the Robin still lay sleeping, a plan came +to him; an’ with that, the Swallow seeing he was with the Robin lying +on the medicine robe, sat up an’ wished that both himself an’ the Robin +were in a far land of rocks an’ sand where a great pack of wolves lived. + +Like the flash an’ the flight of an arrow, the Swallow with the Robin +still asleep by his side, an’ with the medicine robe still beneath them +on the ground, found himself in a desolate land of rocks an’ sands, an’ +all about him came a band of wolves who yelped an’ showed their teeth +with the hunger that gnawed their flanks. + +Because the wolves yelped, the Robin waked up; an’ when she saw their +white teeth shining with hunger she fell down from a big fear an’ cried +an’ twisted one hand with the other, thinking Pau-guk, the Death, was on +his way to get her. The Robin wept an’ turned to the Swallow an’ begged +him to put her back before the lodge of Wah-bee-noh, her father. + +But the Swallow, with the anger of him who is robbed, spoke hard words +out of his mouth. + +“Give me back the knife an’ the bear-claws you have stolen. You are a +bad squaw, full of cunning an’ very crafty; but here I shall keep you +an’ feed you--legs an’ arms an’ head an’ body--to my wolf-friends +who yelp an’ show their teeth out yonder, unless I have my knife an’ +bear-claws again.” + +This brought more fear on the Robin, an’ she felt that the Swallow’s +words were as a shout for Pau-guk, the Death, to make haste an’ claim +her; yet her cunning was not stampeded but stood firm in her heart. + +The Robin said that the Swallow must give her time to grow calm an’ +then she would find the knife an’ bear-claws for him. While the Swallow +waited, the Robin still wept an’ sobbed for fear of the white teeth of +the wolves who stood in a circle about them. But little by little, the +crafty Robin turned her sobs softly into Ewah-yeah, the Sleep-song; an’ +soon slumber again tied the hands an’ feet an’ stole the eyes of the +Swallow. + +Now the Robin did not hesitate. She tore the big medicine robe from +beneath the Swallow; throwing herself into its folds, the Robin wished +herself again before Wah-bee-noh’s lodge, an’ with that the robe rushed +with her away across the skies like the swoop of a hawk. The Swallow was +only awake in time to see the Robin go out of sight like a bee hunting +its hive. + +Now the Swallow was so cast down with shame that he thought he would +call Pau-guk, the Death, an’ give himself to the wolves who sat watching +with their hungry eyes. But soon his heart came back, an’ his spirit +which was light as dead leaves, stirred about hopefully in his bosom. + +While he considered what he should now do, helpless an’ hungry, in this +desolate stretch of rocks an’ sand an’ no water, the thorn which +had been in Moh-Kwa’s paw pricked his foot where it lay sewed in his +moccasin. With that the Swallow wished he might only see the Wise Bear +to tell him his troubles. + +As the Swallow made this wish, an’ as if to answer it, he saw Moh-Kwa +coming across the rocks an’ the sand. When the wolves saw Moh-Kwa, they +gave a last howl an’ ran for their hiding places. + +Moh-Kwa himself said nothing when he came up, an’ the Swallow spoke not +for shame but lay quiet while Moh-Kwa took him by the belt which was +about his middle an’ throwing him over his shoulder as if the Swallow +were a dead deer, galloped off like the wind for his own house. + +When Moh-Kwa had reached his house, he gave the Swallow a piece of +buffalo meat to eat. Then Moh-Kwa said: + +“Because you would be a fool over a beautiful squaw who was cunning, you +have lost my three gifts that were your fortune an’ good fame. Still, +because you were only a fool, I will get them back for you. You must +stay here, for you cannot help since your spirit is as light as dead +leaves, an’ would not be steady for so long a trail an’ one which calls +for so much care to follow.” + +Then Moh-Kwa went to the door of his house an’ called his three +friends, Sug-gee-mah, the Mosquito, Sub-bee-kah-shee, the Spider, an’ +Wah-wah-tah-see, the Firefly; an’ to these he said: + +“Because you are great warriors an’ fear nothing in your hearts I have +called you.” + +An’ at that, Wah-wah-tah-see, an’ Sub-bee-kah-shee, an’ Sug-gee-mah +stood very straight an’ high, for being little men it made them proud +because so big a bear as Moh-Kwa had called them to be his help. + +“To you, Sub-bee-kah-shee,” said Moh-Kwa, turning to the Spider, “I +leave Kwa-Sind; to you, Wah-wah-tah-see, the Firefly, falls the honor of +slaying Wah-bee-noh, the bad medicine man; while unto you, Sug-gee-mah +descends the hardest task, for you must fight a great battle with +Nee-pah-win, the Sleep.” + +Moh-Kwa gave his orders to his three friends; an’ with that +Sub-bee-kah-shee, crept to the side of Kwa-Sind where he slept an’ bit +him on the cheek; an’ Kwa-Sind turned first gray an’ then black with the +spider’s venom, an’ then died in the hands of Pau-guk, the Death, who +had followed the Spider to Kwa-Sind’s lodge. + +[Illustration: 0305] + +While this was going forward, Wah-wah-tah-see, the Firefly, came as +swift as wing could carry to the lodge where Wah-bee-noh was asleep +rolled up in a bear-skin. Wah-bee-noh was happy, for with the big +medicine robe which the Robin had brought him, he already had bought the +eight further ponies from Kwa-Sind an’ they then grazed in Wah-bee-noh’s +herd. As Wah-bee-noh laughed in his sleep because he dreamed of the +twenty ponies he had earned from Kwa-Sind, the Firefly stooped an’ stung +him inside his mouth. An’ so perished Wah-bee-noh in a flame of fever, +for the poison of Wah-wah-tah-see, the Firefly, burns one to death like +live coals. + +Sug-gee-mah, the Mosquito, found Nee-pah-win, the Sleep, holding the +Robin fast. But Sug-gee-mah was stout, an’ he stooped an’ stung the +Sleep so hard he let go of the Robin an’ stood up to fight. + +All night an’ all day an’ all night, an’ yet many days an’ nights, did +Sug-gee-mah, the ‘bold Mosquito, an’ Nee-pah-win, the Sleep, fight for +the Robin. An’ whenever Nee-pah-win, the Sleep, would take the Robin in +his arms, ‘Sug-gee-mah, the Mosquito, would strike him with his little +lance. For many days an’ nights did Sug-gee-mah, the Mosquito, hold +Nee-pah-win, the Sleep, at bay; an’ in the end the Robin turned wild an’ +crazy, for unless Nee-pah-win, the Sleep, takes each man an’ woman in +his arms when the sun goes down it is as if they were bitten by the evil +polecats who are rabid; an’ the men an’ women who are not held in the +arms of Nee-pah-win go mad an’ rave like starved wolves till they die. +An’ thus it was with the Robin. After many days an’ nights, Pau-guk, +the Death, came for her also, an’ those three who had done evil to the +Swallow were punished. + +Moh-Kwa, collecting the knife, the bear-claws an’ the big medicine robe +from the lodge of Kwa-Sind, gave them to the Swallow again. This time +the Swallow stood better guard, an’ no squaw, however cunning, might +make a fool of him--though many tried--so he kept his knife, the +bear-claws, an’ the big medicine robe these many years while he lived. + +As for Sub-bee-kah-shee, the Spider, an’ Wah-wah-tah-see, the Firefly, +an’ Sug-gee-mah, the brave Mosquito, Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, for a +reward gave them an’ their countless squaws an’ papooses forever that +fine swamp where Apuk-wah, the Bulrush, grows thick an’ green, an’ +makes a best hunting grounds for the three little warriors who killed +Kwa-Sind, Wah-bee-noh, an’ the Robin on that day when Moh-Kwa called +them his enemies. An’ now when every man was at peace an’ happy, Moh-Kwa +brought the Sioux together an’ re-named the Swallow “Thorn-Puller;” an’ +by that name was he known till he died. + +“How many are there of these Sioux folk-lore tales?” asked the Jolly +Doctor of Sioux Sam. + +“How many leaves in June?” asked Sioux Sam. “If our Great Medicine”--so +he called the Jolly Doctor--“were with the Dakotahs, the old men an’ +the squaws would tell him a fresh one for every fresh hour of his life. +There is no end.” + +While the Jolly Doctor was reflecting on this reply, the Red Nosed +Gentleman, raising his glass of burgundy to the Sour Gentleman who +returned the compliment in whiskey, said: + +“My respects to you, sir; and may we hope you will now give us that +adventure of The German Girl’s Diamonds?” + +“I shall have the utmost pleasure,” responded the Sour Gentleman. “You +may not consider it of mighty value as a story, but perhaps as a chapter +in former Custom’s iniquity one may concede it a use.” + + + + +CHAPTER XX.--THE GERMAN GIRL’S DIAMONDS. + +It cannot be said, my friends, that I liked my position in that sink of +evil, the New York Customs. I was on good terms with my comrades, but I +founded no friendships among them. It has been and still is a belief of +mine, and one formed at an early age, that everybody wears suggestive +resemblance to some bird or fish or beast. I’ve seen a human serpent’s +face, triangular, poisonous, menacing with ophidian eyes; I’ve seen a +dove’s face, soft, gentle, harmless, and with lips that cooed as they +framed and uttered words. And there are faces to remind one of dogs, of +sheep, of apes, of swine, of eagles, of pike--ravenous, wide-mouthed, +swift. I’ve even encountered a bear’s face on Broadway--one full of a +window-peering curiosity, yet showing a contented, sluggish sagacity +withal. And every face about me in the Customs would carry out my +theory. As I glanced from Lorns to Quin, and from Quin to another, and +so to the last upon the list, I beheld reflected as in a glass, a hawk, +or an owl, or a wolf, or a fox, or a ferret, or even a cat. But each +rapacious; each stamped with the instinct of predation as though the +word “Wolf” were written across his forehead. Even Betelnut Jack gave +one the impression that belongs with some old, rusty black-eagle with +worn and tumbled plumage. I took no joy of my comrades; saw no more of +them than I might; despised my trade of land-pirate--for what better +could it be called?--and following that warning from “Josephus” was +ever haunted of a weird fear of what might come. Still, I remained and +claimed my loot with the rest. And you ask why? When all is said, I +was as voracious as the others; I clinked the coins in my pocket, and +consoled myself against the foul character of such profits with that +thought of Vespasian: “The smell of all money is sweet.” + +Following my downfall of tobacco, I had given up my rich apartments in +Twenty-second Street; and while I retained my membership, I went no more +to the two or three clubs into which I’d been received. In truth, these +Custom House days I seldom strolled as far northward as Twenty-third +Street; but taking a couple of moderate rooms to the south of Washington +Square, I stuck to them or to the park in front as much as ever I might; +passing a lonely life and meeting none I’d known before. + +One sun-filled September afternoon, being free at that hour, I was +occupying a bench in Washington Square, amusing my idleness with the +shadows chequered across the walk by an overspreading tree. A sound +caught my ear; I looked up to be mildly amazed by the appearance of +Betelnut Jack. It was seldom my chief was found so far from his eyrie +in the Bowery; evidently he was seeking me. His first words averred as +much. + +“I was over to your rooms,” remarked Betelnut Jack; “they told me you +were here.” + +Then he gave me a pure Havana--for we of the Customs might smoke what +cigars we would--lighted another and betook himself to a few moments of +fragrant, wordless tranquility. I was aware, of course, that Betelnut +Jack had a purpose in coming; but curiosity was never among my vices, +and I did not ask his mission. With a feeling of indifference, I awaited +its development in his own good way and time. + +Betelnut Jack was more apt to listen than talk; but upon this Washington +Square afternoon, he so far departed those habits of taciturnity +commonly his own as to furnish the weight of conversation. He did not +hurry to his business, but rambled among a score of topics. He even +described to me by what accident he arrived at his by-name of Betelnut +Jack. He said he was a sailor in his youth. Then he related how he went +on deep water ships to India and to the China seas; how he learned to +chew betel from the Orientals; how after he came ashore he was still +addicted to betel; how a physician, ignorant of betel and its crimson +consequences, fell into vast excitement over what he concevied to be a +perilous hemorrhage; and how before Jack could explain, seized on +him and hurried him into a near-by drug shop. When he understood his +mistake, the physician took it in dudgeon, and was inclined to blame +Jack for those sanguinary yet fraudulent symptoms. One result of +the adventure was to re-christen him “Betelnut Jack,” the name still +sticking, albeit he had for long abandoned betel as a taste outgrown. + +Betelnut Jack continued touching his career in New York; always with +caution, however, slurring some parts and jumping others; from which I +argued that portions of my chief’s story were made better by not being +divulged. It occurred, too, as a deduction drawn from his confidences +that Betelnut Jack had been valorous as a Know-Nothing; and he spoke +with rapture of the great prize-fighter, Tom Hyer, who beat Yankee +Sullivan; and then of the fistic virtues of the brave Bill Poole, coming +near to tears as he set forth the latter’s murder in Stanwix Hall. + +Also, I gathered that Betelnut Jack had been no laggard at hurling +stones and smashing windows in the Astor Place riot of 1849. + +“And the soldiers killed one hundred and thirty-four,” sighed Betelnut +Jack, when describing the battle; “and wounded four times as many more. +And all, mind you! for a no-good English actor with an Irish name!” This +last in accents of profound disgust. + +In the end Betelnut Jack began to wax uneasy; it was apparent how he +yearned for his nest in the familiar Bowery. With that he came bluntly +to the purpose. + +“To-morrow, early,” he said, “take one of the women inspectors and go +down to quarantine. Some time in the course of the day, the steamship +‘Wolfgang,’ from Bremen, will arrive. Go aboard at once. In the second +cabin you will find a tall, gray, old German; thin, with longish hair. +He may have on dark goggles; if he hasn’t, you will observe that he is +blind of the right eye. His daughter, a girl of twenty-three, will +be with him. Her hair will be done up in that heavy roll which +hair-dressers call the ‘waterfall,’ and hang in a silk close-meshed +net low on her neck. Hidden in the girl’s hair are diamonds of a Berlin +value of over one hundred and twenty thousand dollars. You will search +the old man, and have the woman inspector search the girl. Don’t conduct +yourselves as though you knew what you were looking for. Tell your +assistant to find the girl’s diamonds naturally; let her work to them by +degrees, not swoop on them.” + +Then Betelnut Jack disposed himself for homeward flight. I asked how he +became aware of the jewels and the place of their concealment. + +“Never mind that now,” was his reply; “you’ll know later. But get the +diamonds; they’re there and you must not fail. I’ve come for you, as +you’re more capable of doing the gentleman than some of the others, and +this is a case where a dash of refinement won’t hurt the trick.” + +With that Betelnut Jack lounged over to Fourth Street and disappeared +towards Broadway and the Bowery further east. + +Following my chief’s departure, I continued in idle contemplation of the +shadows. This occupation did not forbid a mental looking up and down of +what would be my next day’s work. The prospect was far from refreshing. +When one is under thirty, a proposal to plunder a girl--a beautiful +girl, doubtless--of her diamonds, does not appeal to one. There would be +woe, tears, lamentations, misery with much wringing of hands. I began to +call myself a villain. + +Then, as against her, and defensive of myself, I argued the outlaw +character of the girl’s work. Be she beautiful or be she favored ill, +still she is breaking the law. It was our oath to seize the gems; +whatever of later wrong was acted, at best or worst, it was no wrong +done her. In truth! when she was at last left free and at liberty, she +would be favored beyond her deserts; for those Customs laws which she +was cheating spoke of grates and keys and bars and bolts. + +In this wise, and as much as might be, I comforted myself against the +disgrace of an enterprise from which I naturally recoiled, hardening +myself as to the poor girl marked to be our prey. I confess I gained no +great success; say what I might, I contemned myself. + +While thus ruminating that dishonor into which I conceived myself to +have fallen, I recalled a story written by Edgar Allen Poe. It is a +sketch wherein a wicked man is ever followed and thwarted by one +who lives his exact semblance in each line of face and form. This +doppel-ganger, as the Germans name him, while the same with himself +in appearance and dress, is his precise opposite in moral nature. This +struggle between the haunted one and his weird, begins in boyhood +and continues till middle age. At the last, frantic under a final +opposition, the haunted one draws sword and slays his enemy. Too late, +as he wipes the blood from his blade, he finds that he has killed +his better self; too late he sees that from that time to the end, the +present will have no hope, the future hold no heaven; that he must sink +and sink and sink, until he is grasped by those hands outstretched of +hell to forever have him for their horrid own. I wondered if I were not +like that man unhappy; I asked if I did not, by these various defenses +and apologies which I made ever for my wickedness, work towards the +death of my better nature whose destruction when it did come would mean +the departure forever of my soul’s chance. + +I stood up and shook myself in a canine way. Decidedly, loneliness was +making me morbid! However that may have been, I passed a far from happy +afternoon. + +Fairly speaking, these contentions shook me somewhat in my resolves. +There were moments when I determined to refuse my diamond-hunting +commission and resign my place. I even settled the style of my +resignation; it should be full of sarcasm. + +But alas! these white dreams faded; in the end I was ready to execute +the orders of Betelnut Jack; and that which decided me was surely the +weakest thought of all. Somehow, I had in my thoughts put down the +coming German maiden as beautiful; Betelnut Jack had said her age was +twenty-three, which helped me to this thought of girlish loveliness. +Thus, my imaginings worked in favor of the girl. + +But next the thought fell blackly that she would some day--probably a +near day--love some man unknown and marry him. Possibly this lover she +already knew; perhaps he was here and she on her way to meet him! This +will sound like jest; it will earn derision from healthful, balanced +spirits; and yet I tell but the truth. + +I experienced a vague, resentful jealousy, hated this imagined lover +of a girl I’d never met, and waxed contemptuous of aught of leniency +towards one or both. I would do as Betelnut Jack ordered; I would go +down to quarantine on the morrow; and I would find the diamonds. + +It was late in the afternoon when with a woman assistant, I boarded the +“Wolfgang” in the Narrows. My aged German was readily picked up; his +daughter was with him. And her beauty was as I’d painted on the canvas +of my thoughts. Yet when I beheld the loveliness which should have +melted me, I recalled that lover to whose arms she might be coming and +was hardened beyond recall. I told the inspectress to take her into +her private room and find the diamonds. With that, I turned my back and +strolled to the forward deck. Even at that distance I heard the shriek +of the girl when her treasure was discovered. + +“There will be less for the lover!” I thought. + +When my woman assistant--accomplice might be the truer term--joined +me, she had the jewels. They were in a long eel-skin receptacle, sewed +tightly, and had been secreted in the girl’s hair as described by +Betelnut Jack. I took the gems, and buttoning them in my coat, told my +aide--who with a feminine fashion of bitterness seemed exultant over +having deprived another of her gew-gaws--to arrest the girl, hold her +until the boat docked, frighten her with tales of fetters and dungeons +and clanging bars, and at the last to lose her on the wharf. It would +be nine o’clock of the night by then, and murk dark; this loss of her +prisoner would seem to come honestly about. + +If I were making a romance, rather than bending to a relation of cold, +gray, hard, untender facts, I would at this crisis defy Betelnut Jack, +rescue the beautiful girl, restore her jewels, love her, win her, wed +her, and with her true, dear arms about me, live happy ever after. As it +was, however, I did nothing of that good sort. My aide obeyed directions +in a mood at once thorough, blithe, and spiteful, and never more did I +set eyes on the half-blind father or the tearful, pretty, poor victim +of our diamond hunting. Lost in the crush and bustle of the wharf, they +were never found, never looked for, and never rendered themselves. + +I had considered what profit from these jewels might accrue to the ring +and the means by which it would be arrived at. I took it for granted +that some substitutional arts--when paste would take the places of old +mine gems--would be resorted to as in the excellent instance of The +Emperor’s Cigars. But Betelnut Jack shook his careful head; there would +be no hokus-pokus of substitution; there were good reasons. Also, there +was another way secure. If our profits were somewhat shaved, our safety +would be augmented; and Betelnut Jack’s watchword was “Safety first!” I +was bound to acquiesce; I the more readily did so since, like Lorns and +Quin, I had grown to perfect confidence in the plans of Betelnut Jack. +However, when now I had brushed aside etiquette and broken the ice +of the matter with my chief, I asked how he meant to manoeuver in the +affair. + +“Wait!” retorted Betelnut Jack, and that was the utmost he would say. + +In due time came the usual auction and the gems were sold. They were +snapped up by a syndicate of wise folk of Maiden Lane who paid therefor +into the hands of the government the even sum of one hundred thousand +dollars. + +Still I saw not how our ring would have advantage; no way could open for +us to handle those one hundred thousand dollars in whole or in part. +I was in error; a condition whereof I was soon to be made pleasantly +aware. + +On the day following the sale, and while the price paid still slept +unbanked in the Customs boxes of proof-steel, there came one to see our +canny chief. It is useless to waste description on this man. Suffice it +that he was in fact and in appearance as skulkingly the coward scoundrel +as might anywhere be met. This creeping creature was shown into the +private rooms of Betelnut Jack. A moment later, I was sent for. + +Betelnut Jack was occupying a chair; he wore an air of easy confidence; +and over that, a sentiment of contempt for his visitor. This latter was +posed in the middle of the room; and while an apprehension of impending +evil showed on his face, he made cringing and deprecatory gestures with +shoulders hunched and palms turned outward. + +“Sit down,” observed Betelnut Jack, pushing a chair towards me. When +I was seated, he spoke on. “Since it was you who found the diamonds, I +thought it right to have you present now. You asked me once how I knew +in advance of those gems and their scheme of concealment. To-day you may +learn. This is the gentleman who gave me the information. He did it +to obtain the reward--to receive that great per cent, of the seizure’s +proceeds which is promised the informer by the law. His information was +right; he is entitled to the reward. That is what he is here for; he has +come to be paid.” Then to the hangdog, cringing one: “Pretty good day’s +work for you, eh? Over fifty thousand dollars for a little piece of +information is stiff pay!” The hangdog one bowed lower and a smirk of +partial confidence began to broaden his face. “And now you’ve come for +your money--fifty odd thousand!” + +“If you please, sir! yes, sir!” More and wider smirks. + +“All right!” retorted Betelnut Jack. “You shall have it, friend; but not +now--not to-day.” + +“Then when?” and the smirk fled. + +“To-morrow,” said Betelnut Jack. “To-morrow, next day, any day in fact +when you bring before me to be witnesses of the transaction the father, +the sister, and your wife.” + +Across the face of the hangdog one spread a pallor that was as the +whiteness of death. There burned the fires of a hot agony in his eyes as +though a dirk had slowly pierced him. His voice fell in a husky whisper. + +“You would cheat me!” + +“No; I would do you perfect justice,” replied Betelnut Jack. “Not a +splinter do you finger until you bring your people. Your wife and her +sister and their father shall know this story, and stand here while the +money is paid. Not a stiver else! Now, go!” + +Betelnut Jack’s tones were as remorseless as a storm; they offered +nothing to hope; the hangdog one heard and crept away with a look on +his face that was but ill to see. Once the door was closed behind him, +Betelnut Jack turned with a cheerful gleam to me. + +“That ends him! It’s as you guess. This informer is the son-in-law of +the old German. He married the elder daughter. They came over four years +ago and live in Hoboken. Then the father and the younger sister were to +come. They put their whole fortune into the diamonds, aiming to cheat +the Customs and manage a profit; and the girl wrote their plans and +how they would hide the jewels to her sister. It was she who told her +husband--this fellow who’s just sneaked out. He came to me and betrayed +them; he was willing to ruin the old man and the girl to win riches for +himself. But he’s gone; he’ll not return; we’ve seen and heard the last +of them; one fears the jail, the other the wrath of his wife; and that’s +the end.” Then Betelnut Jack, as he lighted a cigar, spoke the word +which told to folk initiate of a division of spoil on the morrow. As I +arose, he said: “Ask Lorns to come here.” + +***** + +“Well,” remarked the Old Cattleman when the Sour Gentleman was done, “I +don’t want to say nothin’ to discourage you-all, but if I’d picked up +your hand that time I wouldn’t have played it. I shorely would have let +that Dutch girl keep her beads. Didn’t the thing ha’nt you afterwards?” + +“It gave me a deal of uneasiness,” responded the Sour Gentleman. “I am +not proud of my performance. And yet, I don’t see what else I might have +done. Those diamonds were as good as in the hands of Betelnut Jack from +the moment the skulking brother-in-law brought him the information.” + +“It’s one relief,” observed the Red Nosed Gentleman, “to know how that +scoundrel came off no richer by his treachery.” + +“What I observes partic’lar in the narration,” said the Old Cattleman, +“is how luck is the predominatin’ feacher throughout. The girl an’ her +old pap has bad luck in losin’ the gewgaw’s. You-all customs sharps +has good luck in havin’ the news brought to your hand as to where them +diamonds is hid, by a coyote whom you can bluff plumb outen the play at +the finish. As for the coyote informer, why he has luck in bein’ allowed +to live. + +“An’ speakin’ of luck, seein’ that in this yere story-tellin’ +arrangement that seems to have grown up in our midst, I’m the next +chicken on the roost, I’ll onfold to you gents concernin’ ‘The Luck of +Cold-sober Simms.’” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI.--THE LUCK OF COLD-SOBER SIMMS. + +Which this yere tale is mighty devious, not to say disjointed, because, +d’you see! from first to last, she’s all the truth. Now, thar is +folks sech as Injuns an’ them sagacious sports which we-all terms +philosophers, who talks of truth bein’ straight. Injuns will say a +liar has a forked tongue, while philosophers will speak of a straight +ondeviatin’ narrative, meanin’ tharby to indooce you to regyard said +story as the emanation of honesty in its every word. For myse’f I don’t +subscribe none to these yere phrases. In my own experience it’s the lies +that runs in a straight line like a bullet, whereas the truth goes onder +an’ over, an’ up an’ down, doubles an’ jumps sideways a dozen times +before ever it finally finds its camp in what book-sharps call the +“climax.” Which I says ag’in that this tale, bein’ troo, has nacherally +as many kinks in it as a new lariat. + +Bein’ thoughtful that a-way, an’ preyed on by a desire to back-track +every fact to its fountain-head, meanwhile considerin’ how different the +kyards would have fallen final if something prior had been done or left +on done, has ever been my weakness. It’s allers so with me. I can recall +as a child how back in Tennessee I deevotes hours when fish-in’ or +otherwise uselessly engaged, to wonderin’ whoever I’d have been personal +if my maw had died in her girlhood an’ pap had wedded someone else. +It’s plumb too many for me; an’ now an’ then when in a sperit of onusual +cog’tation, I ups an’ wonders where I’d be if both my maw an’ pap had +cashed in as colts, I’d jest simply set down he’pless, on-qualified to +think at all. It’s plain that in sech on-toward events as my two parents +dyin’, say, at the age of three, I sort o’ wouldn’t have happened none. +This yere solemn view never fails to give me the horrors. + +I fixes the time of this story easy as bein’ that eepock when Jim +East an’ Bob Pierce is sheriffs of the Panhandle, with headquarters +in Tascosa, an’ Bob Roberson is chief of the LIT ranch. These yere +evidences of merit on the parts of them three gents has not, however, +anything to do with how Cold-sober Simms gets rich at farobank; how two +hold-ups plots to rob him; how he’s saved by the inadvertent capture of +a bob-cat who’s strange to him entire; an’ how the two hold-ups in their +chagrin over Cold-sober’s escape an’ the mootual doubts it engenders, +pulls on each other an’ relieves the Stranglers from the labor of +stringin’ ’em to a cottonwood. + +These doin’s whereof I gives you a rapid rehearsal, has their start when +Old Scotty an’ Locoed Charlie gets drunk in Tascosa prior to startin’ +west on their buckboard with the mailbags of the Lee-Scott ranch. Locoed +Charlie an’ Old Scotty is drunk when they pulls out; Cold-sober Simms +is with ’em as a passenger. At their night camp half way to the +Lee-Scott, Locoed Charlie, whose head can’t stand the strain of Jenkins’ +nose-paint, makes war-medicine an’ lays for Old Scotty all spraddled +out. As the upcome of these yere hostilities, Old Scotty confers a most +elab’rate beatin’ on Locoed Charlie; after which they-all cooks their +grub, feeds, an’ goes to sleep. + +But Locoed Charlie don’t go to sleep; he lays thar drunk an’ disgruntled +an’ hungerin’ to play even. As a good revengeful scheme, Locoed Charlie +allows he’ll get up an’ secrete the mailbag, thinkin’ tharby to worry +Old Scotty till he sweats blood. Locoed Charlie packs the mailbag over +among some rocks which is thick grown with cedar bresh. When it comes +sun-up an’ Locoed Charlie is sober an’ repents, an’ tells Old Scotty +of his little game, neither he nor Scotty can find that mailbag nohow. +Locoed Charlie shore hides her good. + +Locoed Charlie an’ Scotty don’t dare go on without it, but stays an’ +searches; Cold-sober Simms--who is given this yere nom-de-guerre, as +Colonel Sterett terms it, because he’s the only sport in the Panhandle +who don’t drink--stays with ’em to help on the hunt. At last, failin’ +utter to discover the missin’ mail, Locoed Charlie an’ Old Scotty +returns to Tascosa in fear an’ tremblin’, not packin’ the nerve to +face McAllister, who manages for the Lee-Scott, an’ inform him of the +yoonique disposition they makes of his outfit’s letters. This return +to Tascosa is, after all, mere proodence, since McAllister is a mighty +emotional manager, that a-way, an’ it’s as good as even money he hangs +both of them culprits in that first gust of enthoosiasm which would +be shore to follow any explanation they can make. So they returns; an’ +because he can’t he’p himse’f none, bein’ he’s only a passenger on that +buckboard, Cold-sober Simms returns with ’em. No, the mailbag is +found a week later by a Lee-Scott rider, an’ for the standin’ of Locoed +Charlie an’ Scotty it’s as well he does. + +Cold-sober is some sore at bein’ baffled in his trip to the Lee-Scott +since he aims to go to work thar as a rider. To console himse’f, he +turns in an’ bucks a faro game that a brace of onknown black-laigs who +shows in Tascosa from Fort Elliot the day prior, has onfurled in +James’ s’loon. As sometimes happens, Cold-sober plays in all brands +an’ y’earmarks of luck, an’ in four hours breaks the bank. It ain’t +overstrong, no sech institootion of finance in fact as Cherokee Hall’s +faro game in Wolfville, an’ when Cold-sober calls the last nine-king +turn for one hundred, an’ has besides a hundred on the nine, coppered, +an’ another hundred open on the king, tharby reapin’ six hundred dollars +as the froots of said feat, the sharp who’s deal-in’ turns up his box +an’ tells Cold-sober to set in his chips to be cashed. Cold-sober sets +’em in; nine thousand five hundred dollars bein’ the roundup, an’ the +dealer-sharp hands over the dinero. Then in a sperit of resentment the +dealer-sharp picks up the faro-box an’ smashes it ag’in the wall. + +“Thar bein’ nothin’ left,” he says to his fellow black-laig, who’s +settin’ in the look-out’s chair, “for you an’ me but to prance out an’ +stand up a stage, we may as well dismiss that deal-box from our affairs. +I knowed that box was a hoodoo ever since Black Morgan gets killed over +it in Mobeetie; an’ so I tells you, but you-all wouldn’t heed.” + +Cold-sober is shore elated about his luck; them nine thousand odd +dollars is more wealth than he ever sees; an’ how to dispose of it, now +he’s got it, begins to bother Cold-sober a heap. One gent says, “Hive +it in Howard’s Store!” another su’gests he leave it with old man Cohn; +while still others agrees it’s Cold-sober’s dooty to blow it in. + +“Which if I was you-all,” says Johnny Cook of the LIT outfit, “I’d +shore sally forth an’ buy nose-paint with that treasure while a peso +remained.” But Cold-sober turns down these divers proposals an’ allows +he’ll pack said roll in his pocket a whole lot, which he accordin’ does. + +Cold-sober hangs ’round Tascosa for mighty near a week, surrenderin’ all +thought of gettin’ to the Lee-Scott ranch, feelin’ that he’s now +too rich to punch cattle. Doorin’ this season of idleness art’ease, +Cold-sober bunks in with a jimcrow English doctor who’s got a ’doby in +Tascosa an’ who calls himse’f Chepp. He’s a decent form of maverick, +however, this yere Chepp, an’ him an’ Cold-sober becomes as thick as +thieves. + +Cold-sober’s stay with Chepp is brief as I states; in a week he gets +restless ag’in for work; whereupon he hooks up with Roberson, an’ goes +p’intin’ south across the Canadian on a L I T hoss to hold down one of +that brand’s sign-camps in Mitchell’s canyon. It’s only twenty miles, +an’ lie’s thar in half a day--him an’ Wat Peacock who’s to be his mate. +An’ Cold-sober packs with him that fortune of ninety-five hundred. + +The two black-laigs who’s been depleted that away still hankers about +Tascosa; but as mighty likely they don’t own the riches to take ’em +out o’ town, not much is thought. Nor does it ruffle the feathers of +commoonal suspicion when the two disappears a few days after Cold-sober +goes ridin’ away to assoome them LIT reesponsibilities in Mitchell’s +canyon. The public is too busy to bother itse’f about ’em. It comes +out later, however, that the goin’ of Cold-sober has everything to do +with the exodus of them hold-ups, an’ that they’ve been layin’ about +since they loses their roll on a chance of get-tin’ it back. When +Cold-sober p’ints south for Mitchell’s that time, it’s as good as these +outlaws asks. They figgers on trailin’ him to Mitchell’s an’ hidin’ out +ontil some hour when Peacock’s off foolin’ about the range; when they +argues Cold-sober would be plumb easy, an’ they’ll kill an’ skelp him +an’ clean him up for his money, an’ ride away. + +“In fact,” explains the one Cold-sober an’ Peacock finds alive, “it’s +our idee that the killin’ an’ skelpin’ an’ pillagin’ of Cold-sober would +get layed to Peacock, which would mean safety for us an’ at the same +time be a jest on Peacock that would be plumb hard to beat.” That was +the plan of these outlaws; an’ the cause of its failure is the followin’ +episode, to wit: + +It looks like this Doc Chepp is locoed to collect wild anamiles that +a-way. + +“Which I wants,” says this shorthorn Chepp, “a speciment of every sort +o’ the fauna of these yere regions, savin’ an’ exceptin’ polecats. I +knows enough of the latter pungent beast from an encounter I has with +one, to form notions ag’in ’em over which not even the anxious cry of +science can preevail. Polecats is barred from my c’llec-tions. But,” + an’ said Chepp imparts this last to Cold-sober as the latter starts for +Mitchell’s, “if by any sleight or dexterity you-all accomplishes the +capture of a bob-cat, bring the interestin’ creature to me at once. An’ +bring him alive so I may observe an’ note his pecooliar traits.” + +It’s the third mornin’ in Mitchell’s when a bobcat is seen by Cold-sober +an’ Peacock to go sa’nter-in’ up the valley. Mebby this yere bob-cat’s +homeless; mebby he’s a dissoloote bob-cat an’ has been out all night +carousin’ with other bob-cats an’ is simply late gettin’ in; be the +reason of his appearance what it may, Cold-sober remembers about Doc +Chepp’s wish to own a bob-cat, an’ him an’ Peacock lets go all holds, +leaps for their ponies an’ gives chase. Thar’s a scramblin’ run up the +canyon; then Peacock gets his rope onto it, an’ next Cold-sober fastens +with his rope, an’ you hear me, gents, between ’em they almost rends +this yere onhappy bobcat in two. They pauses in time, however, an’ after +a fearful struggle they succeeds in stuffin’ the bob-cat into Peacock’s +leather laiggin’s, which the latter gent removes for that purpose. +Bound hand an’ foot, an’ wropped in the laiggin’s so tight he can hardly +squawl, that bob-cat’s put before Cold-sober on his saddle; an’ +this bein’ fixed, Cold-sober heads for Tascosa to present him to his +naturalist friend, Chepp, Peacock scamperin’ cheerfully along like a +drunkard to a barbecue regyardin’ the racket as a ondeniable excuse for +gettin’ soaked. + +This adventure of the bob-cat is the savin’ clause in the case of +Cold-sober Simms. As the bobcat an’ him an’ Peacock rides away, them two +malefactors is camped not five miles off, over by the Serrita la Cruz, +an’ arrangin’ to go projectin’ ’round for Cold-sober an’ his ninety-five +hundred that very evenin’. In truth, they execootes their scheme; but +only to find when they jumps his camp in Mitchell’s that Cold-sober’s +done vamosed a whole lot. + +It’s then trouble begins to gather for the two rustlers. The one who +deals the game that time is so overcome by Cold-sober’s absence, he +peevishly puts it up that his pard gives Cold-sober warnin’ with the +idee of later whackin’ up the roll with him by way of a reward for his +virchoo. Nacherally no se’f-respectin’ miscreant will submit to sech +impeachments, an’ the accoosed makes a heated retort, punctuatin’ his +observations with his gun. Thar-upon the other proceeds to voice his +feelin’s with his six-shooter; an’ the mootual remarks of these yere +dispootants is so well aimed an’ ackerate that next evenin’ when +Cold-sober an’ Peacock returns, they finds one dead an’ t’other dyin’ +with even an’ exact jestice broodin’ over all. + +As Cold-sober an’ Peacock is settin’ by their fire that night, restin’ +from their labors in plantin’ the two hold-ups, Cold-sober starts up +sudden an’ says: + +“Yereafter I adopts a bob-cat for my coat-o’-arms. Also, I changes my +mind about Howard, an’ to-morry I’ll go chargin’ into Tascosa an’ leave +said ninety-five hundred in his iron box. Thar’s more ‘bad men’ at Fort +Elliot than them two we plants, an’ mebby some more of ’em may come +a-weavin’ up the Canadian with me an’ my wealth as their objective +p’int.” + +Peacock endorses the notion enthoosiastic, an’ declar’s himse’f in on +the play as a body-guard; for he sees in this yere second expedition a +new o’casion for another drunk, an’ Peacock jest nacherally dotes on a +debauch. + +***** + +“And what did your Cold-sober Simms,” asked the Sour Gentleman, “finally +do with his money? Did he go into the cattle business?” + +“Never buys a hoof,” returned the Old Cattleman. “No, indeed; he loses +it ag’in monte in Kelly’s s’loon in Dodge. Charley Bassett who’s marshal +at the time tries to git Cold-sober to pass up that monte game. But thar +ain’t no headin’ him; he would buck it, an’ so the sharp who’s deal-in’, +Butcher Knife Bill it is--turns in an’ knocks Cold-sober’s horns plumb +off.” + +The sudden collapse of the volatile Cold-sober’s fortunes was quite a +dampener to the Sour Gentleman; he evidently entertained a hope that the +painted images, which is the more likely, then he had resort to the +phantasmagoric magic lantern, rolling upon a small track. Pushing +this contrivance backwards and forwards caused the images to lessen +or increase, to recede or advance. + +Robertson realized quite a snug fortune out of his ghost exhibition +and other inventions. His automaton speaking figure, called _le +phonorganon_, uttered two hundred words of the French language. +Another interesting piece of mechanism was his Trumpeter. These two +machines formed part of a beautiful _Cabinet de Physique_ in his +house, the Hotel d’ Yorck, Boulevard Montmartre, No. 12 Paris. He +has left some entertaining memoirs, entitled _Mémoires récréatifs et +anecdotifs_ (1830–1834), copies of which are exceedingly rare. He was +a great aeronaut and invented the parachute which has been wrongly +attributed to Garnerin. + +Robertson, as _Commandant des Aerostiers_, served in the French army, +and rendered valuable service with his balloons in observing the +movements of the enemy in the campaigns in Belgium and Holland, under +General Jourdain. In the year 1804 he wrote a treatise on ballooning, +entitled, _La Minerve, vaisseau Aérien destiné aux découvertes, et +proposé, à toutes les Académies de l’Europe_, published at Vienna. He +died at Batignolles (Paris) in 1837. + +In his memoirs, Robertson describes a species of optical toy called +the Phantascope, for producing illusions on a small scale. This may +give a clue to his spectres of the Capuchin Convent. He also offers +an explanation of Nostradamus’ famous feat of conjuring up the +likeness of Francis I. in a magic mirror, for the edification of the +beautiful Marie de Médici. + + +II. + +We now come to the greatest of all ghost-shows, that of the +Polytechnic Institute, London. In the year 1863 letters patent {93} +were granted to Professor John Henry Pepper, professor of chemistry +in the London Polytechnic Institute, and Henry Dircks, civil +engineer, for a device “for projecting images of living persons in +the air.” Here were no concave mirrors, no magic lanterns, simply +a large sheet of unsilvered glass. The effect is founded on a +well-known optical illusion. “In the evening carry a lighted candle +to the window and you will see reflected in the pane, not only the +image of the candle, but that of your hand and face as well. A sheet +of glass, inclined at a certain angle, is placed on a stage between +the actors and spectators. Beneath the stage and just in front of the +glass, is a person robed in a white shroud, and illuminated by the +brilliant rays of the electric or the oxy-hydrogen light. The image +of the actor who plays the part of spectre, being reflected by the +glass, becomes visible to the spectators, and stands, apparently, +just as far behind the glass as its prototype is placed in front of +it. This image is only visible to the audience. The actor who is on +the stage sees nothing of it, and in order that he may not strike +at random in his attacks on the spectre, it is necessary to mark +beforehand on the boards the particular spot at which, to the eyes of +the audience, the phantom will appear. Care must be taken to have the +theatre darkened and the stage very dimly lighted.” + +At the Polytechnic Institute the ghost was admirably produced. The +stage represented the room of a mediaeval student who was engaged in +burning the midnight oil. Looking up from his black-letter tome he +beheld the apparition of a skeleton. Resenting the intrusion he arose +from his chair, seized a sword which was ready to his hand, and aimed +a blow at the figure, which vanished, only to return again and again. + +The assistant who manipulated the spectre wore a cover of black +velvet. He held the real skeleton in his arms, and made the fleshless +bones assume the most grotesque attitudes. He had evidently studied +Holbein’s “Dance of Death.” The lower part of the skeleton, from the +pelvis downward, was dressed in white linen, presumably a shroud. To +the audience the figure seemed to vanish and reappear through the +floor. {94} + +This ghost-making apparatus has been used with splendid success in +the dramatizations of Dickens’ _Christmas Carol_ and _Haunted Man_; +Bulwer’s _Strange Story_; and Alexander Dumas’ _Corsican Brothers_. + +“In the course of the same year (1863),” says Robert-Houdin in his +_Les Secrets de la prestidigitation et de la magie_, “M. Hostein, +manager of the Imperial Châtelet Theatre, purchased[19] from M. +Pepper the secret of the ‘Ghost,’ in order to introduce it into a +drama entitled _Le Secret de Miss Aurore_ [a French adaptation of +“Aurora Floyd”]. M. Hostein spared no expense in order to ensure the +success of the illusion. Three enormous sheets of unsilvered glass, +each five yards square, were placed side by side, and presented +an ample surface for the reflection of the ghost-actor and his +movements. Two Drummond lights (oxy-hydrogen) were used for the +purpose of the trick. + + [19] He paid 20,000 francs for the invention. + +“But before the trick was in working order at its new destination, +several of the Parisian theatres, in the face of letters patent duly +granted to M. Pepper, had already advertised performances wherein it +was included. + +“M. Hostein had no means of preventing the piracy; unluckily for +himself, and still more so for the inventor, the plagiarists had +discovered among the French official records a patent taken out, +ten years before, by a person named Séguin for a toy called the +_Polyoscope_, which was founded on the same principle as the ghost +illusion.” + +Professor Pepper claims to have been totally unaware of the existence +of M. Séguin’s Polyoscope. In his _True History of the Ghost_, Pepper +describes the toy as follows: + +“It consisted of a box with a small sheet of glass placed at an angle +of forty-five degrees, and it reflected a concealed table, with +plastic figures, the spectres of which appeared behind the glass, and +which young people who possessed the toy invited their companions +to take out of the box, when they melted away, as it were, in their +hands and disappeared.” + +In France, at that time, all improvements on a patent fell to the +original patentee, and Pepper found himself out-of-court. {95} + +The conjurer Robin claims, on very good authority, to have been the +original inventor of the ghost illusion. He writes as follows: + +“I first had the idea of producing the apparitions in 1845. Meeting +innumerable difficulties in carrying out my invention I was obliged +to wait until 1847 before reaching a satisfactory result. In that +year I was able to exhibit the ‘spectres’ to the public in the +theatres of Lyons and Saint Etienne under the name of ‘The living +phantasmagoria.’ To my great astonishment I produced little effect. +The apparitions still were in want of certain improvements which I +have since added. After succeeding in perfecting them I met with +great success in exhibiting them in Venice, Rome, Munich, Vienna and +Brussels, but as my experiments were very costly I was obliged to lay +them aside for some time.” + +He further declares that M. Séguin, who had been employed by him to +paint phantasmagoric figures, had based his toy, the Polyoscope, +upon the principle of his (Robin’s) spectres. Robin was one of the +managers who brought out the illusion in Paris, despite the protests +of M. Hostein. He opposed Hostein with the patent of the Polyoscope +and some of his old theatre posters of the year 1847, advertising the +“living phantasmagoria.” + +Houdin is rather severe on M. Robin when he classes him among the +plagiarists and pirates. But the two conjurers were great rivals. +M. Caroly, editor of the _Illusioniste_, in an article on Robin, +suggests that perhaps Pepper had seen and examined a Polyoscope, +and built upon it the theatrical illusion of the ghost. My personal +belief is that Professor Pepper was ignorant of the existence of the +toy as well as of Robin’s former exhibitions of phantasmagoria, and +independently thought out the ghost illusion. This frequently happens +among inventors, as every one knows, who has dealings with the U. S. +Patent Office. + +In the year 1868, there was exhibited in Paris, at the Ambigu +Theatre, the melodrama of “La Czarine,” founded on Robert-Houdin’s +story of Kempelen’s Automaton Chess Player. In this play was a +remarkable use of the “ghost illusion,” arranged by Houdin, as well +as a chess-playing automaton. I quote as {96} follows from Houdin’s +_Les Secrets de la prestidigitation et de la magie_, Chapter VI: +“My collaborators, Messrs. Adenis and Gastineau, had asked me to +arrange a ‘ghost effect’ for the last act. I had recourse to the +‘ghost illusion’, but I presented it in such guise as to give it a +completely novel character, as the reader will be enabled to judge +from the following description: The scene is laid in Russia, in +the reign of Catherine II. In the last act, an individual named +Pougatcheff, who, on the strength of a personal likeness to Peter +III, attempts to pass himself off as the deceased monarch, is +endeavoring to incite the Russian populace to dethrone Catherine. A +learned man, M. de Kempelen, who is devoted to the Czarina, succeeds, +by the aid of scientific expedients, in neutralizing the villainous +designs of the sham prince. + +“The scene is a savage glen, behind which is seen a background of +rugged rocks. Pougatcheff appears, surrounded by a crowd of noisy +adherents. M. de Kempelen comes forward, denounces the impostor, and +declares that, to complete his confusion, he will call up the spirit +of the genuine Peter III. At his command a sarcophagus appears from +the solid rock; it stands upright on end. The lid opens, and exhibits +a corpse covered with a winding sheet. The tomb falls to the ground, +but the phantom remains erect. The sham Czar, though a good deal +frightened, makes a pretence of defying the apparition, which he +treats as a mere illusion. But the upper part of the winding sheet +falls aside, and reveals the livid and moulding features of the late +sovereign. Pougatcheff, thinking that he can hardly be worsted in +a fight with a corpse, draws his sword, and with one blow cuts off +its head, which falls noisily to the ground; but at the very same +moment the living head of Peter III appears on the ghostly shoulders. +Pougatcheff, driven to frenzy by these successive apparitions, +makes at the figure, seizes it by its garments, and thrusts it +violently back into the tomb. But the head remains suspended in +space, rolling its eyes in a threatening manner, and appearing to +offer defiance to its persecutor. The frenzy of Pougatcheff reaches +its culminating point. Grasping his sword with both hands, he tries +to cleave in twain the {97} head of his mysterious adversary; but +his blade only passes through a shadowy being, who laughs to scorn +his impotent rage. Again he raises his sword, but at the same moment +the body of Peter III, in full imperial costume, and adorned with +all the insignia of his rank, becomes visible beneath the head. +The re-animate Czar hurls the impostor violently back, exclaiming, +in a voice of thunder. ‘Hold sacrilegious wretch!’ Pougatcheff, +terror-stricken, and overwhelmed with confusion, confesses his +imposture, and the phantom vanishes. + +“The stage arrangements to produce these effects are as follows: +An actor, robed in the brilliant costume of Peter III, reclines +against the sloped support beneath the stage. His body is covered +with a wrapper of black velvet, which is designed to prevent, until +the proper moment, any reflection in the glass. His head alone is +uncovered, and ready to be reflected in the glass so soon as the rays +of the electric light shall be directed upon it. + +“The phantom which originally comes out of the sarcophagus is a +dummy, whose head is modeled from that of the actor who plays the +part of Czar. This head is made readily detachable from the body. + +“Everything is placed and arranged in such manner that the dummy +image of Peter III shall precisely correspond in position with the +person of the actor who plays the part of ghost. + +“At the same moment that the head of the former falls to the ground, +the electric light is gradually made to shine on the head of the +actor who plays the part of Peter III, which being reflected in the +glass, appears to shape itself on the body of the dummy ghost. After +this latter is hurled to the ground, the veil which hides the body of +the actor Czar is quickly and completely drawn away, and the sudden +flood of the electric light reflects his whole body where his head +alone was previously visible.” + +As a clever producer of the living and impalpable spectres, Robin +had no equal. I will describe two of his effects. The curtain rose, +showing a cemetery with tombstones and cenotaphs. It was midnight. A +lover entered and stood weeping over the tomb of his dead fiancée. +Suddenly she appeared before him {98} arrayed in a winding sheet +which she threw aside, revealing herself in the dress of a bride. +He endeavored to embrace her. His arms passed unimpeded through the +spectre. Gradually the vision melted away, leaving him grieving and +desolate. + +The impression produced by this illusion was profound and terrifying. +Amid cries of astonishment and fright resounding through the hall, +many women fainted or made their escape. + +[Illustration: ROBIN’S GHOST-ILLUSION.] + +Robin devised another scene which he called “The Demon of Paganini.” +An actor made up to resemble the famous violin virtuoso, Paganini, +tall, gaunt, with flowing locks, and dressed in shabby black, was +seen reclining upon a couch. A devil, habited in green and red, and +armed with a violin, made its appearance and clambered upon the +sleeper, installing himself comfortably on the violinist’s stomach. +Then the demon gave himself up to a violin solo which was not in the +least interrupted by the frantic gestures of the nightmare ridden +sufferer, whose hands attempted in vain to seize the weird violin and +bow. The demon, {99} sometimes sitting, sometimes kneeling on the +body of his victim, continued his musical selection. + +The Demon of Paganini was mounted on a special support by which he +could be elevated and depressed at pleasure. The violinist, who was +the real player, stood below the stage, but in the shade, at one side +of the electric lamp which illuminated the demon. The sound issued +from the opening in front of the glass. The glass used by Robin +measured 5 by 4 meters, in a single piece. It was placed with great +care, for the least deviation would be followed by a displacement of +the image. + +[Illustration: Fig. 81.—Les spectres de Robin; explication théorique. + +EXPLANATION OF ROBIN’S GHOST-ILLUSION.] + +It should be remarked that Robin’s auditorium comprised only a +sloping parterre surrounded by a range of small boxes. There was no +gallery. The spectators, consequently, were not elevated sufficiently +to perceive the opening in the stage. + +When, in 1866, Robin’s Spectres were taken to a large theatre +in Paris, the Châtelet, he was obliged to devise a different +arrangement, for the spectators in the galleries above were able +{100} to see, at the same time, both the actor and his reflection. +Robin had been obliged to place his actor on a lower level because +he had no room at the side of his little stage. At the Châtelet, +however, space permitted a much more convenient arrangement, for +it allowed the actor, who furnished the reflection, to move about +freely on a horizontal plane. The glass was placed vertically and +formed, on the plane, an angle of about 45° with the longitudinal +axis of the theatre. The actor was hidden behind a wing; his +reflection appeared in the center of the stage toward the back-drop; +visible, nevertheless, to all the spectators. His field of movement, +necessarily restricted, was marked out in advance upon the floor. + +Robin was able to preserve for a considerable time the secret of the +ghost illusion; just enough to pique the curiosity of the public. +It was guessed at last that he made use of unsilvered glass. The +fact became known and several wags proved the presence of the glass +by throwing inoffensive paper balls which struck the obstacle and +fell, arrested in their flight. Robin was greatly vexed at these +occurrences but the trick was none the less exposed. + + +III. + +Pepper eventually brought out a new illusion called “Metempsychosis,” +the joint invention of himself and a Mr. Walker. It is a very +startling optical effect, and is thus described by me in my American +edition of Stanyon’s _Magic_: “One of the cleverest illusions +performed with the aid of mirrors is that known as the ‘Blue Room’, +which has been exhibited in this country by Kellar. It was patented +in the United States by the inventors. The object of the apparatus +is to render an actor, or some inanimate thing, such as a chair, +table, suit of armor, etc., visible or invisible at will. ‘It is +also designed,’ says the specification in the patent office, ‘to +substitute for an object in sight of the audience the image of +another similar object hidden from direct vision without the audience +being aware that any such substitution has been made.’ For this +purpose employ a large mirror—either an ordinary mirror or for some +purposes, by preference, a large sheet {101} of plate-glass—which is +transparent at one end and more and more densely silvered in passing +from this toward the other end. Mount this mirror or plate so that it +can, at pleasure, be placed diagonally across the stage or platform. +As it advances, the glass obscures the view of the actor or object in +front of which it passes, and substitutes the reflection of an object +in front of the glass, but suitably concealed from the direct view of +the audience. + +[Illustration: + +FIG. 1. APPARATUS. + +FIG. 2. ARMOR SCENE. + +DIAGRAM OF BLUE ROOM.] + +“When the two objects or sets of objects thus successively presented +to the view are properly placed and sufficiently alike, the audience +will be unaware that any change has been made. In some cases, in +place of a single sheet of glass, two or more sheets may be employed.” + +By consulting Fig. 1, the reader will understand the construction +of the illusion, one of the best in the repertoire of the {102} +conjurer. The shaded drawing in the left upper part, represents a +portion of the mirror, designed to show its graduated opacity. + +“_a_ is a stage. It may be in a lecture-room or theatre. _bb_, +the seats for the audience in front of the stage. _cc_ is a +small room—eight or ten feet square and eight high will often be +sufficiently large; but it may be of any size. It may advantageously +be raised and approached by two or three steps from the stage _a_. + +“_d_ is a vertical mirror, passing diagonally across the chamber +_c_ and dividing it into two parts, which are exact counterparts +the one of the other. The mirror _d_ is so mounted that it can be +rapidly and noiselessly moved diagonally across the chamber in the +path represented by the dotted line _d_^1, and be withdrawn whenever +desired. This can conveniently be done by running it in guides and +upon rollers to and from a position where it is hidden by a screen, +_e_, which limits the view of the audience in this direction. + +“In consequence of the exact correspondence of the two parts of the +chamber _c_, that in front and that behind the mirror, the audience +will observe no change in appearance when the mirror is passed across. + +“The front of the chamber is partially closed at _cx_ by a shield or +short partition-wall, either permanently or whenever required. This +is done in order to hide from direct view any object which may be at +or about the position _c_^1. + +“The illusions may be performed in various ways—as, for example, an +object may, in the sight of the audience, be passed from the stage to +the position _c_^2, near the rear short wall or counterpart shield +_f_, diagonally opposite to and corresponding with the front corner +shield _cx_, and there be changed for some other. This is done by +providing beforehand a dummy at _c_^1, closely resembling the object +at _c_^2. Then when the object is in its place, the mirror is passed +across without causing any apparent change. The object, when hidden, +is changed for another object externally resembling the first, the +mirror is withdrawn, and the audience may then be shown in any +convenient way that the object now before them differs from that +which their eyesight would lead them to suppose it to be. {103} + +“We prefer, in many cases, not to use an ordinary mirror, _d_, but +one of graduated opacity. This may be produced by removing the +silvering from the glass in lines; or, if the glass be silvered +by chemical deposition, causing the silver to be deposited upon +it in lines, somewhat as represented in Fig. 1. Near one side of +the glass the lines are made fine and open, and progressively in +passing toward the other side they become bolder and closer until a +completely-silvered surface is reached. Other means for obtaining a +graduated opacity and reflecting power may be resorted to. + +“By passing such a graduated mirror between the object at _c_^2 and +the audience, the object may be made to fade from the sight, or +gradually to resolve itself into another form.” + +Hopkins in his fine work on _Magic, stage illusions, etc._, to which +I contributed the Introduction and other chapters, thus describes one +of the many effects which can be produced by the Blue Room apparatus. +The curtain rises, showing “the stage set as an artist’s studio. +Through the centre of the rear drop scene is seen a small chamber +in which is a suit of armor standing upright. The floor of this +apartment is raised above the level of the stage and is approached +by a short flight of steps. When the curtain is raised a servant +makes his appearance and begins to dust and clean the apartments. +He finally comes to the suit of armor, taking it apart, cleans and +dusts it, and finally reunites it. No sooner is the armor perfectly +articulated than the soulless mailed figure deals the servant a blow. +The domestic, with a cry of fear, drops his duster, flies down the +steps into the large room, the suit of armor pursuing him, wrestling +with him, and kicking him all over the stage. When the armor +considers that it has punished the servant sufficiently, it returns +to its original position in the small chamber, just as the master +of the house enters, brought there by the noise and cries of the +servant, from whom he demands an explanation of the commotion. Upon +being told, he derides the servant’s fear, and, to prove that he was +mistaken, takes the suit of armor apart, throwing it piece by piece +upon the floor.” + +It is needless, perhaps, to explain that the armor which becomes +endowed with life has a man inside of it. When the {104} curtain +rises a suit of armor is seen in the Blue Room, at H, (Fig. 2). +At I is a second suit, concealed behind the proscenium. It is the +duplicate of the visible one. When the mirror is shoved diagonally +across the room, the armor at H becomes invisible, but the mirror +reflects the armor concealed at I, making it appear to the spectators +that the suit at H is still in position. An actor dressed in armor +now enters behind the mirror, removes the suit of armor at H, and +assumes its place. When the mirror is again withdrawn, the armor at +H becomes endowed with life. Again the mirror is shoved across the +apartment, and the actor replaces the original suit of armor at H. +It is this latter suit which the master of the house takes to pieces +and casts upon the floor, in order to quiet the fears of the servant. +This most ingenious apparatus is capable of many novel effects. Those +who have witnessed Professor Kellar’s performance will bear witness +to the statement. When the illusion was first produced in England a +sketch entitled Curried Prawns was written for it by the famous comic +author, Burnand, editor of _Punch_. + +An old gentleman, after having partaken freely of a dish of curried +prawns, washed down by copious libations of wine, retires to bed, and +very naturally “sees things.” Who would not under such circumstances? +He has a dreadful nightmare, during which ghosts, goblins, vampires +and witches visit him. The effects are produced by the mirror. + + +IV. + +When I was searching among the books of the Bibliothèque Nationale, +Paris, for material concerning Robertson and others, a very +remarkable ghost show was all the rage in the Montmartre Quarter of +the city, based on the Pepper illusion. I will endeavor to describe +it. It was held at the _Cabaret du Néant_, or Tavern of the Dead. +“Anything for a new sensation” is the motto of the Boulevardier. +Death is no laughing matter, but the gay Parisian is ready to mock +even at the Grim Tyrant, hence the vogue of the Tavern of the Dead. +I went to this lugubrious cabaret in company with a student of +medicine. He seemed to {105} think the whole affair a huge joke, but +then he was a hair-brained, thoughtless young fellow. + +The Inn of Death was located in the Rue Cujas, near by the Rue +Champollion. Over its grim black-painted portal burned an ashy blue +and brimstone flame. It seemed like entering a charnel house. My +student friend led the way down a gloomy passage into a room hung +with funeral cloth. Coffins served as tables, and upon each was +placed a lighted taper. From the ceiling hung a grewsome-looking +chandelier, known as “Robert Macaire���s chandelier.” It was formed of +skulls and bones. In the skulls were placed lights. The waiters of +the cabaret were garbed like _croque-morts_ (undertaker’s men). In +sepulchral tones one of these gloomy-looking garçons, a trifle more +cadaverous than his confrères, sidled up to us like a huge black +raven and croaked out, “Name your poison, gentlemen. We have on tap +distilled grave-worms, deadly microbes, the bacteria of all diseases +under the sun,” etc. Whatever one called for in this undertaking +establishment, the result was the same—beer of doubtful quality. +After drinking a bock we descended a flight of grimy stairs to +another apartment which was hung with black cloth, ornamented with +white tears, like the decorations furnished by the _Pompes Funèbres_ +(Undertakers’ Trust) of Paris, on state occasions. Here we were +solemnly greeted by a couple of quasi Capuchin monks with the words: +“_Voilà des Machabées!_” We seated ourselves on a wooden bench and +waited for the séance to begin. Among the spectators were several +students and their grisettes, a little piou-piou (soldier), and a +fat gentleman with a waxed moustache and imperial, who might have +been a _chef de cuisine_ in disguise or a member of the _Académie +Française_. A curtain at one end of the room was pulled aside, +revealing a stage set to represent a mouldy crypt, in the center +of which stood upright an empty coffin. A volunteer being called +for, my medical friend agreed to stand in the grim box for the +dead. One of the monks wrapped about the young man’s body a winding +sheet. A strong light was turned on him. Presently a deathly pallor +overcame the ruddy hue of health on his cheeks. His face assumed +the waxen color of death. His eyes resolved themselves {106} into +cavernous sockets; his nose disappeared; and presently his visage was +metamorphosed into a grinning skull. The illusion was perfect. During +this ghastly transformation the monks intoned: “_Voilà Machabæus!_ He +dies! He wastes away! Dust to dust! The eternal worm awaits you all!” +A church bell was solemnly tolled and an organ played. The scene +would have delighted that stern genius, Hans Holbein, whose Dance +of Death has chilled many a human heart. We looked again, and the +skeleton in the coffin vanished. “He has risen to Heaven!” cried the +Capuchins. + +In a little while the figure reappeared. The fleshless skull was +merged into the face of my friend. He stepped out of the box, +throwing aside the shroud, and greeted me with a merry laugh. Other +people volunteered to undergo the death scene. After the exhibition +was over one of the Capuchins passed around a skull for penny +contributions, and we left the place. + +Now for an explanation of the illusion. + +A sheet of glass is placed obliquely across the stage in front of +the coffin. At the side of this stage, hidden by the proscenium, +is another coffin containing a skeleton robed in white. When the +electric lights surrounding the first coffin are turned off and the +casket containing the skeleton highly illuminated, the spectators see +the reflection of the latter in the glass and imagine that it is the +coffin in which the volunteer has been placed. To resurrect the man +the lights are reversed. + +{107} + + + + +THE ROMANCE OF AUTOMATA. + + +“ ‘What!’ I said to myself, ‘can it be possible that the marvelous +science which raised Vaucanson’s name so high—the science +whose ingenious combinations can animate inert matter, and +impart to it a species of existence—is the only one without its +archives?’ ”—ROBERT-HOUDIN. + + +I. + +Automata have played an important part in the magic of ancient +temples, and in the séances of mediæval sorcerers. Who has not +read of the famous “Brazen Head,” constructed by Friar Bacon, and +the wonderful machines of Albertus Magnus? Modern conjurers have +introduced automata into their entertainments with great effect, as +witness Pinetti’s “Wise Little Turk,” Kempelen’s “Chess Player,” +Houdin’s “Pastry Cook of the Palais Royal,” Kellar’s “Hindoo Clock,” +Maskelyne’s “Psycho,” etc. But these automata have been such in name +only, the motive power usually being furnished by the conjurer’s +_alter ego_, or concealed assistant. + +The so-called automaton Chess Player is enveloped with a halo of +romance. It had a remarkable history. It was constructed in the year +1769 by the Baron von Kempelen, a Hungarian nobleman and mechanician, +and exhibited by him at the leading courts of Europe. The Empress +Maria Theresa of Austria played a game with it. In 1783 it was +brought to Paris and shown at the Café de la Regence, the rendezvous +of chess lovers and experts, after which it was taken to London. +Kempelen died on the 26th of March, 1804, and his son sold the Chess +Player to J. N. Maelzel, musician, inventor and mechanician, who +was born at Ratisbon, Bavaria, in 1772. His father was a celebrated +organ-builder. {108} + +Maelzel was the inventor of the Metronome (1815), a piece of +mechanism known to all instructors of music: the automaton +_Trumpeter_ (1808), and the _Pan-Harmonicum_ (1805). He had a strange +career as the exhibitor of the Chess Player. After showing the +automaton in various cities of Europe, Maelzel sold it to Napoleon’s +step-son, Eugène Beauharnais, the Viceroy of the Kingdom of Italy. +But the old love of “adventurous travel with the Turbaned Turk” took +possession of him, and he succeeded in buying back the Chess Player +from its royal owner. He went to Paris with it in 1817 and 1818, +afterwards to London, meeting everywhere with success. In 1826 he +brought it to America. The Chess Player excited the greatest interest +throughout the United States. Noted chess experts did their best to +defeat it, but rarely succeeded. + +[Illustration: THE AUTOMATON CHESS PLAYER.] + +Now for a description of the automaton. + +The audience was introduced into a large room, at one end of which +hung crimson curtains. These curtains being drawn aside, Maelzel +rolled forward a box on castors. Behind the box or {109} table, +which was two feet and a half high, three feet and a half long, and +two feet wide, was seated cross-legged, the figure of a Turk. The +chair on which the figure was affixed was permanently attached to the +box. At the top of the box was a chess-board. The figure had its eyes +fixed intently upon this board, its right hand and arm being extended +towards the board, its left, which was somewhat raised, holding a +long pipe. + +Four doors, two in front, and two in the rear of the box, were +opened, and a lighted candle thrust into the cavities. Nothing was to +be seen except cog wheels, levers, and intricate machinery. A long +drawer, which contained the chessmen and a cushion, was pulled out. +Two doors in the Turk’s body were thrown open, and the candle held +inside, to satisfy the spectators that nothing but machinery was +contained therein. + +Maelzel wound up the automaton with a large key, took away the pipe, +and placed the cushion under the arm of the figure. Curious to relate +the automaton played with its left hand. In Von Kempelen’s day, the +person selected to play with the figure, sat at the same chess-board +with it, but Maelzel altered this. A rope separated the machine from +the audience, and the player sat at a small table, provided with a +chess-board, some ten or twelve feet away from the Turk. + +The automaton invariably chose the white chess-men, and made the +first move, its fingers opening as the hand was extended towards the +board, and the piece picked up and removed to its proper square. + +When his antagonist had made his move, the automaton paused and +appeared to study the game, before proceeding further. It nodded its +head to indicate check to the king. If a false move was made by its +opponent, it rapped on the table, and replaced the piece, claiming +the move for itself. Maelzel, acting for the human player, repeated +his move on the chess-board of the Turk, and when the latter moved, +made the corresponding move on the board of the challenger. The +whirring of machinery was heard during the progress of the game, +but this was simply a blind. It subserved two purposes: _first_, +to induce the spectators to believe that the automaton was really +operated by ingenious mechanism, {110} _second_, to disguise the +noise made by the concealed confederate as he shifted himself from +one compartment to the other, as the various doors were opened and +shut in succession. No machine could possibly be constructed to +imitate the human mind when engaged in playing chess, or any other +mental operation where the indeterminate enters and which requires +knowledge and reflection. But the majority of people who saw the +automaton did not realize this fact, and pronounced it a _pure +machine_. + +Signor Blitz, the conjurer, who was intimate with Maelzel, having +frequently given entertainments in conjunction with him, was +possessed of the secret of the Turk. In his memoirs, he says: “The +Chess Player was ingeniously constructed—a perfect counterpart of a +magician’s trick-table with a variety of partitions and doors, which, +while they removed every possible appearance of deception, only +produced greater mystery, and provided more security to the invisible +player. The drawers and closets were so arranged as to enable him +to change his position according to circumstances: at one moment he +would be in this compartment; the next in that; then in the body of +the Turk.” + +He says this concealed assistant was named Schlumberger. + +This explanation is verified by Professor Allen,[20] who was very +intimate with Maelzel. + + [20] Fiske’s _Book of the First American Chess Congress_, + New York, 1859. Pp. 420–484. + +William Schlumberger was a native of Alsace, a remarkable chess +expert and linguist. Maelzel picked him up in the Café de la Regence, +Paris, where he eked out a meagre living as a teacher of chess. + +Occasionally, Schlumberger would over-indulge in wine, and as a +result would be beaten, while acting as the motive power of the +Turk. “On one occasion,” says Professor Allen, “just as Maelzel was +bringing the Turk out from behind the curtain, a strange noise was +heard to proceed from his interior organization, something between +a rattle, a cough, and a sneeze. Maelzel pushed back his ally in +evident alarm, but presently brought him forward again, and went on +with the exhibition as if nothing had happened.” {111} + +Schlumberger not only acted as confederate, but served his employer +as secretary and clerk. + +Edgar Allen Poe, who wrote an exposé of the automaton when it +visited Richmond, remarked: “There is a man, Schlumberger, who +attends him (Maelzel) wherever he goes, but who has no ostensible +occupation other than that of assisting in packing and unpacking of +the automaton. Whether he professes to play chess or not, we are +not informed. It is quite certain, however, that he is never to be +seen during the exhibition of the Chess Player, although frequently +visible just before and after the exhibition. Moreover, some years +ago Maelzel visited Richmond with his automaton. Schlumberger was +suddenly taken ill, and during his illness there was no exhibition of +the Chess Player. These facts are well known to many of our citizens. +The reason assigned for the suspension of the Chess Player’s +performances was _not_ the illness of _Schlumberger_. The inferences +from all this we leave, without further comment, to the reader.” + +Edgar Allen Poe, the apostle of mystery, certainly hit the nail on +the head here, and solved the problem of the automaton. + +The Chess Player had the honor of defeating Napoleon the Great—“the +Victor in a hundred battles.” This was in the year 1809, when +Maelzel, by virtue of his office as Mechanician to the Court of +Austria, was occupying some portion of the Palace of Schönbrunn, +“when Napoleon chose to make the same building his headquarters +during the Wagram campaign.” A man by the name of Allgaier was the +concealed assistant on this occasion. Napoleon was better versed in +the art of manœuvring human kings, queens, prelates and pawns on the +great chess-boards of diplomacy and battle than moving ivory chessmen +on a painted table-top. + +Maelzel, in addition to the Chess Player, exhibited his own +inventions, which were really automatons, also the famous panorama, +“The Burning of Moscow.” After a splendid tour throughout the States, +he went to Havana, Cuba, where poor Schlumberger died of yellow +fever. On the return trip Maelzel himself died, and was buried at +sea. This was in 1838. + +The famous Turk, with other of Maelzel’s effects, was sold {112} +at public auction in Philadelphia. The automaton was bought by +Dr. J. K. Mitchell, reconstructed, and privately exhibited by him +for the amusement of his friends. Finally it was deposited in the +Chinese Museum, where it remained for fourteen years, with the dust +accumulating upon it. Here the Chess Player rested from his labors, +a superannuated, broken down pensioner, dreaming, if automatons can +dream, of his past adventures, until the year 1854. On July 5 of +that year a great fire destroyed the Museum, and the Turbaned Turk +was burnt to ashes. Better such a fate than rotting to pieces in the +cellar of some old warehouse, forgotten and abandoned. + +Robert-Houdin, in his autobiography, tells a most romantic story +about the Chess Player, the accuracy of which has been seriously +doubted. He also makes several errors concerning its career and +that of Maelzel. R. Shelton Mackenzie, who translated Houdin’s life +(1859), calls attention to these mistakes, in his preface to that +work. “This remarkable piece of mechanism was constructed in 1769, +and not in 1796; it was the Empress Maria-Theresa of Austria who +played with it, and not Catherine II of Russia. M. Maelzel’s death +was in 1838, on the voyage from Cuba to the United States, and not, +as M. Houdin says, on his return to France; and the automaton, +so far from being taken back to France, was sold at auction here +[Philadelphia], where it was consumed in the great fire of July 5, +1854.” + +I believe that the true history of the Chess Player is related by +Prof. George Allen, of the University of Pennsylvania, in Fiske’s +_Book of the first American Chess Congress_, N. Y., 1859, pp. 420–484. + + +II. + +Now for Houdin’s entertaining story of the Chess Player. In the year +1796, a revolt broke out in a half-Russian, half-Polish regiment +stationed at Riga, capital of Livonia, Russia. At the head of the +rebels was an officer named Worousky, a man of talent and energy. +He was of short stature, but well built. The revolutionists were +defeated in a pitched battle and put to flight {113} by the +Russians. Worousky had both thighs shattered by a cannon ball and +fell on the battle field. However, he escaped from the general +massacre of his comrades by casting himself into a ditch near a +hedge, not far from the house of a doctor named Osloff. At nightfall +he dragged himself with great difficulty to the house, and was taken +in by the benevolent physician, who promised to conceal him. Osloff +eventually had to amputate both of Worousky’s legs, close to the +body. The operation was successful. During this time, the famous +Baron von Kempelen came to Russia, and paid Dr. Osloff a visit. He +also took compassion upon the crippled Polish officer. It seems +that Worousky was a master of the game of chess, and repeatedly +defeated Osloff and Kempelen. Kempelen then conceived the idea of the +automaton chess player, as a means of assisting Worousky to escape +from Russia, and immediately set about building it. It was completed +in June, 1796. In order to avert suspicion Osloff and Kempelen +determined to play at several of the smaller towns and cities before +reaching the frontier. + +The first performance was given at Toula. Says Houdin: “I possess a +copy of the original bill, which was given me by M. Hessler, nephew +of Dr. Osloff, who also supplied me with all these details. Worousky +won every game he played at Toula, and the papers were full of +praises of the automaton. Assured of success by the brilliancy of +their début, M. de Kempelen and his companion proceeded towards the +frontier.” + +Worousky was concealed from sight, while traveling, in the enormous +chest which held the Chess Player. Air holes were made in the sides +of the chest to enable him to breathe. They arrived without adventure +at Vitebsk, on the road to the Prussian frontier, when a letter came +summoning them to the imperial palace at St. Petersburg. The Empress +Catherine II, having heard of the automaton’s wonderful talent, +desired to play a game with it. They dared not refuse this demand. +Worousky, who had a price set on his head, was the coolest of the +three, and seemed delighted at the idea of playing with the Empress. +After fifteen days travel they reached St. Petersburg. Kempelen had +the automaton carried to the palace in the same chest in which {114} +it traveled, thereby secretly conveying Worousky thither. The Chess +Player was set up in the library, and at the appointed hour Catherine +II, followed by a numerous suite, entered and took her place at the +chess-board. The members of the Court took their places behind the +Empress. Kempelen never allowed anyone to pass behind the automaton, +and would not consent to begin the game till all the spectators were +in front of the board. + +“The chest and the Turk’s body were then examined, and when all were +perfectly convinced they contained nothing but clockwork, the game +began. It proceeded for some time in perfect silence, but Catherine’s +frowning brow speedily revealed that the automaton was not very +gallant towards her, and fully deserved the reputation it had gained. +The skillful Mussulman captured a bishop and a knight, and the game +was turning much to the disadvantage of the lady, when the Turk, +suddenly forgetting his dignified gravity, gave a violent blow on his +cushion, and pushed back a piece his adversary had just moved. + +“Catherine II had attempted to cheat; perhaps to try the skill of +the automaton, or for some other reason. At any rate the haughty +empress, unwilling to confess her weakness, replaced the piece on +the same square, and regarded the automaton with an air of imperious +authority. The result was most unexpected—the Turk upset all the +pieces with a blow of his hand, and immediately the clock work, which +had been heard during the whole game, stopped. It seemed as if the +machinery had got out of repair. Pale and trembling, M. de Kempelen, +recognizing in this Worousky’s impetuous temper, awaited the issue of +this conflict between the insurgent and his sovereign. + +“ ‘Ah, ah! my good automaton! your manners are rather rough,’ the +Empress said, good humoredly, not sorry to see a game she had small +chance of winning end thus. ‘Oh! you are a famous player, I grant; +but you were afraid of losing the game, and so prudently upset the +pieces. Well, I am now quite convinced of your skill and your violent +character.’ + +“M. de Kempelen began to breathe again, and regaining courage, tried +to remove the unfavorable impression which the little {115} respect +shown by the automaton must have produced. Hence he said, humbly: + +“ ‘Will your majesty allow me to offer an explanation of what has +just happened?’ + +“ ‘By no means, M. de Kempelen,’ Catherine said, heartily,—‘by no +means; on the contrary, I find it most amusing, and your automaton +pleases me so much that I wish to purchase it. I shall thus always +have near me a player, somewhat quick perhaps, but yet able to hold +his own. You can leave it here tonight, and come tomorrow morning to +arrange the price.’ + +“There is strong reason to believe that Catherine wished to commit +an indiscretion when she evinced a desire that the figure should +remain at the palace till next morning. Fortunately, the skillful +mechanician managed to baffle her feminine curiosity by carrying +Worousky off in the big chest. The automaton remained in the library, +but the player was no longer there. + +“The next day Catherine renewed her proposition to purchase the Chess +Player, but Kempelen made her understand that, as the figure could +not perform without him, he could not possibly sell it. The empress +allowed the justice of these arguments; and, while complimenting the +mechanician on his invention, made him a handsome present. + +“Three months after the automaton was in England, under the +management of Mr. Anthon, to whom Kempelen had sold it. I know not +if Worousky was still attached to it, but I fancy so, owing to the +immense success the Chess Player met with. Mr. Anthon visited the +whole of Europe, always meeting with the same success; but, at +his death, the celebrated automaton was purchased by Maelzel, who +embarked with it for New York. It was then, probably, Worousky took +leave of his hospitable Turk, for the automaton was not nearly so +successful in America. After exhibiting his mechanical trumpeter and +Chess Player for some time, Maelzel set out again for France, but +died on the passage, of an attack of indigestion. His heirs sold his +apparatus, and thus Cronier obtained his precious relic.” The Chess +Player caused the greatest amount of discussion in its time. At the +solicitation of a leading theatrical manager of Paris, Houdin {116} +arranged the trick for a melodrama, in which Catherine II of Russia +was one of the characters. + + +III. + +I now come to the celebrated inventions of Maskelyne which were +exhibited at Egyptian Hall, London. First on the list comes the +automaton whist player, “Psycho,” which far exceeds the Chess Player +of Von Kempelen in ingenious construction. Its secret has never been +divulged. + +[Illustration: J. N. MASKELYNE] + +Says the _Encyclopedia Britannica_: “In 1875 Maskelyne and Cooke +produced at the Egyptian Hall, in London, an automaton whist player, +‘Psycho,’ which from the manner in which it is placed upon the +stage, appears to be perfectly isolated from any {117} mechanical +communication from without . . . The arm has all the complicated +movements necessary for chess or draught playing; and ‘Psycho’ +calculates any sum up to a total of 99,000,000. . . . ‘Psycho’, an +Oriental figure, sitting cross-legged on a box, is supported by a +single large cylinder of clear glass, which as originally exhibited, +stood upon the carpet of the stage, but was afterwards set loose +upon a small stool, having solid wood feet; moreover, this automaton +may be placed in almost any number of different ways. . . . It may +be mentioned that in the same year in which ‘Psycho’ appeared, +the joint inventors patented a method of controlling the speed of +clockwork mechanism by compressed air or gas stored in the pedestal +of an automaton, this compressed air acting upon a piston in a +cylinder and also upon a rotating fan when a valve is opened by ‘an +electrical or other connection worked by the foot of the performer or +an assistant.’ But it is not known whether the principle obscurely +described in the specification was applicable in any way to the +invisible agency employed in ‘Psycho,’ or whether it had reference to +some other invention which has never been realized.” + +A very clever exposé of “Psycho” was published in an English +newspaper, November, 1877. That it is the correct one, I am by +no means certain. But an ingenious mechanic by carrying out its +provisions would be enabled to construct an excellent imitation of +the Maskelyne so-called automaton. + +[Illustration: FIGS. 1A, 1B.] + +[Illustration: FIG. 2.] + +[Illustration: FIG. 3.] + +[Illustration: FIG. 4.] + +“In Figs. _1a_ and _1b_ (elevation and plan), the wheels E and M +have each a train of clockwork (left out for the sake of clearness), +which would cause them to spin round if unchecked. M, however, has +two pins, _p p_, which catch on a projection on the lever, N. E is +a crown-wheel escapement—like that in a bottle roasting-jack—which +turns A alternately to the left and right, thus causing the hand to +traverse the thirteen cards. A little higher up on A will be seen +a quadrant, B (see plan), near the edge of which are set thirteen +little pins. The end of the lever, N, drops between any two of them, +thus causing the hand to stop at any desired card. The lever being +pivoted at _c_, it is obvious that by depressing the end, N, B will +be set at liberty, {118} and the hand will move along the cards; by +slightly raising it this motion will be arrested; by raising it still +more the pin, _p_, is released, and M commences to revolve, and by +again depressing N this wheel will, in its turn, be stopped. Near +the bottom of the apparatus is a bellows, O, which contains a spring +tending to keep the lever, N, with which it is connected by a rod, X, +in the position shown. This is connected with the tubular support, +which may be connected by a tube through the leg of the stool, and +another tube beneath the stage, with an assistant behind the scenes. +By compressing or exhausting air through this tube it is obvious that +the lever, N, will be raised or depressed, and the clockwork set +going accordingly. _a_ is a crank-pin set in M, and connected with +the head by catgut, T, and with the thumb by S. At R and R are two +pulleys connected by gut. Thus if the {119} hand moves round, the +head appears to follow its motions, and when raised by pulling S, +the head rises also by means of T. Further explanation seems almost +unnecessary; _l_ is a stop to prevent the elbow moving too far, and +_b b_ spiral springs, to keep the thumb open and the head forward +respectively. When N is raised, M pulls T and S, the latter closing +the thumb, and then raising the arm by pulley H. If the lever is +allowed to drop, _p_ will catch and keep the arm up. On again raising +N, the arm will descend. + +“In addition to the above contrivance, we have in Figs. 2 and 3 +another and simpler arrangement, in which only one train of clockwork +is used. On the same axle as H is fixed a lever and weight, W, to +balance the arm. A vertical rod, X, having a projection, Z, slides +up and down in guides, Y Y, and carries the catgut, S and T. The +quadrant, B, has cogs cut, between which Z slides and stops the +motion of A, which is moved, as before, by clockwork. The lower part +of X is connected directly with O. When X is slightly raised, as +shown, A is free to move, but on exhausting the air and drawing X +down, Z enters the cogs and stops the hand over a card; continuing +to exhaust, the thumb closes and the card is lifted up.” The details +of the clockwork the originator of this solution omits to give. He +says there should be a fan on each train to regulate the speed. The +figure should be so placed that an assistant can see the cards in the +semi-circular rack Fig. 4. + +One of Maskelyne’s best mechanical tricks is the “Spirit Music-Box,” +for an exposé of which I am indebted to my friend Mr. Henry V. +A. Parsell, of New York City, a lover of the art of magic. The +construction of this novel piece of apparatus will afford a clue +to many alleged mediumistic performances. Professor Parsons, of +New Haven, Conn., is the owner of the box, reproduced in the +illustration. Says Mr. Parsell: + +“A sheet of plate glass is exhibited freely to the audience and +proved to contain no electric wires or mechanism. This glass plate is +then suspended horizontally in the center of the stage by four cords +hooked to its corners. An ordinary looking music-box is then brought +in by the assistant. It is opened, so that {120} the audience can +see the usual mechanism within. The music-box is now placed on the +glass plate and the performer comes down among the spectators. +Notwithstanding the isolation of the box the command of the performer +suffices to cause it to play, or cease, in obedience to his will. +It matters not in what part of the room the conjurer goes—his word +is enough to make silence or harmony issue from the box, always +beginning where it left off and never skipping a note. The simple +cause of this marvelous effect lies in the mechanism of the box and +in its mode of suspension. + +[Illustration: + +Fig. 5. + +Fig. 6. + +THE SPIRIT MUSIC BOX.] + +“A small music box of this kind is shown in Fig. 5. The box is seen +with its mechanism removed and resting upon it. In addition to the +usual cylinder, comb and wheel-work, there is a device for starting +and stopping the box when it is tilted slightly endwise. This +consists of a light shaft delicately pivoted and carrying at one end +a lead weight (seen just in front of the cylinder), and at the other +end an arm of light wire whose far end is bent down so as to engage +the fly of the wheel-work. In Fig. 5 the mechanism is tilted so that +the wire arm is raised; the fly is now free to revolve and the box +plays. + +“A front view of the mechanism is shown in Fig. 6. Here the arm is +down, arresting the motion of the fly and producing {121} silence. +When the box is resting on the glass plate an assistant behind the +scenes causes the plate to tilt slightly up or down by raising or +lowering the cords which support one end. The mechanism of the box is +so delicately adjusted that an imperceptible motion of the plate is +sufficient to control its playing.” + + +IV. + +John Nevil Maskelyne, a descendant of Nevil Maskelyne, the eminent +astronomer and physicist, was born in Cheltenham, England, and +like Houdin was apprenticed to a watchmaker. At an early age, he +manifested a wonderful aptitude for mechanics. He employed most of +his spare time while working at the trade of horology in devising +and building optical and mechanical apparatus for show purposes. In +this respect his career exactly parallels that of Robert-Houdin. He +was likewise interested in sleight of hand tricks, but never carried +the art to perfection like the French magician. Later in life he +abandoned legerdemain entirely and devoted himself exclusively to the +construction of mechanical illusions. In this line, he has no equal. +Most of the really clever and original illusions brought out within +the past twenty years have emanated from his fertile brain. Houdin, +Maskelyne, and Buatier de Kolta are the three great inventors of +magic tricks and illusions. One day the Davenport Brothers came to +Cheltenham and gave an exhibition of their alleged mediumistic powers +at the town hall. Young Maskelyne was selected as one of a committee +to tie the Brothers and examine their mystic cabinet. The falling of +a piece of drugget, used to exclude light from one of the windows +of the hall, enabled Maskelyne to see Ira Davenport eject some of +the musical instruments from the cabinet, and re-secure himself with +the ropes. Delighted at discovering the trick, the young watchmaker +soon devised an imitation of the Davenport exhibition. Aided by a +Mr. Cooke, afterwards his partner in the show business, he gave an +exposé of the Davenport business, first at Cheltenham, and afterwards +throughout England. Subsequently he located at St. James Hall, and +afterwards at Egyptian Hall, London. Mr. {122} Maskelyne was called +as an expert witness in the trial of the impostor, Dr. Henry Slade, +and performed in the witness-box all of the medium’s “slate tests,” +to the great astonishment of the Court. As a consequence of these +revelations, Dr. Slade was sentenced to three months in jail, but he +escaped imprisonment owing to legal technicalities interposed by his +attorneys, and fled to the Continent. Mr. Maskelyne has written a +clever exposé of gambling devices, entitled, _Sharps and Flats_, and +various magazine articles on conjuring. + +In the year 1904, he and Mr. Cooke moved their show to St. George’s +Hall, having outgrown the old quarters at Egyptian Hall. Since that +time Mr. Cooke died at an advanced age. Associated with Mr. Maskelyne +and his son is David Devant, a good sleight of hand performer. + +{123} + + + + +ROBERT-HOUDIN—CONJURER, AUTHOR AND AMBASSADOR. + + +“Robert-Houdin was a man of remarkable ingenuity and insight. His +autobiography is throughout interesting and psychologically valuable, +and his conjuring precepts abound in points of importance to the +psychologist.”—JOSEPH JASTROW: “_Fact and Fable in Psychology_.” + +“To Robert-Houdin I feel I owe a double debt; first, for the great +satisfaction I have had in such slight skill as I have acquired in +his art, and, secondly, for such an insight into its underlying +principles as to keep me clear of all danger from evanescent +delusions which follow one another in fashion.”—BRANDER MATTHEWS: +“_Books that have helped me_.” + + +I. + +Nostradamus is said to have constructed a magic mirror of great +power. In its shining surface, he conjured up many remarkable +visions. But I know of a more wonderful wizard’s glass than that of +the French necromancer. It is the “mirror of the mind”—that mystery +of mysteries. I am able, at will, to evoke in it a phantasmagoria +of the past. I need no aid from cabalistic spells, no burning of +incense. Presto!—a picture appears radiant with light and life. I +see a wainscoted room in a quaint old mansion. Logs are ablaze on +the hearthstone. A boy is ensconced in the deep embrasure of the +window. He is immersed in a book, and entirely oblivious of the scene +without, where the Snow King is busy laying a white pall upon the +frozen earth. Snow flakes like white butterflies skim hither and +thither. The wind rumbles mournfully in the chimneys like a lost +spirit. It is the witching Christmas Tide, when of old the Magi led +by the burning star (the weird pentagram of the Initiates) came +from afar to visit the lowly cradle of the Nazarene {124} child. +Beautiful old legend! It still haunts these later years of mine, +breathing joy and peace ineffable; for is it not an allegory of the +search for, and the discovery of, the Lost Word of the Adepts of the +Temples—the word that signifies eternal life? + +Let us take a peep over the reader’s shoulder, at the volume in his +hand. It is the autobiography of “Robert-Houdin, conjurer, author, +and ambassador.” And the reader is myself. O vanished years of +boyhood: you still live in the magic mirror of memory! And intimately +associated with those years is the mystic book of Robert-Houdin. Can +I ever forget the enjoyment I had in poring over the faded yellow +leaves of that fascinating work? Happy the youth who early dips +into its golden pages. The Arabian Nights forms a fitting prologue +to it. I followed Houdin in the Conjurer’s Caravan; rejoiced in his +successes at the Palais Royal; and in far-off Algeria, watched him +exhibiting his magic feats before the Marabouts. + +Speaking of this autobiography, Professor Brander Matthews of +Columbia College, New York, says: “These _Confidences of a +Prestidigitateur_ are worthy of comparison with all but the very best +autobiographies—if not with Cellini’s and Franklin’s, at least with +Cibber’s and Goldoni’s. Robert-Houdin’s life of himself, quite as +well as any of the others, would justify Longfellow’s assertion that +‘autobiography is what biography ought to be.’ ” + +In my humble opinion Houdin’s autobiography is worthy to be classed +with the best, even that of Cellini and Franklin; yes, even with +Chateaubriand’s superb _Memories beyond the Tomb_. It is replete with +interesting information about old time necromancers; constructors of +automata; good stories of contemporary magicians; exposés of Marabout +miracles; and last, but not least, the fascinating adventures of +Houdin himself,—the archmaster of modern magic. It bears the stamp +of truth on every page, and should be placed in the hands of all +students of psychology and pedagogy. His _Trickeries of the Greeks_, +an exposé of gambling devices, is also an interesting work and should +be read in conjunction with his _Stage Magic_ and _Conjuring and +Magic_. + +The Confidences end with Houdin’s retirement from the stage to his +villa at St. Gervais, near Blois. The book on {125} _Conjuring and +Magic_ gives us a slight sketch of his villa and the ingenious +contrivances arranged therein for the amusement and mystification +of visitors. The curtain, alas, then rings down on the scene. The +theatre is left dark and cold. We are told nothing more concerning +the great conjurer’s life, or the manner of his death. All is a +blank. Through my own efforts, however, and those of my friends made +in recent years, at my instigation, I have been able to supply the +missing data. It is very entertaining indeed. But let us begin at the +beginning. + + +II. + +On a certain day in the year 1843, the Count de l’Escalopier, a +scion of the old régime of France, and a great lover of curios, +was strolling along the Rue de Vendôme, in the Marais Quarter, of +Paris. He stopped to look at some mechanical toys displayed in the +window of a dark little shop, over the door of which was painted the +following modest sign: “M. Robert-Houdin, Pendules de Précision.” +This sign noted the fact that the proprietor was a watchmaker, +and that his wares were distinguished for precise running. What +particularly attracted the nobleman’s attention was a peculiar +looking clock of clearest crystal that ran apparently without works, +the invention of M. Robert-Houdin. The Count, who was a great lover +of _science amusante_, or science wedded to recreation, purchased +the magic clock, and better than that, made the acquaintance of the +inventor, the obscure watchmaker, who was destined to become a great +prestidigitateur, author, and ambassador. The Count became a frequent +visitor at Houdin’s shop, to watch the construction of various +automata, which the inventor intended some day to use in public +performances. Says Houdin: “A kind of intimacy having thus become +established between M. de l’Escalopier and myself, I was naturally +led to talk to him of my projects of appearing in public; and, in +order to justify them, I had given him, on more than one occasion, +specimens of my skill in sleight of hand. Prompted doubtless by his +friendly feelings, my spectator steadily applauded me, and gave me +the warmest encouragement to put my schemes into actual practice. +Count de l’Escalopier, who was the {126} possessor of a considerable +fortune, lived in one of those splendid houses which surround the +square which has been called _Royale_, or _des Vosges_, according +to the color of the flag of our masters of the time being. I myself +lived in a humble lodging in the Rue de Vendôme, in the Marais, but +the wide disproportion in the style of our respective dwelling-places +did not prevent the nobleman and the artist from addressing each +other as ‘my dear neighbor,’ or sometimes even as ‘my dear friend.’ + +[Illustration: Houdin’s Magic Clock.[21]] + + [21] “The cut represents the magic clock invented by + Robert-Houdin about sixty years ago. This very remarkable + time-piece consists of a dial composed of two juxtaposed + disks of glass, one of which is stationary and carries the + hours, while the other is movable and serves for the motion + of the hands. This latter disk is provided with a wheel + or rather a toothed ring concealed within the metallic + ring forming a dial. The glass column which constitutes + the body of the piece is formed of two tubes which operate + according to the principle of the dial, that is to say, + one is stationary and the other movable. To each of the + extremities of the latter is fixed a wheel. These wheels + gear with transmission pinions which communicate, one of + them at the top with the movable plate of glass of the + dial, and the other at the bottom with the movement placed + in the wooden base which supports the glass shade covering + the clock. All these concealed transmissions are arranged + in a most skillful manner, and complete the illusion. The + movable glass of the dial, carried along by the column, + actuates a small dial-train mounted in the thickness of + the stationary glass, and within an extremely narrow space + in the center of the dial. It is covered by the small hand + and is consequently invisible. The hands are very easily + actuated by it on account of their extreme lightness and + perfect equilibrium.”—_Scientific American, N. Y._ + +{127} + +“My neighbor then being, as I have just stated, warmly interested in +my projects, was constantly talking of them; and in order to give me +opportunities of practice in my future profession, and to enable me +to acquire that confidence in which I was then wanting, he frequently +invited me to pass the evening in the company of a few friends of +his own, whom I was delighted to amuse with my feats of dexterity. +It was after a dinner given by M. de l’Escalopier to the Archbishop +of Paris, Monseigneur Affre, with whom he was on intimate terms, +that I had the honor of being presented to the reverend prelate as a +mechanician and future magician, and that I performed before him a +selection of the best of my experiments. + +“At that period—I don’t say it in order to gratify a retrospective +vanity—my skill in sleight of hand was of a high order. I am +warranted in this belief by the fact that my numerous audiences +exhibited the greatest wonderment at my performance, and that the +Archbishop himself paid me, in his own handwriting, a compliment +which I can not refrain from here relating. + +“I had reserved for the last item of my programme a trick which, +to use a familiar expression, I had at my fingers’ ends. In effect +it was shortly as follows:—After having requested the spectators +carefully to examine a large envelope sealed on all sides, I handed +it to the Archbishop’s Grand Vicar, begging him to keep it in his +own possession. Next, handing to the prelate himself a small slip +of paper, I requested him to write thereon, secretly, a sentence, +or whatever he might choose to think of; the paper was then folded +in four, and (apparently) burnt. But scarcely was it consumed and +the ashes scattered to the winds, than, handing the envelope to the +Archbishop, I requested him to open it. The first envelope being +removed a second was found, sealed in like manner; then another, +until a dozen envelopes, one inside another, had been opened, the +last containing the scrap of paper restored intact. It was passed +from hand to hand, and each read as follows:— + +“ ‘Though I do not claim to be a prophet, I venture to predict, sir, +that you will achieve brilliant success in your future career.’ {128} + + +“I begged Monseigneur Affre’s permission to keep the autograph in +question, which he very graciously gave me.” + +Poor Archbishop Affre; he was killed at the barricades in the +Revolution of 1848. Though he confessed that he was no prophet, +yet his prediction was fulfilled to the letter. Houdin became the +foremost conjurer of his age, of any age in fact, and has left to +posterity more than a name:—his fascinating memoirs, and several +works in which the psychology of deception is treated in a masterly +manner. The slip of paper given to him by the Archbishop he preserved +as a religious relic. “I kept it,” he said, “in a secret corner of my +pocket-book which I always carried about my person. During my travels +in Algeria I had the misfortune to lose both this pocket-book and the +precious object it contained.” + +After the séance recorded above, the Count de l’Escalopier urged +Houdin continually to abandon the watchmaking and mechanical-toy +trade and go on the stage as a prestidigitateur. Finally Houdin +confessed his inability to do so, owing to lack of means, whereupon +the kind-hearted nobleman exclaimed: “_Mon cher ami_, I have at +home, at this very moment, ten thousand francs or so, which I really +don’t know what to do with. Do me the favor to borrow them for an +indefinite period: you will be doing me an actual service.” + +But Houdin would not accept the offer, for he was loth to risk a +friend’s money in a theatrical speculation. The Count in a state of +pique left the shop and did not return for many days. Then he rushed +excitedly into the workroom, sank upon a chair, and exclaimed: + +“My dear neighbor, since you are determined not to accept a favor +from me, I have now come to beg one of you. This is the status of the +case. For the last year my desk has been robbed from time to time +of very considerable sums of money. In vain have I endeavored to +ascertain the thief. I have sent away my servants, one after another. +I have had the place watched, changed the locks, and placed secret +fastenings on the doors, but none of these safeguards and precautions +have foiled the cunning of the miscreant. This very morning a couple +of thousand {129} franc-notes disappeared. Think of the frightful +position the entire family is placed in. Can you not come to my +assistance?” + +“Count,” replied Houdin, “I fail to see how I can help you in the +present instance. My magic power, unfortunately, extends only to my +finger tips.” + +“That is true,” said the Count, “but you have a mighty aid in +mechanics.” + +“Mechanics,” exclaimed the magician. “Stop a bit! I remember when I +was a boy at school that I invented a primitive piece of apparatus +to apprehend a rascal who was in the habit of stealing my boyish +possessions. I will improve upon that idea. Come to see me in a few +days.” + +Houdin put on his thinking-cap and shut himself up in his workshop. + +From his inner consciousness he evolved a singularly ingenious +contrivance, designed not only to discover a thief, but to brand +him indelibly for his crime. In brief let me describe it. It was an +apparatus to be fastened to the inside of a desk. When the desk was +unlocked, and the lid raised ever so little, a pistol was discharged; +at the same time a claw-like arrangement, attached to a light rod and +impelled by a spring, came sharply down on the back of the hand which +held the key. This claw was a tatooing instrument. It consisted of +“a number of very short but sharp points, so arranged as to form the +word _Robber_. These points were brought through a pad impregnated +with nitrate of silver, a portion of which was forced by the blow +into the punctures, and made the scars indelible for life.” + +When the Count saw this apparatus at work, the inventor using a +heavily-padded glove to prevent being wounded by the claw, he +objected to it strenuously, remarking that he had no right to brand +a criminal. That was the province of Justice. He also argued that it +would be wrong from a humanitarian standpoint. A poor wretch thus +branded could only get rid of it by a horrible self-mutilation. If +he failed in his endeavor, it might close the door of repentance +forever against him, and class him permanently among the enemies of +the social order. “Worse than that,” said the Count, “suppose some +member of {130} my family by inadvertence, or through some fatal +mistake, should fall a victim to our stern precautions; and then⸺” + +“You are quite right!” said Houdin. “I had not thought of those +objections. I was carried away by my enthusiasm as an inventor. You +are quite right! I will alter the apparatus at once.” + +In the place of the branding contrivance, he inserted a kind of +cat’s-claw, which would make a slight scratch on the hand—a mere +superficial wound, readily healed. The Count was satisfied with the +alteration, and the apparatus was secretly fixed to the desk in the +nobleman’s bed-room. + +In order to stimulate the cupidity of the robber, the Count drew +considerable money from his bankers. He even made a pretence of +leaving Paris on a trip to a short distance. But the bait did not +take. Sixteen days passed away. The Count had almost despaired of +catching the culprit, when one morning while reading in his library, +which was some little distance from the bed-room, he heard the report +of a pistol. + +“Ah,” he exclaimed, excitedly. “The robber at last.” Picking up the +first weapon to hand, a battle axe from a stand of ancestral armor +near by, he ran quickly to the bed-room. There stood his trusted +valet, Bernard, who had been in his household for many years. + +“What are you doing here?” asked the Count. + +With great coolness and audacity, Bernard explained that he had been +brought thither by the noise of the explosion, and had just seen a +man making his escape down the back stairs. The Count rushed down the +stairs only to find the door locked. A frightful thought overcame +him: “Could Bernard be the thief?” He returned to the bed-room. The +valet, he noticed, kept his right hand behind him. The Count dragged +it forcibly in sight, and saw that it was covered with blood. + +“Infamous scoundrel!” said the nobleman, as he flung the man from him +in disgust. + +“Mercy, mercy!” cried the criminal, falling upon his knees. {131} + +“How long have you been robbing me?” asked the Count, sternly. + +“For nearly two years.” + +“And how much have you taken?” + +“I cannot tell exactly. Perhaps 15,000 francs, or thereabouts.” + +“We will call it 15,000 francs. You may keep the rest. What have you +done with the money?” + +“I have invested it in Government stock. The scrip is in my desk.” + +The thief yielded up the securities to the amount of fifteen thousand +francs, and wrote a confession of his guilt, which he signed in +the presence of a witness. The kind-hearted nobleman, bidding the +valet repent of his crime, forthwith dismissed him from his employ, +agreeing not to prosecute him provided he led an honest life. One +year from that date, the wretched Bernard died. Remorse hastened his +end. + +M. de l’Escalopier took the money thus recovered to Houdin, saying: +“I do hope, my dear friend, that you will no longer refuse me the +pleasure of lending you this sum, which I owe entirely to your +ingenuity and mechanical skill. Take it, return it to me just when +you like, with the understanding that it is to be repaid only out of +the profits of your theatre.” + +Overcome by emotion at the generosity of his benefactor, Houdin +embraced the Count. “This embrace,��� he says, “was the only security +which M. de l’Escalopier would accept from me.” + +This was the turning point of the conjurer’s life. “It is an ill wind +that blows nobody good.” + +With this money Houdin without further delay built in the Palais +Royal a little theatre. “The galleries which surround the garden of +the Palais Royal are divided,” says Houdin, “into successive arches, +occupied by shops. Above these arches there are, on the first floor, +spacious suites of apartments, used as public assembly rooms, clubs, +cafés, etc. It was in the space occupied by one of these suites, at +No. 164 of the Rue de Valois, {132} that I built my theatre, which +extended, in width, over three of the above-mentioned arches; and in +length the distance between the garden of the Palais Royal and the +Rue de Valois, or, in other words, the whole depth of the building.” +The dimensions of this miniature theatre were very limited. It would +not seat over two hundred people. Though the seats were few in +number, their prices were tolerably high. Children were paid for as +grown persons. + +The Palais Royal was formerly the residence of Cardinal Richelieu, +the “Red Duke,” and afterwards became the home of the Orléans family. +The Regent d’Orléans, in the reign of Louis XV, experimented with +magic mirrors in this building. It was in the Palais Royal that the +French Revolution was hatched. Could a more favorable place have been +selected in which to start a revolution in conjuring? I think not. + +The following is the announcement of Houdin’s first performance, +which appeared on the bill-boards of Paris: + + Aujourd’hui Jeudi, 3 Juillet 1845. + Première Représentation + des + Soirées Fantastiques + de + Robert-Houdin. + +“On this day,” says Houdin, “by a strange coincidence, the +Hippodrome and the ‘Fantastic Soirées’ of Robert-Houdin, the largest +and smallest stage in Paris, were opened to the public. The 3d of +July, 1845, saw two bills placarded on the walls of Paris; one +enormous belonging to the Hippodrome, while the other of far more +modest proportions, announced my performances. Still as in the fable +of the reed and the oak, the large theatre, in spite of the skill +of the managers, has undergone many changes of fortune; while the +smaller one has continually enjoyed the public favor. I have sacredly +kept a proof of my first bill, the form and color of which have +always remained the same since that date. I copy it word for word +here, both to {133} furnish an idea of its simplicity, and to display +the programme of the experiments I then offered to the public:”— + + TO-DAY, THURSDAY, JULY 3, 1845 + + FIRST REPRESENTATION + + OF + + THE FANTASTIC SOIRÉES + + OF + + ROBERT-HOUDIN + + AUTOMATA, SLEIGHT OF HAND, MAGIC + + The Performance will be composed of entirely novel Experiments + invented by M. ROBERT-HOUDIN + + AMONG THEM BEING: + + THE CABALISTIC CLOCK + AURIOL AND DEBUREAU + THE ORANGE-TREE + THE MYSTERIOUS BOUQUET + THE HANDKERCHIEF + PIERROT IN THE EGG + OBEDIENT CARDS + THE MIRACULOUS FISH + THE FASCINATING OWL + THE PASTRYCOOK OF THE PALAIS ROYAL + + TO COMMENCE AT EIGHT O’CLOCK + + Box-office open at Half-past Seven + + Price of places: Upper Boxes, 1 fr. 50 c.; Stalls, 3 fr.; Boxes, + 4 fr.; Dress Circle, 5 fr. + +These fantastic evenings soon became popular. When the Revolution of +1848 ruined the majority of Parisian theater managers, Houdin simply +locked the door of his hall, and retired to his little workshop to +invent new tricks and automata. His loss was very slight, for he +was under no great expense. When order was restored, he resumed the +_soirées magiques_. The newspapers rallied to his assistance and +made playful allusions to his {134} being related to the family of +_Robert le Diable_. The leading illustrated journals sent artists to +draw pictures of his stage. Houdin found time, amid all his labors, +to edit a little paper which he called _Cagliostro_, full of _bon +mots_ and pleasantries, to say nothing of cartoons. Copies of this +_petit journal pour rire_ were distributed among the spectators at +each performance. + +As each theatrical season opened, Houdin had some new marvel to +present to his audiences. His maxims were: “It is more difficult to +support admiration than to excite it.” “The fashion an artist enjoys +can only last as long as his talent daily increases.” Houdin had +but few, if any, rivals in his day. His tricks were all new, or so +improved as to appear new. He swept everything before him. When he +went to London for a prolonged engagement, Anderson, the “Wizard of +the North,” who was a great favorite with the public, retired into +the Provinces with his antique repertoire. What had the English +conjurer to offer alongside of such unique novelties as the _Second +Sight_, _Aerial Suspension_, _Inexhaustible Bottle_, _Mysterious +Portfolio_, _Crystal Cash Box_, _Shower of Gold_, _Light and Heavy +Chest_, _Orange Tree_, _the Crystal Clock_, and the automaton figures +_Auriol and Debureau_, _the Pastry Cook of the Palais Royal_, etc., +etc. + + +III. + +Jean-Eugène Robert (Houdin) was born on December 6, 1805, in the +quaint old city of Blois, the birth-place of Louis XII. and of Papin, +the inventor of the steam engine. Napoleon was at the zenith of his +fame, and had just fought the bloody battle of Austerlitz. + +Luckily for the subject of this sketch, he was born too late to serve +as food for powder. He lived to grow to man’s estate and honorable +old age, and became the veritable Napoleon of necromancy. His career +makes fascinating reading. Houdin’s father was a watchmaker, and from +him he inherited his remarkable mechanical genius. At the age of +eleven, Jean-Eugène was sent to college at Orleans. On the completion +of his studies, he entered a notary’s office at Blois, but spent most +of his time inventing little mechanical toys and devices, instead +of engrossing {135} dusty parchment, so the notary advised him to +abandon the idea of becoming a lawyer and take up a mechanical trade. +Houdin joyfully took up his father’s occupation of watchmaking, for +which he had a decided bent. One evening the young apprentice went +to a bookseller’s shop in Blois and asked for a work on horology by +Berthoud. The shopman by mistake handed him a couple of odd volumes +of the _Encyclopédie_, which somewhat resembled Berthoud’s book. +Jean-Eugène went home to his attic, lit a candle, and prepared to +devote an evening to hard study, but judge of his surprise to find +that the supposed treatise on watchmaking was a work on natural magic +and prestidigitation, under the head of scientific amusements. He was +delighted at the revelations contained in the mystic volume, which +told how to perform tricks with the cards, to cut off a pigeon’s head +and restore it again, etc., etc. Here was an introduction to the +New Arabian Nights of enchantment. He slept with the book under his +pillow, and possibly dreamed of African wizards, genii, and all sorts +of incantations. This little incident brought about great changes in +Houdin’s life. He secretly vowed to become a prestidigitateur,—a rôle +for which he was eminently fitted, psychologically and physically. +The principles of sleight of hand Houdin had to create for himself, +for the mystic volume, though it revealed the secrets of the +tricks, gave the neophyte no adequate idea of the subtle passes and +misdirection required to properly execute them. + +Though an ardent devotee of legerdemain, Houdin did not neglect +his trade of watchmaker. When his apprenticeship was over, he went +to Tours as a journeyman, in the shop of M. Noriet, who afterwards +became a noted sculptor. While in the employ of M. Noriet, Houdin +was poisoned by eating a ragôut cooked in a stew pan in which there +chanced to be verdigris. He was very ill, and his life was saved +with difficulty. Possessed with the idea that he was soon to die, +he escaped one day from his nurse and doctor and set out for Blois +to bid adieu to his family before he departed from this sublunary +sphere. A most singular adventure befell him, which reads like a +romance. Those who believe in destiny have here a curious example +of its {136} strange workings. The jolting of the lumbering old +diligence gave Houdin great pain. He was burning with fever and +delirious. Without any one knowing it, he opened the door of the +_rotonde_, in which he happened to be the only passenger, and leaped +out on the high road, where he lay unconscious. When he recovered his +senses, he found himself lying in a comfortable bed. An unknown man +with a phial of medicine in his hand bent over him. By the strangest +luck, Houdin had fallen into the hands of a traveling conjurer named +Torrini, who went about the country in a sort of house on wheels, +which was drawn by a pair of big Norman horses. This unique vehicle +which was six yards in length could be converted into a miniature +theatre twice its size by an ingenious mechanical arrangement. The +body was telescopic and could be drawn out, the projection being +supported by trestles. Torrini early in life had been a physician and +was able to tend his patient with intelligence and skill. Finding +the young watchmaker a clever mechanician, Torrini gave him some +magical automata to repair, and Houdin was introduced for the first +time to the little Harlequin that jumps out of a box and performs +various feats at the mandate of the conjurer. A delightful friendship +began between the watchmaker and the wizard. Torrini, who was an +expert with cards, initiated Houdin into the secrets of many clever +tricks performed with the pasteboards. He also corrected his pupil’s +numerous mistakes in legerdemain, into which all self-educated +amateurs fall. It was a fascinating life led in this conjurer’s +caravan. Besides Torrini and Houdin there was Antonio, the assistant, +and man of all work. Torrini related many amusing adventures to +his young pupil, which the latter has recorded in his admirable +autobiography. It was he, the _ci-devint_, Comte de Grisy who +performed the famous watch trick before Pius VII. and had so unique +revenge upon the Chevalier Pinetti. + +Torrini’s son was accidentally shot by a spectator in the gun trick +during a performance at Strasburg, as has been explained in the +chapter on the “History of Natural Magic and Prestidigitation.” +Overcome with grief at the loss of his only child and at the +subsequent death of his wife, he abandoned the great cities {137} +and wandered about the French Provinces attended by has faithful +assistant and brother-in-law, Antonio. But to return to Robert-Houdin. + +One day at Aubusson the conjurer’s caravan collided with an enormous +hay cart. Houdin and Antonio escaped with light contusions, but the +Master had a leg broken and an arm dislocated. The two horses were +killed; as for the carriage, only the body remained intact; all the +rest was smashed to atoms. During Torrini’s illness, Houdin, assisted +by Antonio, gave a conjuring performance at the town hall to replete +the exchequer. Houdin succeeded very well in his first attempt, with +the exception that he ruined a gentleman’s chapeau while performing +the trick of the omelet in the hat. + +Soon after this Houdin bid adieu to Torrini and returned to his +parents at Blois. He never saw Torrini again in this life. After +following watchmaking at Blois for quite a little while, he proceeded +to Paris, with his wife,—for he had not only taken unto himself +a spouse, but had adopted her name, Houdin, as part of his own +cognomen. He was now Jean-Eugène Robert-Houdin, master-watchmaker. +His recontre with the Count de l’Escalopier and the result have +already been given. + +Houdin completely revolutionized the art of conjuring. Prior to +his time, the tables used by magicians were little else than huge +confederate boxes. Conjuring under such circumstances was child’s +play, as compared with the difficulties to be encountered with the +apparatus of the new school. In addition, Houdin discarded the long, +flowing robes of many of his predecessors, and appeared in evening +dress. Since his time all first-class prestidigitateurs have followed +his example, both as to dress and tables. + +Houdin’s center-table was a marvel of mechanical skill and ingenuity. +Concealed in the body were “vertical rods, each arranged to rise +and fall in a tube, according as it was drawn down by a spiral +spring or pulled up by a whip-cord which passed over a pulley at +the top of the tube and so down the table-leg to the hiding-place +of the confederate.” There were “ten of these pistons, and ten +cords passing under the floor of the stage, {138} terminating at a +key-board. Various ingenious automata were actuated by this means of +transmitting motion.” + +Houdin’s stage was very handsome. It was a replica in miniature of a +salon of the Louis XV. period—all in white and gold—illuminated by +elegant candelabra and a chandelier. The magic table occupied the +center of the room. This piece of furniture was flanked by little +guéridons. At the sides were consoles, with about five inches of gold +fringe hanging from them, and across the back of the apartment ran +a broad shelf, upon which was displayed the various apparatus to be +used in the séances. “The consoles were nothing more than shallow +wooden boxes with openings through the side-scenes. The tops of the +consoles were perforated with traps. Any object which the wizard +desired to work off secretly to his confederate behind the scenes +was placed on one of these traps and covered with a sheet of paper, +pasteboard cover or a handkerchief. Touching a spring caused the +article to fall noiselessly through the trap upon cotton batting, and +roll into the hand of the conjurer’s concealed assistant.” + +[Illustration: HOUDIN’S TRICK-TABLE.] + +Now for a few of the tricks of this classic prestidigitateur. His +greatest invention was the “light and heavy chest.” Speaking of this +remarkable experiment he wrote: “I do not think, modesty apart, +that I ever invented anything so daringly ingenious.” The magician +came forward with a little wooden box, {139} to the top of which +was attached a metal handle. He addressed the audience as follows: +“Ladies and gentlemen. I have a cash-box which possesses strange +properties. It becomes heavy or light at will. I place in it some +banknotes for safekeeping and deposit it here on the ‘run-down’ in +sight of all. Will some gentleman test the lightness of the box?” + +When the volunteer had satisfied the audience that the box could +be lifted with the little finger, Houdin executed some pretended +mesmeric passes over it, and bade the gentleman lift it a second +time. But try as he might, the volunteer would prove unequal to the +task. At a sign from Houdin the box would be restored to its pristine +lightness. This trick was performed with a powerful electro-magnet +with conducting wires reaching behind the scenes to a battery. At a +signal from the performer an operator turned on the electric current, +and the box, which had an iron plate let into its bottom, covered +with mahogany-colored paper, clung to the magnet with supernatural +attraction. In the year 1845, the phenomena of electro-magnetism were +unknown to the general public, hence the spirit cash-box created +the most extraordinary sensation. When the subject of electricity +became better known, Houdin made an addition to the feat which threw +his spectators off the scent. After first having shown the trick on +the “run-down,” he hooked the box to one end of a cord which passed +over a pulley attached to the ceiling of the hall. A spectator was +requested to take hold of the other end of the cord and keep the +chest suspended. + +“Just at present,” remarked the conjurer, “the chest is extremely +light; but as it is about to become, at my command, very heavy, I +must ask five or six other persons to help this gentleman, for fear +the chest should lift him off his feet.” + +No sooner was this done than the chest came heavily to the ground, +dragging along and sometimes lifting off their feet all the +spectators who were holding the cord. The explanation is this: On +a casual inspection of the pulley and block everything appears to +indicate that, as usual in such cases, the cord passes straight +over the pulley, in on one side and out on the other; but such is +not really the fact, as will be seen upon tracing the course {140} +of the dotted lines (Fig. 1), which, passing through the block and +through the ceiling, are attached on either side to a double pulley +fixed in the room above. To any one who has the most elementary +acquaintance with the laws of mechanics, it will be obvious that the +strength of the person who holds the handle of the windlass above is +multiplied tenfold, and that he can easily overcome even the combined +resistance of five or six spectators. + +[Illustration: Fig. 1.] + +[Illustration: Fig. 2. THE TALKING BUST.] + +The “Bust of Socrates” was another favorite experiment with Houdin. +In this illusion a living bust with the features of Socrates was +suspended in the middle of the stage without visible support. The +performer, habited as an Athenian noble, addressed questions to the +mutilated philosopher and received replies in stanzas of elegiac +verse. The _mise en scène_ is represented in Fig. 2. Houdin explains +the illusion as follows: + +“_A_, _B_, _C_, _D_, (Fig. 3) represent a section of the stage on +which the trick is exhibited. A sheet of silvered glass, _G_, _G_, +occupying the whole width of the stage, is placed in a diagonal +position, extending from the upper part of the stage at the rear, +down to the footlights, so as to form an angle of forty-five degrees +with the floor. In the center of the glass is an opening through +which {141} the actor passes his head and shoulders, as shown in the +figure. It should be further mentioned that the ceiling and the two +sides of the stage are hung with wall-paper of the same pattern, and +are brilliantly illuminated, either by means of footlights at _C_, or +by gas-jets placed behind the border _A_. Such being the condition of +things, the effect is as follows: The ceiling _A_ is reflected in the +mirror, and its reflection appears to the spectators to be the paper +of the wall _B_, _D_, which in reality is hidden by the glass. + +[Illustration: Fig 3. HOW THE TALKING BUST WAS WORKED.] + +“By means of this reflection, of which he is of course unaware, the +spectator is led to believe that he sees three sides of the stage; +and there being nothing to suggest to his mind the presence of the +glass, he is led to believe that the bust is suspended in mid-air and +without any support.” + +“Aerial Suspension” was one of Houdin’s inventions. It has been a +favorite trick since his time. In the original illusion Houdin had +one of his young sons, who was dressed as a page, stand on a small +stool. The performer then placed a walking-stick under the extended +right arm of the boy, near the elbow, and one under the left arm. +First the stool was knocked away and the youthful assistant was +suspended in the air, held up only by the two frail sticks, which +were in themselves inadequate to support such a weight. Then the left +stick was removed, but the boy did not fall. To the astonishment of +every one, the youth {142} was placed in a horizontal position. He +remained in a perfectly rigid attitude with his head leaning on his +arm, the top of the cane under his elbow. + +This very ingenious trick was suggested to Houdin on reading stories +about the alleged levitation of Hindoo fakirs. The walking-stick that +supported the right arm of the assistant was of iron, painted to +resemble wood. It fitted into a slot in the stage; its top connected +with a bar concealed in the sleeve of the boy. This bar formed part +of a strong steel framework worn under the assistant’s clothing. Thus +was the page suspended in the air. + +Houdin’s trick of the “orange-tree” was a capital one. The tree +blossomed and bore fruit at the command of the conjurer. All the +oranges were distributed among the spectators except one on the +topmost branch of the tree. In this orange the magician caused a +handkerchief to appear, which had been previously borrowed. The +handkerchief was made to vanish from the hands of the performer. +“Hey, presto!” the orange fell apart in four sections, whereupon two +butterflies sprang out and fluttered upward with the handkerchief. +The explanation of this beautiful trick is as follows: The tree +was a clever piece of mechanism, so closely fashioned to resemble +a plant that it was impossible to detect the difference. The +blossoms, constructed of white silk, were pushed up through the +hollow branches by pistons rising in the table and operating upon +similar rods contained in the tree. When these pedals were relaxed +the blossoms disappeared, and the fruit was slowly developed. Real +oranges were stuck on iron spikes protruding from the branches of +the tree, and were concealed from the spectators by hemispherical +wire screens painted green. The screens were also partly hidden by +the artificial foliage. By means of cords running down through the +branches of the tree and off behind the scenes, an assistant caused +the screens to make a half-turn, thereby developing the fruit. The +borrowed handkerchief was exchanged for a dummy belonging to the +conjurer, and passed to an assistant who placed it in the mechanical +orange. The tree was now brought forward. After the real fruit had +been distributed, the magician called attention to the orange on the +top (the mechanical one). By {143} means of sleight of hand the +handkerchief was made to vanish, to be discovered in the orange. The +butterflies, which were fastened by wires to the stalk and fixed on +delicate spiral springs, invisible at a little distance, flew out of +the orange of their own accord, carrying with them the handkerchief, +as soon as the fruit fell apart. + + +IV. + +In the year 1846 Houdin was summoned to the Palace of Saint-Cloud to +give a performance before Louis Philippe and his Court, whereupon he +invented his remarkable trick of the enchanted casket, which created +great excitement in the Parisian journals, and gained him no little +fame. He had six days to prepare for the _séance magique_. Early on +the appointed morning a van from the royal stables came to convey him +and his son, together with the magic paraphernalia, to the palace +of the king. A stage had been erected in one of the handsome salons +of St. Cloud, the windows of which opened out on an orangery lined +with double rows of orange-trees, “each growing in its square box on +wheels. A sentry was placed at the door to see that the conjurer was +not disturbed in his preparations. The King himself dropped in once +to ask the entertainer if he had everything necessary.” + +At four o’clock in the afternoon, a brilliant company assembled in +the hall to witness the performance. The _pièce de résistance_ of the +séance was Cagliostro’s casket, the effect of which is best described +in Houdin’s own words: + +“I borrowed from my noble spectators several handkerchiefs, which +I made into a parcel, and laid on the table. Then, at my request, +different persons wrote on blank cards the names of places whither +they desired their handkerchiefs to be invisibly transported. + +“When this had been done, I begged the King to take three of the +cards at hazard, and choose from them the place he might consider +most suitable. + +“ ‘Let us see,’ Louis Philippe said, ‘what this one says: “I desire +the handkerchiefs to be found beneath one of the {144} candelabra on +the mantelpiece.” That is too easy for a sorcerer; so we will pass to +the next card: “The handkerchiefs are to be transported to the dome +of the Invalides.” That would suit me, but it is much too far, not +for the handkerchiefs, but for us, ‘Ah, ah!’ the King added, looking +at the last card, ‘I am afraid, Monsieur Robert-Houdin, I am about to +embarrass you. Do you know what this card proposes?’ + +“ ‘Will your majesty deign to inform me?’ + +“ ‘It is desired that you should send the handkerchiefs into the +chest of the last orange-tree on the right of the avenue.’ + +“ ‘Only that, sir? Deign to order, and I will obey.’ + +“ ‘Very good, then; I should like to see such a magic act: I, +therefore, choose the orange-tree chest.’ + +“The king gave some orders in a low voice, and I directly saw several +persons run to the orange-tree, in order to watch it and prevent any +fraud. + +“I was delighted at this precaution, which must add to the effect of +my experiment, for the trick was already arranged, and the precaution +hence too late. + +“I had now to send the handkerchiefs on their travels, so I placed +them beneath a bell of opaque glass, and, taking my wand, I ordered +my invisible travelers to proceed to the spot the king had chosen. + +“I raised the bell; the little parcel was no longer there, and a +white turtle-dove had taken its place. + +“The King then walked quickly to the door, whence he looked in the +direction of the orange-tree, to assure himself that the guards were +at their post; when this was done, he began to smile and shrug his +shoulders. + +“ ‘Ah! Monsieur Houdin,’ he said, somewhat ironically, ‘I much fear +for the virtue of your magic staff.’ Then he added, as he returned +to the end of the room, where several servants were standing, +‘Tell William to open immediately the last chest at the end of the +avenue, and bring me carefully what he finds there—if he _does_ find +anything.’ + +“William soon proceeded to the orange-tree, and though much +astonished at the orders given him, he began to carry them out. {145} + + +“He carefully removed one of the sides of the chest, thrust his +hand in, and almost touched the roots of the tree before he found +anything. All at once he uttered a cry of surprise, as he drew out a +small iron coffer eaten by rust. + +“This curious ‘find,’ after having been cleansed of the mould, was +brought in and placed on a small ottoman by the king’s side. + +“ ‘Well, Monsieur Robert-Houdin,’ Louis Philippe said to me, with a +movement of impatient curiosity, ‘here is a box; am I to conclude it +contains the handkerchiefs?’ + +“ ‘Yes, sire,’ I replied, with assurance, ‘and they have been there, +too, for a long period.’ + +“ ‘How can that be? the handkerchiefs were lent you scarce a quarter +of an hour ago.’ + +“ ‘I cannot deny it, sire; but what would my magic powers avail me +if I could not perform incomprehensible tricks? Your Majesty will +doubtless be still more surprised, when I prove to your satisfaction +that this coffer, as well as its contents, was deposited in the chest +of the orange-tree sixty years ago.’ + +“ ‘I should like to believe your statement,’ the King replied, with a +smile; ‘but that is impossible, and I must, therefore, ask for proofs +of your assertion.’ + +“ ‘If Your Majesty will be kind enough to open this casket they will +be supplied.’ + +“ ‘Certainly; but I shall require a key for that.’ + +“ ‘It only depends on yourself, sire, to have one. Deign to remove it +from the neck of this turtle-dove, which has just brought it to you.’ + +“Louis Philippe unfastened a ribbon that held a small rusty key, with +which he hastened to unlock the coffer. + +“The first thing that caught the King’s eye was a parchment on which +he read the following statement: + + “ ‘This day, the 6th June, 1786, + This iron box, containing six handkerchiefs, was placed + among the roots of an orange-tree by me, Balsamo, Count + of Cagliostro, to serve in performing an act of magic, + which will be executed on the same day sixty years hence + before Louis Philippe of Orleans and his family.’ + +{146} + +“ ‘There is decidedly witchcraft about this,’ the king said, more and +more amazed. ‘Nothing is wanting, for the seal and signature of the +celebrated sorcerer are placed at the foot of this statement, which, +Heaven pardon me, smells strongly of sulphur.’ + +“At this jest the audience began to laugh. + +“ ‘But,’ the king added, taking out of the box a carefully sealed +packet, ‘can the handkerchiefs by possibility be in this?’ + +“ ‘Indeed, sire, they are; but, before opening the parcel, I would +request your majesty to notice that it also bears the impression of +Cagliostro’s seal.’ + +“This seal once rendered so famous by being placed on the celebrated +alchemist’s bottles of elixir and liquid gold, I had obtained from +Torrini, who had been an old friend of Cagliostro’s. + +“ ‘It is certainly the same,’ my royal spectator answered, after +comparing the two seals. Still, in his impatience to learn the +contents of the parcel, the king quickly tore open the envelope and +soon displayed before the astonished spectators the six handkerchiefs +which, a few moments before, were still on my table. + +“This trick gained me lively applause.” + +Robert-Houdin never revealed the secret of this remarkable experiment +in natural magic, but the acute reader, especially if he be a student +of legerdemain, will be able to give a pretty shrewd guess as to +the _modus operandi_. The best analysis of this trick has been +lately given by Professor Brander Matthews. He writes as follows +(_Scribner’s Magazine_, May, 1903): + +“Nothing more extraordinary was ever performed by any mere conjurer; +indeed, this feat is quite as startling as any of those attributed +to Cagliostro himself, and it has the advantage of being accurately +and precisely narrated by the inventor. Not only is the thing done +a seeming impossibility, but it stands forth the more impressively +because of the spectacular circumstances of its performance,—a +stately palace, a lovely garden, the assembled courtiers, and the +royal family. The magician had to depend on his wits alone, for +he was deprived of all advantages of his own theatre and of all +possibility of aid from a confederate mingled amid the casual +spectators. {147} + +“Robert-Houdin was justified in the gentle pride with which he told +how he had thus astonished the King of the French. He refrained +from any explanation of the means whereby he wrought his mystery, +believing that what is unknown is ever the more magnificent. He did +no more than drop a hint or two, telling the reader that he had long +possessed a cast of Cagliostro’s seal, and suggesting slyly that when +the King sent messengers out into the garden to stand guard over the +orange-tree the trick was already done and all precautions were then +futile. + +“Yet, although the inventor chose to keep his secret, any one who +has mastered the principles of the art of magic can venture an +explanation. Robert-Houdin has set forth the facts honestly; and +with the facts solidly established, it is possible to reason out the +method employed to accomplish a deed which, at first sight, seems not +only impossible but incomprehensible. + +“The first point to be emphasized is that Robert-Houdin was as +dexterous as he was ingenious. He was truly a prestidigitateur, +capable of any sleight of hand. Nothing was simpler for so +accomplished a performer than the substitution of one package for +another, right before the eyes of all the spectators. And it is to +be remembered that although the palace was the King’s the apparatus +on the extemporized stage was the magician’s. Therefore, when he +borrowed six handkerchiefs and went up on the stage and made them up +into a package which remained on a table in sight of everybody, we +can grant without difficulty that the package which remained in sight +did not then contain the borrowed handkerchiefs. + +“In fact, we may be sure that the borrowed handkerchiefs had been +conveyed somehow to Robert-Houdin’s son who acted as his assistant. +When the handkerchiefs were once in the possession of the son out of +sight behind the scenery or hangings of the stage, the father would +pick up his package of blank visiting-cards and distribute a dozen of +them or a score, moving to and fro in very leisurely fashion, perhaps +going back to the stage to get pencils which he would also give out +as slowly as possible, filling up the time with playful pleasantry, +until he should again {148} catch sight of his son. Then, and +not until then, would he feel at liberty to collect the cards and +take them over to the King. When the son had got possession of the +handkerchiefs, he would smooth them swiftly, possibly even ironing +them into their folds. Then he would put them into the parchment +packet which he would seal twice with Cagliostro’s seal. Laying this +packet in the bottom of the rusty iron casket, he would put on top +the other parchment which had already been prepared, with its adroit +imitation of Cagliostro’s handwriting. Snapping down the lid of the +casket, the lad would slip out into the corridor and steal into the +garden, going straight to the box of the appointed orange-tree. He +could do this unobserved, because no one was then suspecting him +and because all the spectators were then engaged in thinking up odd +places to which the handkerchiefs might be transported. Already, +in the long morning, probably while the royal household was at its +midday breakfast, the father or the son had loosened one of the +staples in the back of the box in which the designated orange-tree +was growing. The lad now removed this staple and thrust the casket +into the already prepared hole in the center of the roots of the +tree. Then he replaced the staple at the back of the box, feeling +certain that whoever should open the box in front would find the soil +undisturbed. This most difficult part of the task once accomplished, +he returned to the stage, or at least in some way he signified to +his father that he had accomplished his share of the wonder, in the +performance of which he was not supposed to have any part. + +“On seeing his son, or on receiving the signal that his son had +returned, Robert-Houdin would feel himself at liberty to collect the +cards on which various spectators had written the destinations they +proposed for the package of handkerchiefs which was still in full +sight. He gathered up the cards he had distributed; but as he went +toward the King, he substituted for those written by the spectators +others previously prepared by himself,—a feat of sleight of hand +quite within the reach of any ordinary performer. Of these cards, +prepared by himself, he forced three {149} on the sovereign; and +the forcing of cards upon a kindly monarch would present little +difficulty to a prestidigitateur of Robert-Houdin’s consummate skill. + +“When the three cards were once in the King’s hands, the trick was +done, for Robert-Houdin knew Louis Philippe to be a shrewd man in +small matters. Therefore, it was reasonably certain that when the +King had to make a choice out of three places, one near and easy, a +second remote and difficult, and a third both near and difficult, +Louis Philippe would surely select the third which was conveniently +at hand and which seemed to be at least as impossible as either of +the others. + +“The event proved that the conjurer’s analysis of the King’s +character was accurate: yet one may venture the opinion that the +magician had taken every needed precaution to avoid failure even if +the monarch had made another selection. Probably Robert-Houdin had +one little parchment packet hidden in advance somewhere in the dome +of the Invalides and another tucked up out of sight in the base of +one of the candelabra on the chimney-piece; and if either of the +other destinations had been chosen, the substitute packet would have +been produced and the magician would then have offered to transport +it also into the box of the orange-tree. And thus the startling +climax of the marvel would have been only a little delayed. + +“When so strange a wonder can be wrought under such circumstances by +means so simple, we cannot but feel the force of Dr. Lodge’s warning +that an unwavering scepticism ought to be the attitude of all honest +investigators toward every one who professes to be able to suspend +the operation of a custom of nature. No one of the feats attributed +to Home, the celebrated medium who plied his trade in Paris during +the Second Empire, was more abnormal than this trick of Cagliostro’s +Casket, and no one of them is so well authenticated. It may be that +certain of the customs of nature are not inexorable and that we shall +be able to discover exceptions now and again. But the proof of any +alleged exception, the evidence in favor of any alleged violation of +the custom of nature, ought to be overwhelming.” {150} + + +V. + +The greatest event of Houdin’s life was his embassy to Algeria, “at +the special request of the French Government, which desired to lessen +the influence of the Marabouts, whose conjuring tricks, accepted as +actual magic by the Arabs, gave them too much influence.” He went +to play off his tricks against those of Arab priests, or holy men, +and, by “greater marvels than they could show, destroy the _prestige_ +which they had acquired. He so completely succeeded that the Arabs +lost all faith in the miracles of the Marabouts, and thus was +destroyed an influence very dangerous to the French Government.” His +first performance was given at the leading theatre of Algiers, before +a great assemblage of Arabs, who had been summoned to witness the +_soirée magique_, by the mandate of the Marshall-Governor of Algeria. +Houdin’s “Light and Heavy Chest” literally paralyzed the Arabs with +astonishment. He altered the _mise en scène_, and pretended to be +able to make the strongest man so weak that he would be unable to +lift a small box from the floor. He says in his memoirs: + +“I advanced with my box in my hand, to the center of the +‘practicable,’ communicating from the stage to the pit; then +addressing the Arabs, I said to them: + +“ ‘From what you have witnessed, you will attribute a supernatural +power to me, and you are right. I will give you a new proof of my +marvelous authority, by showing that I can deprive the most powerful +man of his strength and restore it at my will. Any one who thinks +himself strong enough to try the experiment may draw near me.’ (I +spoke slowly, in order to give the interpreter time to translate my +words). + +“An Arab of middle height, but well built and muscular, like many of +the Arabs are, came to my side with sufficient assurance. + +“ ‘Are you very strong?’ I said to him, measuring him from head to +foot. + +“ ‘Oh yes!’ he replied carelessly. + +“ ‘Are you sure you will always remain so?’ + +“ ‘Quite sure.’ + +“ ‘You are mistaken, for in an instant I will rob you of your +strength, and you shall become like as a little child.’ {151} + +“The Arab smiled disdainfully, as a sign of his incredulity. + +“ ‘Stay,’ I continued; ‘lift up this box.’ + +“The Arab stooped, lifted up the box, and said to me, ‘Is this all?’ + +“ ‘Wait ⸺!’ I replied. + +“Then with all possible gravity, I made an imposing gesture and +solemnly pronounced the words: + +“ ‘Behold! you are weaker than a woman; now, try to lift the box.’ + +“The Hercules, quite cool as to my conjuration, seized the box once +again by the handle, and gave it a violent tug, but this time the box +resisted, and spite of his most vigorous attacks, would not budge an +inch. + +“The Arab vainly expended on this unlucky box a strength which would +have raised an enormous weight, until at length exhausted, panting, +and red with anger, he stopped, became thoughtful, and began to +comprehend the influences of magic. + +“He was on the point of withdrawing; but that would be allowing his +weakness, and that he, hitherto respected for his vigor, had become +as a little child. This thought rendered him almost mad. + +“Deriving fresh strength from the encouragements his friends offered +him by word and deed, he turned a glance around them, which seemed to +say, ‘You will see what a son of the desert can do.’ + +“He bent once again over the box: his nervous hands twined around the +handle, and his legs, placed on either side like two bronze columns, +served as a support for the final effort. + +“But, wonder of wonders! this Hercules, a moment since so strong and +proud, now bows his head; his arms, riveted to the box, undergo a +violent muscular contraction; his legs give way, and he falls on his +knees with a yell of agony. + +“An electric shock, produced by an induction apparatus, had been +passed, on a signal from me, from the further end of the stage into +the handle of the box. Hence the contortions of the poor Arab! + +“It would have been cruelty to prolong this scene. {152} + +“I gave a second signal, and the electric current was immediately +intercepted. My athlete, disengaged from his terrible bondage, raised +his hands over his head. + +“ ‘Allah! Allah’ he exclaimed, full of terror; then, wrapping himself +up quickly in the folds of his burnous, as if to hide his disgrace, +he rushed through the ranks of the spectators and gained the front +entrance. + +“With the exception of the dignitaries occupying the stage boxes and +the privileged spectators, in the body of the house, who seemed to +take great pleasure in this great experiment, my audience had become +grave and silent, and I heard the words ‘_Shaitan!_’ ‘_Djenoum!_’ +passing in a murmur round the circle of credulous men, who, while +gazing on me, seemed astonished that I possessed none of the physical +qualities attributed to the angel of darkness.” + +The Marabout priests constantly boasted of their invulnerability. +They were reputed to be possessed of powerful talismans which +caused loaded weapons to flash in the pan when fired at them. +Houdin counteracted these claims by performing his celebrated +bullet-catching feat, in which a marked bullet apparently shot from a +gun is caught by the magician in a plate or between his teeth. There +are two ways of accomplishing this trick. One is by substituting +a bullet of hollow wax for the real leaden bullet. The explosion +scatters the wax into minute fragments which fly in all directions +and do not come in contact with the person shot at; provided he +stands at a respectable distance from the individual who handles the +pistol or gun. The second method is to insert into the barrel of the +weapon a small tube open at one end. Into this receptacle the bullet +falls, and the tube is withdrawn from the gun in the act of ramming +it, forming as it were a part of the ramrod. The performer, once in +possession of the little tube, secretly extracts the marked bullet +and produces it at the proper time. Houdin had recourse to both ways +of performing this startling trick. Sometimes he filled the wax +bullet with blood, extracted from his thumb. When the bullet smashed +against a white wall it left a red splash. Houdin, after traveling +into the interior of Algeria, visiting many prominent chieftains, +returned to France, and settled down at St. Gervais, a suburb {153} +of Blois. He relinquished his theatre to his brother-in-law, Pierre +Chocat (M. Hamilton), and devoted himself to scientific work, and +writing his _Confidences_ and other works on natural magic. + + +VI. + +Houdin called his villa at St. Gervais the “Priory,” a rather +monastic title. It was a veritable palace of enchantments. Electrical +devices played an important part in its construction, as well +as automata. The Pepper ghost illusion was rigged up in a small +pavilion on the grounds. A mechanical hermit welcomed guests to a +grotto: Houdin’s friends jestingly called the place “_L’Abbaye de +l’Attrape_ (_la Trappe_),” or “Catch’em Abbey.” The pun is almost +untranslatable. “_Attrape_” is a trap, in French. You have a Trappist +Monastery. I need say no more. During the Franco-Prussian War, +Houdin’s neighbors brought their valuables to him to be concealed. He +had a hiding place built which defied detection. But the Prussians +never bothered him. + +Says William Manning (_Recollections of Robert-Houdin_, London, 1891): + +“Robert-Houdin’s employment of electricity, not only as a moving +power for the performance of his illusions, but for domestic +purposes, was long in advance of his time. The electric bell, so +common to us now, was in every-day use _for years_ in his own house, +before its value was recognized by the public. + +“He had a favorite horse, named Fanny, for which he entertained great +affection, and christened her ‘the friend of the family.’ She was +of gentle disposition and was growing old in his service; so he was +anxious to allow her every indulgence, especially punctuality at +meals and full allowance of fodder. + +“Such being the case, it was a matter of great surprise that Fanny +grew daily thinner and thinner, till it was discovered that her groom +had a great fancy for the art formerly practised by her master and +converted her hay into five-franc pieces! So Houdin dismissed the +groom and secured a more honest lad, but to provide against further +contingencies and neglect of duty he had {154} a clock placed in +his study, which with the aid of an electrical wire worked a food +supply in the stable, a distance of fifty yards from the house. +The distributing apparatus was a square funnel-shaped box which +discharged the provender in prearranged quantities. No one could +steal the oats from the horse after they had fallen, as the electric +trigger could not act unless the stable door was locked. The lock was +outside, and if any one entered before the horse finished eating his +oats, a bell would immediately ring in the house. + +“This same clock in his study also transmitted the time to two large +clock-faces, placed one on the top of the house, the other on the +gardener’s lodge, the former for the benefit of the villagers. + +“In his bell-tower he had a clockwork arrangement of sufficient power +to lift the hammer at the proper moment. The daily winding of the +clock was performed automatically by communication with a swing-door +in his kitchen, and the winding-up apparatus of the clock in the +clock-tower was so arranged that the servants in passing backward and +forward on their domestic duties unconsciously wound up the striking +movement of the clock.” + +The Priory is now a partial ruin. It has passed out of his family. +Houdin died there June 13, 1871, after an illness of ten days. +His death was caused by pneumonia. The following is an extract of +the notice of his decease, taken from the registers of the civil +authorities of St. Gervais: + +“June 14, 1871. Notice of the death of Robert-Houdin, Jean-Eugène, +died at St. Gervais, June 13, 1871, at 10 P. M., sixty-five years of +age. Son of the defunct Prosper Robert and Marie Catherine Guillon; +widower of his first wife Josephe Cecile Eglantine Houdin; married +the second time to Françoise Marguerite Olympe Naconnier; Court House +of St. Gervais, signed—The Mayor.” The signature is illegible. + +William Manning was an intimate friend of Houdin. When the famous +conjurer went to London to exhibit, he lodged at the house of +Manning’s father. William was a young man at the time and deeply +enamored with conjuring exhibitions. {155} Houdin showed him many +favors and presented him with a number of souvenirs, among them being +a magic clock, a harlequin-in-the-box, etc., also a photograph of +himself, a copy of which Mr. Manning sent to me a few years ago, +during the course of a correspondence I had with him concerning +Houdin. Up to the time of his death the great conjurer exchanged +letters with his friend, then a grown man. Houdin’s closing years +were saddened by the tragic death of his son, Eugène, who was killed +at Reichshoffen in the Franco-Prussian War. He was a sub-lieutenant +in the French army and a graduate of the military school at St. Cyr. +He assisted his father on the stage, but abandoned conjuring for a +military career. In a letter to William Manning, dated September 11, +1870, Houdin describes the affair at Reichshoffen: . . . . “My son +was 33 years old; he was captain since 1866; he belonged to the 1st +Zouaves and was considered one of the bravest in that brave corps. +You can judge of it by the following extract from an article in the +_Figaro_, of Sept. 3, entitled ‘An episode of Reichshoffen,’ an +extract from a private letter. This letter was undoubtedly written +by a soldier in my son’s company; it is signed with an X. I omit the +harrowing incidents which preceded this sad retreat. . . . ‘The line +had received orders to break up and were defeated, 35,000 against +140,000! My company (1st Zouaves) was drawn up on the battle-field, +to be used as sharp-shooters, alone, without artillery; we were +to resist the retreat. Upon the order of Captain Robert-Houdin, +Lieutenant Girard advanced with two men to reconnoitre the enemy. He +took three steps, and fell, crying: ’_Do not give up the Coucou_, +(a familiar expression applied to the flag). We carried him away +and the Captain shouted ‘Fire!’ The order to retreat came, but we +did not hear it, and continued to beat against a wall of fire which +illuminated our ranks. Soon our Captain fell, saying: ‘Tell them +. . . _that I fell facing the enemy_.’ A bullet had pierced his +breast. He was taken in the ambulance to Reichshoffen where he died, +four days later, from his wound.” + +“My dear Manning, would you believe it, my brave son, mortally +wounded as he was, had the heroic courage amidst {156} flying shot to +take from his pocket a pencil and a card and to write these words: +‘Dear father, _I am wounded, but be reassured, it is only a trifle_.’ +He could not sign this. The card and the envelope are stained with +his blood. This precious relic was sent to me from Reichshoffen after +my son’s death.” + +[Illustration: LITHOGRAPHED INVITATION-TICKET DESIGNED BY HOUDIN. + +(The signatures are those of Houdin and Hamilton.)] + +Emile, the elder son who distinguished himself in the “Second-Sight +Trick,” as soon as his father retired from the stage, became a +watchmaker. He published a work on horology to which his father wrote +the following preface: + +“I have often been asked why my son did not follow the career I had +opened for him in prestidigitation, but preferred instead the study +of horology. My answer to the question may be used fitly as a preface +to this pamphlet. + +“If you believe in hereditary vocations, here is a case for their +just application. My son’s maternal great-grandfather, Nicolas +Houdin, was a watchmaker of great merit in the last century. J. F. +Houdin, his son, has gained, as is well known, a prominent place +among the most distinguished watchmakers of his time. A certain +modesty, which you will understand, prevents me from praising +my father as highly; I shall only say {157} that he was a very +skilful and ingenious watchmaker. Before devoting myself to the art +of conjuring, based on mechanism, I, too, was for a long time a +watchmaker and achieved some success. + +[Illustration] + +“With such genealogy, should one not be predestined to horology? +Therefore my son was irresistibly drawn to his {158} vocation, and +he took up the art which Berthoud and Bréguet have made famous. It +was from the latter of the two celebrated masters that he learned the +elements of the profession of his forefathers.” + +Emile was subsequently induced to take up the magic wand, and in +conjunction with Professor Brannet gave many clever entertainments. +During his management the old theatre[22] in the Palais Royal was +abandoned, and a new theatre erected on the Boulevard des Italiens. +He held this property until his decease in 1883. The theatre was +partly destroyed by fire, January 30, 1901, but was rebuilt. + + [22] Houdin’s original theatre in the _Galerie de Valois_ + of the Palais Royal has long ago been swallowed up in the + alterations made in the building. M. Trewey, in the spring + of 1905, met an old man, a former employee of the Palais, + who remembered seeing Houdin perform in 1845–46, but he + could not even locate the little theatre. How soon are + the glories of the past forgotten by a fickle public. The + theatre has been divided into two or three shops. + +The only surviving members of the family are Madame Emile +Robert-Houdin, widow of the elder son, and a daughter who is married +to M. Lemaitre Robert-Houdin, a municipal officer of Blois, who has +adopted the name of Houdin. Robert-Houdin is interred in the cemetery +of Blois. A handsome monument marks his grave. + +At the Paris Exhibition of 1844, Houdin was awarded a medal for the +ingenious construction of automata; at the Exhibition of 1855 he +received a gold medal for his scientific application of electricity +to clocks. He invented an ophthalmoscope to enable the operator to +examine the interior of his own eye. From important papers in the +possession of M. Lemaitre it seems more than probable that Houdin had +worked out the secret of the modern telephone before it had been made +known to the world at large. + +Houdin has been considered of such importance and interest in France +that in Didot’s _Nouvelle Biographie Générale_ a whole page is +given him. His personal appearance is thus described in Larousse’s +_Encyclopédie_: “He was a man of small stature. His manners were +engaging and vivacious. His face was clean-shaven, showing a large +and eloquent mouth. In his old age, {159} his head was covered with +snow white hair. His eyes up to the last retained the fire and +brilliancy of a man of twenty-five.” + +On December 6, 1905, the French Society of Magicians celebrated +the hundredth anniversary of Houdin’s birth. The exercises were +held at the Theatre Robert-Houdin, Boulevard des Italiens, Paris. +The little theatre was crowded with conjurers and their friends. +Among the wielders of the magic staff were Caroly, the editor of +_Illusioniste_, M. and Mme. de Gago, Folletto, M. and Mme. Talazac, +and M. Raynaly. M. and Mme. Talazac, in their “mind-reading” act, +evoked great applause. M. Miliès, the manager of the house, exhibited +the automaton, “Antonio Diavolo,” invented by Robert-Houdin. M. +Renaly, the well-known drawing-room conjurer, read a poem in honor +of the great master, at the close of which a bust of Robert-Houdin, +which stood upon the stage, was crowned with a wreath of laurel. +Strange to say, not a word of this interesting event was recorded in +the newspapers. + +Houdin was the first conjurer to be employed in an official capacity +by a civilized Power. The second case we have record of was on the +occasion of the English Mission to the late Sultan of Morocco when +Mr. Douglas Beaufort was appointed conjurer to the party by the +British Government. The object was to surprise the Arabs with the +skill of an Anglo-Saxon prestidigitateur. During the journey to Fez +from the coast, Mr. Beaufort gave a number of séances. The news of +his necromantic powers soon spread like wild-fire among the natives. +When the Embassy reached the Arab Capital, the Sultan refused to see +the “Devil Man,” as he termed the conjurer. He imagined that the +British proposed to cast a spell over him. For eight weeks he held +out, but finally curiosity got the better of him. The Grand Vizier +was ordered to produce the Disciple of Beelzebub at the Royal Palace. +The performance of Mr. Beaufort so delighted the ruler of Morocco +that he presented him with a silver dagger, a fine Arabian steed from +the royal stable, and a bag containing 500 dollars, as a token of +esteem and regard. + +{160} + + + + +SOME OLD-TIME CONJURERS. + + + “As in Agrippa’s magic glass, + The loved and lost arose to view.”—WHITTIER: _The Mermaid_. + +I love to read about the old-time conjurers, the contemporaries +of Robert-Houdin, or his immediate successors. Literature on the +subject is very sparse indeed. In his memoirs, Houdin gives us a +few thumbnail sketches of his rivals in the mystic art, and then +dismisses them with a kindly, _Vale_. He has something to say about +Bosco’s personal appearance and performances, but makes no mention +of the romantic incidents in the great magician’s career. I shall +try, in this chapter, to sketch the lives of some of these men, +basing my information on rare _brochures_ contained in the Ellison +Library, and from information picked up by Mr. Harry Houdini in +Europe. The great encyclopedic dictionary of Larousse—a monument +of French erudition—contains something about Phillippe, Robin and +Comte. Mr. Ellis Stanyon, a conjurer of London, and author of several +valuable little treatises on magic, has kindly furnished me with +interesting data; the files of old newspapers in the British Museum, +and the Library of Congress have also been drawn upon, also the fine +collection of old programmes of Mr. Arthur Margery, the English +magician. Let us begin with + + +COMTE. + +Louis Apollinaire Comte was a magician of great skill, a mimic and +ventriloquist. He was born in Geneva, Switzerland, June 22, 1788, +and died at Rueil, France, November 25, 1859. On one occasion he +was denounced by some superstitious Swiss peasants as a sorcerer, +set upon and beaten with clubs, and was {161} about to be thrown +into a lime kiln. His ventriloquial powers saved his life. He caused +demoniacal voices to proceed from the kiln, whereupon his tormentors +fled from the spot in affright, imagining that they were addressed by +the Powers of Darkness. + +When summoned to appear before Louis XVIII, at the palace of the +Tuilleries, Comte arranged a clever mystification to amuse his royal +patron. During the course of the entertainment he requested the king +to select a card from a pack. By his address, he caused the monarch +to draw the king of hearts. Placing the card in a pistol, Comte fired +it at a bouquet of flowers on a table, declaring that the pasteboard +would appear in the bouquet. Immediately, a bust of the king was seen +among the flowers. + +“What does this mean?” said Louis XVIII, with a sarcastic smile. “I +fancy, sir, your trick has not ended as you stated.” + +“I beg your Majesty’s pardon,” Comte replied, with a profound bow. +“I have quite kept my promise. I pledged myself that the king of +hearts should appear in that bouquet of flowers, and I appeal to +all Frenchmen whether that bust does not represent _the king of all +hearts_. + +The experiment was applauded to the echo by those present. The _Royal +Journal_ of the 20th of December, 1814, thus describes the affair. + +“The whole audience exclaimed in reply to M. Comte, ‘We recognize +him—it is he—the king of all hearts! the beloved of the French—of the +whole universe—Louis XVIII, the august descendant of Henri Quatre?’ + +“The king, much affected by these warm acclamations, complimented M. +Comte on his skill. + +“ ‘It would be a pity,’ he said to him, ‘to order such a talented +sorcerer to be burnt alive. You have caused us too much pleasure for +us to cause you pain. Live many years, for yourself in the first +place, and then for us.’ ” + +Comte was an adept at the art of flattery. Perhaps all the while, he +and the fickle courtiers of the Tuilleries were secretly laughing +at the poor old Bourbon king, the scion of a race that had all but +ruined France, and were wishing back from Elba that Thunderbolt of +War—Napoleon the Great. {162} + +Comte was made a Chevalier of the Legion of Honor by Louis Philippe. + + +PHILLIPPE. + +Phillippe [Talon] was born at Alais, near Nimes (France). He carried +on the trade of confectioner first in Paris, afterwards in Aberdeen, +Scotland. Failing to make a success of the sugar business, he +adopted conjuring as a profession, and was remarkably successful. +He was assisted by a young Scotchman named Macalister, who on the +stage appeared as a negro, “Domingo.” Macalister, a clever mechanic, +invented many of the best things in Phillippe’s repertoire. From +some Chinese jugglers, Phillippe learned the gold-fish trick and the +Chinese rings. With these capital experiments added to his programme, +he repaired to Paris, in 1841, and made a great hit. Habited like +a Chinaman, he performed them in a scene called “A night in the +palace of Pekin.” The fish trick he ostentatiously named “Neptune’s +Basins, and the Gold Fish.” The bowls of water containing the fish he +produced from shawls while standing on a low table. He followed this +with a production of rabbits, pigeons, ducks, and chickens. + +Robert-Houdin in his memoirs, gives a brief but pointed sketch of +Phillippe. On page 163 I reproduce one of his unique programmes +(London, March, 1846). + + NEW STRAND THEATRE + Lessee, M. PHILLIPPE, 4 Strand Lane + + TRIUMPHANT SUCCESS + + PHILLIPPE’s + SOIRÉES + MYSTÉRIEUSES + + The Entertainments will commence with M. PHILLIPPE’s Celebrated + and Unrivalled TOURS DE PHYSIQUE AND ASTOUNDING FEATS OF MAGICAL + DELUSION! Which he has exhibited in Paris, Vienna, Berlin, St. + Petersburgh, and before all the Courts of Europe, with truly + unparalleled Success. + + THE ENTERTAINMENT WILL BE DIVIDED INTO TWO PARTS + + PART FIRST + Will comprise peculiar and unequalled + Metamorphoses and Delusions! + And Astonishing Deceptions! + + INCLUDING + + The Miller of Amsterdam + The Obedient Cards + Il Diavolo + The Rose Tree of Granada + The Flying Watches + The Modern Confectioner + The Enchanted Handkerchief + The Grand Distribution + The Accomplished Harlequin + New Method of Making Coffee + + Concluding with the universally admired and elegant Tour + d’Addresse, entitled THE NATIONAL FLAG + + There will be an interval of Fifteen Minutes between the Parts + + PART SECOND + + A NIGHT IN THE + PALACE OF PEKIN! + + In which Mons. PHILLIPPE will perform some of the most + Extraordinary and Startling INDIAN AND CHINESE EXPERIMENTS Ever + attempted by any European, comprising + + The Turtle Dove and the Flying Handkerchiefs + La Fille des Fleurs + Kitchen of Parapharagaramus + PAS DE CARACTERE + BY + La Fille des Fleurs + The Inexhaustible Hat + + And concluding with the celebrated DELUSION Les Bassins de Neptune + et les Poissons d’or AND THE GRAND MENAGERIE! + + Unanimously pronounced to be the most inexplicable and surprising + Tour de Physique ever witnessed + + +ROBIN. + +Henri Robin was a Hollander by birth, his real name being Dunkell. +He was born about 1805 and died in Paris in 1874. Although he +had appeared before the public many times and his talents as a +prestidigatateur had long been recognized, it was not until the +end of 1862, when he opened his theatre in Paris, that he became a +celebrity and a household word in the country of his adoption. He was +a man of distinguished appearance, very urbane, and possessed of a +sparkling wit. His handsome little _salle de spectacle_, known as the +Theatre Robin,[23] was situated on {164} the Boulevard du Temple. +Porcelain medallions ornamented the walls, representing Archimides, +Galileo, Palissy, Vaucanson, Franklin, Volta, Newton, Daguerre, +Arago, Cuvier, Robertson, Humboldt, Comte, and Cagliostro. Of these +great men only Vaucanson, Robertson, and Cagliostro could properly be +classed as magicians. Vaucanson was a builder of ingenious automata; +Robertson the creator of optical illusions; and Cagliostro a +pretender to sorcery, who made use of hypnotism and phantasmagoria in +his séances. But science has its wizards, in one sense of the word, +and so Robin included the great pioneers of scientific research among +his galaxy of wonder-workers. + + [23] This theatre was demolished at the time of the + enlargement of the Place de Chateau d’Eau. + +[Illustration: HENRI ROBIN.] + +The journal _La France_ said in its issue of January 19, 1863: “The +stage is large and square in form, the curtain rises upon {165} a +brilliantly lighted salon showing much gilding, filled with strange +objects, electrical apparatus of all sizes, mysterious chests, +revolving tables, articulated animals which as far surpass the +automatons of Vaucanson as an Everard or Pleyel piano is superior to +an old fashioned spinet. There were peacocks which paraded up and +down and could tell you the name of any city you might think of; +drums which beat the retreat without a drummer; Christmas trees which +shook their branches, powdered with snow, and covered themselves with +lighted candles, bonbons, flowers and toys; inexhaustible bottles, +invisible bells, etc. Altogether it was the strange, supernatural and +fantastic world of prestidigitation, magic and sorcery. + + * * * * * + +“All at once, from the bottom of a magic casket, leaped out a +harlequin about ten inches high but so well proportioned in its +figure, so well made, so nimble and supple, so intelligent and +_spirituel_, that the whole audience uttered a cry of pleasure and +admiration. This pretty little manikin does everything belonging to +its character. It dances, smokes, frisks about, takes off and puts on +its mask, bows to the company and plays the flageolet. One is tempted +to say—‘it only needs speech to be human.’ Well, it has speech. It +talks and answers all questions addressed to it like a real person. +It even tells stories, making them up as it goes along.” + +Besides the show of magic an “agioscope” was to be seen which +projected upon a screen the history of creation in forty-five +pictures. Robin also performed experiments in physics and chemistry +and an exhibition of the ghost illusion closed the entertainment. + +Robin and Robert-Houdin were at odds about the inexhaustible bottle +which each claimed to have invented. Robert-Houdin declared that he +had exhibited it for the first time on December 1, 1847, while Robin +produced his “Almanach of Cagliostro,” showing the trick of the +inexhaustible bottle which he declares he had invented and exhibited +for the first time July 6, 1844, at the theatre Re at Milan. +Nevertheless in all their lectures {166} on physics, scientific +men explain to their hearers the operation of the Robert-Houdin +bottle.[24] + + [24] “It is remarkable how many of the illusions regarded + as the original inventions of eminent conjurers have been + really improvements of older tricks. ‘Hocus Pocus Junior,’ + _the Anatomy of Legerdemain_ (4th edition, 1654), gives an + explanatory cut of a method of drawing different liquors + out of a single tap in a barrel, the barrel being divided + into compartments, each having an air-hole at the top, + by means of which the liquor in any of the compartments + was withheld or permitted to flow. Robert-Houdin applied + the principle to a wine-bottle held in his hand, from + which he could pour four different liquids, regulated by + the unstopping of any of the four tiny air holes which + were covered by his fingers. A large number of very small + liquor glasses being provided on trays, and containing + drops of certain flavoring essences, enabled him to + supply imitations of various wines and liquors, according + to the glasses with which he poured syrup from the + bottle.”—_Encyclopedia Britannica._ + +When the Davenport Brothers, pretended spiritualists, came to Paris, +Robin duplicated all their tricks at his theatre. He did much to +discredit the charlatans. About 1869 he gave up his theatre, and +became the proprietor of a hotel on the Boulevard Mazas. + +Robin left three works, copies of which are very rare, viz: +_L’Almanach Illustré de Cagliostro; Histoire des Spectres Vivants +et Impalpables; Secret de la Physique Amusante_ (Paris, 1864). He +was also the inventor of a railroad for ascending Mount Rigi in +Switzerland. The motor in this system was a balloon which, by its +ascentional force compelled the car to climb the ascent guided by +four iron rails. A model of this contrivance was exhibited at Robin’s +theatre, 49 Boulevard du Temple. + + +BOSCO. + +I look again into the magic mirror of the past. Who is this portly +figure enveloped in a befrogged military cloak? He has the mobile +visage of an Italian. There is an air of pomposity about him. His +eyes are bold and piercing. He has something of the appearance of +a Russian nobleman, or general under the Empire. Ah, that is the +renowned Bosco, the conjurer! + +[Illustration: BOSCO. + +(From a Rare Engraving in the Possession of Dr. Saram R. Ellison, New +York City.)] + +Bartolomeo Bosco had an adventurous career.[25] He was born in Turin, +Italy, January 11, 1793. He came of a noble family of Piedmont. At +the age of nineteen he was one of the {167} victims caught in the +meshes of the great military drag-net of Napoleon I, that fisher +for men. In other words, he became “food for powder” in the Russian +campaign of the Emperor of France. He was a fusilier in the 11th +infantry of the line. At the battle of Borodino, in an encounter +with Cossacks, Bosco was badly wounded in the side by a lance, and +fell upon the ground. A son of the Cossack lancer who had wounded +him, {168} dismounted and began to rifle his pockets. Like all +soldiers on a campaign, Bosco carried his fortune with him. It did +not amount to very much: a watch, a keepsake from a sweetheart, a +few gold pieces, a tobacco pouch, etc. Fearing to receive the _coup +de grace_ from his enemy, he pretended to be dead. But on realizing +that if he were robbed of his money he would be left destitute in the +world, he put his abilities as a conjurer to work and dexterously +picked the Cossack’s pocket of a well-filled purse. It was a case +of Greek meeting Greek. The Russian, grumbling, perhaps, at the +paucity of his ill-gotten plunder, finally mounted his horse and +rode away after his comrades, to discover later on that he had been +_done_ and by a corpse. Later in the day Bosco was picked up from the +battlefield by the Russian medical corps, and his wounds treated. +He was sent a captive to Siberia, near the town of Tobolsk. His +talent for _escamotage_ served him well. The long winter evenings of +his captivity when the snow lay deep upon the earth, and the wind +howled about the prison walls, were spent by him either amusing his +jailors or his fellow-soldiers. He sometimes gave exhibitions of his +skill before the high officials of the place, thereby picking up +considerable money. He spent his earnings generously upon his poorer +brethren. Finally, in April, 1814, he was released. He returned to +Italy, to the great delight of his friends, and studied medicine. +Eventually he abandoned the art of Esculapias for the art of +Trismegistus and became a professional conjurer. + + [25] _Cabinetto magico del Cavalieri Bartolomeo Bosco de + Torino._ Milano, 1854. + +Bosco was a wonderful performer of the cup-and-ball trick. He also +possessed great skill with cards and coins. He traveled all over +Europe. He gave an exhibition before Marie Louise, the widow of +Napoleon I, on the 27th of April, 1836. His sonorous, bizarre name +has become a byword in France for deception, whether in conjuring +or politics. The statesman Thiers was called the “Bosco of the +Tribune.” Many of Bartolomeo Bosco’s imitators assumed his cognomen. +At the present day there is a French magician touring the music +halls of Europe, who calls himself Bosco. The original Bosco, like +Alexander Herrmann, was in the habit of advertising himself by +giving impromptu exhibitions of his skill in cafés, stage {169} +coaches, hotels, etc. He was wonderfully clever at this. A Parisian +newspaper thus announced one of his entertainments: “The famous +Bosco, who can conjure away a house as easily as a nutmeg, is about +to give his performances at Paris, in which some miraculous tricks +will be executed.” This illusion to the nutmeg has reference to the +magician’s cup-and-ball trick; nutmegs frequently being used instead +of cork balls. Houdin describes Bosco’s stage as follows: + +“I entered the little theatre and took my seat. According to the idea +I had formed of a magician’s laboratory, I expected to find myself +before a curtain whose large folds, when withdrawn, would display +before my dazzled eyes a brilliant stage ornamented with apparatus +worthy of the celebrity announced; but my illusions on this subject +soon faded away. + +“A curtain had been considered superfluous, and the stage was open. +Before me was a long three-storied sideboard, entirely covered with +black serge. This lugubrious buffet was adorned with a number of wax +candles, among which glistened the apparatus. At the topmost point of +this strange _étagère_ was a death’s-head, much surprised, I have no +doubt, at finding itself at such a festival, and it quite produced +the effect of a funeral service. + +“In front of the stage, and near the spectators, was a table covered +by a brown cloth, reaching to the ground, on which five brass cups +were symmetrically arranged. Finally, above this table hung a copper +ball, which strangely excited my curiosity. + +“For the life of me I could not imagine what this was for, so I +determined to wait till Bosco came to explain it. The silvery sound +of a small bell put an end to my reverie, and Bosco appeared upon the +stage. + +“The artiste wore a little black velvet jacket, fastened round +the waist by a leathern belt of the same color. His sleeves were +excessively short, and displayed a handsome arm. He had on loose +black trousers, ornamented at the bottom with a ruche of lace, +and a large white collar round his neck. This strange attire bore +considerable resemblance to the classical costume of the Scapins in +our plays. {170} + +“After making a majestic bow to his audience, the celebrated conjurer +walked silently and with measured steps up to the famous copper +ball. After convincing himself it was solidly hung, he took up his +wand, which he wiped with a white handkerchief, as if to remove any +foreign influence; then, with imperturbable gravity, he struck the +ball thrice with it, pronouncing, amid the most solemn silence, this +imperious sentence: _Spiriti mei infernali, obedite_. {171} + +[Illustration: HOUDINI AT THE GRAVE OF BOSCO. + +(From a Photograph in the Possession of Dr. Saram R. Ellison, New +York City.)] + +“I, like a simpleton, scarce breathed in my expectation of some +miraculous result, but it was only an innocent pleasantry, a simple +introduction to the performance with the cups.” + +After many wanderings Bartolomeo Bosco laid down his magic wand +in Dresden, March 2, 1862. He lies buried in a cemetery on +Friederichstrasse. Mr. Harry Houdini, the American conjurer, located +the grave on October 23, 1903. Upon the tombstone is carved the +insignia of Bosco’s profession—a cup-and-ball and a wand. They are +encircled by a wreath of laurel. Says Mr. Houdini, in a letter to +_Mahatma_: “I found the head of the wand missing. Looking into the +tall grass near by I discovered the broken tip.” This relic he +presented to Dr. Saram R. Ellison, of New York (1904). The tombstone +bears the following inscription: _Ici répose le célèbre Bartolomeo +Bosco . . . Ne à Turin le 11 Janvier, 1793; décédé à Dresden le 2 +Mars, 1862._ Madame Bosco was interred in the same grave with her +husband, but no mention of her is made on the stone. The small plot +of ground where the grave is situated was leased for a term of years. +That term had long expired when Mr. Houdini discovered the last +resting place of Bosco. It was offered for sale. In the event of its +purchase the remains of the conjurer and his wife would have been +transferred to a section of the cemetery set apart for the neglected +dead. But Houdini prevented all future possibility of this by +buying the lot in fee. He then deeded it to the Society of American +Magicians. + + +ANDERSON. + +John Henry Anderson was born in Aberdeenshire, Scotland, July 14, +1814. He began life as an actor. After witnessing a performance in +England by Signor Blitz, his mind was struck with the resources of +magic as a means of entertaining the public, and adding to his own +exchequer. So he abandoned the histrionic stage for conjuring, though +he occasionally performed in melodrama as a side issue. He was very +fine in the title rôle of “Rob Roy,” and as William, in “Black-eyed +Susan.” His professional sobriquet in his early career was that of +the “Calidonian Necromancer.” On one occasion he gave an exhibition +{172} of his skill at Abbotsford, and the genial Sir Walter Scott +said to him, “They call _me_ the ‘Wizard of the North,’ but this is a +mistake—it is you, not I, who best deserve the title.” Mr. Anderson +was not slow in adopting the suggestion of the Wizard of the Pen, and +ever after called himself the Great Wizard of the North. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + +He displayed a great collection of apparatus, which he described as +“a most gorgeous and costly apparatus of solid silver, the mysterious +mechanical construction of which is upon a secret principle, hitherto +unknown in Europe.” He claimed to have been the inventor of the gun +trick, but this was not so, as Torrini and others exhibited it on +the Continent in the latter {173} part of the 18th century. All +that Anderson did was to invent his own peculiar method of working +the illusion. “The extraordinary mystery of the trick,” he said, “is +not effected by the aid of any accomplice, or by inserting a tube +in the muzzle of the gun, or by other conceivable devices (as the +public frequently, and in some instances, correctly imagine), but any +gentleman may really load the gun in the usual manner, inserting, +himself, a marked real leaden ball! The gun being then fired off at +the Wizard, he will instantly produce and exhibit the same bullet in +his hand.” The marked leaden bullet, however, was exchanged for one +composed of an amalgam of tinfoil and quicksilver, which was as heavy +as lead, but was broken into bits and dispersed in firing. He once +played a private engagement at the Winter Palace, St. Petersburg, +before the Czar Nicholas and a brilliant audience of Grand Dukes and +Grand Duchesses. His exhibition of second sight was an excellent one. +He was asked by the Czar to describe the watch he had in his pocket. +To the profound astonishment of the Emperor, Anderson announced +that it was encircled with one hundred and twenty brilliants around +its face, and a portrait on enamel of the Emperor Paul at the back. +He also said that the watch carried by the Empress did not go, +which was a fact, it being a very old one, a relic of Peter the +Great. It was only worn as an ornament. The wizard never claimed +supernatural powers. He undoubtedly obtained his information about +the chronometers from some member of the Czar’s household, and worked +upon the imagination and credulity of the spectators. + +Anderson had an indomitable spirit which no misfortune could daunt. +He received the “bludgeonings of Fate” like a hero, and was “Captain +of his soul” through a thousand and one vicissitudes of life. He +built on Glasgow Green one of the largest theatres in Scotland, +and it was burnt to the ground, three months after its erection. A +fortune was lost in the terrible fire. In 1851 he came to America and +met with unbounded success. Returning to England in 1856, he engaged +Covent Garden Theatre. In March of that year this great play-house +was destroyed by fire, and Anderson lost his splendid and costly +{174} apparatus. On top of this disaster came the bankruptcy of +the Royal British Bank, and that event completely swallowed up the +remains of the wizard’s fortune. But he was undaunted. Borrowing +funds from his friends, he bought new paraphernalia, and toured the +world. After an absence of five years he returned to England, January +11, 1863. He had traveled 235,000 miles and “had passed through his +hands the enormous sum of £157,000 sterling.” He died at Darlington, +Scotland, on Tuesday, February 3, 1874. In accordance with a wish +expressed during his last illness, he was buried at Aberdeen, in the +same grave with his beloved mother. No inscription on the tombstone +records the fact that the Wizard of the North lies beneath. + +What was the secret of Anderson’s success? + +He was not a great magician in the sense of the word—that is to say, +an adept at legerdemain, an original creative genius like Houdin, +Robin, and the elder Herrmann. But he was an actor who played +the role of necromancer with great effect. He surrounded himself +with costly and brilliant apparatus which dazzled the eyes of the +groundlings. His baggage weighed tons and filled many trunks and +boxes. He believed in heavy artillery, like Napoleon I. The dashing +Hussar style was not his. That branch of conjuring belongs to Frikell +and De Kolta. Strange to say, in spite of the revolution in the +art of magic since Anderson’s day, we are coming back to the big +paraphernalia of the old school. The public is tired of small tricks. +A discussion of this subject will be found in the article on Frikell. + +I doubt whether a greater advertiser than Anderson ever lived. +Bosco cannot be compared to him. Alexander Herrmann depended on his +social qualities and his laughable adventures in street cars, cafés, +and clubs to boom his reputation. Anderson adopted the methods of +the patent-medicine manufacturers. He would have made an excellent +advance agent for a new panacea. He literally plastered the streets +and walls of London with his advertising devices. Some of them were +highly ingenious and amusing and kept the public on the _qui vive_ +with excitement. In this line of puffing, people are willing to +overlook charlatanry. One of his posters was a caricature imitation +of the famous {175} painting, “Napoleon’s Return from Elba.” It was +of gigantic size. Houdin describes it and other advertising schemes +as follows: + +“In the foreground Anderson was seen affecting the attitude of the +great man; above his head fluttered an enormous banner, bearing the +words ‘The Wonder of the World,’ while, behind him, and somewhat +lost in the shade, the Emperor of Russia and several other monarchs +stood in a respectful posture. As in the original picture, the +fanatic admirers of the Wizard embraced his knees, while an immense +crowd received him triumphantly. In the distance could be seen the +equestrian statue of the Iron Duke, who, hat in hand, bowed before +him, the Great Wizard; and, lastly, the very dome of St. Paul’s bent +towards him most humbly. + +“At the bottom was the inscription, + + ‘RETURN OF THE NAPOLEON OF NECROMANCY.’ + +“Regarded seriously, this picture would be found a puff in very bad +taste: but, as a caricature, it is excessively comic. Besides, it had +the double result of making the London public laugh, and bringing a +great number of shillings into the skillful puffer’s pockets. + +“When Anderson is about to leave a town where he has exhausted all +his resources, and has nothing more to hope, he still contrives to +make one more enormous haul. + +“He orders from the first jeweller in the town a silver vase, worth +twenty or twenty-five pounds; he hires, for one evening only, the +largest theatre or room in the town, and announces that in the +Wizard’s parting performance the spectators will compete to make the +best pun. + +“The silver vase is to be the prize of the victor. + +“A jury is chosen among the chief people of the town to decide with +the public on the merits of each pun. + +“It is agreed that they will applaud if they think a pun good; they +will say nothing to a passable one, but groan at a bad one. + +“The room is always crowded, for people come less to see the +performance, which they know by heart, than to display their wit +publicly. Each makes his jest, and receives a greeting more or less +favorable; and, lastly, the vase is decreed to the cleverest among +them. {176} + +“Any other than Anderson would be satisfied with the enormous +receipts his performance produces; but the Great Wizard of the North +has not finished yet. Before the audience leaves the house he states +that a short-hand writer has been hired by him to take down all the +puns, and that they will be published as a Miscellany. + +“As each spectator who has made a joke likes to see it in print, he +purchases a copy of the book for a shilling. An idea of the number of +these copies may be formed from the number of puns they contain. I +have one of these books in my possession, printed in Glasgow in 1850, +in which there are 1091 of these facetiæ.” + +Here is one of Anderson’s typical programmes, dated 1854: + + MUSIC HALL, LEEDS + + VICTORY!! + + 20,139 of the inhabitants of Leeds have SURRENDERED to Marshal + Professor Anderson during the past Fortnight. + + LAST 11 NIGHTS + OF THE GREAT WIZARD + + EXCITEMENT EXTRAORDINARY! + + ALL LEEDS MORE ASTONISHED THAN THE + RUSSIANS WERE AT SEBASTOPOL! + + ☛ In order to avoid being incommoded, Visitors to the Front Seats + are respectfully requested to secure places at the Hall during the + day. + + PROFESSOR ANDERSON + + Begs respectfully to inform the inhabitants of Leeds, that in + consequence of having made arrangements to perform in St. George’s + Hall, Bradford, on Monday, October 23rd, he cannot possibly appear + in Leeds after Saturday, October 21st.—The following will be the + order of + + The Last Eleven Days of Wonders + + This Evening, MONDAY, Oct. 9th, 1854, LAST NIGHT but 10. + TUESDAY, OCTOBER 10th, LAST NIGHT BUT 9. + WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 11th, LAST NIGHT BUT 8. + THURSDAY, OCTOBER 12th, LAST NIGHT BUT 7. + FRIDAY, OCTOBER 13th, LAST NIGHT BUT 6. + SATURDAY, OCTOBER 14th, LAST NIGHT BUT 5. + MONDAY, OCTOBER 16th, LAST NIGHT BUT 4. + TUESDAY, OCTOBER 17th, LAST NIGHT BUT 3. + (Wednesday, October 18th, No Performance, the Hall being pre-engaged.) + THURSDAY, OCTOBER 19th, LAST NIGHT BUT 2. + FRIDAY, OCTOBER 20th, LAST NIGHT BUT 1. + And SATURDAY, OCTOBER 21st, THE LAST GRAND AND FINAL + FAREWELL NIGHT! {177} + + ☛ REMEMBER you cannot look upon his like again! + + PROGRAMME + + Professor Anderson begs to inform his Patrons that his + performances are not Superhuman, as supposed, but the result of + Science, applied in a new way to produce the delusive results, + in connection with his Ambidexterological Powers, which make the + “Eyes the fools o’ the other senses,” and will this evening be the + “Head and front of his offending.” + + THE ANNIHILATION AND RECUPERATION + OR GRAND HYDRAULIC EXPERIMENT, + THE SCRAP BOOK + With Original and Yankee Scraps showing the Economy of Space. + SECOND SIGHT, OR CLAIRVOYANCE + With the Crystal Casket, vulgarly called the Devil’s Box. + THE GREAT CHEMICAL ANALYSIS with Evaporating Handkerchiefs + OH! MY HAT! + Great Pot Pourri of Handkerchiefs in the Magic Laundry, and + THAT BOTTLE + BRANDY, SCOTCH WHISKEY, GENEVA, + IRISH WHISKEY, RUM, ENGLISH GIN, + The New Cradle, or Mesmeric Sleep, + Strongly recommended for the Nursery, where there are “squalls.” + + INTERVAL OF TEN MINUTES + + During the Interval, the Wizard’s Handbook of Magic, price + 1s., with an explanation of upwards of 250 Magical Delusions, + an Exposee of Gambling, Spirit Rapping, Table Turning, &c., + illustrated with upwards of 100 Diagrams, &c., showing the + construction of the necessary Apparatus; ALSO, The Wizard + in Paris, being Professor Anderson’s Narrative of a Recent Visit + to the French Capital, descriptive of the place, and throwing new + light upon the people.—A guide for all who are going there, and + a pleasant book for those who have been. May be had of Professor + Anderson’s Assistants + + The Wizard will again enter his “PSYCHOMANTEUM,” and commence Part + Two with his Great + + MECHANICAL AUTOMATON + Or FORTUNE TELLER, in connection with the SPIRIT RAPPING BELL and + TABLE! + + Although the Wizard is not a great Orator or Lecturer, he will + deliver a few remarks on what is called + + SPIRITUALISM! + Or Humbug of the First Water, proving that there are still greater + humbugs in England than himself, for which he is very sorry, he + thinking that he was the Ne Plus Ultra in that particular line of + business. + + ANIMAL MAGNETISM? + + THE GREAT WATCH WONDER + + Proving the thickness of some skulls, with the Astounding Miracle, + “Anderson’s” (not Pandora’s) Box. The whole of + this Unparalleled Entertainment will conclude with the + + Magic Evaporation, or Disappearance Extraordinary + +{178} + + +BLITZ. + +Signor Antonio Blitz was born June 21, 1810, in a little village of +Moravia. At an early age he picked up, unknown to anyone, “a few +adroit tricks from certain gypsies, who visited his native town.” +He began to exhibit these feats for the amusement of himself and +friends. He made his professional début at Hamburg when but thirteen +years of age, and was known to the public as the “mysterious boy.” +His first appearance in this country was at the Music Hall, Broadway, +New York. He had many imitators. Not less than thirteen people +traveled the United States using his name, circulating a verbatim +copy of his handbill and advertisement—“not only assuming to be the +_original_ Blitz, but in many instances claiming to be a son or +nephew.” “I have been,” says Blitz, in his memoirs, _Fifty Years in +the Magic Circle_, (Hartford, Conn., 1871), “in constant receipt of +bills of their contracting, for, not content with taking my name, +they have not even honor enough to pay their debts.” The thirteen +impostors exhibited under the following and other names: + + Signor Blitz. + Signor Blitz, Jr. + Signor Blitz, The Original. + Signor Blitz’s Son. + Signor Blitz’s Nephew. + Signor Blitz, The Wonderful. + Signor Blitz, The Great. + Signor Blitz, The Unrivalled. + Signor Blitz, The Mysterious. + Signor Blitz, By Purchase. + Signor Blitz, The Great Original. + +Blitz was not only a magician, but a ventriloquist and trainer of +birds. He relates an amusing encounter with the great but eccentric +genius, the Italian violinist, Paganini, whose romantic life is +known to all lovers of music. The adventure took place in the city +of Glasgow, Scotland, where Paganini was giving a concert. Says +Blitz: “He, Paganini, was tall and awkward-looking, cadaverous in +features, ungainly in form, with long {179} black hair, said to be +very wealthy, and characterized as extremely penurious. No instance +was ever known of his contributing a penny to the distressed, or to +a benevolent institution. One morning I called and found him quietly +seated in his room alone. After conversing with him a short time I +noticed his violin case lying upon the table, when suddenly the cry +of a child issued from therein. + +[Illustration: PLAY BILL. + +(From the Collection of Mr. Ellis Stanyon, London, England.)] + +{180} + +“ ‘Who is that?’ said Paganini, quickly looking around. + +“ ‘It is _me_, with the babe,’ answered a womanly voice. + +“ ‘My God! what is this?’ inquired the astonished violinist. + +“ ‘You well know,’ plaintively answered the woman, at the same time +the infant again commenced crying. + +“ ‘We know you are a bad woman,’ vehemently declared the excited man. + +“ ‘And did you not make me so, you old Italian fiddler?’ + +“After this there was apparently a commotion in the box, when +Paganini became alarmed and was about to leave the room when I +unmasked myself and explained that he had been a victim to the +vagaries of ventriloquism; which, on hearing, delighted him +prodigiously, and grasping me by the hand he exclaimed, ‘Bravo, +Signor!—bravo!’ ” + +Signor Blitz retired from the stage with a fortune and settled in +Philadelphia. His home was on Green street near 18th street. He +taught magic and gave private entertainments for some years before +his death, which took place February, 1877. One of his daughters was +the famous opera singer, Madame Vanzant, who at the present writing +lives in Europe. These facts I obtained from Mr. Thomas Yost. + + +ALEXANDER. + +Alexander Heimbürger was born December 4, 1819, in Germany. He +performed under the _nom de théâtre_ of Herr Alexander. He toured +Europe, North and South America with great success for a number of +years, and retired to his native land with a large fortune. He is +at present residing at Munster, an old man of eighty-four, with +snow-white hair and beard, and bent over with age. He was long +supposed to be dead by the fraternity of magicians, but Mr. Houdini, +in his tour of Germany in 1903, discovered that he still lived, and +his whereabouts. Alexander had many strange stories to relate of his +adventures in America and other places. He was personally acquainted +with Houdin, Frikell, Bosco, Anderson, Blitz, the original Bamberg of +Amsterdam, etc. He performed several times at the White House before +President Polk, and hobnobbed with Henry Clay, Webster and Calhoun. +{181} With letters from Polk he visited Brazil, and was admitted +into the most aristocratic circles. On leaving New York in 1847 he +was presented with a heavy gold medal, cast in the United States Mint +at Washington. This medal has his portrait on one side, and on the +reverse the following inscription: + +“Presented to Herr Alexander as a token of esteem from his friends. +New York, 1847.” + +[Illustration: ALEXANDER HEIMBÜRGER.] + +Mr. Houdini writes as follows about the old magician (_Mahatma_, +June, 1903): “He was a welcome guest at the Palace of the King of +Brazil. He showed me letters to him from King Pedro II and his +wife, dated Brazil, 1850. After an absence of ten years from his +native country he returned, and married. He is blessed with six +children, two sons and four daughters. {182} One is in New York at +the present time. While in New York, Alexander was approached by an +illusionist named Orzini, who had a cabinet of mystery. He was in +hard circumstances and came to Alexander for assistance. The genial +German gave him ten dollars. Orzini secured an engagement at the Park +Theatre, but alas, only played one night, as his act did not suit, +so he was closed after his first performance. Said Alexander to me, +and the statement caused me infinite surprise: ‘This Orzini was the +man who threw the bomb at Napoleon III in Paris, trying to kill the +Emperor, but was himself killed; also blowing up several bystanders, +and wounding the horses of Napoleon’s carriage. The reporters +discovered that Orzini had just arrived from America, and in his +lodgings they found some kind of a mysterious glass house, which must +have been the Illusion Cabinet. In this affair Napoleon escaped with +his life and a few scratches.’ ” + +This is a strange story. I am of the opinion that Herr Alexander is +laboring under a mistake in trying to identify the illusionist Orzini +with the celebrated revolutionist Orsini. In the first place, there +is the different spelling of the names—“Orzini” and “Orsini”; but +Mr. Houdini may have incorrectly reported Alexander in this respect. +There is no record of Orsini having come to the United States. Again, +he was not killed in the attempted assassination of Napoleon III, in +the rue Lepelletier, Paris, January 14, 1858. He was captured and +suffered imprisonment, and was guillotined March 13, 1858. While in +prison he wrote his memoirs. + +Herr Alexander is the author of a work entitled _Der Moderne +Zauberer_ (“The Modern Magician”). + + +FRIKELL. + +[Illustration: PROF. WILJALBA FRIKELL’S CHRISTMAS ENTERTAINMENT. + +(As Exhibited Before Queen Victoria at Windsor Castle.)] + +Wiljalba Frikell was born in Scopio, a village of Finland, in 1818. +His family was well-to-do and gave him advantages in the way of +education. He graduated at the High School of Munich in 1840, in his +twenty-second year. During his scholastic days he became interested +in legerdemain, and read with avidity every work on the subject he +could find. He attended {183} the performances of all conjurers who +came to Munich. Refusing to study for one of the learned professions, +greatly to the disappointment of his parents, he went on the stage, +and visited the principal cities of Europe, after which he journeyed +to Egypt. In the land of the pyramids Frikell had the honor of +performing before Mehemit Ali, who presented him with a gold medal. +Returning to Europe he visited Greece, Italy, and Spain. Subsequently +he went to India and investigated the thaumaturgy of the fakirs. He +made his first appearance in London in 1851, and performed before +Queen Victoria and the Royal Family, at Windsor Castle. His broken +German and peculiarity of manner caused him to be described by +_Punch_ as “a comic Charles Matthews.” The same journal also compared +him to “a monster raven in full dress for evening party.” His success +was marked. The Czar of Russia presented Frikell with a diamond +ring of great value, and the King of Denmark made him a Knight of +Dannebrog. Just when this remarkable man retired from the stage I +have been unable to ascertain. In his old age he became {184} a +recluse and denied himself to visitors. In fact, it was supposed by +the profession that he was dead, until Mr. Houdini discovered his +whereabouts in Krotschenbroda, a few miles from Dresden, Germany, +February, 1903, and called at his villa, but did not succeed +in obtaining an interview. Nine months later Frikell died. He +contemplated writing his memoirs _à la_ Robert-Houdin, but, alas, +death cut short the undertaking. That they would have been extremely +entertaining and full of curious incidents of travel, admits of +no doubt. An extract from a letter written by Mr. Houdini to his +American friend, H. S. Thompson, of Chicago, will prove of interest +to the reader. + + “Dresden, Oct. 20, 1903. + + “I have some news for you that may be of interest. You may remember + that I sought an interview last February with Dr. Wiljalba + Frikell, but was unable to meet him. Since then we have been in + correspondence, and he wrote me that if I ever came to Dresden he + would be pleased to see me. On arriving in Dresden I sent him word + that I would call upon him on October 10th last. I accordingly went + to the Villa Frikell about 1 o’clock, and you can imagine with what + sorrow and astonishment I learned that Dr. Frikell had died of heart + failure three hours before. He was awaiting my arrival at the time. + Fate willed it that I should see Herr Frikell, but that we should + not speak to each other. + + “He was buried on October 13th. I attended the funeral and laid two + large wreaths on his grave; one on behalf of the Society of American + Magicians, and the other from myself. The S. A. M. wreath was the + largest and handsomest there. + + “Herr Frikell was 87 years old and had made all arrangements to live + to 100. He always claimed he would live to over 100 years and would + tell why he expected to reach that age. Too bad we could not have + held a conversation ere he departed this life. + + “Sincerely yours, + + “HARRY HOUDINI.” + +Frikell was an innovator in the art of magic. He dispensed with +apparatus. In his _Lessons in Magic_, he says: “The use of +complicated and cumbersome apparatus, to which modern conjurers +have become addicted, not only greatly diminishes the amount of +astonishment they are enabled to produce,—a defect which is not +compensated by the external splendor and imposing effect of such +paraphernalia,—but the useful lesson, how fallible our senses are, by +means the most ordinary and at everybody’s command, is entirely lost. +It has been my object {185} in my performances to restore the art to +its original province, and to extend that to a degree which it has, +I believe, never yet hitherto reached. I banish all such mechanical +and scientific preparations from my own practice, confining myself +for the most part to the objects and materials of every day life. The +success I have met with emboldens me to believe that I have followed +the right path.” + +There is more or less truth in what Frikell says. But one can go to +extremes in the avoidance of magic paraphernalia. The happy course +is the middle one—a combination of sleight of hand and apparatus. I +quote, as follows, from an article by Prof. Hoffmann (_Mahatma_): +“The scientific school of conjuring, of which Robert-Houdin was the +originator, had its drawbacks. It involved the use of costly and +cumbersome paraphernalia, which grew and grew in quantity, till we +find Anderson, the Wizard of the North, traveling with seven tons +of luggage! Further, a trick, which, like Robert-Houdin’s automatic +figures, obviously depends upon ingenious mechanism, palls upon +the spectator. Such figures, at the present day, would be no more +regarded as magic than the Strasburg clock. Lastly his electrical +tricks produced an extraordinary effect, because very few persons +in his day were acquainted with the properties of electricity, but +now that there are electric bells in every household, and electrical +motor cars in every street, its magical prestige exists no longer. + +“Hence a reaction to a severer and simpler school of conjuring, +of which Wiljalba Frikell was the earliest exponent, the school +which professes, so far as the public is concerned, to work without +apparatus and which in fact reduces its apparatus to the smallest +possible dimensions. Many high class performers now give what is +known in England as a ‘carpet bag’ show, and will keep an audience +wonder bound for a couple of hours, using no more apparatus than can +be carried in an ordinary gripsack. + +[Illustration: + + ST. JAMES’ THEATRE + (LONDON, 1854) + PROFESSOR WILJALBA FRIKELL + + Appointed Physicien to their Majesties the + Emperor and Empress of Russia + + NEW ENTERTAINMENT OF + PHYSICAL AND NATURAL MAGIC + (WITHOUT THE AID OF ANY APPARATUS) + + ENTITLED + TWO HOURS OF ILLUSIONS + + 1.—The Secret Power and Wonderful Appearance + 2.—You Shall and Must Laugh + 3.—The Drunken Bracelet + 4.—Something for Everybody and the Pleasant Pastime + 5.—Time in a Fix + + INTERVAL + + 1.—The Little Devil and the Secret Dispatch + 2.—Aladdin’s Magic Lamp + 3.—Grand Military Manœuvre, or the Courage of Prof. Frikell + 4.—Das Geheimnisz, and Flight in the Air + 5.—The Children’s Delight and Christmas Presents of + Prof. Wiljalba Frikell + +THE ABOVE IS A COPY OF ONE OF FRIKELL’S PROGRAMMES.] + +“Broadly speaking this is undoubtedly an advance, for of two +performers, the one who can produce by the magic of his own fingers +the same degree of illusion for which the other needs elaborate +apparatus, the former is surely the greater artist. But {187} the +striving for simplicity may be overdone. The performer is apt to lose +his feeling for breadth of effect, and to fritter away his skill +over illusions too minute and too soon over to make any permanent +impression. One of the most skilful sleight of hand performers we +have ever seen throws away half the value of his work by going +too fast, and producing small effects, individually brilliant, so +rapidly that his audience has not time fairly to appreciate one +before another is presented. The spectator, under such circumstances, +takes away with him a mere blurred impression, rather than a clear +mental photograph of what he has seen, and the show suffers in his +estimation accordingly. + +“Another danger attending the non-apparatus school lies in the fact +that the performer is apt, by carrying the principle to needless +lengths, unduly to limit his methods. + +“On the whole we are inclined to think that the most successful +magician of the future will be one who judiciously combines apparatus +and non-apparatus tricks; such apparatus, however, to be of a simple +and homely kind and not made admittedly for the purpose of the trick. +The ideal entertainment, from the standpoint of the spectator, will +be one in which feats of dexterity or supposed dexterity, are worked +in conjunction with brilliant stage effects of a more spectacular +kind, such as are exhibited by Mr. Maskelyne at the Egyptian Hall, +London.” + +And so I ring down the curtain on the old-time conjurers. They played +their parts in the great drama of life, and enriched the history of +the stage with their adventures. What could be more romantic than the +career of the incomparable Bosco? + +The prestidigitateur makes things appear and disappear to our great +wonderment, until finally Death, the greatest of all necromancers, +waves his wand, and the mortal fades away from view, amid the shadows +of the tomb. Tom Masson, that charming writer of _verse de societé_, +says— + + We are like puppets in some conjurer’s hands, + Who smiling, easy, nonchalantly stands + And says, amid the universal cheers: + “You see this man—and now he disappears!”[26] + + [26] Munsey’s Magazine, August, 1905. + +{188} + + + + +THE SECRETS OF SECOND SIGHT. + + + “Then _second-sighted_ Sandy said, + ‘We’ll do nae good at a’, Willie.’ ” + + —_Child’s Ballads_, VII. 265. + + +I. + +I went on one occasion to dine with Mr. Francis J. Martinka, and +while waiting for the repast to be served, seated myself upon an +old-fashioned sofa in his drawing-room. + +[Illustration: ROBERT HELLER’S MAGIC SOFA.] + +“Pardon me,” said my host, gaily, “while I put a bottle of wine on +ice. I will be back in a little while. In the meantime, you may amuse +yourself looking over these photos of eminent conjurers. And, by +the way, you are seated on the very sofa {189} which Robert Heller +used in his second-sight trick. Examine it carefully and you will +see where the wires and electric battery were located. I came into +possession of the relic after the death of Heller.” + +So saying he went out to look after the wine. + +And so the piece of furniture I was seated on was the veritable +up-to-date tripod of that High Priestess of Delphi, Miss Haidie +Heller, who assisted Robert Heller, acting the part of clairvoyant. +It called up a flood of memories to me. + +The magician of the Arabian Nights transported himself from Bagdad to +Damascus upon a piece of carpet. In imagination that old sofa carried +me back thirty years into the past. I was seated in the gallery of +the old National Theatre, Washington, D. C., at a _soirée magique_ of +the famous Heller. I shall never forget his second-sight trick. It +was the most wonder-provoking, the most mysterious experiment I have +ever seen. In his hands, it was perfect. Robert Heller saw Houdin +give an exhibition of this feat of mental magic in London. His acute +mind divined the secret, and he set about devising a code for working +the experiment. He added many new effects. Nothing seemed to puzzle +him and his assistant. + +At an entertainment given in Boston, and described by Henry Hermon in +his work on Hellerism, a coin was handed to Heller. He glanced at it +and requested Miss Heller to name the object. + +“A coin,” she quickly answered. + +“Here, see if you can tell the name of the country, and all about +it?” he next asked. + +Without a moment’s hesitation she replied: “It is a large copper +coin—a coin of Africa, I think. Yes, it is of Tripoli. The +inscriptions on it are in Arabic; one side reads ‘Coined at Tripoli;’ +the other side, ‘Sultan of two lands, Sultan by inheritance, and the +son of a Sultan.’ ” + +“Very well,” said Heller, “that is correct. But look, what is the +date, now?” + +“The date is 1‐2‐2‐0, one thousand two hundred and twenty of the +Hegira, or Mohammedan year, which corresponds to 1805 of the +Christian year.” {190} + +Tremendous applause greeted this feat. + +Mr. Fred Hunt, who was for a number of years Robert Heller’s +assistant, revealed the secret of second sight soon after Heller’s +death. The performer has first to be initiated into a new +alphabetical arrangement, which is as follows: + +A is H; B is T; C is S; D is G; E is F; F is E; G is A; H is I; I +is B; J is L; K is Pray; L is C; M is O; N is D; O is V; P is J; Q +is W; R is M; S is N; T is P; U is Look; V is Y; W is R; X is See +this; Y is Q; Z is Hurry. “Hurry up” means to repeat the last letter. +For example, the initials or name in a ring is wanted. Say it is +“Anna.” By the alphabetical arrangement H stands for A. D for N. The +exclamation “Hurry up” always means a repetition of the last letter, +and again H will give the answer when put as follows: + +“Here is a name. Do you see it? Hurry up. Have you got it?” + +Attention is paid only to the first letter of every sentence, and it +will be perceived that the name of Anna is spelled. + +After the alphabet we have the numbers, which are arranged as +follows: 1 is Say or Speak; 2 is Be, Look or Let; 3 is Can or Can’t; +4 is Do or Don’t; 5 is Will or Won’t; 6 is What; 7 is Please or Pray; +8 is Are or Ain’t; 9 is Now; 10 is Tell; 0 is Hurry or Come. “Well” +is to repeat the last figure. Now for an example: The number 1,234 is +needed. The conjurer remarks: “_Say_ the number. _Look_ at it. _Can_ +you see it? _Do_ you know?” + +Suppose the number called for is 100. + +“_Tell_ me the number. _Hurry_!” + +So much, dear reader, for the spelling of proper names and conveying +numbers to the clairvoyant on the stage. In regard to colors, metals, +precious stones, countries, materials, fabrics, makers of watches, +playing cards, society emblems, coins, bills, jewelry, wearing +apparel, surgical instruments, etc., etc., Heller had them arranged +in sets of ten. The first question he asked gave the clue to the set; +the second question to the number of the article in the set. Thus +but two short questions were necessary to elicit the proper reply +from the assistant. {191} Miscellaneous articles were divided into +nineteen sets. I will give examples of two: + + FIRST SET. + + _What article is this?_ + + 1. Handkerchief. + 2. Neckerchief. + 3. Bag. + 4. Glove. + 5. Purse. + 6. Basket. + 7. Beet. + 8. Comforter. + 9. Headdress. + 10. Fan. + + SECOND SET. + + _What is this?_ + + 1. Watch. + 2. Bracelet. + 3. Guard. + 4. Chain. + 5. Breastpin. + 6. Necklace. + 7. Ring. + 8. Rosary. + 9. Cross. + 10. Charm. + +Supposing a spectator handed a _Rosary_ to the conjurer. He would +call out to his assistant, “_What is this?_” (Clue to the second +set.) Then he would exclaim, “_Are_ you ready?” The word _are_ would +give the clue to number 8. And so on. + +The clues to the sets were worded very nearly alike, so as to make +the spectators believe that the same questions were being constantly +asked. + +Evoking the aid of electricity, Robert Heller was enabled to convey +the cue words and numbers of the sets to Miss Heller _without +speaking a word_. It was this wonderful effect that so puzzled +everybody. A confederate sat among the spectators, near the center +aisle of the theatre, and the wires of an electric battery were +connected with his chair, the electric push button being under the +front part of his seat. Heller gave the cue to the set in which +the article was, its number, etc., by some natural movement of +his body or arms; and the confederate, rapidly interpreting the +secret signals, telegraphed them to the clairvoyant on the stage. +The receiving instrument was attached to the sofa upon which Miss +Heller sat. The interchangeable use of the two methods of conveying +information—spoken and unspoken—during an evening, completely +bewildered the spectators. It was indeed a sphinx problem. + +[Illustration: ROBERT HELLER.] + +Robert Heller, or William Henry Palmer, was born in Canterbury, +England, in 1833. At the age of fourteen he won a scholarship at the +Royal Academy of Music. In the year 1852 {192} he made his début +in New York City at the Chinese Assembly Rooms. On this occasion +he wore a black wig and spoke with a Gallic accent, believing that +a French conjurer would be better received in this country than an +English magician. He failed to make a success, and eventually drifted +to Washington, where he taught music for a number of years. All this +time he was perfecting himself in legerdemain. Finally he reappeared +in New York and won unbounded success. He visited Europe and India, +returning to the United States in 1875. His last performance was +given at Concert Hall, Philadelphia, on November 25, 1878. He died in +the same city on November 28, 1878. Soon after his death an absurd +story went the rounds of the {193} press that he had directed his +executors to destroy his automata and magical paraphernalia. Such +is not the case. Mr. Francis J. Martinka, of New York, possesses a +number of his tricks. Heller was a magnificent pianist and always +gave a short recital of his own compositions and those of the masters +during his entertainment. He used to append the following effusion to +his posters: + + “Shakespeare wrote well; + Dickens wrote _Weller_; + Anderson was— + But the greatest is Heller.” + +The following is one of Heller’s programmes (Salt Lake City, Utah, +May 23, 1867): + + FOURTH PERFORMANCE OF THE RENOWNED + CONJURER, ILLUSIONIST AND PIANIST + + MR. ROBERT + HELLER! + + The selections of + WONDERS AND MARVELS! + For these performances will embrace many of his + Most Famous Inventions in Magical Art! + + THE MUSICAL SELECTIONS + Will be rendered upon Chickering’s Grand + Piano, attached to the Theatre. + + MR. ROBERT HELLER + Will make his FOURTH Appearance + THIS EVENING + + PART I.—ILLUSORY. + + 1.—WITH A CANDLE. + 2.—WITH A WATCH—The Watches of the Audience made to strike the hour. + 3.—THE CANNON BALLS. + 4.—WITH 30 PIECES OF SILVER. + 5.—MOCHA—an utter impossibility. + 6.—A PHOTOGRAPH. + + PART II.—MUSIC. + + 1.—Caprice on Airs from “Il Trovatore,” including the famous + Anvil Chorus.—HELLER. + 2.—“Home, Sweet Home.”—HELLER. + 3.—“Storm and Sunshine.”—a musical story. + + PART III.—THE GREAT MYSTERY OF + SECOND SIGHT! + + The Most Startling Phenomenon of this Country. + + PART IV.—FUN. + + Heller’s Original and Wonderful Band of + + WOOD MINSTRELS + + The most perfect set of Blockheads in the world, who will + introduce their most popular Overtures, Choruses, &c. + +{194} + + +II. + +A curious exhibition of silent second sight was that of the Svengali +trio. The effect as described by the _New York Herald_, August 11, +1904, is as follows: + +“Two persons (lady and gentleman) are on the stage, both with their +backs toward the audience. A third one goes into the auditorium, with +his back towards the stage, to receive the wishes of the audience. +If the name of any international celebrity is whispered to him, with +lightning rapidity the thought is transmitted. The gentleman on the +stage turns round immediately and appears in features, bearing and +dress as the desired personage—with wonderfully startling resemblance. + +“One can likewise whisper to the gentleman in the auditorium the +name of an international opera, operetta or international song. The +thought flies like lightning, and the lady sings what is wanted, +instantly accompanying herself on the piano. + +“The secret of this trick is as follows: When the curtain rises, +the master of ceremonies walks to the front of the stage and in a +pleasing voice begins: ‘Ladies and gentlemen—I have the pleasure of +introducing to you, etc., etc. I will call your attention to the +fact that the spectators must confine their whispered wishes to +international celebrities, names of well-known personages, songs and +operas of international fame,’ etc. + +“This limitation of choice is the key to the performance. They have +lists of these ‘international celebrities,’ rulers, statesmen, +diplomats, great writers and musical composers; songs of world-wide +reputation, popular selections from the operas, etc. And the secret +of the evening is that all of these carefully selected names, titles, +etc., are numbered, as in the following examples: + + STATESMEN AND RULERS. + + 1. Bismarck. + 2. King Humbert of Italy. + 3. Napoleon Bonaparte. + 4. King Edward VII. + 5. Paul Kruger. + 120. Lincoln. + + POPULAR SONGS. + + 1. “Home, Sweet Home.” + 2. “Last Rose of Summer.” + 3. “Marseillaise.” + 4. “The Jewel Song in Faust.” + 5. “Walter’s Prize Song.” + 101. “Comin’ Thro’ the Rye.” {195} + + OPERAS. + + 1. “Faust.” + 2. “Lohengrin.” + 3. “Bohemian Girl.” + 4. “Lucia di Lammermoor.” + 5. “Carmen.” + 120. “Trovatore.” + + GREAT WRITERS. + + 1. Thackeray. + 2. Victor Hugo. + 3. Dickens. + 4. George Eliot. + 5. Shakespeare. + 101. Dante. + + +HOW THE SIGNALS ARE CONCEALED. + +“The manager reiterates that if only names of international +reputation are given the responses will be correct nine hundred and +ninety-nine times in a thousand. Then he descends from the stage, +and, smiling right and left, inclines his ear to catch the whispered +wishes as he moves slowly up the aisle, generally with his back to +the stage. An auditor whispers to him, ‘Bismarck.’ + +“Herr Svengali, gesticulating freely but naturally, pressing his +eyes with his fingers for an instant as if going into a momentary +trance—only a second or two, just enough to impress the audience—then +thrusts a hand into the air, wipes the moisture from his face with +his handkerchief or leans toward a spectator, seeking his attention, +when a voice from the stage says, ‘Bismarck.’ + +“ ‘Right,’ responds the man who whispered that illustrious name. Then +there is a craning of necks and crushing of programmes, all eyes +fixed on the stage, where the impersonator, standing before a cabinet +of costume pigeonholes, with the aid of an assistant has donned wig +and uniform in his lightning change and whirls around disguised as +Bismarck, while the girl at the piano plays ‘The Watch on the Rhine.’ +It is all the work of a few seconds and makes a great impression upon +the spectator. + +“The next man calls for an opera air, ‘Bohemian Girl,’ and the +piano plays ‘I Dreamt That I Dwelt in Marble Halls,’ etc. Another +man suggests the magic name ‘Sheridan.’ It is echoed aloud from the +stage, while the audience applauds and the girl plays ‘The Star +Spangled Banner.’ + +“The few experts present pay little attention to the stage. Their +eyes are fixed on the man Svengali in the aisle, noting every move he +makes. It is observed that his numerous gestures, his frequent use of +his handkerchief, the pressure of his {196} fingers on his eyes, as +if to hypnotize his assistant on the stage, are natural movements, +attracting no attention, yet necessary to hide the vital signals in +the cipher code of the show. + +“In the programme and show bills it is emphasized that the lady +and gentleman on the stage have their backs to the audience, while +Svengali, down in the aisle, has his back to the stage, making +collusion apparently impossible. This makes a profound impression on +the public. + + +“A CONFEDERATE BEHIND A SCREEN. + +“But not a word is said of that curious screen panel, bearing a +double-headed eagle—the Austrian coat of arms—surmounting a large +cabinet of costumes occupying so much space on the stage. The +programme does not explain that this screen panel is transparent from +behind and that an accomplice with a strong magnifying lens reads +every move made by Svengali and repeats his signals to the pretty +girl at the piano and the impersonator at the cabinet. + + +“THE SYSTEMS EXPLAINED. + +“Here is an illustration of how the figure system can be worked. As +explained above, the famous personages, popular songs and operas are +on numbered lists. Svengali in the aisle, with his code of signals, +has all these numbers committed to memory. + +“When a spectator whispers ‘Dickens’ Svengali knows it is No. 4, and +he signals accordingly. + +“But how? + +“By touching his head, chin, or breast, or that particular part of +his body designated in the signal code of the Svengali Company. +The diagram given herewith illustrates the system of communication +by numbers, nine figures and a cipher (0), by which all the wealth +of the world may be measured, and any number of words may be +communicated without a word of speech. One has but to map out a +square on his face, breast or body, and number it with these nine +figures, with an extra space for the cipher, to be ready for the +Svengali business. That is, when he has memorized the names and the +numbers representing them. {197} + +“Say the human head is used for this purpose. Imagine the top of the +head, right hand side, as No. 1, the right ear as No. 2, the jaw as +No. 3, and the neck as the cipher; the forehead No. 4, the nose No. +5, the chin No. 6, the top of the head on the left side as No. 7, the +left ear No. 8, and the left side of the jaw No. 9. + +“Thus you have the code system by which operators can communicate +volumes by using a codified list of numbered words or sentences. + +[Illustration] + +“If you label the Lord’s Prayer No. 4, and the Declaration of +Independence No. 5, you may instantly telegraph the mighty literature +through wireless space—enough literature to save all Europe from +anarchy—by two natural movements of the hand. + +“You can label your eyes, your movements or even your glances, making +them take the places of the nine omnipotent numbers. Again: Glance +upward to the right for No. 1, straight upward for No. 2, and upward +to the left for No. 3. Repeating, glancing horizontally for Nos. 4, 5 +and 6. Repeating the same again, by glancing downward for Nos. 7, 8 +and 9, and stroking your chin for the cipher (0). + +“With your back to the audience, you can telegraph in a similar way, +using your arm and elbow to make the necessary signals. Let the right +arm, hanging down, represent No. 1; the elbow, projecting from the +side, No. 2; elbow raised, No. 3. Repeat {198} with the left arm for +Nos. 4, 5 and 6; with either hand placed naturally behind you, on the +small of the back, above the belt and over your shoulder for Nos. 7, +8 and 9, and on the back of your head or neck for the cipher (0).” + + +III. + +It is an interesting fact to note that the Chevalier Pinetti was +the first exhibitor of the second-sight trick. Houdin revived (or +re-invented) it. + +[Illustration: SECOND-SIGHT TRICK.—SIGNALING.] + +On the 12th of December, 1846, he announced in his bill, “In this +programme, M. Robert-Houdin’s son, who is gifted with marvelous +second sight, after his eyes have been covered with a thick bandage, +will designate every object presented to him by the audience.” In his +memoirs he thus describes how he came to invent the trick: + +“My two children were playing one day in the drawing-room at a game +they had invented for their own amusement. The younger had bandaged +his elder brother’s eyes, and made him guess at the objects he +touched, and when the latter happened to guess right, they changed +places. This simple game suggested to me the most complicated idea +that ever crossed my mind. + +“Pursued by the notion, I ran and shut myself up in my workroom, +and was fortunately in that happy state when the mind {199} follows +easily the combinations traced by fancy. I rested my head in my +hands, and, in my excitement, laid down the first principles of +second sight.” + +Houdin never revealed his method of working the trick. + +Robert Heller’s successors in mental magic are Max Berol and wife, +and the Zancigs. Among other feats Berol is able to memorize over +two hundred words called out by the spectators and written down on a +slip of paper by some gentleman. Berol will then write these words +backwards and forwards without hesitation and name any one of them by +its number in the list. The Zancigs are marvels in the art of second +sight. They were born in Copenhagen, Denmark, but are naturalized +citizens of the United States. Clever advertisers, they lay claim to +occult powers, as the following notice in the Washington Post, April +30, 1905, will testify: + +“Although Prof. Zancig and Mme. Zancig, who will be at Chase’s +this week, are naturalized Americans, they come from Denmark. They +first developed their transmission of thought from one mind to +another—or what is known as telepathy—while journeying through the +Orient. They found that quite a number of the Orientals had found +it possible to control ‘thought waves’ and transmit them to the +minds of others, just as Marconi, with his wireless telegraphy, +controls electric waves and transmits them to an objective point. +Prof. Zancig discovered that Mme. Zancig was inceptive, and he could +readily transmit to her mind the thoughts of his own. The tests were +continued, and became so positive and conclusive that it was decided +to give public exhibitions. + +“While in India, Prof. and Mme. Zancig saw some astonishing +telepathic exhibitions, which encouraged them to still greater +efforts. They gave exhibitions before the Maharajah, near Delhi; +before the Chinese minister at Hongkong, and before the Japanese +officials of highest grades, who took great interest in the mental +tests. One remarkable incident occurred at Potchefstroom, South +Africa, where the natives are extremely superstitious. The exhibition +had been extensively advertised, and the house was full. The +entertainment created a sensation. As long as Prof. Zancig remained +on the stage everything was all right, {200} but when he went among +the audience and read dates of coins, inscriptions on letters, and +performed other remarkable feats, the audience suddenly became +panic-stricken, and there was a mad rush for windows, doors, or any +other means of exit. In five minutes the hall was empty, and nothing +could induce the people to return. After concluding his tour abroad, +Prof. Zancig and his wife returned to America, and began an American +tour which has been uninterruptedly successful and will extend to +every section of the United States.” + +Two clever performers of the second-sight trick are Harry and Mildred +Rouclere. Mr. Rouclere gives a very pleasing magical entertainment. + +{201} + + + + +THE CONFESSIONS OF AN AMATEUR CONJURER. + + + “If this be magic, let it be an art.”—SHAKESPEARE. + + +I. + +At the theatre not long ago, I heard the orchestra play Mendelssohn’s +exquisite “Spring Song,” and immediately I was carried back in +fancy to my boyhood days under the old roof-tree at Glen Willow, on +the heights of Georgetown, D. C., where I spent such happy years. +The rain is gently pattering upon the shingled roof; the distant +woods are waxing green under the soft influences of the season; the +blackbirds are calling in the tree tops. O sweet springtide of youth, +made more beautiful still by the associations of books, by the free +play of the imagination in realms of poetry and fantasie— + + “A boy’s will is the wind’s will. + And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.” + +The intervening years are all blotted out. I am young again, and have +just returned to the old home, after witnessing an exhibition of +magic by Wyman the Wizard at the town hall. To a boy fresh from the +delights of the Arabian Nights this is a wonderful treat. My mind is +agitated with a thousand thoughts. I, too, will become a conjurer, +and hold the groundlings spellbound; bring bowls of goldfish from +a shawl; cook puddings in a borrowed hat; pull rabbits from old +gentlemen’s pockets. + +Dear old Wyman, ventriloquist as well as prestidigitateur, old-time +showman, and the delight of my boyhood—what a weary pilgrimage you +had of it in this world; wandering up and down, never at rest, +traveling thousands of miles by stagecoach, steamboat, and railroad, +giving entertainments in little villages {202} and towns all over +the United States, and welcomed everywhere by happy children. The big +cities you left to your more ambitious brethren. But what of that? +You brought thereby more pleasure into humble lives than all of the +old conjurers put together. Well have you earned your rest. Though +your name is quite forgotten by the present generation, a few old +boys and girls still hold you in loving remembrance. + +[Illustration: WYMAN, THE MAGICIAN. + +(From an Old Print, Ellison Collection.)] + +Wyman was born in Albany, N. Y., and was reported to be sixty-five +years of age at the time of his death. Just when he went on the +stage, I have been unable to ascertain. Mr. George Wood, who is now +running a small curio shop on Filbert Street, Philadelphia, was for +sixteen years Wyman’s manager. He afterwards went with Pharazyn and +Frederick Eugene Powell. Thanks to my friend, Mr. C. S. Eby, who +interviewed Mr. Wood during the summer of 1905, I have obtained a +few facts concerning Wyman’s career. After giving exhibitions all +over the United States in school houses and small halls, Wyman went +abroad and brought back with him quite an outfit of apparatus, most +of it purchased, I presume, from Voisin’s Repository in {203} Paris. +Voisin was the only manufacturer of magical novelties in those days. +About 1850 Wyman played in New York City under the management of +P. T. Barnum. When the magician Anderson sold out, Wyman bought +considerable of his paraphernalia, such as the “Magic Cauldron” +(Phillippe’s old trick), the “Nest of Boxes,” “Aerial Suspension,” +“Inexhaustible Bottle,” and “Gun Trick.” In 1867 Wyman started the +“gift show” in connection with his magic entertainment, sometimes +giving away building lots as a first prize. He introduced the Sphinx +illusion in the South for the first time and made a tremendous hit. +People would come twenty miles to see it. He had a wonderful memory, +which he applied to a second-sight act. The articles were placed in a +handkerchief by the boy who borrowed them and the professor managed +to get one secret look at the collection. From his remembrance he +would later describe the articles while they were held aloft still +tied in the handkerchief. Another favorite illusion was the borrowing +of a watch, which was pounded and afterwards found under one of the +spectators (not a confederate). It was one of the duties of Wood to +slip the borrowed watch in place while ostensibly selling magic books. + +Wyman retired from the stage eventually, and lived in Philadelphia +for several years at 612 North Eleventh Street. Afterwards he moved +to Burlington, New Jersey, where he bought an imposing country place. +He owned considerable real estate. He died July 31, 1881. A few days +before his death he called to see his old friend Thomas W. Yost, the +manufacturer of magical apparatus, of Philadelphia. He must have had +a premonition of his demise, for he remarked to Mr. Yost, as he left +the store: “You will not see me again. This is the last of Wyman.” In +a few days he was dead. He was buried at Fall River, Massachusetts, +the home of his wife. Wyman’s show consisted of ventriloquism, magic, +and an exhibition of Italian _fantochini_ (puppets). He was one of +the best entertainers of his day. + + +II. + +I took to magic at an early age—not the magic of the sleight of hand +artist, however, but the real goetic or black magic, {204} as black +as any old grimoire of mediæval days could make it. Aye, darker in +hue than any inveighed against in the famous Dæmonologie of King +James I. of Protestant memory. I believed firmly in witches, ghosts, +goblins, voodoo spells, and conjure doctors. But what can you expect +of a small boy surrounded by negro servants, the relics of the old +régime of slavery, who still held tenaciously to the devil-lore of +their ancestors of the African jungle? At nightfall I dared not go +near the smoke-house for fear of the witches who held their revels +there. One day my father brought home a book for his library. It +was Mackey’s _Extraordinary Popular Delusions; or, The Madness of +Crowds_. That work of absorbing interest opened my eyes to the +unreality of the old superstitions. I read it with avidity. It became +a sort of Bible to me. It lies on the table before me, as I pen these +lines; a much-thumbed, faded, old book. + +The first amateur sleight of hand show I ever took part in, was +given by a boy named Albert Niblack. The _matinée magique_ was held +in a stable attached to my father’s house. The entrance fee was +three pins, orchestra chairs ten pins. The stage was erected in the +carriage house, and the curtain consisted of a couple of sheets +surreptitiously borrowed from the household linen closet. I acted +as the conjurer’s assistant. The success of the entertainment was +phenomenal. The audience consisted of some thirty children, with +a sprinkling of negro nurses who came to preserve order among the +smaller fry, and an old horse who persisted in sticking his head +through a window near the stage, his stall being in an adjoining +compartment. He occupied the only private box in the theatre. Among +other tricks on the programme, young Niblack produced a small canary +bird from an egg which had been previously examined and declared to +be the real product of the hen by all the colored experts present, +who tested it on their teeth. One fat old mammy, with her head +picturesquely done up in a red bandana handkerchief, was so overcome +by the trick that she shouted out: “Fo de Lawd sake! Dat boy mus’ +be kin to de Debbil sho,’ ” and regretted the fact that she did not +have a rabbit’s foot with her, to ward off the spells. Years have +passed since then. Young Niblack is now Lieut. Commander Niblack, +U. S. N., erstwhile naval attaché {205} of the American embassy +at Berlin, etc. I wonder if he still practises magic. He obtained +his insight into the mysteries of conjuring from a little book of +sleights, puzzles and chemical experiments, a cheap affair and very +crude. Like Houdin, he had to create the principles of legerdemain +himself, for the book contained no real information on the subject. +It was manufactured to _sell_ in two senses of the word, and to the +best of my belief, was purchased at the circus. Among that audience +were several children who have since become famous, to a greater or +less extent. There was Umei Tsuda, a diminutive Japanese girl, sent +to this country to be educated, and who now presides over a great +normal school in Japan; Waldemar Bodisco (son of Count Bodisco, the +Russian Minister to the United States), now an officer in the Czar’s +navy; and, if I mistake not, Agustin de Iturbide, the adopted son of +the ill-fated Maximilian, who attempted to found an empire in Mexico, +bolstered up by French bayonets. Young Iturbide’s mother, after the +tragic death of Maximilian, came to Georgetown to reside and educate +her son, the heir to the throne of Mexico. Poor fellow, he was a +prince, but he did not plume himself because of the fact, for he +was in reality a “boy without a country.” We were classmates in the +preparatory department of Georgetown College. His career is one of +the romances of history. He is now living an exile in an old country +house in the District of Columbia, where he spends his time reading +and dreaming. + + +III. + +I entered upon the practise of sleight of hand in the year 1877, +after reading Hoffmann’s _Modern Magic_. I adopted Houdin’s method +of carrying a pack of cards and other articles in my pockets. On my +way to school, over a long country road, I put in some hard practise, +learning to _sauter le coupe_, and palm most any small object. While +in class one day, I was caught _in flagrante delicto_, with a pack of +cards in my hand, by the dignified old Latin professor. I was sent +to the Principal of the Academy for punishment, which I received +like a stoic, but vowing vengeance on the Latin pedagogue, who was a +very {206} orthodox religionist, the principal of a Baptist Sunday +school, and consequently held cards in abhorrence. I often heard him +remark that cards were the “Devil’s Looking Glasses.” One day, I +slipped a couple of packs of cards in the sleeve of the professor’s +overcoat, which hung upon the wall back of his desk, and tipped the +wink to the boys. They were astounded at my audacity. When the class +was dismissed, the scholars lingered around to see the fun. The +professor went to put on his coat, whereupon the cards flew about the +room in a shower, being propelled by the impact of his arm, which +he thrust violently into the sleeve. The boys, with a great shout, +began picking up the scattered pasteboards, which they presented to +the teacher, commiserating with him in his trouble. The old man, who +was very angry, disclaimed ownership of the detested cards, and got +out of the room as speedily as possible. Perhaps it is needless to +remark that I failed miserably in the Latin examinations that year. +But it may have been owing to my stupidity and not to any animus on +the professor’s part. Let us hope so. + +[Illustration: GLEN WILLOW, GEORGETOWN, D. C.] + +After long practise in legerdemain, I determined to give an +entertainment, and selected as my assistant, my school chum, Edward +L. Dent, a boy who possessed great mechanical genius. Later in +life he graduated with honors as a mechanical engineer {207} from +Stevens’ Institute, New Jersey, and founded a great iron mill in +Georgetown. Poor fellow, he met with business reverses and lost a +fortune. He died some five or six years ago. Young Dent lived in a +historical mansion on the heights of Georgetown, surrounded by a +great park of oaks. It was the home of John C. Calhoun, when he was +Secretary of State of the United States. In the great attic of the +house, Judge Dent had fitted up a superb carpenter shop and forge for +his son. + +Here my chum and I manufactured our apparatus: the Washerwoman’s +Bottle, the Nest of Boxes _à la_ Kellar; the Card Star; the Coffee +and Milk Vases; the Sphinx Table, etc. When all was ready, about +two hundred invitations were sent out for a _Soirée Magique_. The +great drawing-room of the house was fitted up as a theatre, with a +stage at one end and drop curtain. We fenced in the stage with rich +draperies, after the style of Robert Heller, and our gilded tables +and silver candelabra with wax tapers looked very fine against the +crimson background. It was the most elaborate amateur show I ever +saw. Twenty minutes before the curtain rang up, both magician and +assistant were seized with stage fright. We had peeped through a hole +in the curtain and taken in the sea of faces. We dared not confront +that crowd of youngsters without a mask of some kind. Happy thought! +We decided to blacken our faces with burnt cork and appear as negro +necromancers. The performance went off very well indeed, until we +came to the “Card Star.” O fatal Pentagram of Pythagoras! The cards +were chosen from a pack and rammed down the mouth of a big pistol, +preparatory to firing them at the star, on the points of which they +were to appear. I began my patter, facing the audience. “Ladies and +gentlemen, I will give you an exhibition of magic marksmanship. I +will fire this pistol (laughter) at the star on yonder table (renewed +laughter), and the cards”—(ironical cat calls). I turned around, and +to my horror, the duplicate cards were already sticking to the star; +my assistant had let off the apparatus too soon. The curtain fell. +I shed tears of rage at the fiasco. But, later on, I learned to act +more philosophically. Magicians are subject to these mistakes. I have +seen Alexander Herrmann’s {208} calculations all upset by comical +contretemps of like character to the above, but he smiled benignantly +and went right along as unconcernedly as ever. Conjuring certainly +gets on the nerves of its devotees. + + +IV. + +Amateur magicians are called upon to exhibit their skill in all sorts +of places. I once gave a performance in a Pullman car, going at +full speed. It was on the occasion of a pilgrimage to the Scottish +Rite temples of the Southwest, with a party of eminent members of +the fraternity. This was in the spring of 1904. Among those who +went on the journey were the Hon. James Daniel Richardson, 33°, +Sovereign Grand Commander of the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite +of Freemasonry for the Southern jurisdiction of the United States, +and Admiral Winfield Scott Schley, 32°, the “hero of Santiago,” a +most genial traveling companion and raconteur. Mr. Richardson had +jocularly appointed me Hierophant of the Mysteries, so I took along +with me a box full of magic apparatus, to amuse the Initiates when +time hung heavy on their hands. My first performance was given while +speeding across the State of Kentucky. At one end of an observation +car I arranged my table and paraphernalia. In honor of the Admiral, +I got up an impromptu trick, which I called, “After the Battle of +Santiago.” Borrowing a silk hat, and showing it empty, I began as +follows: + +“Gentlemen, stretch your imaginations, like Jules Verne, and let +this hat represent the cruiser Brooklyn, Admiral Schley’s ship. This +oscillating Pullman car is the ocean. The great battle of Santiago +is over. Victory has crowned the American arms. An order comes from +the flagship to decorate the vessels of the fleet with bunting. +The sailors of the Brooklyn dive down into the hold and bring up a +variety of flags. (Here I produced from the hat the flags of all +nations.) They are not satisfactory. Roll them together, says the +commander, and see what the composition will make. (I rolled the +flags into a bundle, which I proceeded to throw in the air, whereupon +a big silk American flag appeared, the smaller ensigns having +disappeared.) Ah, the Star {209} Spangled Banner, under whose folds +the men of many nations live in amity as fellow citizens.” + +I waved the flag in the air, amid the plaudits of the spectators. +Just then the car gave a terrific lurch, while rounding a curve; I +lost my balance and was precipitated head first like a battering ram +against the capacious stomach of an old gentleman, seated in the +front row. He doubled up with pain. + +“Say, what kind of a trick do you call that?” he gasped out. + +“That,” said I, “is a representation of a sailor on board of the +Brooklyn falling overboard.” + +“I call it a monkey trick,” he groaned. His dignity and digestive +apparatus had been sadly upset. From that time on, he eyed me with +suspicion whenever I gave a show, and always took a chair in the back +row of seats. + +“Speaking of monkey tricks,” said Admiral Schley, “reminds me of +an incident that occurred when I was a midshipman on board of the +steam frigate Niagara, in 1860. A monkey was the prestidigitateur. +We were conveying back to their native land the Japanese embassy +that had visited the United States in return for the visit made +to their country by Commodore Perry some years before. One of the +embassy bought a monkey at Anger Point, Africa, during a stoppage at +that place. He (the monkey, not the Ambassador) proved to be a most +mischievous brute, and was continually picking and stealing eatables +from the cook’s galley. Worse than that, so far as the sailors were +concerned, the ‘missing link’ of Darwin took a special delight in +upsetting pots and pans of grease on the deck, which the seamen had +to clean up. When chased by some irate Jack Tar with a rope’s end, +the monkey would take refuge in the rigging, where he would hang by +his tail from a spar, and grin with delight at his enemies. We all +hated the beast, but respect for our Japanese guests forbade revenge. +Finally an old sailor caught the monkey and greased his tail. Soon +after, the simian committed one of his daily depredations and hied +himself, as usual, up the rigging, where he attempted to swing from +a yardarm by his greased tail. But, alas, he fell overboard and was +drowned. The verdict rendered was that he had committed suicide. His +only mourners were the Mikado’s ambassadors.” {210} + + +V. + +The study of natural magic is wonderfully fascinating. It possesses, +too, a decided pedagogic value, which eminent scholars have not been +slow to recognize. Those who obtain an insight into its principles +are preserved against infection from the many psychical epidemics +of the age. The subject is of interest to scientists. Dr. G. +Stanley Hall, at one time professor of experimental psychology at +the Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md., at present president +of Clarke University, Worcester, Massachusetts, used to exhibit +conjuring tricks to his classes, to illustrate the illusions of +the senses. An eminent German scientist, Dr. Max Dessoir, has +written learnedly on the psychology of legerdemain. Prof. Joseph +Jastrow, of the University of Wisconsin, subjected the conjurers, +Herrmann and Kellar, to a series of careful tests, to ascertain +their “tactile sensibility, sensitiveness to textures, accuracy of +visual perception, quickness of movement, mental processes,” etc. +The results of these tests were printed in _Science_, Vol. III, page +685–689, under the title of “Psychological Notes upon Sleight-of-hand +Experts.” + +The literature of natural magic is not extensive. Thirty years ago, +first-class works in English on legerdemain were rare. Houdin’s +_Secrets de la Prestidigitation et de la Magie_, which was published +in 1868, was out of print, and, says Prof. Hoffmann, “the possession +of a copy was regarded among professors of magic as a boon of the +highest possible value.” Hoffmann picked up an old second-hand copy +of the work in Paris, and translated it in the year 1877. To-day, +books on sleight of hand have been multiplying rapidly. Every +professor of the art thinks it incumbent upon him to publish a +treatise on magic. Strange to say, the good works on the subject have +been written by amateurs. Prof. Hoffmann (Angelo Lewis), a member of +the London bar, has written the best book, following him have come +Edwin Sachs and C. Lang Neill. The autobiography of that arch-master +of magic, Robert-Houdin, was translated, in 1859, by Dr. R. Shelton +Mackenzie, of Philadelphia. Thomas Frost, in 1881, produced an +interesting work on the _Lives of the Conjurers_, but it is now quite +out of date. I know of no really scholarly treatise extant to-day on +the history of prestidigitation. {211} + +[Illustration: WANDS OF FAMOUS MAGICIANS. + +(From the Ellison Collection, New York.)] + +I have been very fortunate in my researches in the history of +magic, to have had access to several private collections of +books, old playbills, programmes, prints, etc., relating to the +subject. I myself have been an indefatigable collector of books and +pamphlets treating of magic and magicians. But my library pales +into insignificance beside that of my friend, Dr. Saram R. Ellison, +of New York City. Dr. Ellison is a practising physician and, like +many others of his profession, a great lover of escamotage, perhaps +because of its relationship to psychology. He has {212} in his +collection of books, many rare volumes picked up in Europe and +elsewhere. At the present writing his library contains nearly one +thousand two hundred titles, among them being rare copies of Decremps +(1789–1793), Pinetti (1785), Breslaw (1812), Porta (1658), Kosmann +(1817), Witgeest (1773), Naudeus (1657), etc., etc. In the year 1902, +Kellar visited the Ellison library. He endeavored to purchase the +collection for $2,000. Dr. Ellison refused to part with his beloved +books. In his will he has left the collection to Columbia University, +New York City. One of the doctor’s fads is the collection of wands of +famous magicians. He possesses over sixty rods of the modern magi, +and has often contemplated sending an expedition to Egypt to discover +the wands used by Moses and Aaron. Among his collection are wands +formerly wielded by Carl, Leon, Alexander and Mme. Herrmann (four +representatives of one family), Willmann, Anderson, Blitz, de Kolta, +Hoffmann, Goldin, Maskelyne, Powell, McAllister, Robinson, Kellar, +Fox, etc. Each of the wands is accompanied by a story, which will be +published in the near future. + + +VI. + +When the citizen-king, Louis Philippe, ruled over the destinies of +_la belle_ France, there resided in Paris an old man, by the name of +M. Roujol, familiarly known among his confrères as “Father” Roujol. +He kept a modest shop in the Rue Richelieu for the manufacture and +sale of magical apparatus. The professional and amateur conjurers +of the French capital made Roujol’s their meeting place. “The Duc +de M⸺,” says Robert-Houdin, “did not disdain to visit the humble +emporium of the mystic art, and remain for hours conversing with +Roujol and his associates.” It was here that Houdin became acquainted +with Jules de Rovère, of noble birth, a conjurer who abandoned +the title of _escamoteur_, as beneath his aristocratic dignity, +and coined for himself the pompous cognomen, _prestidigitateur_, +from _presti digiti_ (activity of the fingers). The French Academy +sanctioned the formation of this word, thus handing it down to +posterity. Jules de Rovère also called himself _Physicien du Roi_. +Old Father Roujol is dust long ago. We have replicas of his {213} +quaint place in New York, Chicago, Boston and Philadelphia. On +Sixth Avenue, not far from Thirtieth Street, New York City, is the +shop of the Martinka Brothers. It is located on the ground floor of +a dingy old building. In front is a tiny window, with a variety of +magical apparatus displayed therein. Above the door, in tarnished +gold letters, is the sign, “Palace of Magic.” The second floor is +occupied by a Chinese restaurant. The Occident and Orient exist here +cheek-by-jowl. The Chinaman concocts mysterious dishes to tickle +the jaded palates of the _boulevardiers_; the proprietors of the +Aladdin Palace of Up-to-Date Enchantments invent ingenious tricks and +illusions to astound the eyes of their patrons. Here I met Robinson, +de Kolta, Kellar, and many other conjurers of note. The Society of +American Magicians holds its meetings at Martinka’s. + +[Illustration: BIJOU THEATRE OF THE MARTINKA BROS., NEW YORK.] + +This society owes its foundation to two practising physicians of +New York, Dr. W. Golden Mortimer, an ex-conjurer, and Dr. Saram R. +Ellison, the collector of magic literature. Ellison suggested the +name, Mortimer wrote the ritual of the order, and {214} the two +of them called the meeting for the formation of the society. The +first idea of such a fraternity of magicians was formulated by the +writer of this book, who endeavored to found a society called the +“Sphinx,” but it proved abortive. The leading conjurers of the United +States and Europe are enrolled among the members of the S. A. M. +The meetings are held once a month, at Martinka’s, usually followed +by exhibitions of skill on the stage of the Bijou Theatre, attached +to the place. Robert-Houdin, in the closing chapter of his _Secrets +of Conjuring and Magic_, remarks that it would be a superb sight to +witness a performance by magicians, where each would show his _chef +d’oeuvre_ in the art. At Martinka’s this is realized. Here you may +see the very perfection of digital dexterity, mental magic, and the +like. Mr. Francis J. Martinka possesses many interesting relics of +celebrated performers: Alexander Herrmann’s wand, Robert Heller’s +orange tree, and photographs galore of magicians, living and dead. +Some of the most important illusions of the day have been built in +the shop of the Martinka Brothers. Other manufacturers in New York +City are Witmark & Sons, and Mr. Beadle, a veteran mechanic and +erstwhile assistant to Robert Heller. + +In Boston we have the magic emporiums of W. D. LeRoy and C. Milton +Chase; and in Chicago, that of A. Roterberg. Both LeRoy and Roterberg +are fine sleight-of-hand performers. Mr. Roterberg is the author +of a clever work on card conjuring, which ranks very high in the +estimation of the profession, also several little brochures on +up-to-date legerdemain. In Philadelphia, Mr. Thomas Yost, a veteran +manufacturer of magical apparatus, holds forth. He has built many +fine illusions and tricks. In London, we have the well-known firm of +Hamley & Co.; in Paris, Caroly and De Vere. There is no dearth of +periodicals devoted to the art of magic. Among the leading ones are: +_Mahatma_, Brooklyn, New York; _The Sphinx_, Kansas City, Missouri; +_Magic_ and _The Wizard_, London; _The Magician_, Liverpool; +_L’Illusioniste_, Paris; and _Der Zauberspiegel_, Berlin. + +{215} + + + + +A DAY WITH ALEXANDER THE GREAT. + + + “Come, bring thy wand, whose magic power + Can wake the troubled spirits of the deep.” + + HEMANS: _Address to Fancy._ + + +I. + +They come back to me, those old days in the newspaper office in +Baltimore. I can shut my eyes and see the long, dingy room with its +ink-splattered tables and flaring gas jets. The printers’ devils +rushing in and out with wet proof-sheets. Reporters come and go. +Look! There is Joe Kelly, Lefevre, Jarrett and John Monroe. And here +comes Ludlam, familiarly known as “Lud,” the prince of Bohemian +newsgatherers; a cross between Dickens’ Alfred Jingle and Murger’s +Rodolph. He is always “down on his luck,” but nothing can phase his +natural gaiety and bonhomie. He snaps his fingers at Fate, and mocks +at the world. On his death bed he made bon mots. Poor old Ludlam, he +is forever associated with my introduction to Alexander the Great. + +I look back across the years that separate me from my journalistic +experiences, and see myself seated at a reporter’s table, on a +certain morning in January, waiting for an assignment from the city +editor; a fire, a murder, political interview, I knew not what, +and therein lies the ineffable charm of newspaper reporting. Enter +Ludlam, jaunty and debonaire. The snow encrusts his faded coat with +powdery flakes. He strikes a theatrical attitude, and exclaims: +“Philosophers say that the Devil is dead! Gentlemen, don’t you +believe them. I have just had an interview with His Satanic Majesty, +and he is very much alive. He was beautifully perfumed with sulphur +(or was it cigarette smoke?); and wore a fur-lined overcoat. Coming +from a tropical climate, {216} he finds this cold weather very +disagreeable. He turned my watch into a turnip and back again. He +took a roll of greenbacks from my coat pocket. That was sure enough +witchcraft. I defy any other person than Beelzebub to get money from +_my_ clothes. He extracted a hard-boiled egg from my nose, and a +rabbit from my hat. But seeing is believing. Here he is now!” + +[Illustration: ALEXANDER HERRMANN.] + +With that he threw open the green baize door with a crash, and in +walked Alexander Herrmann, the magician, smiling and bowing. This +little comedy had been arranged by the irrepressible Ludlam. He was +a great practical joker. We shouted with laughter. This was my first +introduction to Alexander the Great, who was making his periodical +visit to the newspaper offices, and he came to the _News_ first, +because it was an afternoon journal. He was to play that night at +Ford’s Opera House. He performed a number of capital tricks for us +with watches, coins, handkerchiefs and rings, and was pronounced +a royal good fellow by the entire outfit—editors, reporters, +typesetters and devils. Being the only amateur magician on the paper, +I was detailed to accompany the famous conjurer on his “swing around +the {217} magic circle.” I was delighted with my assignment. We +traversed the markets; visited the Stock Exchange, where a howling +mob of brokers danced a carmagnole about us; and the police stations. +Herrmann was received everywhere with acclamations. His impromptu +feats of magic evoked shouts of laughter. On one of the street cars +the following scene took place, which I hugely enjoyed: + +The conductor, a cadaverous, solemn looking man, who took the world +and himself seriously, came around to collect the fares. He accosted +the conjurer first. + +“Fare.” exclaimed Herrmann, with an expressive shrug of the +shoulders. “Why, I paid mine long ago.” + +“No such thing!” snapped the conductor. + +“But, my dear fellow—!” + +“You can’t come that game on me!” said the conductor. “I demand your +fare, at once, or off you go.��� + +“Nonsense, man, I gave you a five-dollar gold piece, but you did not +return the change. You said, ‘Wait until’—. But here is the gold coin +sticking in your scarf.” So saying, the conjurer proceeded to extract +a coin from the muffler which the conductor wore about his neck. “And +worse than that, you’ve robbed me.” Then seizing hold of the coat of +the dumbfounded man, he took from his breast pocket a large bundle +of what seemed to be greenbacks. These, Herrmann scattered about +the car. On each note was printed his portrait and an advertisement +of his show. At a trifling distance these advertisements resembled +greenbacks. They were more or less facsimiles of U. S. Treasury +certificates. The occupants of the car picked them up, and laughed +heartily at the mystification. Herrmann then paid his fare, presented +the conductor and driver with passes to the theater, and in a little +while we got off at Barnum’s hotel, where we had luncheon. The negro +waiters of the establishment eyed him with fear and trembling, for he +had played many practical jokes on them, and they never knew when he +would break out in a new spot. He had a capital trick of raising a +glass of wine to his lips as if about to partake of it, when with a +dash of the hand upwards the glass would vanish, wine and all, only +to be reproduced a minute later from somebody’s coat tail. {218} + +II. + +The following is a charming anecdote related by Herrmann in the +_North American Review_, some years ago: + +[Illustration: ALEXANDER HERRMANN AT THE AGE OF 23.] + +“In March, 1885, while in Madrid, I appeared at the Sasuella Theatre +quite successfully, for the house was filled every evening with +hidalgos and noble senoras, and King Alphonso XII. was kind enough to +view my performance from a box. He was so pleased that I was asked +to the palace, and knowing him to be a great sportsman, I presented +him with a silver-mounted saddle which I had brought with me from +Buenos Ayres. He was exceedingly kind, and after I had performed a +mathematical trick with cards, which pleased him greatly, he kept +asking me continually if he could not be of some service to me. At +first I did not accept, but a little while afterwards I thought it +would be a great {219} thing if I could make the King of Spain my +confederate in a trick. He consented, laughingly, and it was so +arranged that from the stage I was to ask one of the audience to +write a number, when the King was to get up and say, ‘I will write +it,’ and do it. Of course, with such a confederate, the trick was +accomplished with the greatest effect. The first thing I did in +beginning the second part of my performance was to take a blank piece +of paper. This I handed to the King, asking him to sign it at the +bottom. He did so readily, and the paper was passed from hand to hand +and given to me. I conjured up all the spirits that have been or will +be, and lo and behold! the paper was closely written from the top to +the place where His Majesty’s signature was affixed. It was handed +back to him, and, while he laughed very heartily, he said, ‘I will +not deny my signature to this document, which appoints Alexander +Herrmann prestidigitateur to the King of Spain, and, as the spirits +have done so, I heartily acquiesce.’ ” + +Those who are acquainted with the peculiar properties of sympathetic +inks will readily understand the modus operandi of the above trick. +For example: Copper sulphate in very dilute solution will produce an +invisible handwriting, which will turn light blue when subjected to +the vapor of ammonia. Again, write with a weak solution of sulphuric +acid and the chirography will appear in black letters when the paper +is submitted to a strong heat. To obtain the requisite heat, all you +have to do is to lay the sheet of paper on a small table which has +a top of thin sheet iron or tin. Beneath this top, concealed in the +body of the table, is a spirit lamp—not a lamp run by spooks, but +“spirits of wine.” Ample time for the chemical operation to take +place is afforded by the patter of the conjurer. + +Another clever trick, bordering on the supernatural, was Herrmann’s +“Thibetan Mail,” the effect of which was as follows: Handing a sheet +of note paper to various persons in the audience, Herrmann requested +them to write sentences upon it, one under the other. When this was +accomplished, he tore the paper into halves, and requested some +gentleman to retain one half. The other half the magician thrust into +the flame of a candle and burned it to ashes. Flinging the ashes in +the air, he cried: “I send this message to the mighty Mahatma who +dwells in the {220} great temple of Lhassa. Let him restore the paper +intact and return it to me by spiritual post.” No sooner said than +done. Immediately a District Messenger boy rushed into the theatre, +down the center aisle, waving in his hand a sealed letter. Handing +this to some one in the audience, Herrmann requested him to break the +seal and examine the contents of the envelope. Inside of the envelope +he found a second one, and within that a third and fourth, etc. In +the last envelope the half sheet of paper was revealed perfectly +restored. Its identity was proved by matching it with the half-sheet +of writing retained by the first spectator, whereupon they were found +to fit exactly, and the writing to correspond. The modus operandi +of this astounding feat, like all good things in magic, is very +simple, but it requires adroitness on the part of the performer to +execute properly. The conjurer does not burn the piece of paper which +contains the writing, but exchanges it for a dummy which he thrusts +into the flame of the candle. The original half-sheet of paper is +secretly transferred to an assistant, usually in the following +manner: The magician calls for a candle and matches, which the +assistant brings in upon a salver. The slip of paper is “worked off” +to the assistant in the act of taking the candle and matches from the +tray. The confederate then goes behind the scenes, slips the paper +into a “nest of envelopes,” seals them simultaneously, and gives the +package to a stage hand habited as a messenger boy, who runs to the +front part of the house to await the cue from the conjurer. This +trick was intended as a burlesque on Madame Blavatsky’s Indian Mail +feat. + +I remember very well performing this experiment at an amateur show +at the home of Mr. O― H―, of Baltimore, some eighteen years ago, +before a company of interested spectators, among whom was the +charming daughter of the house, Miss Alice, now the Countess Andrezzi +Bernini, of Rome, Italy. My stage was situated in an alcove at one +end of the splendid drawing room, and it had a window opening on +a side street. My District Messenger boy, hired for the occasion, +and privately instructed how to act, was stationed beneath this +window, and threatened with all the penalties of Dante’s Inferno +if he went asleep at his post. My brother, Walter Dorsey Evans, +{221} afterwards a skillful amateur prestidigitateur, acted as my +assistant, and adroitly threw the sealed note out of the window to +the boy. Great was the surprise of my audience when the door bell +rang and the stately butler of the establishment brought into the +parlor the messenger boy with his sealed letter. + +“Where did you get this?” asked the host, as he doubtfully fingered +the envelope and examined the address, which read, “To Sahib O― H―, +Baltimore, Md.” + +“Please, sir, an old man dressed in a yellow robe came into the +office, and asked that the letter be delivered at once.” + +“A Mahatma, I presume!” said the lawyer, ironically. + +“He had no hat on, sir, only a turbot wrapped round his head.” + +“A turban, I suppose you mean.” + +“That’s it, sir—a turbing like the Turks wear.” + +“That will do, young man. You may go.” + +The boy left. May he be forgiven the lies uttered in my behalf. But +all is fair in love, war, and conjuring. He was well tutored what +to say in the event of his being questioned, but he performed his +part so naturally and lied so artistically and with such a front +of brass as to have deceived the most incredulous. I have often +speculated upon the subsequent career of that lad. Possibly today he +is representing his country abroad in an important diplomatic post, +or manufacturing sensational news for the yellow press. Had I been +a professional conjurer, I would have hired him on the spot as an +assistant. + + +III. + +Alexander Herrmann was born in Paris, February 11, 1844. Information +concerning his family is somewhat meagre. His father, Samuel +Herrmann, was a German Jew, a physician, who had come to France to +reside, and there married a Breton lady. Sixteen children were born +of this union, of whom Carl was the oldest of the eight boys and +Alexander the youngest. Samuel Herrmann was an accomplished conjurer, +but rarely performed in public. He gave private séances before +Napoleon I, who presented him with a superb watch. This timepiece +descended to Alexander, and is in possession of his widow. {222} + +Carl Herrmann was born in Hanover, Germany, January 23, 1816. Despite +parental opposition he became a sleight-of-hand artist, and was known +as the “First Professor of Magic in the World.” In 1848 he made his +first bow to the English people, at the Adelphi Theatre, London, +where he produced the second-sight trick, which he copied from Houdin +in France. Early in the sixties he made a tour of America, with great +success. At his farewell performance in New York City, he introduced +his brother Alexander as his legitimate successor. Carl then retired +with a fortune to Vienna, where he spent the remainder of his days in +collecting rare antiquities. His death occurred at Carlsbad, June, +1887, at the age of seventy-two. He was a great favorite with Czar +Nicholas and the Sultan of Turkey and frequently performed at their +palaces. + +Here is one of Carl Herrmann’s German programmes: + + Teplitzer Stadttheater + + Dienstag den 8 Juni 1886 + Zweite und letzte Gastvorstellung + des berühmten Prestidigitateur + + Prof. C. Herrmann + + aus Wien + unter der Direction des Herrn A. MORINI + + PROGRAMM + + I. Abtheilung + + 1. Wo wünschen Sie es? + 2. Die Billard-Kugel + 3. Das Schlangentuch + 4. Die fliegenden Gegenstände + 5. Der Banquier + 6. Der Fischfang und das Gegenstück + + II. Abtheilung + + 1. Der Sack + 2. Die Plantation + 3. Die Tasche + 4. Der Kegel + 5. Der Ring in Gefahr + 6. Eine Improvisation + + Alle oben ausgeführten Experimente sind Erfindungen des Herrn + Prof. Herrmann und werden ohne jedweden Apparat und sonstige + Hilfsmittel ausgeführt. + +The following is one of Carl’s characteristic English programmes. I +consider it of great interest to the profession: {223} + + THEATRE ROYAL, HAY-MARKET. + + Mr. B. WEBSTER, Sole Lessee and Manager, Old Brompton. + + MORNING PERFORMANCES. + MATINÉES + MAGIQUE + Commencing at Two o’clock. + THE WONDER OF THE WORLD! + + This Morning, Wednesday May 3rd, 1848, + And during the week, + + M. Herrmann + (OF HANOVER), PREMIER PRESTIDIGITATEUR OF FRANCE, AND THE + ACKNOWLEDGED FIRST PROFESSOR OF MAGIC IN THE WORLD, + + Respectfully announces to the Nobility, Gentry and the Public in + general that he will give + + FOUR FAREWELL PERFORMANCES, + + Previous to his departure to the Provinces, and will introduce + + SIX NEW EXTRAORDINARY TRICKS, + + NEVER BEFORE EXHIBITED! + + L’Album Hanoverien; The Hanoverian Album. + Les Chapeaux Diaboliques; The Diabolical Hats. + Le Coffre infernale; The Infernal Chest. + Le Vase d’Armide; ou, l’horlogerie de Geneve; Armida’s Vase; or + The Geneva Clockwork. + La Multiplication des Indes; Indian Multiplication. + Les Mysteres de Paris; The Mysteries of Paris. + + MAD^E. HERRMANN + Will also exhibit her extraordinary powers of + SECOND SIGHT; OR ANTI-MAGNETISM, + By divining, with Closed Eyes, any objects that may be submitted + to this proof, which has astonished the most scientific. + + PROGRAMME + + Le Volage des Cartes; Illusions with Cards. + Le Miroir des Dames; the Lady’s Looking Glass. + LA BOUTEILLE INEPUISABLE; THE INEXHAUSTIBLE BOTTLE. + Robin le Sorcier (piece mecanique); Robin the Sorcerer. + La Poche Marveilleuse; The Marvellous Pocket. + Le Noces de Canaes; The Nuptials of Cana. + Satan et son Mouchoir; Satan and his Kerchief. + Les Colombes Sympathetiques; The Sympathetic Doves. + LE CADRAN MATHEMATICIEN; THE MATHEMATICAL CLOCK. + Le Timbre Isole (piece mecanique); The Isolated Clock Bell. + Le pain de sucre Magique; The Magic Sweetcake. + Plusieurs tours de Cartes nouveaux et de magie blanche; New + Illusions with Cards and White Magic. + La naissance des Poissons rouges, execute en habit de ville; The + Birth of Gold Fish; performed in an Evening Dress. + + GRAND NEW ILLUSIONS FROM INDIA, + Le SUSPENSION ETHEREENNE By Ether + LE DOUBLE VUE! or, SECOND SIGHT, + By MADAME HERRMANN, with various new + ILLUSIONS WITH CARDS AND MAGIE BLANCHE! + And a Concert in Imitation of Various Birds, + By M. HERRMANN. + +{224} + +Alexander was destined by his father to the practice of medicine, but +fate willed otherwise. + +[Illustration: ADELAIDE HERRMANN.] + +When quite a boy, he ran away and joined Carl, acting as his +assistant. He remained with his brother six years, when his +parents placed him in college at Vienna. He did not complete his +scholastic studies, but went to Spain in 1859 and began his career +as a magician. He appeared in America in 1861, but returned a year +later to Europe, and made an extended tour. He played an engagement +of 1,000 consecutive nights at Egyptian Hall, London. In 1875 he +married Adelaide Scarsez, a beautiful and clever danseuse, who +assisted him in his _soirées magiques_. Herrmann became a naturalized +citizen of the United States in 1876. He died of heart failure in +his private car, December 11, 1896, while traveling from Rochester, +N. Y., to Bradford, Penn., and was buried with Masonic honors in +Woodlawn cemetery, just outside of New York City. He made and +lost several fortunes. Unsuccessful theatrical speculations were +largely responsible for his losses. He aspired in vain to be the +manager and proprietor of a chain of theatres. He introduced the +celebrated Trewey, the French fantaisiste, to the American public. +Herrmann was an extraordinary linguist, a raconteur and wit. Several +chivalric orders were conferred upon him by European potentates. +He usually billed himself as the Chevalier Alexander Herrmann. His +mephistophelean aspect, his foreign accent, and histrionic powers, +coupled with his wonderful sleight of hand, made him indeed the +king of conjurers. He had a wrist of steel and a palm of velvet. He +performed tricks wherever he went, in the street cars, cafés, clubs, +hotels, newspaper offices, and markets, imitating in this respect the +renowned Bosco. These impromptu entertainments widely advertised his +art. He rarely changed his repertoire, but old tricks in his hands +were invested with the charm of newness. I can remember as a boy with +what emotion I beheld the rising of the curtain, in his fantastic +soirées, and saw him appear, in full court costume, smiling and +bowing. Hey, presto! I expected every moment to see him metamorphosed +into the Mephisto of Goethe’s “Faust,” habited in the traditional red +costume, with red cock’s feather in his pointed cap, and clanking +rapier by his side; sardonic, {225} and full of subtleties. He +looked the part to perfection. He was Mephisto in evening dress. When +he performed the trick of the inexhaustible bottle, which gave forth +any liquor called for by the spectators, I thought of him as Mephisto +in that famous drinking scene in Auerbach’s cellar, boring holes in +an old table, and extracting from them various sparkling liquors as +well as flames. In his nervous hands articles vanished and reappeared +with surprising rapidity. Everything material, under the spell of +his flexible fingers, seemed to be resolved into a fluidic state, as +elusive as pellets of quicksilver. He was indeed the Alexander the +Great of Magic, who had conquered all worlds with his necromancer’s +wand—theatrical worlds; and he sighed because there were no more to +dominate with his legerdemain. One of his posters always fascinated +my boyish imagination. It was {226} night in the desert. The Sphinx +loomed up majestically under the black canopy of the Egyptian sky. In +front of the giant figure stood Herrmann, in the center of a magic +circle of skulls and cabalistic figures. Incense from a brazier +ascended and circled about the head of the Sphinx. Herrmann was +depicted in the act of producing rabbits and bowls of gold fish from +a shawl, while Mephisto, the guardian of the weird scene, stood near +by, dressed all in red, and pointing approvingly at his disciple +in the black art. In this picture were symbolized Egyptian mystery +and necromancy, mediæval magic, and the sorcery of science and +prestidigitation. + + +IV. + +When Herrmann came to Baltimore, he always put up at Barnum’s Hotel, +a quaint, old caravansary that had sheltered beneath its hospitable +roof such notables as Charles Dickens, Thackeray and Jenny Lind. +Alas, the historic hostelry was torn down years ago to make room for +improvements. It stood on the southwest corner of Calvert and Fayette +streets, within a stone’s throw of the Battle Monument. I spent some +happy hours with Herrmann in this ancient hotel, listening to his +rich store of anecdotes. I received from him many valuable hints in +conjuring. There was something exotic about his tastes. He loved to +surround himself with Oriental luxuries, rare curios picked up in the +bazaars of Constantinople, Cairo, and Damascus; nargilehs, swords +of exquisite workmanship; carved ivory boxes; richly embroidered +hangings, and the like. His private yacht, “Fra Diavolo,” and +his Pullman car were fitted up regardless of expense. Habited in +a Turkish dressing gown which glowed with all the colors of the +rainbow; his feet thrust into red Morocco slippers; the inevitable +cigarette in his mouth, Herrmann resembled a pasha of the East. He +was inordinately fond of pets and carried with him on his travels +a Mexican dog, a Persian cat, cages full of canaries, a parrot and +a monkey. His rooms looked like a small zoo. He seemed to enjoy +the noises made by his pets. His opinions concerning his art were +interesting. {227} + +“A magician is born, not made!” was his favorite apothegm. “He must +possess not only digital dexterity, but be an actor as well.” + +“What is the greatest illusion in the repertoire of the conjurer?” I +asked him. + +“The Vanishing Lady of M. Buatier de Kolta,” was the unhesitating +reply. + +“Why so?” I inquired. + +“Because of its simplicity. The great things of magic are always the +simple things. The ‘Vanishing Lady’ trick has the most transcendant +effect when properly produced, but, alas, the secret is now too well +known. Its great success proved its ruin. Irresponsible bunglers +took it up and made a fiasco of it. In the hands of De Kolta it was +perfection itself. There was nothing wanting in artistic finish.” + +Herrmann related to me some amusing episodes of his varied career. +In the year 1863 he was playing an engagement in Constantinople. He +received a summons to appear before the Sultan and his court. At +the appointed hour there came to the hotel where he was staying a +Turkish officer, who drove him in a handsome equipage to a palace +overlooking the gleaming waters of the Golden Horn, where “ships that +fly the flags of half the world” ride at anchor. It was a lovely +afternoon in April. Herrmann was ushered into a luxuriously furnished +apartment and invited to be seated on a divan. The officer then +withdrew. Presently a couple of tall Arabs entered. One carried a +lighted chibouk; the other a salver, upon which was a golden pot full +of steaming hot Mocha coffee, and a tiny cup and saucer of exquisite +porcelain. The slaves knelt at his feet and presented the tray and +pipe to him. + +“A faint suspicion,” said Herrmann, “crossed my mind that perhaps the +tobacco and coffee were drugged with a pinch or two of hasheesh—that +opiate of the East, celebrated by Monte Cristo; the drug that brings +forgetfulness and elevates its votaries to the seventh heaven of +spiritual ecstasy. I thought, ‘what if the Sultan were trying some +of his sleight-of-hand tricks on me for the amusement of the thing. +Sultans have been known to do such things.’ Now I wanted to keep +cool and have all of my wits {228} about me. My reputation as a +prestidigitateur was at stake. It was very silly, I suppose, to +entertain such ideas. But once possessed of this absurd obsession I +could not get rid of it. So I waved off the attendants politely and +signified by gestures that I did not desire to indulge in coffee or +tobacco. But they persisted, and I saw that I could not rid myself +of them without an effort. Happy thought! I just took a whiff of +the pipe and a sip of the coffee, when, hey, presto!—I made the +chibouk and cup vanish by my sleight of hand and caused a couple of +small snakes, which I carried upon my person for use in impromptu +tricks, to appear in my hands. The astonishment on the faces of +those two Arabs was something indescribable. They gazed up at the +gilded ceiling and down at the carpet, puzzled to find out where +the articles had gone, but finding no solution to the problem and +beholding the writhing serpents in my hands, fled incontinently from +the room. These simple sons of the desert evidently thought that +I had just stepped out of the Arabian Nights Entertainments. At +this juncture a chamberlain entered and in French bade me welcome, +informing me that His Imperial Majesty was ready to receive me. He +conducted me to a superb salon with a platform at one end. I looked +around me, but saw only one person, a black-bearded gentleman, who +sat in an armchair in the middle of the apartment. I recognized in +him the famous ‘Sick Man of Europe.’ I bowed low to the Sultan Abdul +Aziz. + +“ ‘Well, monsieur, begin,’ he said in French. + +“And so this was my audience. No array of brilliantly garbed +courtiers and attendants; no music. Only a fat gentleman, languidly +polite, waiting to be amused. How was it possible to perform with +any _élan_ under such depressing conditions? It takes a large and +enthusiastic audience to inspire a performer. I began my tricks. +As I progressed with my programme, however, I became aware of the +presence of other persons in the room besides the ruler of the +Ottoman Empire. The laughter of women rippled out from behind the +gilded lattice work and silken curtains that surrounded the salon. +The harem was present though invisible to me. I felt like another +being and executed my tricks with more than usual effect. The Sultan +was charmed and paid me many compliments. A couple of weeks after the +{229} séance, I was invited to accompany him on a short cruise in +the royal yacht. On this occasion I created a profound sensation by +borrowing the Sultan’s watch, which I (apparently) threw overboard. +His face fairly blazed with anger; his hand involuntarily sought the +handle of his jeweled sword. Never before had the Commander of the +Faithful been treated so cavalierly. Seeing his agitation, I hastened +to explain. ‘Don’t be alarmed, your Majesty, for the safety of your +timepiece. It will be restored to you intact. I pledge my honor as a +magician.’ He sneered incredulously, but vouchsafed no reply. ‘Permit +me to throw overboard this hook and line and indulge in a little +fishing.’ So saying, I cast into the sea the line, and after a little +while brought up a good sized fish. Cutting it open, I produced from +its body the missing watch. This feat, bordering so closely on the +sorcery of the Arabian Nights, made a wonderful impression on the +spectators. I was the lion of the hour. Constantinople soon rang with +my fame. In the cafés and bazaars the ignorant populace discussed my +marvelous powers with bated breath. The watch trick, however, proved +my undoing. One morning I was sitting in my room at my hotel, idly +smoking a cigarette and building palaces as unsubstantial as those +erected by the Genii in the story of ‘Aladdin and his wonderful +lamp,’ when a messenger from his Imperial Majesty was announced. He +made a low obeisance and humbly laid at my feet a bag containing +5,000 piastres, after which he handed me an envelope inscribed with +Turkish characters and sealed with large seals. + +“ ‘Ah,’ I said to myself, ‘the Sultan is going to confer upon me the +coveted order of the Medjidie.’ My heart swelled with pride. I was +like the foolish Alnaschar, who, while indulging in day dreams of +greatness, unconsciously overturned his stock of glassware in the +market, thereby ruining himself. I prolonged opening the envelope in +order to indulge my extravagant fancies. Finally I broke the seals +and read the enclosed letter, which was written in French: + +“ ‘It would be better for you to leave Constantinople at once.’ + +“My budding hopes were crushed. I left the city that afternoon in a +British steamer bound for a Grecian port. Either {230} watch tricks +were unpopular in the Orient, or I was encroaching upon the preserves +of the Dervishes—a close corporation for the working of pious frauds. +But things have changed in Turkey since then.” + + +V. + +Madame Herrmann, on the death of her husband, sent to Europe for her +nephew-in-law, Leon Herrmann, and they continued the entertainments +of magic throughout the country, meeting with success. Some curious +and amusing adventures were encountered on their travels. One of +M. Reinach gives reasons, which appear to me unsatisfactory, for the +conjecture that _Cassiterides_ means the same as _insulae extimae_ +(‘the remotest isles’); and he holds that the name was given to the +British Isles by the Celts of Western Gaul.[2319] + +Whatever M. Reinach’s argument may be worth, he and Müllenhoff are +unquestionably right in one sense: the British Isles, taken as a +whole, were the only islands from which the ancients derived tin. But +this truism did not require demonstration. The question is, whether +the identification of the Cassiterides with the British Isles can be +reconciled with what was written about them by the ancient geographers. + +IV. The story which Strabo tells about Publius Crassus presents +some difficulty. As we have seen, he says that after the Romans had +discovered the route to the Cassiterides in spite of the efforts which +the Phoenicians made to conceal it, Crassus sailed across to the +islands, ascertained that the tin lay near the surface, and indicated +the new route for the benefit of traders. The first question is, +who was Crassus? Unger[2320] maintains that he was the consul of 95 +B.C. who conquered the Lusitanians. If so, he must have sailed from +the mainland to the islands near Vigo which Unger identifies with +the Cassiterides. But, as I have already pointed out, these islands +are quite close to the coast: their distance from the mainland is +not greater, but many times less than the distance of Britain from +the Continent; their whereabouts could never have been kept secret; +and they have never produced tin. Therefore, if Publius Crassus was +the consul of 95 B.C., Strabo’s story is utterly untrustworthy. +Mommsen[2321] holds that Crassus was Caesar’s lieutenant of that name, +and that he sailed from Gaul to the Scilly Islands before Caesar’s +first invasion of Britain.[2322] How then are we to account for the +ignorance of Caesar, who tells us that tin was produced ‘in the +midlands’ (_in mediterraneis regionibus_[2323]) of Britain? Professor +Ridgeway, who believes that the Cassiterides were the islands near +Vigo, also identifies Crassus with Caesar’s lieutenant, who, as he +reminds us, invaded Aquitania--the south-western division of Gaul--in +56 B.C. ‘He is all the more likely,’ writes Professor Ridgeway,[2324] +‘to have passed into Northern Spain, inasmuch as the people of that +region had given great assistance to the Aquitani ... (_B. G._, iii, +23). Without doubt he was fully aware of the mineral wealth of that +country, as is shown by Caesar’s remark (iii, 21) on their skill in +defending cities, in consequence of their having numerous copper mines +and other works in that region. As is plain from Strabo’s words, the +Romans already knew how to reach the tin islands by sea, coasting +round from the Mediterranean and up from Gades on the old Phoenician +track. Crassus, then, by opening up a far shorter route, that of a +short sea voyage from the Cassiterides to the coast of Gaul (possibly +to the Garonne), at once developed this trade. The ore lay near +the surface. The distance by sea was greater than that across the +English Channel, but the readiness with which the tin was obtained, +combined with the shorter land transit, more than compensated this. +Strabo is evidently contrasting the rival tin-producing regions when +he introduces the allusion to Britain.... From this achievement of +Crassus and its results we can now understand in its proper light +the famous expression of Pytheas, that “the northern parts of Iberia +are more accessible towards Keltiké than for those who sail by the +ocean”.... He found, as Publius Crassus found three centuries later, +that the mineral regions and islands of North-Western Spain were far +more accessible for the Massaliotes by a land journey across Gaul +and a short sea voyage than by the long and perilous route round by +Gibraltar.’ But Professor Ridgeway mistranslates ‘the famous expression +of Pytheas’,--τὰ προσαρκτικὰ μέρη τῆς Ἰβηρίας εὐπαροδώτερα εἶναι +[τοῖς] πρὸς τὴν Κελτικὴν ἢ κατὰ τὸν ὠκεανὸν πλέουσι.[2325] He fails +to see that the word πλέουσι refers to πρὸς τὴν Κελτικήν as well as +to κατὰ τὸν ὠκεανόν. The passage simply means that it is easier to +sail along the northern coast of Iberia (Spain) from west to east in +the direction of Keltiké (Gaul) than to sail along the southern coast +from east to west in the direction of the Atlantic.[2326] This, as +Müllenhoff[2327] observes, is perfectly true, owing to the set of the +current and the prevalence of westerly winds. Moreover, Professor +Ridgeway does not seem to be aware that there are no ‘tin islands’ off +the coast of Spain: he does not explain how Crassus could have found +time in 56 B.C. to make the ‘short sea voyage’ of five hundred miles or +more from the mouth of the Garonne to the neighbourhood of Vigo, when +he was campaigning in Aquitania until the approach of winter;[2328] +nor, finally, does he explain how the Massaliotes would have gained by +conveying tin five hundred miles from the neighbourhood of Vigo to the +mouth of the Garonne, and then considerably more than three hundred +miles across Gaul to Massilia, instead of overland across Spain. Mr. +Tozer[2329] disposes of the difficulty by simply discrediting Strabo’s +account. ‘There is no reason,’ he says, ‘to doubt that Crassus made +such an expedition; but whatever the place was to which he went, his +account is quite untrustworthy, because he represents the Cassiterides +as producing tin, whereas that metal is not found in any of the groups +of islands which lie off the coasts of Gaul, or Britain, or Spain. The +explicit character of his statements, however, seems to have deceived +his contemporaries, and Strabo among them.’ But what theory can Mr. +Tozer frame to account for the gratuitous mendacity which he imputes +to Crassus, who, by the way, was not Strabo’s contemporary?[2330] +Strabo’s story is, in any case, obviously inaccurate:[2331] but I agree +with Mr. Tozer that it contains a kernel of truth; and I can only +suppose that Crassus, when he was in Brittany in 57-56 B.C.,[2332] was +directed by Caesar to visit and report upon the tin-producing districts +of the British Isles.[2333] And if I am asked how I account for the +mistake which Caesar made when he said that tin was produced in the +interior of Britain, I offer the following suggestion. Crassus may have +contented himself with landing on the coast, perhaps at or near St. +Michael’s Mount, where the tin was delivered to the merchants:[2334] +if so, he was doubtless informed that the tin was actually won in the +interior, as, in literal truth, it of course was;[2335] and Caesar may +have hastily concluded from his report that the tin mines were far from +the coast. As to the details with which Strabo embellished his story, +it would be idle to conjecture from what source they were obtained. We +may be sure that he did not invent them; but he may have confused items +of information furnished by different authorities.[2336] + +V. The conclusion of the matter is this. The statements of Strabo are +most satisfactorily explained on the hypothesis that those from whom +he, directly or indirectly, derived his information referred to the +Scilly Isles and probably also the Cornish peninsula, or (which is +less probable) to islands off the coast of Brittany, at which trading +vessels may have touched on the voyage. All the other ancient writers, +except perhaps Polybius, undoubtedly associated the Cassiterides with +Spain. In so doing they were mistaken; for no islands in Spanish +waters, except Ons, which is out of the question, have ever produced +tin. The real Cassiterides--the ‘tin islands’ which were known to +the mariners from whom the ancient writers ultimately derived their +notions--were, speaking generally, the British Isles, and particularly, +the tin-producing districts of Cornwall and perhaps also the Scilly +Islands. It is possible that Polybius[2337] may have held this view; +for he does not mention the Cassiterides, and names the British Isles +as the source of tin. + +How the ancients came to entertain such vague notions about the +Cassiterides, is not difficult to conceive. Evidently, when they +first heard of them, all that they could learn was that they were +somewhere in the western ocean. Knowing that Gades was the centre of +the tin trade, they would naturally assume that they were in Spanish +waters[2338]; and even when they learned that tin came from Britain +and from Galicia, they would cling to the idea that it came also from +islands, the geographical position of which the crafty Phoenicians +had striven to keep secret. Mr. Tozer[2339] may possibly be right in +suggesting that ‘when the nations about the Mediterranean obtained more +accurate information concerning the north-western coasts of Europe, +it was natural that they should affix the name to one or other of the +groups of islands with which they found the trade to be associated’. +‘Thus,’ he continues, ‘by some writers it may have been attached to +the Oestrymnides, by others to the islands of the Galician coast, and +even the Scillies may in some cases have been intended.’ But is it not +likely that the writers in question, when they attempted to locate the +Cassiterides, were not identifying them with any group of islands the +existence of which was certainly known to them, and the whereabouts of +which they knew? M. Salomon Reinach puts the matter well, though he +fails to perceive that Strabo was not referring to islands in Spanish +waters. ‘There were two traditions,’ he says, ‘relating to the tin +islands,--one Phoenician, of which the starting-point was Southern +Spain; the other Greek, which originated at Marseilles. With that +respect for the written word which characterized them, the ancients +accepted the two traditions side by side.... Even after the expedition +of Crassus ... Pliny dared not reject the geographical legend which +connected the islands with Spain; and a century later Ptolemy persisted +in the same error.’[2340] + +Mr. W. H. Stevenson explains that Müllenhoff, of whose conclusions +respecting the Cassiterides he gives a lucid summary, holds that +they ‘were marked by guess-work on the early Greek maps ... off the +north-west coast of Spain ... and that they there remained on the maps +(much like the mythical island of Brazil in fifteenth-century maps), +although they had been known since the time of Pytheas, under the +names of Britannia, Albion, Ierne, &c., without their identity being +suspected. In a precisely similar manner the Electridae, which had been +put into the maps by guess-work, were retained long after it was known +that amber came from the shores of the Baltic, and not from islands in +the North Sea.’[2341] + +Thus the important point to bear in mind is that the name +_Cassiterides_, which must, as Kiepert says, have been originally +applied to the British Isles, was afterwards misapplied to imaginary +islands, and applied by Strabo, not perhaps without some foundation in +fact, to the Scilly group. + + +II. ICTIS AND THE BRITISH TRADE IN TIN + +Let us now consider the British trade in tin. + +I. Diodorus Siculus[2342] states, on the authority of Timaeus, who +derived his information on this matter from Pytheas,[2343] that tin was +conveyed by the people of Belerium (the Land’s End) in wagons at low +tide from the British mainland to an island called Ictis; purchased +there by merchants from the natives; carried to Gaul; and transported +on pack-horses to the mouth of the Rhône,[2344] the overland journey +lasting thirty days. In another chapter[2345] he says, following +Posidonius, that tin was carried from Britain to Gaul, and then +conveyed on horseback to Massilia and to Narbo. Pliny[2346] states, +quoting Timaeus as his authority, that there was an island called +Mictis, six days’ sail from Britain, which produced tin, and to which +the Britons sailed in coracles. Strabo tells us that Corbilo in the +estuary of the Loire[2347] ‘was formerly an emporium’; and, as we learn +from Polybius, who couples it with Narbo and Massilia, that in the time +of Scipio Aemilianus it was one of the principal towns of Gaul,[2348] +it is probable that it was at one period the Gallic port to which +British tin, destined for the Mediterranean markets, was conveyed.[2349] + +II. Now the first thing to do is to identify Ictis or Mictis; for it +is admitted that they were the same.[2350] According to Elton[2351] +and Professor Rhys,[2352] Ictis was the Isle of Thanet. ‘The important +point’, says Elton, ‘remains that the tin ... was stored at some +place, which was supposed to have lain at six days’ voyage from +the mineral district; and it seems reasonable to identify it with +the Isle of Thanet, at which the marts were established from which +the merchants made the shortest passage to Gaul.’ But there is no +evidence that ‘the marts were established’ in the Isle of Thanet, or +that ‘the merchants made the shortest passage to Gaul’; nor is there +one word in Pliny (whose statement shall be considered presently) to +justify Elton in stating as a ‘fact’ that the tin was ‘stored at some +place which was supposed to have lain at six days’ voyage from the +mineral district’.[2353] The view that Ictis was the Isle of Thanet +is absolutely untenable. ‘If,’ says Professor Ridgeway,[2354] ‘it was +Thanet, it follows that the tin was brought all the way from Devon, +which was impossible, as the great forest of Anderida stretched right +from Hampshire into Kent.’ Formerly the professor held that ‘the only +difficulty in identifying Ictis with the Isle of Wight is the statement +of Diodorus ... that the tin was conveyed across to the island at low +water’; for ‘geologists maintain that Wight could not have been joined +to the mainland in historic times’. Geologists, however, as we shall +presently see, have changed their minds; and accordingly Professor +Ridgeway has changed his. I shall therefore only take account of those +parts of his argument which are not obsolete. ‘Mr. Elton,’ he observes, +‘seems to forget that if the Britons brought the tin a six days’ voyage +from Cornwall to Thanet, there would be no need to bring it overland +by waggons across the estuary at low water.... Diodorus and Timaeus +are substantially agreed that there was an island where the tin came +to market, and that its name was Ictis or Mictis.... The tin could +not be carried overland on account of the forests, and they certainly +would not convey it all round the south and south-east coasts to the +Straits, and then round the coast of Gaul to Corbilo, if it was at all +possible to get across at a nearer point. The passage from the Isle of +Wight to the Channel Islands, and thence to Armorica and Corbilo, would +best attain this object.’ Professor Ridgeway then invokes numismatic +evidence. He states that Gallic coins of a peculiar type have been +found in the southern and western parts of England, in the Channel +Islands, and in the territories of the Turones, Pictones, Redones, +Namnetes, all the tribes of the Armorican peninsula, and the Volcae +Tectosages. ‘Follow the peoples enumerated above on the map,’ he says, +‘and we shall find them all lying in the basins of the Garonne and +Loire.... This evidence, then, points unmistakably to a route direct +from Armorica to the southern coast of Britain, or, in other words, +supports strongly the doctrine that the Isle of Wight was the island +called Ictis.’[2355] + +Professor Ridgeway’s arguments, as directed against the theory of Elton +and Professor Rhys, are conclusive. Ictis was certainly not Thanet. +But the argument which he adduces from numismatic evidence in favour +of its identification with the Isle of Wight rests upon the assumption +that the coins in question could not have found their way to the +Channel Islands except in the course of the tin trade. The Dumnonii, +in whose country the tin was produced, had no coinage of their own, +and apparently made little use of money:[2356] the coins to which +Professor Ridgeway alludes were far later than the time of Pytheas; +and the professor himself affirms that in the time of Posidonius, whom +he wrongly regards as Diodorus’s authority for the description of +Ictis, the route from Ictis to Corbilo had been abandoned. Nor is it +easy to understand why the traders who conveyed tin from Cornwall to +Marseilles should have needlessly added between 300 and 400 miles to +the length and a corresponding amount to the expense of the journey. +Professor Ridgeway has himself made use of this very argument to prove +that Ictis was not the Isle of Thanet: can he not see that it tells +with equal force against his own theory, that Ictis was the Isle of +Wight?[2357] + +Mr. Alfred Tylor[2358] insists that ‘St. Michael’s Mount’, which was +formerly identified with Ictis, ‘is a steep rock, and does not form a +harbour at all.’ What if it is a steep rock? Does not Thucydides[2359] +tell us that the Phoenicians ‘fortified headlands on the sea-coast [of +Sicily], and settled in the small islands adjacent, for the sake of +trading with the Sicels’?[2360] Nobody who knows St. Michael’s Mount +will contend that there would have been the slightest difficulty in +conveying tin on to the small plain on its landward side,[2361] or in +loading with tin vessels moored beneath it. Diodorus Siculus does not +mention any harbour in connexion with Ictis; but, as a writer who knew +every inch of the Cornish coast long ago pointed out, St. Michael’s +Mount afforded perfect shelter for shipping.[2362] ‘It still,’ says +Sir Charles Lyell,[2363] ‘affords a good port, daily frequented by +vessels, _where cargoes of tin are sometimes taken on board, after +having been transported, as in the olden time, at low tide across +the isthmus_.[2364] Colliers of 500 tons’ burden can now enter the +harbour, which is on the landward or sheltered side of the Mount.’ + +But the Isle of Wight has recently found a new champion,--the eminent +geologist, Mr. Clement Reid.[2365] He affirms that at the time when +tin was shipped at Ictis, ‘St. Michael’s Mount must have been an +isolated rock rising out of a swampy wood.’ By an interesting process +of reasoning, based upon evidence which he collected while revising +‘the geological map of the northern part of the Isle of Wight’, and +afterwards while mapping ‘the whole of the adjacent parts of the +mainland’, he arrives at the conclusion that about 100 B.C. a limestone +causeway, over which wagons could pass at low tide, extended from +the western side of the river Yar to the coast of Hampshire opposite +Pennington Marshes. He explains that the tin was transported by this +causeway to the Isle of Wight instead of being shipped in one of the +Hampshire harbours because the latter ‘are all more or less exposed +to the prevalent south-west wind, and are sheltered by no high land’, +and, moreover, ‘the harbours outside the Solent were probably always +rendered dangerous by bars of sand and shingle.’ Finally, he contends +that the identification of Ictis with the Isle of Wight shows that +‘the ancient writers can be literally depended on, and that their +descriptions are thoroughly in keeping with each other’. Pliny was +right in saying that Mictis ‘is distant inwards from Britain six days’ +voyage’, for ‘six days’ coasting from the mouth of the Exe would amply +suffice to bring boats to the Isle of Wight’; and since ‘a coasting +trade of this sort would go direct to the Isle of Wight side of the +Solent’, Pliny’s account, which is based on Timaeus, naturally makes +‘no mention of the causeway alluded to by Diodorus, writing at a later +date’. (Mr. Reid presumably means, not that Diodorus wrote later than +Pliny, but that Posidonius, whom he assumes to have been Diodorus’s +authority, wrote later than Timaeus.) Caesar is right in saying that +tin was found in the interior, ‘for he refers to the British part +of the trade-route,’ that is to say, the (assumed) overland journey +from Cornwall to the Hampshire coast. Diodorus is right because the +limestone causeway answers to his description. + +I submit that whoever is right, Mr. Clement Reid is wrong, because +the only equipment which he brings to the discussion is the special +knowledge of the geologist. Doubtless he has proved the former +existence of a causeway between Hampshire and the Isle of Wight; but +it does not follow that the Isle of Wight was Ictis unless it can be +proved that ‘St. Michael’s Mount must have been an isolated rock rising +out of a swampy wood’. + +Can this be proved? I have searched all the relevant geological +and geographical literature, and have failed to find any evidence +in support of Mr. Reid’s assertion. The testimony of geologists, +except Mr. Reid, is all the other way. Sir Charles Lyell,[2366] Mr. +Pengelley,[2367] and Mr. Ussher[2368] of the Geological Survey all +hold that since the time when tin was shipped at Ictis, St. Michael’s +Mount has undergone no sensible change. But Mr. Reid has recently been +revising the old geological survey of Cornwall; and he tells me that +he reached his conclusion by calculating the rate at which the sea +washed away alluvium which once connected St. Michael’s Mount with the +mainland. Moreover, although he does not actually rely upon the hoary +fable, demolished by Max Müller, of ‘the Hoar Rock in the Wood’, he +laid stress in conversation with me upon the prevalence in Cornwall of +a tradition which supported his conclusion,--a tradition which, Max +Müller’s readers know, is simply worthless.[2369] + +Now I would ask geologists whether it is not dangerous to strive after +chronological precision in geological inquiries by reasoning which +assumes that nature worked during a long period of remote time at a +uniform rate of speed. The calculations by which Sir Archibald Geikie +laboured years ago to estimate the time which the Thames occupied in +excavating its valley,[2370] the calculations which geologists have +made as to the time required for the deposition of the layers of +stalagmite in caves,[2371] have been proved to be futile. This much +at all events is certain: if Mr. Reid’s calculation is accurate, it +stultifies the testimony of the ancient authors to whom he appeals. + +For I would ask Mr. Reid how he proposes to reconcile his own +statement, ‘that the ancient writers can be literally depended on,’ +with the assumption, which he admits that he is compelled to make in +order to show ‘the perfect consistency of the accounts’, that ‘Mictis +and Ictis were the same island as Vectis’. Is he not aware that in +Pliny’s _Natural History_[2372] [M]ictis and Vectis are distinguished? +If he had studied Müllenhoff’s great work, he would not have attempted +to reconcile Pliny’s account of the six days’ voyage to [M]ictis with +Diodorus’s account, which ‘mentions only the causeway to Ictis’, by +assuming that the writer whom Diodorus followed lived two centuries +later than Timaeus. For Diodorus’s account was not, as Mr. Reid +fancies, based upon Posidonius; he also, like Pliny, derived his +information immediately from Timaeus, ultimately from Pytheas. Not less +hopeless is Mr. Reid’s attempt to explain Pliny’s account of the voyage +to [M]ictis. How could the Isle of Wight be described as ‘distant +inwards from Britain six days’ voyage’? Because, says Mr. Reid, ‘the +Isle of Wight and more easterly parts of the south of England were +politically part of Gaul perhaps even at that early date [300 B.C.]; +the tin-producing “Britain” was apparently outside the dominion of +the Belgae, and must have been Devon and Cornwall.’ This argument +rests upon a doubtful ‘perhaps’, an obscure ‘apparently’, a desperate +‘must have been’, and the baseless assumption that the Belgae had +established dominion in Britain in the time of Pytheas: it leaves the +word ‘inwards’ unexplained; and it is pulverized by the mere fact that +in the very chapter from which Mr. Reid is quoting and everywhere else +Pliny uses the word Britain not in the sense of ‘Devon and Cornwall’, +but simply in the sense of Britain. To any man who is not obliged to +distort the plain meaning of words it is clear that, from Pliny’s point +of view, Ictis was six days’ sail from Britain, and that by ‘inwards’ +he meant, speaking from the standpoint of an Italian, ‘northward.’ Thus +London might be intelligibly described as fifty-two miles ‘inwards’ +from Brighton; but to say that Brighton is a day’s sail ‘inwards’ from +Portsmouth would be gibberish. As Müllenhoff has pointed out, Pliny +confounded the distance of Ictis from Britain with that of Thule.[2373] + +Enough of Mr. Reid’s attempt to reconcile the irreconcilable. Like +Professor Ridgeway, he does not explain why men of business preferred +to pay the cost of the long voyage from the Isle of Wight to the mouth +of the Loire, when they need only have paid for the shorter voyage +from Cornwall, or why they chose to saddle themselves with the cost of +the overland transport from Cornwall to Hampshire. Nor does he explain +why this imaginary and expensive overland transport was substituted +for the imaginary coasting voyage. Nor again does he explain how +wagons, loaded with tin (for Diodorus does not speak of pack-horses +except in connexion with the journey across Gaul), were able to travel +two hundred miles along unmetalled trackways. The rate at which they +crawled, the numerous breaks down, the curses of the drivers, and +the wear and tear of the cattle I leave to Mr. Reid’s imagination. +The eminent archaeologist, Mr. C. H. Read, who accepts Mr. Reid’s +conclusions, assures us that a voyage from St. Michael’s Mount to the +mouth of the Loire is not to be thought of, for it would have involved +a ‘long and dangerous sea passage’.[2374] Is he serious? This long sea +passage was far shorter than the passage from the Isle of Wight: why +it was more dangerous than a passage which involved navigation in the +neighbourhood of the Channel Islands as well as of Ushant no seaman +will be able to understand. The passage which seems so terrible to Mr. +Read was made by Pytheas.[2375] The passage from Italy to Sardinia was +longer: several times longer was the passage from Britain to Iceland, +which was made long before the invention of the compass;[2376] as long +or longer the passage from Scandinavia to Britain, which was made, +according to Mr. Read himself,[2377] in the Bronze Age. That the Veneti +should have been quite willing to sail from the Isle of Wight to the +Loire, but so afraid of sailing in their stout ships from Cornwall that +they deliberately added more than a hundred miles to the length of +their voyage, is a mystery which Mr. Read must be left to explain. + +But Mr. Reid, in the conversation which passed between us, urged +reasons in favour of his theory which are omitted in his paper and to +which I shall endeavour to do justice. Archaeological evidence, he +remarked, shows that the people of Cornwall were far more uncivilized +than those of Hampshire: even supposing that St. Michael’s Mount +was an island, it had no real harbour; and it would have been very +dangerous for mariners to attempt to get there especially in a fog or +a south-westerly gale. I reply that it would also have been dangerous +in such weather to attempt to fetch the coast of the Isle of Wight, as +the ship would have incurred the risk of running a-tilt against the +limestone causeway; that in a fog the skipper would have anchored; and +that, notwithstanding the lack of a proper harbour, the ship would have +lain snugly in sheltered water under the lee of St. Michael’s Mount. +The comparative barbarism of the people of Cornwall is irrelevant: as +they wanted to sell their tin, there was no danger that they would +molest their customers. Besides, Mr. Reid seems to forget that the +people who produced the tin delivered it to the traders at Ictis. The +traders transacted business directly with them; and, assuming that +Ictis was the Isle of Wight, they were as barbarous when they had +crossed the limestone causeway as they had been when they left the tin +mines. Mr. Reid’s argument compels him once more to throw overboard +the ancient authority, who, as he insists, ‘can be literally depended +on’; for Diodorus distinctly states that the tin-mining inhabitants +of Belerium were friendly to strangers, and _from their intercourse +with foreign merchants_ had become comparatively civilized.[2378] This +passage proves that, according to Diodorus, Ictis was in the territory +of Belerium, and by itself demolishes Mr. Reid’s theory. For how could +the inhabitants have become civilized by their commercial dealings if +the merchants never came near Belerium, and the only inhabitants who +came in contact with them were wagoners or boatmen? + +It is clear then that the case for the Isle of Wight rests upon the +geological evidence, such as it is, that at the time when Ictis was a +trading station, St. Michael’s Mount was ‘an isolated rock rising out +of a swampy wood’. Common sense and the historical evidence are all on +the other side. If St. Michael’s Mount had not been available, there +would have been nothing to prevent the traders from shipping the tin +at Falmouth or in Plymouth Sound; and acceptance of Mr. Reid’s theory +involves, besides other insuperable difficulties, the assumption that +the tin-merchants were ignorant of the first principles of business. + +III. We now come to the question, When did the overland trade in tin +between Corbilo and Massilia begin, and how long did it last? That it +existed before the time of Pytheas--that is to say, at least as early +as the fourth century before Christ--is certain;[2379] for, as we +have seen, Pliny and Diodorus Siculus derived their information about +Ictis ultimately from him.[2380] Müllenhoff,[2381] indeed, contends +for a still earlier date. Only on this hypothesis, he argues, can we +explain the remarkable fact that the great Celtic immigration at the +beginning of the fourth century B.C. not only did no harm to Massilia +but actually increased its prosperity, the profits of the trade being +appreciated by the Celts themselves. Still, there is no evidence that +it existed (except in the form of intertribal barter) before the +foundation of Massilia, or even that it had begun long before Pytheas +visited Britain. + +Professor Ridgeway insists that it is ‘obvious that when the Belgic +tribes ... made permanent settlements on the south-east coast of +Britain, the course of trade would pass regularly from Kent into +Northern France, and that the old route by Armorica, Corbilo, and the +Loire would fall into disuse’.[2382] If anything is ‘obvious’, it is +that the course of trade would continue to follow the most convenient +route, and that merchants would not saddle themselves with the expense +of conveying tin, destined for Mediterranean markets, all the way +from Cornwall to Kent. Besides, how was it to be conveyed thither? +Certainly not by land; for Professor Ridgeway tells us himself that +the barrier interposed by the great forest of Anderida would have +rendered this impossible.[2383] Certainly not by sea; for, unless the +merchants had taken leave of their senses, why should they have paid +for the voyage from Cornwall to Kent, then for the voyage from Kent to +Boulogne, and then for the long overland journey to Marseilles, when, +by taking the route which led from St. Michael’s Mount to the mouth +of the Loire, both the voyage and the land journey would have been +considerably shortened? If Caesar does not expressly mention Corbilo, +neither does he expressly mention any other commercial port; and he +does imply that the Veneti had the lion’s share of the carrying trade +with Britain.[2384] Possibly Corbilo had lost its importance by the +time of Caesar; but the estuary of the Loire still formed one of the +two most important harbours in the west of Gaul, and Strabo mentions +it as one of the four principal Gallic ports from which ships bound +for Britain set sail.[2385] The argument based upon the fact that the +overland journey lasted thirty days implies that the merchants would +have deliberately preferred a longer to a shorter route; and as the +distance from the mouth of the Loire to Massilia was about four hundred +and eighty miles _in a straight line_, it does not seem incredible that +the journey should have lasted thirty days. But what puzzles me most +in Professor Ridgeway’s argument is that, while it is partly based +upon the testimony of Diodorus, it sets that testimony at defiance. +The professor holds that the authority whom Diodorus followed was +Posidonius. If so, Posidonius stated that in his time British tin was +shipped for the Continent at Ictis. Now Professor Ridgeway identifies +Ictis with the Isle of Wight. I have shown that Ictis was St. Michael’s +Mount. But, according to Professor Ridgeway, British tin was shipped, +in the time of Posidonius, neither at the Isle of Wight, nor at St. +Michael’s Mount, but in Kent.[2386] The train of thought which led to +this conclusion is one which my poor brain is powerless to follow.[2387] + +Professor Haverfield[2388] affirms that the Roman annexation of Gallia +Narbonensis ‘secured that trade route by which Diodorus Siculus tells +us that British tin reached the Mediterranean, that is the route from +Narbo by the “pass of Carcassonne” and Toulouse to Bordeaux’; but I +cannot find any evidence that this was the route to which Diodorus +referred. + +Professor Rhys[2389] has constructed a theory about the course of the +tin trade during the maritime supremacy of the Veneti which is even +more remarkable than that of Professor Ridgeway. He tells us that ‘at +one time they probably landed British tin at the mouth of [the Loire] +... and they fetched some of it at any rate from the south-east +of Britain’. In other words, the tin was conveyed at heavy cost by +the Britons three hundred miles from Cornwall to the south-east of +Britain, in order that the Veneti might add at least two hundred miles +to the voyage which they would have undertaken if they had fetched it +direct from Cornwall; and this was done although, as Professor Rhys +himself assures us, there was ‘communication between the Dumnonii [of +Cornwall] and the nearest part of Gaul during the Venetic period’. The +professor adds that ‘whatever direct trade in tin there may have been +between the tin districts of Britain and the Loire, it must have been +utterly unknown to Caesar’. I reply that if, as Professor Rhys holds, +there was trade in tin by way of South-Eastern Britain between the tin +districts of Britain and the Loire, this trade also must, on Professor +Rhys’s theory, have been unknown to Caesar, for he mentions neither +the one nor the other; but that the voyage which Crassus made to the +tin-producing districts of Cornwall, and about which Caesar is equally +silent, shows that Caesar was not ignorant, but merely reticent. + +But Professor Ridgeway would assign a different reason for Caesar’s +silence. Remarking that ‘when Strabo, writing as a contemporary, +is describing the exports from Britain, he omits the mention of +tin, whilst from the extract from Posidonius, quoted alike by him +and Diodorus, it is plain that when the Stoic explorer visited +North-Western Europe, the British tin trade was still of importance’, +the professor suggests that in the time of Caesar Britain ceased to +export tin.[2390] But did not Strabo write long after Caesar died? +Professor Haverfield, on the other hand, has given reasons for the view +that ‘the early Cornish tin trade, which Posidonius and Caesar knew, +died out about the beginning of our era’; and he suggests that it may +have done so because the Romans had just discovered ‘the real site of +the Cassiterides in N.W. Spain’.[2391] ‘Very little,’ he remarks, ‘has +been found west of Exeter which can be connected with the first two +centuries of the Roman Empire.... Plainly the Romans of the conquest +period did not care to advance beyond Exeter.... Yet if the tin trade +had then been flourishing they would hardly have stopped. We must put +the halt at Exeter beside the silence of the writers after Caesar, and +suppose that for some reason the tin trade had ceased in Cornwall. +Perhaps as iron took the place of bronze in many lands tin was no +longer in such demand; perhaps the Spanish ore was cheaper than the +Cornish; perhaps the accessible Cornish tin streams seemed exhausted. +Whatever the reason, the Cornish tin trade vanished before A.D. 50. It +reappears two centuries later.’[2392] + +Now the evidence that Professor Haverfield offers of its having +_reappeared_ is simply the discovery of one inscribed ingot of Cornish +tin, which belonged to the fourth century; and if no inscribed ingots +of an earlier date have been found, their absence hardly proves that +the Romans had not worked the mines before. This Professor Haverfield +admits; but, he insists, ‘it does prove that we have no right to say +that mining was going on.’[2393] Possibly: but if so, _the absence of +inscribed ingots of tin in Spain_[2394] _equally proves that we have no +right to say that mining was going on there_. Yet, if it was suspended +in Cornwall, it must have been contemporaneously active in Spain. It is +true that no Roman antiquities of earlier date than the third century +have been found in Cornwall, except some Samian ware and coins of +Trajan and Vespasian;[2395] and it may be true that, as the professor +says, these discoveries ‘prove no Roman influence or occupation’:[2396] +but, on the other hand, Cornwall has very few Roman antiquities even +of the third and fourth centuries,[2397] and no Roman or Romanized +towns or villas.[2398] Is it not then possible that, as Professor +Gowland suggests, the mines were worked throughout the whole period of +the Roman occupation of Britain, but not under Roman control?[2399] +He points out that ‘the stamps had been impressed [upon the solitary +ingot] when the metal was cold, and hence not necessarily at the mine, +but very probably by a Roman trader or officer at the coast’.[2400] +Professor Haverfield indeed states that the ingot was found not more +than a mile and a half from ‘an old working’, which has yielded Roman +coins:[2401] but Professor Gowland supports his own view by the +argument that ‘at the Roman lead mines in Britain the inscriptions +were always cast on the ingots of lead when they were made, and at +the copper mines were stamped on the cakes of copper while they were +red hot’. ‘The real site of the Cassiterides’ was not, as Professor +Haverfield thinks, ‘in N.W. Spain,’ but in the British Isles. ‘The +silence of the writers after Caesar’ in regard to the British trade in +tin, on which he lays stress, really resolves itself into the silence +of Strabo; for although the professor is quite right in saying that +‘later authors [namely, Diodorus, Strabo, and Pliny] merely include it +in quotations from earlier literature’, those who are familiar with +their writings will admit that there was no reason why any of them, +except Strabo, should have expressly added to those quotations the +information that the British tin trade continued in their own time. We +should certainly have expected that Strabo would have included tin in +his list of British exports if it had been exported in his time; and +I will not attempt to explain away his silence: but can it outweigh +the extreme improbability that for two centuries the civilized world +should have been entirely cut off from one of the two sources from +which its supply of tin had previously been derived? And when Professor +Haverfield suggests that ‘as iron took the place of bronze in many +lands, tin was no longer in such demand’, does he not momentarily +forget that not only in the lands round the Mediterranean but also in +those of Northern and Western Europe iron had taken the place of bronze +for many purposes several centuries before the Christian era, and that, +on the other hand, those implements and ornaments which were still made +wholly or in part of bronze were probably in greater demand than before? + +IV. We have now to deal with the Phoenicians. Sir George Cornewall +Lewis[2402] and various other writers have endeavoured to prove that +the Phoenicians (including the Carthaginians) never traded directly +with Britain for tin; and in 1896 Dr. Arthur Evans remarked that ‘the +days are gone past when it could be seriously maintained that the +Phoenician merchant landed on the coast of Cornwall’.[2403] + +Now Dr. Evans’s distinguished father, who holds that the Cassiterides +‘are rightly identified with Britain’, observes that ‘the traces of +Phoenician influence in this country are ... at present imperceptible. +But,’ he continues, ‘it may well be that their system of commerce or +barter was such as intentionally left the barbarian tribes with whom +they traded in much the same stage of civilization as that in which +they found them, always assuming that they dealt directly with Britain +and not through the intervention of Gaulish merchants.’[2404] + +Some merchants certainly landed, if not on the coast of Cornwall at all +events on that of Ictis: is there any reason in the nature of things +why Phoenician merchants should not have done so? To the old-fashioned +view there are only two objections worth considering, namely, first, +that ‘the tin trade was carried on overland through Gaul’,[2405] and, +secondly, that the tin which was shipped to Gades may have come not +from Britain but from the mines of North-Western Spain. But, as we +have seen, there is no evidence that the overland trade had begun +before 600 B.C.,--the approximate date of the foundation of Massilia; +nor is there any evidence that the Phoenicians took part in it. From +Gades to Cornwall the voyage, as George Smith observes, was shorter +than the voyages ‘from Tyre to Malta, Carthage, or Sicily, which they +were performing continuously’.[2406] If Desjardins[2407] is right in +affirming that ‘the name _Corbilo_ unquestionably looks Phoenician’, +and that a Phoenician inscription has been found near Guérande, it +may be inferred that the carrying trade between Britain and Corbilo +was at one time either wholly or partly in Phoenician or Carthaginian +hands. That tin was obtained in ancient times from the mines of +North-Western Spain must be admitted: not only is the fact attested by +the statements of Strabo and Pliny,[2408] but it has been proved by +the researches of Mr. W. C. Borlase.[2409] But there is some evidence +that tin also came from Cornwall to Gades. Festus Avienus[2410] tells +us, ultimately, it may be assumed, on the authority of the Carthaginian +traveller, Himilco, that both the Carthaginians and the people of +Gades used to sail to the British seas.[2411] Sir George Cornewall +Lewis,[2412] indeed, argues that ‘if the date of the voyages of Hanno +and Himilco is correctly fixed, it follows that at a period subsequent +to the expedition of Xerxes, the Carthaginians ... had not carried +their navigation far along the coasts of the Atlantic; and that they +sent out two voyages of discovery--one to the south, the other to the +north--at the public expense’. All that we know about the date of +Himilco’s voyage is that it was not later than the fifth, probably +in the sixth century B.C.,[2413] and, according to Pliny,[2414] its +object was ‘to explore the outer parts of Europe’. Anyhow the evidence +remains that after Himilco’s time, if not before, the Carthaginians +traded by sea with Britain.[2415] Dr. Arthur Evans, I know, warns us +that ‘a truer view of primitive trade as passing on by inter-tribal +barter has superseded the idea of a direct commerce between remote +localities’.[2416] But the testimony of Diodorus, that is to say of +Pytheas, proves that traders purchased tin off the Cornish coast from +the natives who had prepared it for market, carried it across the +Channel, and unloaded it on the coast of Gaul, whence it was conveyed +overland to the mouth of the Rhône. If this was not ‘direct commerce’, +what was? That there was ‘inter-tribal barter’ in ancient times, no +well-informed person would deny; but that there was also ‘direct +commerce between remote localities’ is as well attested as any fact of +ancient history can be. + +Mr. C. T. Newton indeed argues that ‘if the Phoenicians frequented +any portion of the British coast, it is probable that they would have +given names to the more important harbours and promontories, as they +did in Africa and Spain’.[2417] But is it not also probable that they +found it sufficient to hold, or even to occupy temporarily, as occasion +required, one or more of the Scilly Islands, or perhaps St. Michael’s +Mount, and that they may have given names to these places, although the +names have not survived.[2418] Their settlements in Africa and Spain +were not temporary but permanent. + +I freely admit that the testimony of Festus Avienus is not conclusive; +but I see no reason for rejecting the statement of Strabo that the +Phoenicians traded directly for tin with the Cassiterides--that is to +say, the British Isles--and that they originally monopolized the trade. + +M. Salomon Reinach,[2419] who supports the view that the Phoenicians +traded directly with Cornwall, insists, referring to a well-known +passage in Thucydides,[2420] that the overland route must have been +earlier than the maritime. ‘Corinth,’ says Thucydides, ‘being seated +on an isthmus, was naturally from the first a centre of commerce; for +the Hellenes within and without the Peloponnese, in the old days when +they communicated chiefly by land, had to pass through her territory +in order to reach one another.’[2421] M. Reinach argues that ‘nothing +could have suggested to the Phoenicians the idea of going with their +ships in search of tin if they had not already known the existence not +only of the metal but also of the distant country which produced it ... +the Phoenicians of Spain no more discovered the Cassiterides and tin +than the Portuguese discovered India and spices’. This may be freely +admitted. But the Phoenicians may well have acquired the knowledge upon +which they acted long before the direct overland trade which Diodorus +describes began. Tin was probably conveyed in very early times from +Cornwall to Gaul for the use of tribes who inhabited that country +before the immigration of the Celtic-speaking invaders; and, since Gaul +was in communication with Britain from the beginning of the Bronze +Age,[2422] the knowledge that tin was to be obtained in Britain might +have reached Phoenician ears even before Gades was founded. + +But the most striking contribution which M. Reinach has made to the +literature of this subject is the suggestion that the traders who +first sailed from the Mediterranean into the English Channel were +not Phoenicians but Phrygians. Speaking of the well-known passage, +which I have already quoted, in which Pliny says that Midacritus was +the first who imported tin from ‘the tin island’,[2423] he argues +that the generally accepted identification of Midacritus with the +Phoenician Melcarth is erroneous. He points out that in Pliny’s list +of discoverers all except the most famous names are accompanied by a +complementary designation, for example (Toxius), _Caeli filius_[2424]. +Therefore, even if, as has been supposed, what Pliny wrote was not +_Midacritus_ but _Melicertus_ (Melcarth), that unfamiliar name would +have been followed by some explanatory addition. M. Reinach then quotes +two passages from Hyginus[2425] and Cassiodorus[2426] respectively. In +the former we read that ‘King Midas, the Phrygian, son of Cybele, was +the first to discover lead and tin’ (_Midas rex Cybeles filius Phryx +plumbum album et nigrum primus invenit_); in the latter, that ‘Midas, +the ruler of Phrygia, discovered tin’ ([Aes enim Ionos Thessaliae rex], +_plumbum Midas regnator Phrygiae reppererunt_). It is clear then, says +M. Reinach, that, as the Jesuit scholar, Hardouin, perceived more than +two centuries ago, for _Midacritus_ in the MSS. of Pliny we ought to +read _Midas Phryx_. He adds that from a fragment of the Seventh Book +of Diodorus, preserved in the Chronicle of Eusebius, we learn that the +maritime supremacy of the Phrygians began about 903 B.C., and that of +the Phoenicians in 824.[2427] + + + + +DENE-HOLES + + +Of the various theories which have been published as to the object of +dene-holes three only are worth considering, namely, that they were +granaries; that they were refuges; and that they were sunk in order to +obtain chalk. + +Subterranean granaries have of course been used in many +countries;[2428] but it is said that no grain has ever been found in +any dene-hole,[2429] whereas grain has been found in shallow pits and +on numerous other prehistoric sites in Britain.[2430] On the other +hand, a thorough exploration of the famous group of dene-holes in +Hangman’s Wood, Essex, revealed fragments of two millstones.[2431] +The Reverend E. H. Goddard remarks that ‘very similar places’ in +Brittany were used by ‘the peasant armies during the war in La +Vendée’ as refuges and lairs, and argues that dene-holes served a +similar purpose.[2432] Perhaps, though it would have gone hard with +the fugitives if their lairs had been discovered; but, seeing that +strongholds were available, it is difficult to admit that they were +dug with that object. The theory that they were shafts sunk for the +extraction of chalk rests mainly upon the evidence of Pliny, who states +that chalk was obtained in Britain for manure ‘by means of pits sunk +like wells with narrow mouths to the depth commonly of one hundred +feet, where they branch out like the veins of mines’ ([creta] _petitur +ex alto, in centenos actis plerumque puteis, ore angustis, intus ut +in metallis spatiante vena_[2433]). Messrs. T. V. Holmes and W. Cole, +who superintended the exploration of the dene-holes in Hangman’s Wood, +argue that ‘the above account could not have been given to Pliny by +any man who had ever descended into one of our [Essex] ... dene-holes, +which are entered by ... narrow shafts, but whose lofty symmetrical +chambers cannot be described as “branching out like the veins of +mines”.’[2434] I think, on the contrary, that, allowing for the natural +inaccuracy of a writer who gave his own version of information supplied +by one who had perhaps himself not descended into a dene-hole, Pliny’s +description was remarkably correct: the chambers which open out at the +bottom of the shafts in Hangman’s Wood are arranged in the shape of a +star-fish; the only material error with which Pliny can be charged is +that he compared them to the veins of mines; and that he was alluding +to them I have no doubt. Messrs. Holmes and Cole are, however, on +firm ground when they point out that his informant may have wrongly +assumed that the shafts were sunk in order to obtain chalk because the +chalk that was extracted from them was utilized. ‘And,’ they continue, +‘a foreigner accidentally discovering secret pits--and our surface +trenches showed our dene-holes to have been secret excavations--would +almost necessarily be deceived as to their use by natives.’ But is +it not possible that Pliny’s informant may have been a Briton? And, +assuming that he was deceived as to the purpose of the dene-holes, why +was he allowed to learn the existence and arrangement of the chambers, +and, approximately, the depth of the shaft? + +Nevertheless, Messrs. Holmes and Cole are undoubtedly right in the +main. It has been argued that dene-holes are situated in places which +must always have been uncultivated, whereas the tracts in which chalk +lay near the surface may have been already occupied; that chalk has +been obtained in Wiltshire in modern times by mining although it was +to be had near the surface; and that the labour of sinking the shafts +may have been compensated by saving the cost of transporting chalk from +distant parts, where it was the surface rock.[2435] But, as Messrs. +Holmes and Cole observe, ‘there is plenty of bare chalk within a mile’ +of Hangman’s Wood; and, as they pertinently ask, if the dene-holes were +sunk for chalk, why was their position so carefully kept secret?[2436] +Again, Mr. Spurrell, who admits that where chalk lay very deep shafts +may have been sunk merely in order to obtain it, remarks that ‘it is +evident that where the land is white with chalk the pits of great +depth so often found there could not have been dug for manure, and the +natives of Kent in such situations scout the idea as absurd’.[2437] +Messrs. T. E. and R. H. Forster contend that the elaborate design of +the chambers in Hangman’s Wood is ‘in reality a strong confirmation’ +of the truth of ‘the chalk-quarry theory’; for ‘the star-fish-shaped +pit ... enables the miner to win more chalk at one sinking; and if +no examples of it were known, it would be necessary to postulate its +existence in order to supply the missing link between the primitive +bell-pit and the pillared and galleried mine of the kind seen at +Chislehurst’.[2438] But is the ‘bell-pit’ primitive, and is there a +link, missing or otherwise? Anyhow it is incredible that the people +of Essex, if they had undertaken the prodigious labour of sinking 70 +shafts simply in order to obtain better chalk than what they could have +found hard by at the surface, would have contented themselves, after +boring through 60 feet of sand and gravel, with ‘the very uppermost +[and therefore worst] chalk’.[2439] As Mr. Holmes remarks,[2440] ‘it +must be obvious that the course which would commend itself to all +seekers after superior chalk would be to begin operations where chalk +is at the surface, make a shaft 10 to 20 feet deep, and procure chalk +lying at that depth’; and, while he freely admits that ‘a farmer might +naturally prefer to get chalk at a depth of 60 to 80 feet on his own +land rather than ... from some one else’s pit a mile or two away’, he +emphasizes the absurdity of supposing that ‘any people ... concentrated +their pits where they got the least return for their labour, and where +there was no counterbalancing advantage ... as they must have done at +Hangman’s Wood and Bexley on the Chalk-pit hypothesis’.[2441] + +Charred wood, bones of animals, and large quantities of coarse +pottery have been found in a dene-hole near Dunstable,[2442] which is +sufficient evidence that some dene-holes were occasionally inhabited. + +I conclude that dene-holes were intended to serve as granaries; that +they may have been used occasionally as places of concealment; and that +the chalk which was taken out of them was used, if it was wanted, for +manure. It is significant that their name means ‘_Dane_-holes’, that +is, hiding-places from the Danes.[2443] + +The ‘bell-pits’ which have been already mentioned, and which are +sometimes confounded with dene-holes, were undoubtedly made for the +sake of the chalk; and, unlike dene-holes, they were made broad in +order that a large amount of material might be taken out of them at +each haul.[2444] + +Some of the Kentish dene-holes, if Mr. Goddard is rightly informed, +contained bronze implements;[2445] and those of Essex are almost +certainly post-neolithic.[2446] Some bell-pits are ancient, but I doubt +whether it could be proved that any were pre-Roman: Pitt-Rivers[2447] +indeed believed that it was from the Romans that the Britons learned to +use chalk as top-dressing. + + + + +THE COAST BETWEEN CALAIS AND THE SOMME IN THE TIME OF CAESAR + + +The question of the period during which the gulf of St. Omer existed +has given rise to much discussion. According to Reclus,[2448] +Desjardins,[2449] and many other writers,[2450] even in the time of +Caesar this so-called gulf, which was really a shallow salt-water +‘mere’, covered the lowlands north-east of the hills of Artois between +Sangatte and Dunkirk, and extended inland to within a short distance +of St. Omer. No evidence, however, has been adduced to show that it +existed at that time;[2451] and it has been proved by M. J. Gosselet +that it did not exist before the latter part of the third century of +our era, for Gallo-Roman remains, including 2,354 coins, some of which +belong to the time of Postumus, have been found in the area. As M. +Gosselet says,[2452] the _Sinus Itius_ is a mere invention of writers +of the seventeenth century. + +The ancient topography of Wissant, of the estuary of the Liane, and of +the headlands of Blancnez, Grisnez, and Alprech, is discussed in the +article on the Portus Itius.[2453] + +The inland extension of the bay formed by the estuary of the Canche +has steadily diminished since the time of Caesar; and whereas, during +the last century at all events, the headland on its southern side has +gained considerably on the sea, the ‘Pointe de Lornel’ on the north and +the neighbouring sand-dunes have suffered continual erosion.[2454] + +The country which lies between the hills of Artois and the sea, from +the mouth of the Canche to the mouth of the Somme, is, as Reclus[2455] +remarks, of recent formation; and, as late as the ninth century, the +environs of the town of Rue, which is now about six miles from the +sea, were covered by a vast shallow lake, 20,000 hectares, or about 78 +square miles, in extent. + + + + +THE CONFIGURATION OF THE COAST OF KENT IN THE TIME OF CAESAR + + +This volume is not a treatise upon the physical geography of Ancient +Britain; and I am only concerned with geographical questions in so far +as they are essential to a right understanding of the history. It is +impossible to understand the narrative of Caesar’s invasions of Britain +without considering how far the physical geography of that part of the +island which was the theatre of his operations differed from what it is +now. + + +I. BETWEEN RAMSGATE AND SANDOWN CASTLE + +Thanet, as everybody knows, was an island in Caesar’s time; and +Bede[2456] says that it was separated from the mainland by an estuary +three furlongs broad: but the late George Dowker[2457] concluded from +‘an attentive examination of the estuary’ that it was ‘much shallower +and narrower than is generally supposed’. + +John Lewis,[2458] a well-known antiquary of the eighteenth century, +and William Boys,[2459] the historian of Sandwich, maintained that an +estuary, in which was included the harbour of Richborough, known to +the Romans as Portus Ritupis, had extended from the cliffs of Ramsgate +southward to Walmer, covering the sites of Stonar and Sandwich and +indeed the whole of the low ground between Sandwich and Deal, and +washing the shore of an island on which stood Richborough Castle. A +recent writer, Mr. H. Sharpe,[2460] who endorses this opinion, argues +that the Roman road from Canterbury to Richborough harbour (_ad portum +Ritupis_[2461]) terminated at Each End. The road ‘cannot’, he insists, +‘have run to Sandwich in Roman times. Montagu Burrows ... _Cinque +Ports_, 1888, p. 30,[2462] says--“Sandwich and Stonar are wholly +English. No Roman remains have been found at either” ... there is +good reason to suppose that the land upon which it [Sandwich] stands +and the land over which the Sandwich end of the road runs were not +formed when the Romans were here.’[2463] And again, ‘There is another +reason for supposing that Each End was ... the place where the boats +left the mainland for the island [of Richborough]. [The road running +northward from Dover] is marked on the Ordnance map[2464] as a Roman +road, and if complete would run to Each End, not to Richborough Castle +or to Sandwich ... the last mile from [Woodnesborough] to Each End, is +missing.’[2465] + +Now, in regard to Stonar, Professor Burrows, as we shall presently +see, is mistaken; and, granting that the Roman road from Dover would, +if complete, run to Each End, how can Mr. Sharpe prove that it did +not run further? The late George Dowker stated, in a paper which was +published after his death, that he had himself ‘traced the Roman road +to Woodnesborough, and thence by Each End to near the Richborough +Island’;[2466] and the views of Lewis and Boys, which Mr. Sharpe +endorses, as to the wide extent of the estuary at the time of the +Roman conquest of Britain have been stultified by discoveries to which +Mr. Sharpe does not allude. Roach Smith affirms that ‘Roman remains, +indicative of habitations, have been discovered in the sand-hills +considerably to the north of Sandown Castle’, and that ‘coins have been +found at Stonar, opposite to Richborough’; and from these facts he +infers that ‘the recession of the sea from the low land between Thanet +and Walmer probably commenced at a period much earlier than has been +commonly supposed’.[2467] + +That the hill on which Richborough Castle stood was nearly if not quite +insulated is generally admitted;[2468] but Mr. George E. Fox remarks +that it ‘was probably not washed by the open sea, though a broad +channel may have flowed close beside it, forming one of the southern +mouths of the strait, while a narrow strip of salt-marsh and sand-bank +lay between it and the open sea’. It would be more correct to say that +the island, on its eastern side, was separated by a channel from Stonar +Beach, the southern extremity of which lay east by north of the site of +Sandwich: the sand-hills were on the south-eastern side of this beach, +from which they were divided by a narrow channel. Mr. Fox goes on to +say that ‘a large extent of what is now marshland, lying to the west of +the hill, may then have ... formed the haven,[2469] making of the camp +hill an island’. He argues, however, that, on the eastern side, the +channel ‘could not have hugged the hill very closely, as at no great +distance to the south of the station on this same side, and in the +low ground presumably near the shore, fragments of a Roman house were +discovered in 1846’.[2470] + +In the year 1876 Dowker affirmed that ‘the low shore and sand hills’ +which now extend from the Deal beach to the latitude of Sandwich +‘extended [in the time of Caesar] much less than at present’;[2471] and +in a map which accompanied his paper[2472] he contrasted the low-water +line between Walmer and Sandwich, as he believed it to have existed +in 55 B.C., with the low-water line as it existed at the time when +he wrote. In the latitude of Sandwich the modern low-water line is +traced on this map a mile and a half east of the hypothetical ancient +line, which distance gradually diminishes to three-quarters of a mile +in the latitude of Worth and about one furlong in the latitude of +Deal. I find a difficulty in reconciling this map with Dowker’s own +statement that ‘Roman pottery, coins and traces of the Roman occupation +have been found in the sand-hills--and indeed below the sand-hills +considerably northward of Deal, beyond Sandown Castle’;[2473] and from +the fact which this statement records it follows that, in the time of +the Roman occupation of Britain, the shore-line at the place where the +discoveries in question were made cannot have been widely different +from what it is now. + + +II. BETWEEN SANDOWN CASTLE AND WALMER CASTLE + +When we endeavour to trace the shore-line, as it existed in Caesar’s +time, opposite Deal and Walmer, we find that the writers who have +dealt with the question differ widely among themselves; while Dowker +again shows himself a most troublesome witness. Unfortunately this +meritorious geologist, who laboured hard to elucidate the geographical +questions connected with the ancient history of East Kent, was a bad +writer, and sometimes failed to make his meaning clear. + +Major Rennell, who was in his day ‘the acknowledged head of British +geographers’,[2474] believed that Caesar landed at Deal. ‘Of course,’ +he says, ‘the margin of the ancient beach, on which Caesar landed, +must now be very far within land, as well as very considerably +raised.’[2475] The words ‘of course’ prepare us for the discovery that +Rennell quotes no authority and gives no reasons. + +Professor Montagu Burrows,[2476] also without giving either authority +or reason, tells us that Deal ‘probably had once a haven, which was +choked up in very early times’. But choked up it was not unless +it existed; and observe that its existence is only ‘probable’. As +a matter of fact, the so-called probability is unsupported by any +evidence.[2477] The professor goes on to say that ‘the old town [of +Deal] was already separated from the sea by a considerable interval +when Henry [the Eighth] built the three castles of Deal, Sandown, +and Walmer for the protection of the coast, which had now become a +continuous stretch of steep shingly beach’. Now if, in the time of +Henry the Eighth, ‘the old town was _already_ separated from the sea by +a considerable interval,’ the inference is that it had once been quite +close to the sea; and of this there is no evidence. Was the professor +thinking of Leland,[2478] who describes ‘Deale’ as ‘half a Myle fro +the Shore of the Se, a Fisshcher Village iii. Myles or more above +Sandwic’? If so, why should he assume that because Deal in the time +of Leland, that is to say, of Henry the Eighth, was half a mile from +the sea, it had once been on the sea? The only conceivable reply to +this question would be that as Upper Deal is now more than half a mile +from the sea,[2479] and as, according to Leland, it was only half a +mile from the sea in the time of Henry, it may once have been actually +on the seashore. But Deal Castle was built by Henry; and the sea was +therefore at least as far from Upper Deal in his time as it is now. The +truth is that Leland’s ‘Myles’ were sometimes very long: he tells us +that Sandwich was ‘iii. Myles’ from Deal, and it is really six. + +Dowker, in the paper which he published in 1876,[2480] maintained that +‘Deal probably did not exist in Roman times’, and that, when Caesar +landed in Britain, ‘the coast was cut back behind Deal’:[2481] that +is to say, he virtually committed himself to agreement with the view, +already stated, of Major Rennell. In the same paper he affirmed that +‘the present town of Deal is situated on a comparatively recent beach’, +and went on to say, in proof of his assertion, ‘I have evidence of +the beach at the back of Deal containing mediaeval remains.’[2482] +What the evidence was, he did not say; and what he meant by ‘the beach +at the back of Deal’, I do not know. In 1887 another paper[2483] +was published, containing a report of his views. Herein I find that +there is ‘no evidence’ of ‘a shore-line cutting far back beyond the +Deal beach’. No evidence in 1887, though in 1876 the evidence was +irrefragable.[2484] + +The opinion of Stukeley,[2485] who believed that Caesar had landed +between Walmer Castle and Deal, was diametrically opposed to that of +Rennell. He maintained that Caesar’s camps must have been ‘absorpt by +the ocean, which has so long been ... wasting the land away’. ‘Even +since Henry the VIII^{ths} time,’ he continued, ‘it has carried off +the seaward esplanade of the three castles’ [of Walmer, Deal, and +Sandown].[2486] But it does not follow that in the interval which +separated the time of Caesar from the time of Henry the Eighth the +sea in the neighbourhood of Deal had been continuously gaining upon +the land. It would appear that in the last four centuries it has +alternately advanced a little and receded.[2487] In 1615, 1626, and +1627 the waves were wearing away the walls which had been erected for +the protection of the castles of Walmer and Deal.[2488] During the +latter half of the eighteenth century, however, shingle was being +rapidly thrown up along the coast between St. Margaret’s Bay and a +point which, as Mr. Elvin[2489] says, was ‘considerably to the north +of Sandown Castle’; and, although during the first thirty years of +the nineteenth century the sea was again encroaching, at all events +at Walmer, the bank of shingle between the Rifle Range at Kingsdown +and Walmer then began again to increase, while northward of Deal as +far as Sandown Castle the sea was simultaneously gaining ground. In +1885 shingle was still accumulating at Walmer Castle and also at Deal, +although it was recognized that at the latter place its movements +were variable. For some years previously, however, the shingle which +formerly protected the cliffs between St. Margaret’s and Kingsdown had +been travelling northwards past Walmer to Deal; and during the fourteen +years that followed 1885 the same process was going on: I daresay it is +going on still. At Deal, wrote Dowker in 1899,[2490] ‘the shore line +has been nearly stationary until we approach the north end of Deal, +where the ... sea had washed most of the beach away and carried it past +the Castle.’ Finally, it must be borne in mind that from various places +between Walmer and the North Foreland a great deal of shingle has been +abstracted.[2491] Still, if _The North West View of Walmer Castle_, +by S. and N. Buck, which was published in 1735, was approximately +accurate, the sea was a good deal nearer the castle then than it is +now; and the observations that were made between 1741 and 1884 show +that while in that period the sea at Sandown Castle gained 200 feet +upon the land, off Deal Castle the increase of shingle amounted to 120 +feet, and off Walmer Castle to no less than 385. + +The Reverend Beale Poste, a well-known antiquary of the nineteenth +century, maintained[2492] that the bank of beach upon which Deal stands +must have existed in the time of Caesar, ‘since numerous Roman coins +are found at neap tides at low water on the chalk at the edge of the +beach.’ He added that ‘when the piles for the pier were driven into +the beach in 1842, it was found in a highly concrete state, almost +like rock, denoting great antiquity’. The former statement, if it is +correct,[2493] would seem to prove that the shore-line has receded, in +other words, that the sea has on the whole gained upon the land since +the days of Caesar; the argument based upon the condition of the beach +into which the piles were driven only tends to show that the lower +stratum of the beach was old. + +Quite recently a discovery has been made which ought to set the +question at rest. Romano-British interments have been unearthed +about seven hundred yards north of Walmer Castle, ‘on the low ground +... adjoining, and only on a slightly higher level than the Castle +meadows.’[2494] The spot where they lay is about two hundred and fifty +feet west of the high-water mark of ordinary tides. The discovery, as +Mr. Cumberland Woodruff remarks,[2495] proves that ‘the shore lands +[between Walmer and Deal] were protected then as now, though probably +[or rather certainly] by a much thinner line of shingle’.[2496] + +The conclusion appears to be this. There is no reason to suppose that +the coast-line between Sandown Castle and Walmer Castle was very +different in Caesar’s time from that which is depicted on the Ordnance +Map; and there is positive proof that between Walmer Castle and Deal +Castle, at some period of the Roman occupation, it was nearly the same. +On the other hand, it is certain that since Caesar landed a great deal +of shingle has accumulated along this part of the coast, especially at +Walmer; and it may be inferred that the beach was less steep then than +it is now. + + +III. THE GOODWIN SANDS + +Before we attempt to inquire what was the condition of the Goodwin +Sands in the time of Caesar, it will be well to state the relevant +facts which have been ascertained since exact observations began to be +recorded. + +‘The north-eastern part of the North Goodwin,’ says the author of the +_Channel Pilot_,[2497] ‘dries in places 7 feet at low water; the South +Goodwin not more than 4 or 5 feet at any part.’ + +The form of the sands is altered periodically by the tides. Beale Poste +argued in 1857 that the Goodwin Sands were still growing, as ‘Kingsdown +Mark, a pile ... built in the reign of Elizabeth to show the South Sand +head, is ... of no use, the sand having now extended itself a mile +further to the southward’. Moreover, he says, it was stated in the +Report of the Commission of the Harbours of Refuge for 1845 that ‘the +Brake Sand, a branch of the Goodwin Sands in the Small Downs, had moved +_bodily inwards_ towards the shore seven hundred yards within the last +fifty years’. This, he maintains, can only mean that ‘a deposit has +taken place on the inward side of the sand ... while the outward side +has been eroded by the winds and tides’.[2498] In 1885 it was found +that ‘the former Bunthead shoal’ had ‘entirely disappeared’,[2499] +and that ‘the whole body of the South Calliper’ had ‘moved about a +mile north-eastward’. Again, it was ascertained by ‘a re-survey of +the Downs, Goodwin Sands, and adjacent coast’, executed in 1896, that +since 1887 considerable changes had taken place. ‘The Goodwin Sand,’ we +learn from this source, ‘has continued its general movement towards the +coast, and the area of drying sand has largely increased.’[2500] + +The results of borings carried out at various times in the Goodwin +Sands have shown that blue clay, resting on chalk, was found at the +depths of 7, 15, 57, and 78 feet.[2501] From these data Sir Charles +Lyell[2502] concludes that the Goodwins ‘are a remnant of land, and not +“a mere accumulation of sea sand”;’ and, referring to the destructive +storm mentioned in the _Anglo-Saxon Chronicle_[2503] as having +occurred in 1099, he conjectures that ‘the last remains of an island, +consisting, like Sheppey, of clay, may perhaps have been carried away +about that time’. + +Dr. Guest[2504] holds that in Caesar’s time the Goodwin Sands did +not exist. He reminds us that, according to Somner,[2505] it was the +opinion of ‘several men of judgement’ that they had not appeared until +after the time of Earl Godwin, and, remarking that this was also the +view of Sir Thomas More, he argues that ‘we may infer that such at +that period was the opinion of educated men who had local knowledge’. +Leland,[2506] he goes on to say, ‘attributed the decay of Sandwich +to the Goodwin Sands, and as Sandwich was a flourishing port in the +fourteenth century, we may infer that it was not till the fifteenth +that the sands attained those formidable dimensions which produced +so much mischief.’ Immediately north of Sandown Castle there is, he +observes, a tract of land covered with low sand-hills, which, in +Philipot’s map of Kent, are called the ‘smale downs’,[2507] and upon +which the sea has long been encroaching. He accounts for the name +given to the roadstead by assuming that it once formed part of the +‘smale downs’, and affirms his belief that ‘the flats round Sandwich +once projected into the sea as a low ness or foreland,--probably +divided into islands, of which Lomea [an island which John Twine +asserted to have formerly existed about four miles from Thanet] was the +easternmost’. He assumes that as Lomea is not mentioned in Domesday +Book, it perished by some natural convulsion before the end of the +eleventh century, and goes on to say that ‘After the destruction of +this island, the Goodwin Sands may have been gradually accumulated, +not necessarily on the site of the island, but near it, and the Downs +just as gradually excavated’.[2508] Beale Poste[2509] also affirms +that in 1098 ‘an island named Lomea was overflowed, on which occasion +the sands are said to have been formed. This is mentioned by Giraldus +Cambrensis, and from him by Twine.... But Earl Goodwin (_sic_) died in +... 1053, and Domesday-book negatives that any extensive tract of land +was overflowed and lost, in this direction.’ + +Now John Twine[2510] (or Twyne) merely says that he has read about +Lomea in the works of ‘certain writers’. It was once, he says, a low +fertile island, which was submerged in consequence of a great storm, +and covered with sand, and it is now the Goodwin Sands. As for Giraldus +Cambrensis, I have searched his writings diligently, and I can find no +mention whatever therein either of Lomea[2511] or of the Goodwin Sands. +The name ‘Downs’ is easily accounted for. ‘The DOWNS,’ says the author +of the _Channel Pilot_,[2512] ‘in a general sense, implies the numerous +banks lying immediately off the coast between the South and North +Forelands ... that [anchorage] which is commonly ... known as the Downs +is off the town of Deal between Walmer Castle and the northern part of +the town,’ &c. I see no reason to doubt that the name of the roadstead +is derived from the aforesaid banks and from the sand-_dunes_ on the +shore. + +Somner,[2513] remarking that, according to the common opinion, Lomea +was submerged in 1097, observes that there is no notice of such an +island either in Domesday Book or in ‘any Author whether foreign or +domestick, of any antiquity, that ever I could meet with’. + +The late C. H. Pearson[2514] inferred from ‘the legend of their +formation’[2515] that the sands were ‘first remarked about the end +of the eleventh century’, and that they were ‘probably formed by +bank-currents gradually depositing sand about a shoal’. + +On the other hand, S. Pritchard,[2516] the historian, so called, of +Deal, argues that the sands must have existed ‘from all time’ as +otherwise Deal and the adjoining country would inevitably have been +inundated. Why? The island, the former existence of which is assumed by +Sir Charles Lyell, would have been as good a protection as the sands; +and in the time, which was certainly anterior to the Roman invasion +of Britain, when the shingle bank had not accumulated to a sufficient +height,[2517] the very small area in the neighbourhood of Deal which is +below high-water mark may have been inundated, unless, as Dowker[2518] +and Mr. Spurrell[2519] believe, the level of the land has been +depressed since the Roman occupation. + +The reader has doubtless already concluded that it is impossible to +affirm either that the Goodwin Sands existed in the time of Caesar, +or that they had not then accumulated to such a degree as to attract +attention, or that their place was occupied by an island. If the +silence of Domesday Book and, as it should seem, the absence of any +other positive testimony constitutes an argument against the hypothesis +of Sir Charles Lyell,[2520] the same argument may be advanced to show +that before the Norman Conquest the sands had not begun to appear. +Yet, as we shall see in a subsequent article, there is some reason to +believe that either sands or an island were there when Caesar invaded +Britain.[2521] Tradition, vague as it is, combined with Lyell’s +authority, disposes me to accept tentatively the latter alternative. + + +IV. THE SOUTH FORELAND AND THE DOVER CLIFFS + +Professor Montagu Burrows[2522] affirms that ‘the space over which the +tides travel [in the Straits of Dover] must be at least two miles wider +than it was some 2,000 years ago’. This is one of the _ex cathedra_ +statements in which the professor’s work abounds, and for proof of +which his amazed readers search his pages in vain. Dowker’s estimate +is more moderate: he only bids us ‘assume the Straits are now one mile +wider than when Caesar visited our shores’;[2523] but, like Professor +Burrows, he requires us to make this assumption in the dark. + +In M. Vivien de St.-Martin’s great work it is stated that Cape Grisnez +‘perd en moyenne 25 centim. par an; autrement dit, il recule 25 m. par +siècle’.[2524] Assuming the accuracy of this statement, and assuming, +further, that the rate of erosion has been constant since the invasion +of Caesar, Cape Grisnez then projected seaward 489 metres, or about 534 +yards further than it does now. I take for granted that the statement +is based upon exact and prolonged observation; but when did that +observation begin?[2525] + +As for the South Foreland, it is certain that, as Dowker says,[2526] +it is (or at all events was in 1885 and for some years previously) +‘being gradually undermined by the sea’; but it would be a great +mistake to leap to the conclusion that this erosion has been going +on continuously since the time of Caesar. In 1850 Captain K. B. +Martin, who was harbour-master of Ramsgate, affirmed that the cliff +between Dover and the South Foreland, being protected by ‘an inclined +plane of shingle’ from the sea, had ‘preserved its contour from time +immemorial’.[2527] The phrase is somewhat vague: but the captain was a +careful observer; and we may believe him when he tells us that since +his boyhood, fifty years before the time when he wrote, there had +been no change.[2528] Why, then, were the Dover cliffs and the South +Foreland being gradually eaten away in 1876, when Dowker wrote, and in +1884? Simply because the supply of shingle had, from various causes, +been cut off.[2529] The erosion, said Mr. E. R. N. Druce, Engineer to +the Government pier at Dover, takes place ‘at no particular rate, but +falls of cliff at the points above named have taken place at intervals +for some years past ... since they have lost the protection of the +shingle at their base’. He added that the loss was ‘confined to areas +bare of shingle’, and that, so far as he could ascertain, there existed +no ‘data for determining the rate of erosion from early maps or other +documents’.[2530] It would appear, then, that Professor Burrows’s +assertion is based upon pure imagination. + +When the subsidence which had taken place in the Neolithic Age was +virtually complete the sea was bordered by a narrow plain, to which +the high ground descended gradually. Erosion was at first rapid while +the waters were devouring loose talus; but when beaches had had time +to form it was of course retarded.[2531] How slow it is where the +rocks are hard is proved by the fact that the contour of a prehistoric +camp near Hastings shows that the seaward defence was formed not by +an artificial rampart but by the East Cliff.[2532] Yet Professor +Burrows asks us to believe that erosion has been as rapid in the +chalk of the South Foreland as in the soft cliffs between Flamborough +Head and the Thames.[2533] Generally speaking, as erosion proceeds, +cliffs become higher;[2534] and it is obvious that if the Channel had +been two miles wider in Caesar’s time, the Dover cliffs, if they had +existed, would have been insignificant. But since Caesar described +them as ‘precipitous heights’,[2535] and Cicero as ‘astonishing masses +of cliff’,[2536] they were evidently little lower then than now. Let +the reader ponder these things, and he will realize how monstrously +exaggerated is the estimate which assigns to the Straits of Caesar’s +time a breadth two miles less than our modern maps show.[2537] + + +V. DOVER HARBOUR + +That a natural harbour existed at Dover in the time of Caesar is beyond +dispute. It is mentioned under the name of _Portus Dubris_ in the +_Itinerary_ of Antonine;[2538] and it was connected by a Roman road +with Canterbury and London, and also with Richborough. Napoleon the +Third[2539] affirms that it was entirely choked up about 950 A.D.; but +this is a blunder, for the harbour is mentioned in Domesday Book.[2540] +Even as late as 1582 it was stated by an engineer, named Thomas +Digges, that ‘Before the peere was builte out, there are men alyue can +remember that was no banckes or shelues of beache to be seene before +Douer,[2541] but all cleane sea betwene Arteclif [Archcliff] tower and +the castle clyffe’.[2542] Captain Martin[2543] holds that the remains +of anchors which have been dug up out of meadows in the valley prove +that the estuary was navigable as far as Crabble;[2544] and he believes +that it actually extended to Water’s End,[2545] and covered the sites +of the villages of Charlton and Buckland. Canon Puckle, however, argues +that ‘the primitive haven’ covered a space which extended barely a +quarter of a mile inland, ‘bounded by the lower half of St. James’ +Street, Dolphin Lane, and Russell Street, and the east end of Dolphin +Lane,’[2546] and he states that when this area was ‘partly uncovered in +excavating for the new Russell Street gas works, quays and hawser-rings +were brought to light’. Captain Martin’s estimate, which is based +upon very uncertain data, must be regarded as an exaggeration: the +estuary may possibly have extended up to Crabble, but was certainly +not navigable so far except perhaps by coracles. Many years ago the +remains of a Roman bath were discovered on the site of St. Mary’s +church,[2547] and in 1887 a statue belonging to the period of the Roman +occupation was found ‘during excavations for the foundation of the +Carlton Club, in the Market Place’.[2548] These discoveries help to +define approximately the western limit of the harbour; and I believe +that Planche 17 of the Atlas accompanying Napoleon’s _Histoire de Jules +César_[2549] represents it with tolerable accuracy. + +[Illustration: MAP OF ROMNEY MARSH PROPER and the parts adjacent + +Reproduced from the map facing page liii of T. Lewin’s “Invasion of +Britain by Julius Cæsar,” 2nd. Edit. Showing what lands would have +been covered by the sea at high water (medium spring tides) before the +construction of the Rhee Wall. The figures denote the depth in feet, +according to levels taken by J. Elliott, of the present surface below +the high-water mark of Spring Tides. + + ROMNEYMARSH + + as (according to T. Lewin’s final view) It was certainly in the + + + TIME OF THE SAXONS + + probably in the + + + TIME OF THE ROMANS + + and perhaps in the + + + TIME OF THE BRITONS] + + +VI. BETWEEN DOVER AND SANDGATE + +During the last three centuries, at all events, the coast between +Sandgate and Dover has undergone considerable changes. Large quantities +of stone have been removed from the Folkestone cliffs; and landslips +have occurred at Shakespeare’s Cliff, between Folkestone and Sandgate, +and behind East Wear Bay.[2550] It would be useless, however, for our +purpose, to describe these changes in detail; for they do not affect +the topographical questions that belong to the history of Caesar’s +invasions of Britain. Excepting the disappearance of the little +haven that once existed at Folkestone, the general character of this +section of the coast was much the same in 55 B.C. as to-day. It may +be, however, that the aspect of the high ground above East Wear Bay +was different. Between the cliffs and the heights which rise about +a quarter of a mile to the north of them there is a wild and broken +plateau, called the Warren, through which the railway runs. Referring +to this, William Phillips, a geologist of some repute, wrote in 1821, +‘The cliff, bounding this ruin towards the sea, is, from its position, +not _in situ_; and it is equally clear that the enormous masses of +which it is composed, have fallen forward [probably by ‘repeated +falls’] from near the summit of the cliff _in situ_.’[2551] When these +convulsions began to transform the landscape cannot, as far as I know, +be ascertained. + + +VII. ROMNEY MARSH + +Between Hythe and Dungeness, on the other hand, there has been complete +transformation. There, within the brief span of historical time, wind, +tide, and river, and finally the labour of man, have wrought changes as +remarkable as those that in other regions required the lapse of ages +which the imagination fails to conceive. The antiquary who walks from +Westenhanger Station to the brow of Lympne Hill, and looks out over the +vast field of shingle that extends seaward, and, on his left, towards +Hythe, and then over the broad level of the marsh that stretches away +on his right between the Wealden upland and Dymchurch Wall, will easily +picture to himself the scene that once was there. + +1. Before we attempt to construct a map which may represent the +coast-line between Sandgate and Dungeness, as it was in the time +of Caesar, it will be well to state those relevant facts which are +accepted by all geographers. There was a time when the area of Romney +Marsh was covered by a bay. At a later epoch the marsh was fringed by +a bar of shingle, which extended from Winchelsea to a point nearly +opposite Shorncliffe. Between West Hythe and Shorncliffe streams +flowed down from the hills, gradually forced an opening in the shingle +opposite Hythe, through which the sea entered, and thus formed Hythe +harbour, which, after remaining open for many centuries, was finally +choked up about 300 years ago. For some time after the marsh became +habitable the shingle protected it from the sea on the south, but +gradually was so diminished that it became necessary to construct a +sea wall. The river Rother debouched at some point within the area +of Romney Marsh. During the Roman occupation of Britain there was a +harbour called the Portus Lemanis, which has been located by one writer +at Romney and by others at Lympne, while some have identified it with +Hythe Haven. West of West Hythe Oaks, the marsh ‘is a rich mould ... +while all to the east, as far as Sandgate, is (with the exception of a +narrow strip to the south and east of Hythe, between the sea-beach and +the hills) one vast bed of shingle’.[2552] + +2. The whole of Romney Marsh, properly so called,[2553] is even now +below the level of high water at spring tides. The hills which form its +northern boundary have themselves changed since the time when the waves +broke against their base. In the course of ages they have lost their +original sharpness of outline, and, as we learn from the geologist who +has described the formation of the Weald, have been ‘worn down into +undulating ground’;[2554] and nearly 200 years ago a local observer +described how, after an unusually wet season, Lympne Hill had been +completely transformed, in a single night, by a landslip.[2555] But +these changes are insignificant in comparison with that by which the +old Bay of Appledore has become a fertile pasture. Of what material +is this land composed? According to the late Thomas Lewin, it is +‘absolutely and exclusively a sea deposit’; and, in proof of this +assertion, he pointed to ‘the marine shells which pervade the whole +mass’.[2556] But it needs little acumen to see that the presence of +marine shells in the marsh does not justify Lewin in using the words +‘absolutely and exclusively’; and the late Colonel George Greenwood +maintained that the marsh had been formed by material brought down from +the Weald by ‘the aqueous erosion of the Rother’.[2557] As a matter of +fact, it was formed by the combined action of river and sea.[2558] But +unless and until a series of borings are systematically made, it will +be impossible to describe the recent strata with precision.[2559] + +According to Topley, ‘The cause of the original formation of Romney +Marsh is altogether unknown. It is usually attributed to “the meeting +of the tides”; but as this takes place over a rather wide area, and +as shingle beaches and alluvial flats occur where no tides meet, the +explanation is not altogether satisfactory.’[2560] The well-known +geologist, F. Drew, explains that as soon as the bay had become +so shallow from the accumulation of silt that its bed was exposed +at low water, the sediment carried down by the Rother began to be +deposited on the surface. Like Topley, he confesses that how the silt +had accumulated is ‘not quite clear’; and he thinks that ‘the newly +formed surface’ may have been ‘actually upheaved by oscillation of +level, forming a plain well raised above the level of the sea’,[2561] +which, however, before the historic period, must have suffered a +subsidence.[2562] This supposition was based upon the fact that trees +are found near Appledore a few feet below the surface, which, if they +are _in situ_, must have grown at a time when the marsh was above the +level of the sea, and were perhaps contemporaneous with the submerged +forests of Devonshire and Cornwall.[2563] Some authorities, however, as +we shall presently see, hold[2564] that they were drifted into their +present position. + +The late James Elliott, who in the middle of the nineteenth century +was engineer of Dymchurch Wall, diligently investigated the history +of the marsh, and added much to our knowledge. While the marsh was +being formed it was gradually closed by a bar of shingle, composed +of pebbles which had been partly broken off from the cliffs on the +south-west, partly carried down by rivers,[2565] and had been driven +up the Channel by the prevailing winds.[2566] Elliott remarks that +‘the result of such a protection from the open sea would be, that all +matter brought down by the hills would rest nearly where it was first +deposited, and, in process of time, dry land, at certain states of the +tide, would appear’; and that, on the ebb of every tide, ‘all the water +in the bay gradually receded towards the hills, and ... made its exit +at the eastern end of the shingle bank.’[2567] He concludes that the +shingle extended rapidly until it reached the eastern end of what is +now Dymchurch Wall, but that its progress thenceforward was extremely +slow. Meanwhile the sediment deposited by the sea was gradually raising +the surface of the marsh.[2568] Elliott, whose statements and opinions +were incorporated by Lewin in his book on the invasions of Caesar, +affirms that the advancing shingle spit was ‘intersected only by a +channel between Lydd and Romney’, which was ‘the mouth of the estuary +which lay behind the shingle’;[2569] but Lewin, in a later article on +the _Portus Lemanis_,[2570] appears to have abandoned this view, for +he there implies that the spit was continuous. At some period which +preceded the erection of the Rhee Wall, that is to say, the first +enclosure or ‘inning’ of the marsh, it would appear to have reached the +foot of the hills at West Hythe Oaks.[2571] The result, according to +Lewin, was that the marsh was temporarily enclosed. But, he says, ‘this +bar to the exit of waters from the marsh could not long continue, for, +though the sea was excluded, the Limen [that is to say, the Rother] +... and twenty smaller streams were continually increasing the volume +of water within the marsh, and ... the shingle spit was burst asunder +between Romney and Lydd.’ Thus, if Lewin’s final view is correct, the +sea again found an entrance on the west of Romney, and continued to +overflow the marsh at high tide until it was finally shut out by the +erection of the Rhee Wall. West Hythe Oaks was not the final goal of +the shingle spit. For a long period, as Lewin remarks, ‘the shingle +from the west continued to advance ... and for a time without again +touching the hills;’ but at length the advancing spit ‘was again +wrested aside and dashed against the hills at Hythe, between the +present barracks and the more eastern of the two Hythe bridges over +the canal’. According to Elliott, however, whose view was adopted by +Lewin in the Appendix to his book on the invasion of Britain by Caesar, +the shingle was not ‘dashed against the hills at Hythe’, but opposite +Shorncliffe. Anyhow the final result was that from the eastern end of +what is now Dymchurch Wall to a point nearly opposite Shorncliffe there +extended an irregular tract of shingle, broken only opposite Hythe by +an opening, which led to a narrow harbour extending along the foot of +the hills. This opening was due to the streams which flowed down from +the hills and found a vent by bursting the barrier of shingle, and +the scour of which kept the harbour open until, about three hundred +years ago, it was finally choked up. According to Elliott, the western +extremity of this harbour was at West Hythe Oaks; according to Lewin’s +final view at Hythe itself. Between Dymchurch and Hythe the shingle +formed a broad field; but the section between Hythe and Shorncliffe, +which formed the southern boundary of Hythe harbour, was long and +narrow. The whole tract was ‘perfectly flat and _above high-water +mark_’; and Elliott argues that it extended much further seaward in +Caesar’s time than it does now, because, while the supply of shingle +drifted from the south-west was cut off by the gradual elongation of +Dungeness, the eastward movement of the shingle along the fringe of the +marsh still went on.[2572] This argument he supports by a comparison +of the Ordnance Survey map executed in 1817 with an old map of the +marsh, probably made about the year 1550, which is in the Cottonian +MSS.[2573] at the British Museum. Assuming the accuracy of the old map, +it would appear that in the 267 years the shingle had receded about +two furlongs; and Elliott concluded that in Caesar’s time the coast +line at Hythe must have been nearly a mile from the hills. Having had +considerable experience in the handling of old maps, I so far differ +from Elliott that I am rather disposed to assume the inaccuracy of the +one on which he relies; but he is quite justified in concluding that +the coast line was much further from the Hythe hills in 55 B.C. than +now.[2574] + +Elliott’s account of the formation of the Marsh has, however, been +recently disputed in a paper by George Dowker,[2575] which, although +it swarms with bibliographical and historical mistakes,[2576] cannot +safely be ignored. The author begins by endeavouring to show that +the Rother originally entered the sea at Romney; that it gradually +raised both its bed and its banks by depositing sediment; and that +‘the Rhee Wall was, in the first place, a natural river-bank’--the +bank of the Rother--‘subsequently raised and altered by the Barons of +the Cinque Port of Romney’,[2577] but (if I have grasped his meaning, +which is often obscure) only between Snargate and Warehorn.[2578] He +tells us that ‘The sequence of changes in the Marsh may be summarized +as follows:--Firstly, a shallow bay existed in a depression in the +underlying rocks. Into this bay the waters of the Rother, Tillingham, +and Brede, on their way to their outlet near Romney, deposited their +silt, so that the northern half of the Marsh had become dry land +previous to the time of the Romans. Around this bay were formed +sand-hills. In time of flood the waters of the river that ran out at +Romney overflowed, and, depositing silt, raised the banks on either +side. A slight depression of the land commenced, and has continued. +Beaches accumulated, especially between Romney and Hythe, and between +Romney and Winchelsea. Romney probably formed a promontory near +Dymchurch, near where the ancient river, then called the Limen, +discharged its waters.’[2579] He explains that originally the sea was +excluded from the marsh by sand-hills, and that ‘the sand-hills appear +to have been formed at a period before the accumulation of the beaches +had commenced, since the beach effectually stops the formation of +sand-hills’.[2580] No sand-hills now exist in the marsh, except between +Rye and Lydd, near New Romney, and near West Hythe; but, says Dowker, +‘We may connect these sand-hills by a hypothetical line extending +from Rye to Hythe.’[2581] The reason which he gives for believing +that there has been a depression of the land since the time of the +Romans is that he has found evidences of post-Roman subsidence in ‘the +neighbourhood of Richborough, Reculvers, and the Swale marshes of +Sittingbourne’.[2582] + +Now Dowker gives no sufficient reason for refusing to accept Elliott’s +view (which he travesties) that the sea once found its way over the +marsh through a gap between the advancing shingle and the hills, +and also through a break in the shingle spit,--in other words, for +maintaining that the marsh had become dry land before the shingle +beach was formed. The notion that the Rhee Wall was, ‘in the first +place, a natural river-bank’ is simply fantastic. To begin with, +its direction is almost a straight line, whereas it is well known +that in open plains, where the slope is slight, rivers invariably +pursue tortuous courses.[2583] Along what is now called the Rhee Wall +runs the high road from Appledore to New Romney. It occupies what +was formerly a channel embanked on either side; and this channel +provided an outlet for the waters of the Rother, whose actual mouth +was at Appledore.[2584] As Elliott says, ‘In erecting this wall it +became necessary to provide some exit for the waters from the hills +as well as for the drainage of the land enclosed. This was done by +cutting a channel parallel with the wall from the pool or lake at the +_embouchure_ of the river Limene at Appledore to the sea at Romney ... +the wall was necessary to be continued across this lake until it met +the high land at Appledore.’[2585] Again, I cannot understand why, +if Romney Marsh Proper became dry land before the time of the Romans +without being artificially enclosed, Walland Marsh and Guildford Marsh, +which lie west and south of the Rhee Wall, should still have been +periodically overflowed by the sea; nor is it clear how in that case +the Rother could have excavated its hypothetical channel along the line +of the Rhee Wall. Lastly, it is impossible, on Dowker’s theory, to +locate the Portus Lemanis. He denies that it was at Lympne: it could +not, on his theory, have been at Hythe or at West Hythe, for he implies +that the shingle beach, behind which lay the historic Hythe Haven, did +not yet exist;[2586] and Romney--the only other possible site--is, as I +shall afterwards show, out of the question. + +I am not concerned to dispute Dowker’s theory that the sea was excluded +from the marsh on the south by sand-hills before the shingle beach was +formed, though the mere presence of patches of blown sand near West +Hythe and near Romney does not justify him in connecting them by ‘a +hypothetical line extending from Rye to Hythe’; nor does he offer any +theory to account for the disappearance of this hypothetical line after +it began to be protected by a barrier of shingle. The important point +is that the fact of the erection of the Rhee Wall proves that before it +existed Romney Marsh Proper was liable to be flooded by high tides. + +3. It has long been a vexed question where, in the time of Caesar, +and during the Roman occupation of Britain, the Rother discharged +itself. Hasted[2587] affirms that the bed of the river ‘may yet very +easily be traced ... under the hills from _West Hythe_ to Appledore’. +Beale Poste,[2588] who agrees with him, says that, according to the +_Itinerary_ of Antonine, the port of the river Lemanis, which he +identifies with the Rother, was the Portus Lemanis; that, according +to Somner, ancient records mention ‘the Lymne branch of the Rother +as still in existence in ... 820 at ... Warehorne, at about ... +three miles from the bend of our river towards Lymne’; and that ‘we +find the name Portus Limneus in Ethelwerd’s _Chronicle_, iv, 3, in +his annals of ... 893, which seems to imply the “Port of the river +Lemanis”.’ Holloway,[2589] the historian of Romney Marsh, after saying, +like Hasted, that ‘traces of the ancient bed of a river are still +visible under the foot of the Kentish cliffs’, adds that ‘our ancient +chroniclers, according to Lambarde, called this same place “Limene +Mouthe”, and which is interpreted by Leland to betoken the mouth of +the river Rother’. Drew[2590] holds that the river Limen, or, as it is +called by the anonymous geographer of Ravenna, Lemana,[2591] must in +the ninth century have flowed past Sandtun, ‘the patch of Blown Sand +between West Hythe and Butter’s (or Botolph’s) Bridge,’ because in a +charter of the year 833 allusion is made to ‘a piece of land at Sandtun +that was bounded on the south by the river Limen’. Finally, Mr. F. P. +Gulliver thinks it probable that the Rother had, a thousand years ago, +two ‘main distributaries’, one of which flowed out ‘through an inlet in +the bar south-west of Hythe’.[2592] + +Hasted’s statement is quite incorrect. Elliott, who knew every inch of +Romney Marsh, positively affirms that ‘between Lymne and Appledore ... +not the slightest trace of any river remains’;[2593] and his statement +is confirmed by Topley.[2594] Dowker[2595] also observes that if the +Rother had ever flowed out near Hythe, ‘it must have occupied the +space where the Military Canal exists, in which case it has left no +historical or other trace behind, and against such a river the Ree +Wall could have been no protection.’ Moreover, if there is any force +in the argument of Drew, the river flowed south of the blown sand near +Butter’s Bridge, that is to say, a good mile from the hills.[2596] +Elliott accounts for the belief that the river entered the sea near +Lympne by the fact that a depression exists along the foot of the +hills, ‘many taking that to be the river which in truth was only an +estuary ... and which would only assume something of the character of +a river at low water.’[2597] In reply to Beale Poste, it is sufficient +to remark that the _Itinerary_ does _not_ say that the port of the +river Lemanis (or rather Lemana) was the Portus Lemanis, nor does it +even mention the river: it simply gives the distance of the Portus +Lemanis from Durovernum, or Canterbury.[2598] Beale Poste misquotes +Somner, who does not say a single word about ‘the Lymne branch of the +Rother’.[2599] It is quite true that we find the words _portu Limneo_ +in the Chronicle of Ethelwerd;[2600] but it is not easy to see how +these words convey any more information about the geographical position +of the port than the words _portus Lemanis_. As to Holloway’s argument, +all that Lambarde[2601] says is that Robert Talbot,[2602] ‘a man of +our time,’ was of opinion that Shipway, near West Hythe, was so called +‘because it lay in the way to the Haven where the ships were woont to +ride.[2603] And that haven,’ adds Lambarde, ‘taketh hee to be the same +which ... is called ... of Antoninus _Limanis_, of our chroniclers +Limene Mouth, and interpreted by Leland to betoken the mouth of the +river of Rother.’ The _Anglo-Saxon Chronicle_ states distinctly that +the mouth of the Limen was at Appledore;[2604] and Leland was far +too acute to be duped by the notion that it had ever been at Lympne: +‘where the Ryver _Limene_ should be,’ he says, ‘I can not tel, except +yt should be that that cummeth above Appledor ... and that ys Cowrs ys +now changed.’[2605] With regard to Drew’s argument, allusion is made in +two charters[2606] to ‘a piece of land at Sandtun, that was bounded on +the south by the river Limen’, namely, a charter of King Aethilberht of +Kent, dated February 20, 732, and a charter of King Ecgberht of Kent, +dated 833. In the latter it is stated that there were salt-pans ‘in +the same place’, namely at Sandtun;[2607] and in both the boundaries +of the land are defined in almost identical terms,--‘the boundaries +of this piece of land are, on the east the King’s land; on the south +the river called the Limen; on the west and on the north the Hudan +Fleot.’[2608] That Sandtun was the patch of blown sand between West +Hythe and Botolph’s Bridge is a pure assumption on the part of Drew. +Furthermore, he would have found it difficult to indicate the position +of ‘the King’s land’ on the east, seeing that on the east, if the Limen +debouched opposite Lympne, there was only shingle or sea. Finally, it +is certain that before 833 Romney Marsh Proper had been enclosed; +and how a river could have flowed along the north of the marsh across +the Rhee Wall, or how, if it had worked this miracle, it should have +subsequently disappeared without leaving any trace of its existence, +is more than I can understand.[2609] At all events the level of the +marsh, which is 6 feet 6 inches lower at Appledore Dowles than at West +Hythe Oaks, proves that, even assuming the former existence of such a +river, centuries must have elapsed from the time when it ceased to flow +beneath the hills to the time when the shingle closed the marsh at West +Hythe Oaks.[2610] + +Elliott[2611] concluded, ‘from several careful surveys of the whole +district,’ that the mouth of the Limen was at Appledore, where it +entered the estuary; and, as Roach Smith[2612] truly remarks, this +conclusion is confirmed by the _Anglo-Saxon Chronicle_. ‘We now,’ says +Elliott,[2613] ‘find the whole country about the mouth of the Limene, +at Appledore, in a circuit of about a mile (and at no other part), +at a few feet under the present surface, covered with trees of the +oak, alder, and birch ... evidently, from their position, having been +drifted from a distance, and deposited where now found.’ Lewin[2614] +points out that this ‘is the very lowest part of the marsh’; and he +holds that ‘the presence of oak trees ... decides that the trees are +not _in situ_,[2615] for ... there is something in the Marsh mould +uncongenial to the oak’. The course of the river, Elliott tells us, is +‘still traceable between Appledore and the Isle of Oxney, and thence +into the estuary, about half a mile south of Appledore’. Once, as we +have seen, according to Elliott, the estuary found an exit opposite +Lympne: when this was closed, there remained only the channel between +Romney and Lydd.[2616] + +4. It is now necessary to inquire what was the geographical position of +the Portus Lemanis. The reader will, of course, see that this question +is quite distinct from that which he has just been considering. Whether +the Rother ever flowed along the north of the marsh or not, everybody +admits that the sea once had access there even at low tide; and the +question is whether the Portus Lemanis was this estuary, or rather that +part of it which lay below Lympne Hill. This is the generally accepted +view.[2617] In support of it Appach[2618] argues as follows:--First, +the name ‘Lympne’ is obviously a corruption of _Lemanis_, and Leland +found a tradition existing that Lympne had once been a port. Secondly, +at Lympne, Stone Street, the Roman road from Canterbury, ‘terminates +abruptly,’ and ‘no trace whatever of its continuance southward into +the marsh can be discovered’. ‘For what reason,’ asks Appach, ‘could +this road have been made if Lympne was not then a port?’ He goes on +to observe that, according to the _Itinerary_ of Antonine, ‘Portus +Lemanis was one stage distant from Canterbury;’ that, besides Stone +Street, the only Roman roads which converged at Canterbury were those +which led to Reculver, Richborough, and Dover; and therefore that the +Portus Lemanis must have been situated on Stone Street, and obviously +at its termination. Thirdly, according to the _Itinerary_, the distance +from Canterbury to the Portus Lemanis was 16 Roman miles, or about +25,872 yards;[2619] and the actual distance from ‘the margin of the +marsh below Lympne measured along the Stone Street to the point where +all the Roman roads at Canterbury would converge, if produced, is +fifteen statute miles’, or 26,400 yards.[2620] Fourthly, the existence +of Stutfall Castle proves that the Portus Lemanis was at Lympne; and, +moreover, the castle ‘had no southern wall because the sea came up to +the foot of the fortifications’. Fifthly, in the _Table of Peutinger_, +Lemanis is ‘marked with a castle, like Richborough and Dover’. + +These arguments may, at first sight, appear conclusive: in reality +they are worthless. (1) Leland[2621] does not mention any tradition +about the port: he simply asserts that ‘Lymme Hill or Lyme was sumtyme +a famose Haven, and good for Shyppes that might cum to the Foote of +the Hille’. Lambarde,[2622] it is true, says that there was in his +time a tradition that Shipway was so called because ‘it lay in the +way to the Haven where the ships were woont to ride’; and he calls +this tradition ‘the report of the countrie people, who hold faste the +same opinion which they have by tradition receaved from their Elders’. +Also he himself asserts that ‘at the first, ships were accustomed to +discharge at Lymme’. But Shipway ‘lay in the way’ to West Hythe, not to +Lympne. As for the alleged tradition, everything depends upon the date +of its origin; and this cannot be ascertained. The name ‘Lympne’ may +be connected with _Lemanis_; but this does not prove that the Portus +Lemanis was at the foot of the heights on which Lympne stands: if it +had been east of Stutfall Castle, and the nearest town in Roman times +or later had been on the site of Lympne, the origin of the name would +be perfectly clear. (2) Appach insists that Stone Street ‘terminates +abruptly’ at Lympne; but, as a matter of fact, a road diverges to the +right from the straight course of Stone Street at New Inn Green, and +terminates just north of Stutfall Castle.[2623] Mr. Thurston of Ashford +points out that if the course of Stone Street were continued in a +straight line from New Inn Green, it ‘would point to the Shipway [or +Shepway] Cross, and continue down the present roadway which descends +the hill to West Hythe; and’, he adds, ‘this is the only place along +the hill where a roadway could possibly descend it in a straight line, +and I believe it was naturally selected as the road to the ships or +port.’[2624] (3) As for the argument based upon the distance given +in the _Itinerary_ from Canterbury to the Portus Lemanis, a moment’s +reflection will convince any reader who uses his map that it holds good +for the theory that the Portus Lemanis was at West Hythe as well as for +the view which Appach defends. (4) The situation of Stutfall Castle +may no doubt be used as an argument to prove that the Portus Lemanis +was at Lympne: but the castle is barely a mile and a half from West +Hythe Oaks, which, as we shall presently see, was in all probability +the western end of the port; and, although it was believed when Appach +wrote that the castle had no southern wall, excavation has since proved +that it had.[2625] Appach’s last argument depends, like the one which +precedes it, upon the assumption that Stutfall Castle would have been +useless unless it had stood in _immediate proximity_ to the Portus +Lemanis. What if Lemanis was ‘marked with a castle’? Why should not the +castle have protected the neighbouring part of ‘the Saxon shore’ and a +harbour at West Hythe? + +The late antiquary, W. H. Black,[2626] remarked further, that the +discovery of a Roman altar in Stutfall Castle, erected by the ‘admiral +of the British fleet’ (_praefectus classis Britannicae_), proves that +the Portus Lemanis was at Lympne; and, observing that ‘the Saxon +Chronicle tells us of the arrival of a fleet of Danes at “Limene +mouth”’, he argues that ‘it is impossible to deny the identity of +Lymne with that name’. But, whatever may be the etymological connexion +between _Lympne_ and _Limene_, it has been shown already that according +to the very chronicle which Black cites, the mouth of the Limen was +at Appledore;[2627] and the discovery of the Roman altar is perfectly +consistent with the view that the harbour which was the admiral’s naval +base was near West Hythe. + +Elliott originally held that the Portus Lemanis was the estuary at +Lympne;[2628] and his opinion was quoted by superficial writers in +support of this view several years after he had himself discarded it. +For he finally came to the conclusion that, even as early as Caesar’s +time, there was no harbour at Lympne.[2629] He tells us that ‘recent +investigations in taking a series of levels over the whole of Romney +Marsh have established the fact that the estuary must have been closed +at the eastern extremity (where the Portus Lemanis is commonly looked +for) many centuries before the sea was shut out from ... Romney Marsh +Proper; for at the extreme eastern end of Romney Marsh, by Hythe +Oaks, the surface of the land is 18 inches higher than it is a mile +westward, a state of things that could not have existed had there been +any outlet towards the east after the closing of the Marsh westward. +The inset and outset of the tides twice a day to and from the estuary +would have counteracted the silting, and produced not an elevation, +but a depression of the surface. There is ... a regular and continuous +fall of the land next the hills, from Hythe Oaks into Appledore Dowles +... the lowest part of the Marsh being 6 feet 6 inches lower than +the land at Hythe Oaks. There could have been no silting after the +inclosure of the Marsh, and the present level is such as it was when +the Marsh was reclaimed.... The barrier which sealed up the eastern +mouth of the estuary was the accumulation of shingle from the west, and +(_sic_) which long before the historic period had reached the hills +at Hythe Oaks. If Romney Marsh, at the foot of the castrum [Stutfall +Castle], was dry land at that time [A.D. 368-9, when Theodosius[2630] +was in Britain] and occupied by the Romans (as we know to have been +the case), Stutfall could not have been the “Portus Lemanis” ... as it +was not accessible from the sea, and lay a mile and a half at least +from it. The sea could not have flowed there without putting the whole +of Romney Marsh Proper under water to the depth of eight or ten feet +every springtide.’ Similarly, Lewin[2631] states, on the authority of +Elliott, that ‘the greater elevation of the soil towards the east of +Romney Marsh Proper can be only accounted for by the fact that when +the shingle “full” had been thrown quite across the Marsh at West Oaks +... the sea still entered from the west, and that, thenceforth, the +process of silting went on for many centuries ... most rapidly towards +the east, where the water was tranquil, and less rapidly towards the +[site of the subsequently erected] Rhee Wall, in which direction was +the scour of the current’. + +‘Many centuries’ is a vague expression; but for ‘many’ substitute +‘three’, and, even for the time of Caesar, the argument still holds +good,--unless Elliott’s theory of the formation of the marsh is to be +rejected. + +But there are writers whom Elliott’s reasoning (if indeed they have +considered it) leaves unconvinced. According to Mr. George E. Fox, it +has been proved by excavation that the existing _castellum_ at Stutfall +is not earlier than the time of Constantine;[2632] but Sir Victor +Horsley, while confirming this statement, tells us that he has himself +found ‘in the foundation of the chief gate an altar ... marked with +barnacles, having been clearly at one time under the sea’; and from +this he infers that an earlier fort was ‘overwhelmed by an incursion +of the sea over Romney level’. Sir Victor also tells us that he has +found ‘in the concrete boulder formation of the south wall ... a coin +of Maximinus, who flourished 237 A.D.’, and ‘at the foot of the wall +on the inner side, a Gaulish coin of Tetricus the elder, of a date +about 260, and finally in the black soil of the camp, i.e. in the +most recent and superficial layers, numerous coins of the Constantine +family’.[2633] + +I do not know whether Sir Victor Horsley concludes from these +discoveries that there was a harbour at Lympne when the earlier +hypothetical _castellum_ at Stutfall was destroyed; but at all events +that is the opinion of Mr. Fox. But the ‘incursion of the sea’ which +Sir Victor Horsley believes to have overwhelmed the original fort, if +it was not caused by an abnormally high tide rushing in between Romney +and Lydd before the erection of the Rhee Wall, may have been due to a +similar tide which burst the bar of shingle between Dymchurch and West +Hythe. Even after the marsh had been artificially enclosed, such floods +occurred. Stukeley[2634] tells us that ‘George Hunt, an old man, living +in the farm-house ... says, once the sea-bank broke, and his house with +all the adjacent marshes was floated’,[2635] &c. + +Lewin maintained that the Portus Lemanis was neither at Lympne nor at +West Hythe, but at Hythe. This, it should be noted, was the conclusion +at which he finally arrived:[2636] when he wrote his book on the +invasion of Julius Caesar, he held that in 55 B.C. there was a port at +Lympne, although in the Appendix to that book he discarded this view, +and argued that the only port was a pool harbour extending behind a +shingle spit from West Hythe Oaks to a point opposite Shorncliffe. +His final view, as we have already seen,[2637] was that this harbour +extended no further westward than Hythe itself: but in giving utterance +to this opinion he did not explain why he had abandoned the one which +preceded it, and indeed made no allusion to it at all. + +He states that ‘in the course of ages’, after the shingle had reached +West Hythe Oaks, it ‘was again wrested aside and dashed against the +hills at Hythe, between the present barracks and the more eastern of +the two Hythe bridges over the canal’. He goes on to say that ‘the +part between Hythe Oaks and Hythe (now Duck Marsh) was thus barred +from the sea, and became a lake into which flowed the rivulet called +Slabrook and other springs, and these waters accumulating forced their +way back at Hythe Oaks, and there opened a way for themselves ... +into the estuary in the west; but, as the flood was not considerable, +the outlet was of no great breadth. The shingle spit ... was again +carried along eastward until it reached Shorncliffe.... Between Hythe +and Shorncliffe, however, was left behind (i.e. north of) the spit, a +triangular space, into which flowed two streams ... one from Saltwood +and the other called Seabrook, and the waters within this spit were +gradually swollen, until they forced a passage through the shingle, at +a point near the end of the elm avenue at Hythe.’ The change which his +opinion underwent will be at once apparent to any one who compares the +map which Elliott constructed for _The Invasion of Britain by Julius +Caesar_ (facing page liii) with that which accompanies the article in +the fortieth volume of _Archaeologia_[2638] (facing page 369). Lewin +argues that it was so easy to exclude the sea from Duck Marsh that +‘probably the inclosure was made by the Britons before the arrival of +the Romans. On the south-east,’ he explains, ‘the shingle bank was +continuous up to the hills ... on the west the sea entered only from +the marsh at the foot of the hills by a narrow channel; and all that +was required was a short dam at this point between the shingle bed +and the hills.’ The remains of this dam, Lewin observes, are ‘still +distinguishable ... at Hythe Oaks, but the part next the hills has been +swept away by the military canal. This partial inclosure, prior to the +inclosure of Romney Marsh, accounts for a fact otherwise inexplicable, +viz. that Duck Marsh is not within the jurisdiction of Romney +Marsh.’[2639] + +Perhaps. But the date of the construction of the dam is not known. +May it not have been made after, or simultaneously with, the erection +of the Rhee Wall, to secure Romney Marsh against all possibility of +inundation, not to protect Duck Marsh, which, according to Lewin’s +earlier view, was originally overflowed by Hythe harbour? In other +words, is it not possible that when the dam was made Hythe harbour +extended westward as far as West Hythe Oaks? This, as I have already +said, was not merely Lewin’s original view: it was also the view which +Elliott, his friend and adviser, retained _after_ the publication of +the article in _Archaeologia_. At all events this view finds expression +in a map which Elliott prepared for Furley’s _History of the Weald +of Kent_, which was not published until 1871, five years after the +appearance of Lewin’s article. That being the case, and considering +that Lewin did not explain the reasons which led him to change his +opinion, I am unable to follow him. + +In support of the theory that the Portus Lemanis was at Hythe Lewin +argues, first, that Stone Street terminated at West Hythe; secondly, +that the port could not have been at West Hythe; otherwise ‘_the whole +of West Hythe ... would have been deluged_’. ‘The very name,’ he adds, +‘shows that Hythe was the principal town, and West Hythe an accretion +to it.’ Thirdly, he affirms that Roman remains have been found at +Hythe; and, fourthly, that a branch from Stone Street led to Hythe. He +also bases an argument upon the itinerary of Richard of Cirencester, +which, as every scholar now knows, is a forgery.[2640] + +Stone Street does terminate, as Lewin says, at West Hythe; but the +fact goes to prove that it gave access to a harbour which was at West +Hythe.[2641] Granting that West Hythe would have been ‘deluged’ if the +port had been there, what then? Why should it not have been? Lewin does +not explain what he means by ‘the whole of West Hythe’; and, in default +of this explanation, it is impossible to understand his argument.[2642] +He himself, as we have seen, in his book on the invasion of Britain +by Julius Caesar makes the port extend westward as far as West Hythe +Oaks; and Black shows that, so far from its being true that West Hythe +is merely an ‘accretion’ of Hythe, Hythe is merely East Hythe, and +that it is so called in Ogilby’s _Britannia_.[2643] The discovery of +Roman remains at Hythe does not prove that Hythe was the Portus Lemanis +any more than the discovery of Roman remains at Dymchurch proves that +the Portus Lemanis was there. Or rather, the discovery does not prove +that the Portus Lemanis extended no further westward than Hythe; for +I freely admit that it extended in front of and to the east of it. It +is not proved that a branch from Stone Street led to Hythe;[2644] and +if there was such a branch, the fact does not prove that the harbour +did not extend as far as West Hythe Oaks. Finally, Black points out +that, whereas the distance of Lympne (and, he might have added, of West +Hythe) from Canterbury corresponds with that of the Portus Lemanis from +Durovernum, as given in the _Itinerary_ of Antonine, the distance of +Hythe by road from the same place is two miles further.[2645] + +5. The first step taken for the enclosure of Romney Marsh was the +erection of the Rhee Wall. By whom and at what date this work was +executed is not certainly known. It is generally attributed to the +Romans; but Lewin[2646] assures us that Mr. Smiles, in his _Lives of +the Engineers_, ‘expresses an opinion that the Marsh was reclaimed by +the Belgae.’ What Mr. Smiles[2647] really says is that ‘the reclamation +of this tract is supposed to be due to the Frisians’; and he does not +tell us by whom the supposition is entertained, or on what grounds it +is based. Lewin himself, asking whether [Appledore] ‘Dowles’ is not +derived from the Celtic word _dol_, says that ‘if a part of Romney +Marsh was named by the Ancient Britons, the marsh itself must have +been reclaimed by them’.[2648] From the same word Appach[2649] draws +precisely the opposite inference. ‘Apuldore Dowles,’ he says, ‘appears +to be allied to the Welsh _dol_, a bend. If so, it would mean a bend +or curve, and so a recess or bay; and Apuldore Dowles would mean the +bay of Apuldore.’ Whatever may be the value of this argument, the name +‘Apuldore Dowles,’ does not go to prove that Romney Marsh was ‘inned’ +by the Britons; for, as Appach[2650] truly remarks, there is no other +local name in Romney Marsh Proper which shows any trace of a Celtic +derivation. + +Mr. W. A. S. Robertson,[2651] on the other hand, states, on the +authority of Professor Skeat, that ‘Rumenea’, the name by which, +according to Lambarde,[2652] Romney was known to the Saxons, is +compounded of the Gaelic word _ruimen_ (marsh) and the Saxon affix +_ea_ (river); and he concludes that ‘before the Roman occupation there +was in this great estuary sufficient land, uncovered by water, to be +denominated ... _Rum_ or _Ruimen_’. Again, arguing that the καινος +λιμην, or ‘new harbour’, mentioned by Ptolemy,[2653] was at Romney, he +says that ‘if it was called into existence by ... the Rhee Wall, it +follows that the Rhee Wall’ was ‘probably formed at least as early as +the first century of the Christian era’. + +If the ‘new harbour’ was at Romney! There is not the slightest +evidence that it was there.[2654] As for the word _ruimen_, how can +Mr. Robertson prove that it was applied to Romney Marsh ‘before the +Roman occupation’? Moreover, supposing that the marsh was not embanked +by the Britons, there was ‘sufficient land uncovered by water to +be denominated _Ruimen_’ twice every day, when the tide was low, +before the Rhee Wall was made; and the name lends no support to Mr. +Robertson’s theory. + +I do not attach much importance to the argument, first propounded +by Sir W. Dugdale[2655] and often repeated since, that because the +Britons, according to Tacitus[2656]--or rather, according to a speech +put by Tacitus into the mouth of a British chief--were employed by the +Romans in draining and embanking marshes, therefore the Romans enclosed +this particular marsh. But, considering that Roman remains have +frequently been discovered in that part of the marsh which lies on the +east of the Rhee Wall,[2657] it is surely inexplicable that if the wall +was built by the Britons, no Celtic remains have ever been found there. + +Appach[2658] not only rejects the theory that the Britons built the +Rhee Wall, but denies that Romney Marsh Proper was enclosed during the +Roman occupation. He maintains that, in Caesar’s time, ‘the northern +portion, at all events, and possibly the whole of the interval between +the island of Romney and the high ground of Kent was open sea.’ For, +he argues, ‘Lympne was the ancient Portus Lemanis ... that place could +not have been a port unless there had been free access to it from the +Channel, and it is clear from the manner in which the marsh and shingle +were deposited, that there was always open sea between Lympne and the +Channel until the interval between the ancient island at Romney and the +high ground of Kent had been closed by the gradual growth of the marsh +and shingle.’ + +The assumption upon which this argument rests has been already +disproved: the Portus Lemanis was not at Lympne. Appach’s theory forces +him to assume that the sediment which formed the marsh was deposited at +an incredibly rapid rate. He maintains[2659] that ‘the upper portion +of Romney Marsh, for a depth of thirty feet ... below its present +surface (which would give sufficient water for the heaviest of Caesar’s +ships at the lowest Spring tides) might very well have been deposited’ +in ‘about five hundred years’. But, according to Elliott,[2660] the +average rate at which the silt was deposited was not more than about +one-eighth of an inch _per annum_. + +Dowker, on the other hand, although he once regarded it as ‘evident +that at the period of Caesar’s invasion the marsh was little better +than a swamp, great part being under water at high tide’, maintained +that the discovery of Roman pottery on the west of Dymchurch disproved +Appach’s theory.[2661] But he did not take account of dates. Appach +himself[2662] noted the discoveries which had been made near Dymchurch; +but he observed that while some of the objects discovered had been +pronounced by the Society of Antiquaries to be ‘decidedly Roman’, +others had been attributed by the same body to subsequent periods; and +he concluded that the marsh had not been enclosed before the middle of +the fifth century. + +This theory is pulverized by one fact which Appach ignores. Dymchurch +is not the only place in Romney Marsh Proper where Roman remains have +been found: they have been discovered in Eastbridge, at Newchurch, +at Ivychurch, and indeed over the whole area.[2663] On the other +hand, Welland Marsh, Guildford Marsh, and Denge Marsh--those parts of +Romney Marsh, popularly so called, which extend westward of the Rhee +Wall--have yielded none.[2664] The inference is certain: Romney Marsh +Proper was enclosed during the Roman occupation of Britain. + +6. The conclusions which we have now reached are, first, that the +Rother did not, in the time of Caesar, enter the sea at Lympne, but +debouched into the estuary near Appledore; secondly, that the marsh +was then closed at West Hythe Oaks, and therefore that there was no +harbour at Lympne; thirdly, that the Rhee Wall had not then been built, +and therefore that the marsh was still flooded at spring tides by the +inrush of the sea between Romney and Lydd; fourthly, that the Portus +Lemanis was a pool harbour extending from West Hythe to a point nearly +opposite Shorncliffe; and, lastly, that the Rhee Wall was built in +Roman times. + +But, as the reader will hereafter see, if these conclusions are +erroneous, the error will not lead us astray when we have to determine +the place where Caesar landed in Britain. + + + + +PORTUS ITIUS + + +I. REVIEW OF THE CONTROVERSY + +The greater part of the vast literature which has accumulated on the +question of the identity of the Portus Itius is obsolete;[2665] and +it is now sometimes taken for granted that the choice is restricted +to Wissant and Boulogne. Nevertheless, as I am determined to set the +question at rest, I shall examine the claims of three other ports, +which, in recent times, have found advocates whose names command +respect,--the estuary of the Somme, Ambleteuse, and Calais. + +The question began to be seriously discussed in the fifteenth century. +The Italian geographer, Raymond de Marliano, identified the Portus +Itius with Calais;[2666] and in the following century the famous +Ortelius[2667] did the same. Chifflet[2668] and other scholars, well +known in their day, chose St. Omer, situated, as they believed, at +the head of a wide and shallow gulf, which was erroneously assumed to +have covered the low-lying lands between Sangatte and Dunkirk.[2669] +Adrien de Valois[2670] declared for Étaples; and numerous other absurd +suggestions were defended with more or less ingenuity. From Dieppe +to Ghent there was not a harbour, a roadstead, or a fishing port, +which had not its champion. But the controversy soon began to centre +itself between Wissant and Boulogne. Camden[2671] was the first to +declare for Wissant. Du Fresne[2672] (commonly called Du Cange), one +of the most illustrious French scholars of the seventeenth century, +defended its claims against Sanson; and d’Anville,[2673] Henry,[2674] +Walckenaer,[2675] and Sir Richard Colt Hoare[2676] followed his +example. Cluver[2677] wrote briefly but effectively on the other side; +and Scaliger[2678] characteristically exclaimed that those who did +not, like himself, decide for Boulogne, were lunatics. During the last +half-century, although Wissant has not lacked able defenders, the +case for Boulogne has been tending to prevail. But the arguments of +Haigneré, of Napoleon the Third, of Desjardins, and finally of Rudolf +Schneider failed to silence opposition. Men so able as George Long, Dr. +Guest, Dean Merivale, Dr. Hodgkin, Karl Müller, and Alphonse Wauters +remained unconvinced: Freeman[2679] roundly asserted that ‘since Dr. +Guest’s exposition of the matter it is hardly necessary to say that +“Portus Itius” or “Iccius” is not Boulogne’: Professor Ridgeway and Mr. +H. E. Malden, in their animated controversy[2680] on the question of +Caesar’s landing-place, agreed in identifying the harbour from which +he sailed with Wissant: more recently Dr. Emil Hübner[2681] has done +the same; and the well-known Caesarian scholar, Professor H. J. Heller, +at the close of a pungent criticism[2682] of Schneider’s dissertation, +concluded that the identity of the Portus Itius was still an open +question. Mr. H. F. Tozer,[2683] indeed, has recently pronounced the +question to be insoluble; and Mommsen,[2684] who in 1889 still adhered +to his old belief, that ‘among the many possibilities most may perhaps +be said in favour of the view that the Itian port ... is to be sought +near Ambleteuse’, nevertheless remained convinced that ‘it requires the +implicit faith of local topographers to proceed to the determination +of the locality with such data’. + +Evidently, then, unless the problem is to be abandoned in despair, +there is room for another treatise. But this treatise must justify +its existence. I have not ‘the implicit faith of local topographers’: +but there are more data than Mommsen had leisure to examine; and the +locality can be determined with absolute certainty. + +There is indeed a summary way of dealing with the question which has +long since satisfied practical men: doubt is confined to the minds +of scholars and of those who look to them for guidance. Men who are +familiar with war and who have a sufficient knowledge of the conditions +of navigation in the Straits of Dover know that there was only one +port on the north-eastern coast of Gaul which would have answered all +Caesar’s requirements, and that Caesar would not have made a foolish +choice. Accordingly the greatest of modern soldiers affirmed without +hesitation that the greatest soldier of Rome had sailed to Britain from +Boulogne. But this reasoning, perhaps because of its simplicity, has +not seemed conclusive to the learned world. + + +II. THE DATA FURNISHED BY CAESAR, STRABO, AND PTOLEMY + +Caesar says that, before his first expedition to Britain, he sent Gaius +Volusenus to reconnoitre the British coast and ascertain what harbours +were capable of accommodating a large fleet, and that he himself +marched with his whole force for the country of the Morini, ‘because +the shortest passage to Britain was from their country’ (_quod inde +erat brevissimus in Britanniam traiectus_); and he goes on to say that +he ordered ships from the neighbouring districts, and likewise the +fleet which he had built in the previous summer for the war with the +Veneti, to assemble there. He set sail soon after midnight with about +80 transports, some ships of war, and some small fast-sailing vessels +(_speculatoria navigia_) from a port which he does not name, and sent +his cavalry to ‘a further port’ (_in ulteriorem portum_) about 8 Roman +miles off, with orders to embark there in eighteen transports, which +had been prevented by contrary winds from reaching the port whence he +himself sailed, and to follow him. In another chapter he speaks of the +_ulterior portus_ as _superior portus_; and it is admitted that this +port was either north or east of the one from which he himself sailed. +On the fourth day after he landed in Britain (the day of landing being +doubtless reckoned as the first day[2685]) the eighteen transports set +sail. They were getting close to Britain and were descried from the +Roman camp when a storm suddenly arose, and none of them could keep on +its course, but some were carried back to the place from which they +had started, that is to say, to the _superior portus_; while the rest +were driven down ‘in great peril to the lower and more westerly part +of the island’ (_ad inferiorem partem insulae, quae est propius solis +occasum magno suo cum periculo deicerentur_), whence, after anchoring +for a time and shipping a quantity of water, they were compelled to +stand out to sea, and ran for the Continent. When Caesar returned to +Gaul, two of his ships were unable to reach ‘the same ports’ (_eosdem +portus_) as the rest of the fleet, and were carried ‘a little further +down’ (_paulo infra_). Before his second expedition he assembled a +fleet of about 540 transports and 28 ships of war at the Portus Itius, +‘from which port he had ascertained that the passage to Britain was +most convenient,[2686] being about 30 [Roman] miles from the Continent’ +(_quo ex portu commodissimum in Britanniam traiectum esse cognoverat, +circiter milium passuum_ XXX _transmissum a continenti_). His entire +flotilla amounted to more than 800 sail, as it included privately owned +vessels. The transports were of small draught and comparatively broad, +and were constructed for rowing as well as sailing. Caesar was delayed +at the Portus Itius for about 25 days by north-westerly winds.[2687] +His entire army, which was with him all that time, amounted to 8 +legions and 4000 cavalry. He set sail about sunset, accompanied by 5 +legions and 2000 cavalry, with a light south-westerly wind, or, to +speak more accurately, the wind called _Africus_, which may have blown +from any quarter between south-west and W. by S. ⅓ S. Labienus was left +behind with 3 legions and 2000 cavalry ‘to protect the ports’ (_ut +portus tueretur_), which implies that on the second expedition, as on +the first, Caesar thought it necessary to keep more than one port under +his control; and during his absence Labienus built 60 ships.[2688] + +Strabo,[2689] evidently referring to Caesar’s first expedition, says +that he sailed from ‘the Itian’ [naval station?] (τὸ Ἴτιον), and that +the length of his voyage to the point which he reached ‘about the +fourth hour’ was 320 stades, which is equivalent to 40 Roman miles. + +Ptolemy[2690] mentions the Itian promontory. Its longitude, he says, +was 22° 15′, and its latitude 53° 30′; and he places it on the west of +Gesoriacum, or Boulogne. The longitude of Gesoriacum, he says, was 22° +30′, and its latitude 53° 30′. + + +III. CAESAR SAILED FROM THE PORTUS ITIUS ON BOTH HIS EXPEDITIONS + +It is necessary to inquire whether Caesar sailed from the same port +on both his expeditions; for he mentions the _ulterior portus_ only +in connexion with the first; and if on that occasion he sailed from +the Portus Itius, the search for the Portus Itius is conditioned by +the existence of the _ulterior portus_. Drumann,[2691] remarking that +Caesar chose the Portus Itius in 54 B.C. because he had ascertained +that the passage from it to the island was _the most convenient_, +argues that ‘before it was consequently unknown to him’, and that ‘at +first he sought _the shortest passage_’. Long,[2692] on the other hand, +insists that when Caesar says that he had ascertained that the passage +from the Portus Itius was the most convenient, he apparently means +‘that he had by his first voyage found out that this was the best place +to sail from’. ‘His first voyage,’ Long continues, ‘was very lucky, and +there was no reason to change his place of embarkation, particularly +as he intended to land, and did land, at the place where he had landed +before. Besides this, when he speaks (v. 8) of his landing-place on the +second voyage, he says, “qua optimum esse egressum superiore aestate +cognoverat”; the same form of expression that he uses in speaking of +the place of embarkation (v. 2), except that he does not there use the +words “superiore aestate”.’ I may observe that it is not quite true +that Caesar in 54 B.C. ‘intended to land, and did land, at the place +where he had landed before’.[2693] On the other hand, Mr. H. E. Malden +has remarked (though he has since abandoned the conclusion to which +his remarks led him) that Caesar ‘names the second [port] and does +not name the first ... he especially mentions that he disembarked on +both occasions at the same place, he gives himself every opportunity +for saying that he sailed from the same port, if he did so, but yet +he never says it’.[2694] Strabo admittedly implies that in the first +expedition Caesar’s point of departure was the Portus Itius: but his +testimony does not settle the question; for he may only have been +putting his own construction on Caesar’s words. Rudolf Schneider[2695] +concludes that it is impossible to _prove_ that the Portus Itius was +the starting-point of both voyages, but that it most probably was, +because Caesar, before his first expedition, had stayed long enough in +the country of the Morini to find out the most convenient harbour. I go +further, and shall prove, in the course of this discussion, that, on +his first as on his second expedition, Caesar sailed from the Portus +Itius.[2696] + + +IV. THE VALUE OF CAESAR’S ESTIMATE OF THE DISTANCE BETWEEN THE PORTUS +ITIUS AND BRITAIN + +Rudolf Schneider[2697] insists that it is idle to lay stress on +Caesar’s estimate of the distance from the Portus Itius to Britain, +first, because he had no means of making an accurate calculation, and, +secondly, because we cannot tell whether he reckoned the distance to +the nearest point of Britain or to his own landing-place. As regards +correspondence with Caesar’s estimate, Schneider continues, there is +nothing to choose between Boulogne, Wissant, and Calais: Dover is 34 +Roman miles from Boulogne, 25 from Wissant, 28 from Calais. It might +perhaps be argued that, if Caesar took his own landing-place as the +terminus, it would be hardly safe to ignore his estimate. For Wissant +is 27 Roman miles from Deal, and Boulogne 39; and, assuming that Caesar +landed near Hythe, Wissant is 32 Roman miles from that port, and +Boulogne 37. It appears, however, to me almost certain that Caesar’s +estimate referred to the distance from the Portus Itius to the nearest +frequented port of Britain;[2698] and it must not be forgotten that +the ancient writers generally overestimated the distance from one +port to another.[2699] Moreover, it is not absolutely certain that +Caesar estimated the distance of the Portus Itius from Britain at 30 +Roman miles. _XXX_ is indeed found in all the extant _MSS._;[2700] but +as Strabo unquestionably used the _Commentaries_ when he wrote his +notice of Caesar’s voyage, and estimated its length as 320 stades, it +is not improbable that he found in his copy the number _XXXX_.[2701] +Schneider, however, points out that Strabo’s estimate of the length +of the south coast of Britain differs from Caesar’s; and the accuracy +of the _MSS._, as regards the number _XXX_, may perhaps, as he says, +be supported by a comparison of Pliny with Caesar. Pliny[2702] says +that the shortest passage between Ireland and Britain is 30 miles, and +Caesar[2703] says that the passage from Ireland to Britain is equal +in length to the passage from Britain to Gaul. On the whole, we may +conclude that Caesar’s estimate of the distance between the Portus +Itius and Britain does not help us to decide whether the Portus Itius +is to be identified with Wissant or with Boulogne. But, in considering +the arguments for the identity of the Portus Itius with the mouth of +the Somme, Caesar’s estimate must obviously be taken into account.[2704] + + +V. THE ESTUARY OF THE SOMME + +The advocate of the Somme was the late Astronomer-Royal, Sir George +Airy. His arguments shall be considered for the benefit of those +who are influenced by his great reputation; but one fact, which he +ignores, is alone sufficient to wreck his theory. If Caesar sailed +from the mouth of the Somme, the _superior portus_, from which his +cavalry transports sailed was, as Airy of course maintains, the mouth +of the Authie, and the place where he landed in Britain was, as Airy +likewise maintains, Pevensey. Therefore, on Airy’s theory, the cavalry +transports, when they were approaching Britain and were seen in the +offing from Caesar’s camp, were approaching Pevensey; and the gale +which prevented them from reaching their destination and drove some of +them ‘in great peril’ (_magno cum periculo_) westward down the coast, +carried the others back to the mouth of the Authie.[2705] But, as the +harbour-master of Dover remarked to me, and as any one may see for +himself who has the most rudimentary knowledge of seamanship, it would +have been utterly impossible for them to fetch the mouth of that river. + +But to timid reasoners this may appear too summary a method of +disposing of Airy’s theory. Let us then hear what he has to say. + +First, Airy maintains that Caesar, when he says that he ‘set out for +the country of the Morini’ (_in Morinos proficiscitur_), merely implies +that he arrived ‘near it or close to it’, not necessarily that he +actually entered it. He insists that in every instance in which Caesar +‘uses the inflexions or derivatives of “proficiscor”’ ‘another sentence +or another clause is required to denote arrival at the journey’s +end’.[2706] + +Now Caesar uses _proficisci_ with _in_ thirty-five times. If the +reader will turn to the lists of those passages in Meusel’s _Lexicon +Caesarianum_ (ii, 96, 1240), he will find that in almost every instance +in which Caesar says that he himself or any one else ‘started for’ or +was about to ‘start for’ this or that place, the context proves that +the place was reached. Of course the proof is generally furnished +by ‘another sentence or another clause’, or by more than one other +sentence. But this is not always the case.[2707] And for the passage +in question similar proof is forthcoming. Immediately after telling us +that he marched for the country of the Morini, Caesar goes on to say +that he ordered his fleet to assemble there.[2708] As Long sensibly +remarks,[2709] ‘when a man says that he “marches for” or “towards the +country of the Morini because the passage from there to Britain was +the shortest”; that he ordered all his ships to come there; and that +while he was waiting “in these parts” (_in his locis_[2710]) to get his +ships ready, ambassadors from a large part of the Morini came to him, +there is only one conclusion, which is, that he was in the country of +the Morini and sailed from it.’ If Caesar had removed his ships from +the country where he had assembled them and had sailed from some other +place, he would surely have said something to warn his readers against +drawing the conclusion which, to every one except Airy, has always +appeared inevitable. + +Secondly, Airy points to the passage[2711] in which Caesar relates that +while he was collecting ships for the first expedition envoys came +to him from the Morini: ‘the visit of the ambassadors,’ he argues, +‘without any mention of hostile occupation, seems to imply that neither +Caesar nor any part of his army was in the country of the Morini at the +time of preparing the naval expedition, and appears to render it most +improbable that he had passed through their country.’[2712] + +No unbiassed reader would assent to this conclusion. The Morini +naturally sent ambassadors to Caesar because they wished to deprecate +his wrath. Similarly in 53 B.C. the Ubii sent envoys to him when he +was in their country, not as an enemy but as a friend.[2713] Besides, +Airy, not having a really intimate knowledge of the _Commentaries_, +overlooked another important point:--the Morini did not act as +one undivided state; some only of their _pagi_, or sub-divisional +communities, sent ambassadors: others sent none.[2714] + +Thirdly, Airy refers to Caesar’s statement, that, on returning to the +Portus Itius from his second expedition, he directed Gaius Fabius to +winter in the country of the Morini with one legion.[2715] ‘It appears +to me,’ he says, ‘that the order (after his second return) for legions +to march _from the Portus Itius_[2716] “in Morinos” makes it certain +that he was not in their country.’[2717] + +The words ‘from the Portus Itius’ beg the question. One legion (not +‘legions’) was sent into the country of the Morini, not from the Portus +Itius but from Samarobriva, in the country of the Ambiani, where, as +the context shows, all the legions were temporarily assembled.[2718] +Similarly in the following year, 53 B.C., Caesar concentrated all his +legions at Durocortorum, or Reims, immediately before distributing them +in their respective quarters for the winter.[2719] + +Fourthly, Airy refers to the well-known passage in which Strabo[2720] +says that ‘the Itian’ [naval station?] is παρὰ (τοῖς Μορινοῖς). Παρά, +he seriously affirms, means ‘near to’, not ‘in’ (the country of the +Morini[2721]). + +If Airy’s sense of humour had not been dormant, it would surely have +occurred to him that, in a matter of pure scholarship, it was unlikely +that all Greek scholars should be wrong while he alone was right. Dr. +Guest took the trouble to refute him;[2722] and if he had referred to +other passages in Strabo,[2723] he would have seen for himself that +παρ’ οἷς means ‘in whose country’. + +Airy was far too vigilant a controversialist not to see that there were +well-grounded objections to his theory; and he attempted to anticipate +them. Caesar, as we have seen, states that when his fleet was returning +to Gaul after the first expedition, two of the ships failed to make +the same harbours as the rest, and ‘were carried a little lower down’ +(_duae_ [naves] _eosdem quos reliqui portus capere non potuerunt et +paulo infra delatae sunt_[2724]); and he goes on to say that the troops +who landed from these two ships were attacked by the Morini while they +were marching from the place where they had disembarked to his own +camp. The words _paulo infra delatae sunt_ are interpreted by almost +every commentator except Airy[2725] as meaning that the two ships were +carried a little further down the coast than the other ships; and if +this interpretation is correct, it is obvious that the harbours in +which the other ships came to land were in the country of the Morini. +But Airy is unmoved by this consensus of opinion. ‘The word “delatae”,’ +he says, ‘is repeatedly used by Caesar for “drifted”, and “infra +delatae” is “drifted down”, the word “down” apparently relating not to +any geographical direction, but to the force of the wind.’[2726] + +As a matter of fact, Caesar uses the past participle of _defero_ in +the sense of ‘drifted’ four times,[2727] namely, in the passage which +we are now considering and in _B. G._, v, 8, § 2 (_longius delatus +aestu orta luce sub sinistra Britanniam relictam conspexit_), _B. +C._, iii, 14, § 2 (_una ex his_ [navibus] ... _delata Oricum atque +a Bibulo expugnata est_), and _B. C._, iii, 30, § 1 (_praetervectas +Apolloniam Dyrrachiumque naves viderant ... sed quo essent eae delatae +... ignorabant_). None of these passages lends the slightest support +to Airy’s theory; and the other three passages in which he uses the +adverb _infra_[2728] in a local sense, namely, _B. G._, vi, 35, § 6 +(_transeunt Rhenum ... XXX milibus passuum infra eum locum ubi pons +erat perfectus_[2729]), _B. G._, vii, 61, § 3 (_nuntiatur ... magnum +ire agmen adverso flumine sonitumque remorum in eadem parte exaudiri et +paulo infra milites navibus transportari_[2730]), and _B. C._, i, 64, +§ 6 (_reliquas legiones expeditas educit magnoque numero iumentorum in +flumine supra atque infra constituto traducit exercitum_[2731]), are +fatal to it. + +Again, the passage in which Caesar says that the distance from the +Portus Itius to Britain is about 30 [Roman] miles,[2732] assuming +that it is genuine, might well have disconcerted a less resourceful +reasoner; for the distance from the mouth of the Somme to St. Leonards, +off which place Airy maintains that Caesar anchored on his first +voyage,[2733] is about 65 Roman miles; and to Pevensey Level, where +he makes Caesar land, a little more. But Airy confidently grapples +with the difficulty. ‘I conceive,’ he remarks, ‘that the sentence has +been mistranslated. The Portus Itius and the continent are placed in +contradistinction. The _convenient passage_ was from the Portus Itius, +the distance of 30 miles was from the continent.’[2734] + +Read the sentence again,--_portum Itium ... quo ex portu commodissimum +in Britanniam traiectum esse cognoverat, circiter milium passuum XXX +transmissum a continenti_. Classical scholars are agreed that these +words can only mean what Airy insists that they do not mean, namely, +that the distance from the Portus Itius to Britain was about 30 Roman +miles. If not from the Portus Itius, from what port? What would have +been the good of specifying the distance if Caesar had been thinking of +some other port which he did not use?[2735] + +Furthermore, the distance from the mouth of the Somme to Pevensey Level +is about twice the distance from Boulogne to Dover, to Hythe, or to +Lympne; and Caesar says that the reason why he marched for the country +of the Morini was that the passage from their country to Britain was +the shortest. + +But it would seem that Airy was not quite convinced of the soundness of +his own reasoning. ‘If,’ he says, ‘any reader thinks that the reasons +for excluding the Portus Itius from the land of the Morini are not +sufficiently cogent, the whole is easily reconciled with the hypothesis +that the Portus Itius was the mouth of the Somme by supposing that in +the time of Caesar the Morini stretched south-west of the Somme ... the +geography which limits their territory to the north of the Somme is 120 +years later. Any one who reflects on the change of boundary of Russia, +of Prussia, of Turkey, and of other European States, within a period +of much less than 120 years, will find no difficulty in admitting this +change in the limits of the Morini.’[2736] + +It is sufficient to answer that there is no analogy between the +political history of Europe in the earlier half of the nineteenth +century and that of Gaul in the 120 years that followed the invasion of +Britain by Caesar. The Gallic peoples during that period were not at +war with one another; and there is not the slightest reason to suppose +that the Morini possessed a wider seaboard in Caesar’s time than 120 +years later. Lewin’s reply to Airy is worth quoting[2737]:--‘He offers, +as a solution of the difficulty, that in the time of Caesar the Morini +stretched south-west of the Somme. If so, then the Somme itself, from +which Caesar sailed, and to which he returned, was, according to the +Astronomer-Royal, in the country of the Morini; and yet, a few lines +before, the Astronomer-Royal had stated that the order (after Caesar’s +second return) for legions to march into the country of the Morini made +it _certain_ that he was _not in their country_! Thus to avoid Scylla, +it is laid down, as _certain_ that Caesar did not sail from the Morini; +and then, to avoid Charybdis, the reader is invited to assume that the +place of embarkation was amongst the Morini.’ + +Finally, Airy affirms that the mouth of the Somme was by far the best +harbour which Caesar could have selected, and that its capability for +his purpose ‘is proved by the ... experience of William of Normandy, +who at one tide floated out of it 1400 ships’.[2738] + +Now William the Conqueror assembled his fleet and embarked his army not +in the mouth of the Somme but in the mouth of the Dive:[2739] he was +merely obliged, as Lewin says,[2740] ‘to take temporary shelter ... at +the mouth of the Somme.’ But this blunder is of no great consequence. +The Somme might have served Caesar’s purpose if only it had not been +twice as far from that part of Britain to which he intended to go as +Boulogne. + + +VI. AMBLETEUSE + +The _Commission de la Topographie des Gaules_[2741] identify the +Portus Itius with Ambleteuse; and Mommsen[2742] is disposed to agree +with them. They argue that Strabo[2743] affirms the existence of +two ports in the country of the Morini; that one of the two was +evidently Gesoriacum; and that the Portus Itius was therefore something +different. The passage in Strabo to which the commission refers will +be most conveniently examined in a later section.[2744] Meanwhile +it is enough to say that if it proves that the Portus Itius was not +Gesoriacum, it does not prove that the Portus Itius was Ambleteuse. + +General Creuly[2745] decides for Ambleteuse on the ground that +its distance from Wissant corresponds with Caesar’s statement of +the distance which separated his own port of embarkation from the +_ulterior portus_, and that the intervention of Cape Grisnez between +Ambleteuse and Wissant would have justified Caesar in describing the +latter as the _ulterior portus_. He remarks that if the Portus Itius +is identified with Boulogne, the _ulterior portus_ must have been +Ambleteuse. But, referring to Vergil’s well-known line--_tendebantque +manus ripae ulterioris amore_[2746]--he argues that the word _ulterior_ +implies the intervention between the Portus Itius and the _ulterior +portus_ of an ‘objet disjonctif’, such as a promontory; and he insists +that no such ‘objet’ intervenes between Boulogne and Ambleteuse. +But Heller[2747] observes that a passage in the _Germania_[2748] of +Tacitus--(Gerunt et ferarum pelles), _proximi ripae negligenter, +ulteriores exquisitius_--would seem to show that _ulterior_ means +much the same as _longinquior_.[2749] Besides, if the distance from +Ambleteuse to Wissant justifies us in identifying Ambleteuse with the +Portus Itius and Wissant with the _ulterior portus_, the distance from +Boulogne to Ambleteuse, as I shall presently show, equally justifies us +in identifying Boulogne with the Portus Itius and Ambleteuse with the +_ulterior portus_.[2750] + +Not a single valid argument ever has been or can be adduced in favour +of Ambleteuse. The harbour is far too small to have contained Caesar’s +fleet; and the merest tiro in his army could have decided at a glance +between its merits and those of Boulogne.[2751] + + +VII. CALAIS + +I only consider the claims of Calais because their one modern advocate, +General von Göler,[2752] was a distinguished Caesarian scholar. There +is no evidence that Calais was ever used as a harbour in, or for twelve +centuries after, the time of Caesar. If Caesar started from the Portus +Itius on his first expedition, it is impossible, on the theory that +Calais was the Portus Itius, to find the _ulterior portus_. Moreover, +it would have been impossible for Caesar to sail, on his second +expedition, from Calais to any point of the Kentish coast between +Walmer and Sandwich.[2753] For, as the wind was from the south-west, +he would have had to sail within seven points and a half of the wind +on a flood tide, which would have tended to carry him into the North +Sea, and with shallow flat-bottomed vessels which made excessive +lee-way.[2754] Finally, Calais Harbour is not natural but artificial; +and it is certain that it did not exist in the time of Caesar.[2755] + + +VIII. WISSANT + +Wissant is between Cape Grisnez and Cape Blancnez, both of which, in +Caesar’s time, projected somewhat further out to sea than they do +now.[2756] Dr. Guest argues that the sandy waste, more than two miles +long and varying in breadth from a quarter to half a mile, which +lies between the uplands and the sand-hills, was once covered by the +sea;[2757] and he conjectures that the ‘pool-harbour’ thus formed +communicated with the English Channel by ‘the gap through which flows +the Rieu des Aiguilles’, a rivulet which crosses the sandy plain. At +the same time he admits that it is very difficult to say what the +limits of the ancient harbour were.[2758] + +Dr. Guest’s theory, which was regarded by Mr. Freeman and Dean Merivale +as conclusive, is a theory and nothing more. Mariette, the famous +Egyptologist, states that the dunes themselves (without which Dr. +Guest’s harbour could not have been) were not formed before the time +of Edward the Third;[2759] and M. H. Rigaux concludes, from a recent +minute exploration of the coast between Cape Grisnez and Sangatte, +that the dune which extends from the ‘ruisseau de Guiptun’, near +Tardinghem, to the ‘ruisseau d’Herlan’ at Wissant did not exist in +Caesar’s day.[2760] Moreover, pottery, pre-Roman and Roman, has been +found in the sand behind the dunes between Wissant and Tardinghem +as well as east of Wissant;[2761] numerous finds have proved that +the coast between Sangatte and Dunkirk has undergone subsidence and +extended further seaward in Roman times than now;[2762] and it may +be concluded that the sandy plain at Wissant was not then covered by +the sea. It would appear, then, that Dr. Guest’s pool-harbour was +imaginary. Haigneré,[2763] moreover, remarks that if there ever had +been such a harbour, it must have been speedily choked up by sand blown +from the very dunes which _ex hypothesi_ formed it; and this argument +is confirmed by the fact that irruptions of blown sand, before the +dunes were ‘fixed’ by being planted with coarse grass, engulfed many +buildings at Wissant.[2764] It has, however, been pointed out by Mr. +E. C. H. Day[2765] that ‘a shoal having less than a fathom of water on +it at the lowest tides, extends from Cape Grisnez, in a north-easterly +direction, in such a manner as to cut off a channel about half a mile +in width, and having a depth of from two to three fathoms of water +in it, directly abreast of Wissant. The shoal,’ he adds, ‘during the +course of centuries of exposure to the heavy seas that break upon the +coast, must have undergone some considerable amount of destruction. +Formerly, therefore, this shoal must have formed a natural breakwater, +and have rendered the channel within it a convenient harbour.’ But, +assuming the correctness of Mr. Day’s deduction, this ‘harbour’ would +have been exposed to the fury both of the west and of the north-east +wind. M. Léon Lejeal,[2766] who tells us that a French engineer, M. J. +Voisin, supposes that the shoal was once connected with the mainland, +and thus formed a partially-sheltered harbour, concludes that there +is nothing to show that it was large enough to shelter the fleet ‘que +voulut y ancrer l’imagination d’une archéologie en délire’;[2767] and +M. Leblanc, who in the year 1863 was engineer of the port of Calais +and was intimately acquainted with the geology of Wissant, ridicules +such a notion. ‘Toutes les fois,’ he remarks, ‘que j’allais de Calais +au Gris-Nez ... je traversais Wissant, en étudiant cette question, et +je me disais à moi-même: quelle preuve peut on avoir d’une pareille +absurdité?’[2768] Hariulf, a chronicler who lived in the eleventh and +twelfth centuries, described the harbour of Wissant as an ‘inlet’ +(_ingressum maris_),[2769] which would seem to imply that it was +simply a creek formed by one of the rivulets which meander across the +sand. Henry, the historian of Boulogne, who was bent upon proving +the identity of Wissant with the Portus Itius, would certainly have +anticipated Guest’s theory if he could have done so with truth; but, +after a careful examination of the site, he came to the conclusion that +Caesar’s ships must have been drawn up on an exposed beach.[2770] + +1. Long[2771] argues that the distance of Wissant from Sangatte +corresponds with the distance between the port from which Caesar +started on his first expedition and the _superior portus_; that its +distance from the English coast agrees ‘at least as well as any other +place’ with Caesar’s estimate of the distance from the Portus Itius to +Britain; that its name, which [according to Michel Baudrand,[2772] +a writer of the seventeenth, century] French sailors used to call +Esseu and the Flemings Isten, ‘is near enough to Itius to add to the +probability of the identity of the two places’; that there are traces +of a Roman road from Wissant to Thérouanne; that in the neighbourhood +of Wissant ‘fresh water was abundant, the soil rich, and the beach +the best that there could be for such ships as Caesar’s’; and that, +if Wissant was not, strictly speaking, a port at all, ‘Caesar did not +want a port in the modern sense of the word. He wanted his ships at +the nearest place to Britain.... His vessels would be hauled up on the +beach till the wind was fair. He had no port on the British coast, and +he hauled up all his ships after they were damaged by a storm.’ ‘This +long sandy beach,’ he says, ‘was the best place along all this coast +for Caesar’s purpose.’[2773] + +Of these arguments the first, _mutatis mutandis_, is equally applicable +to Boulogne. The argument from nomenclature is worthless:[2774] +‘Wissant’ is not derived from ‘Itius’; it is said to be merely a +corruption of ‘Weiss-sand’ (Whitesand).[2775] There is no evidence for +the alleged Roman road. The Roman road which, according to Henry,[2776] +led from Thérouanne to Wissant, really led to Sangatte.[2777] Dr. +Guest, who carefully explored Wissant and its neighbourhood, found that +the soil, which Long calls ‘rich’, is ‘notoriously barren’.[2778] +And, in reply to the last of Long’s arguments, it is sufficient to say +that, although Caesar did perforce beach his ships on the coast of +Britain, yet he suffered heavily from not having a port; and the mere +fact that he sent Volusenus to ascertain what ports on the British +coast were capable of accommodating a large fleet proves that his +original intention was to land in a port, and not on an open beach. +Long’s assertion, that the beach at Wissant ‘was the best place along +all this coast for Caesar’s purpose’, Dr. Guest, who agrees with him +in identifying the Portus Itius with Wissant, treats with utter scorn; +but his criticism is founded upon the groundless assumption that the +sand-dune between Wissant and Tardinghem then existed.[2779] However, +Long admits that ‘it would not be possible _now_ to draw up a fleet +like Caesar’s on the beach’. ‘But,’ he persists, ‘if there have been +such great changes on this coast that Dr. Guest’s huge harbour is +filled up, why may not my beach have undergone some change also?’[2780] +The reply is obvious. What Long calls ‘my beach’ may have undergone +changes: but, unless it can be proved not only that ships could have +been hauled up on the beach of Wissant in Caesar’s time, but also that +there then existed at Wissant a harbour large enough to accommodate +Caesar’s fleet, the claim of Wissant to be identified with the Portus +Itius cannot be admitted. + +But Long is not the only writer who maintains that the Portus Itius was +not a port properly so called; and this question is so important that +we must fairly examine the arguments that have been adduced in support +of Long’s view. + +Heller argues that since Caesar beached his ships on his return from +the second expedition, we may conclude that the Portus Itius was not +a harbour in the strict sense, as, if the shelter of a harbour had +been available, he would not have taken the trouble to draw them up on +shore.[2781] + +But Heller forgets that the ancients never left their ships at anchor +for any lengthened period, but invariably laid them up high and dry for +the winter.[2782] Moreover, if eight hundred ships had been beached at +Wissant, would it not have been necessary, in order to protect them +from storm-driven spring tides, to construct an enormous naval camp, +the earth necessary for which did not exist? + +Professor Ridgeway insists that, if Strabo is to be believed, the +Portus Itius can only be identified with Wissant.[2783] Strabo[2784] +calls Caesar’s place of embarkation το Ιτιον. This word, the professor +observes, is obviously an adjective, and, as it agrees with a neuter +word understood, it cannot agree with λιμήν or κόλπος (a harbour), but +must agree with ἄκρον or ἀκρωτήριον (a headland). Evidently, then, +Strabo’s το Ιτιον is the same as Ptolemy’s Ἴτιον ἄκρον. Similarly +Strabo[2785] speaks of Cape Finisterre as Νέριον, while Ptolemy[2786] +calls it Νέριον ἀκρωτήριον. Now Strabo does not call το Ἴτιον a +harbour, but only a roadstead ναύσταθμον, a term which Thucydides[2787] +applies to Cape Malea. Thus, if Strabo was right, the Portus Itius was +the roadstead sheltered by the Itian promontory. + +The professor’s argument is not convincing. Granted that Ιτιον must +agree with ἄκρον, on him lies the burden of proving that the headland +in question was not Cap d’Alprech, which shelters the estuary of the +Liane, and the geographical position of which corresponds closely +enough with that which Ptolemy assigns to Ιτιον ἄκρον.[2788] When +the professor remarks[2789] that ‘the advocates of both Wissant and +Boulogne support the claim of Grisnez’ against Alprech he is mistaken. +Desjardins is only one of many French writers who ‘support the claim’ +of Alprech against Grisnez. Moreover, supposing that the professor is +right in identifying the Itian promontory with Grisnez, he is wrong +in assuming that the word ναύσταθμον necessarily excludes the idea of +a harbour. Sometimes it is used to denote a port already described as +a λιμήν, or harbour properly so called, in order to draw attention to +the fact that that harbour was a naval station. Thus Strabo,[2790] +immediately after mentioning the Piraeus and the other two harbours of +Athens, says that the ναύσταθμον was capable of accommodating the four +hundred ships which composed the Athenian fleet. And Pausanias,[2791] +speaking of Nauplia, the port of Argos, which, according to +Strabo,[2792] was the ναύσταθμον of the Argives, says, ‘there are +harbours in Nauplia’ (λιμένες εἰσὶν ἐν Ναυπλίᾳ).[2793] To anybody who +knows anything about ancient navigation, the suggestion that Caesar +would have kept 800 ships riding at anchor for several weeks in an open +roadstead, exposed to the fury of the north-west wind, while, a few +miles off in the Liane, there was an ample sheltered harbour available, +must appear simply ridiculous. And, assuming that Strabo did intend to +convey that το Ιτιον was merely a roadstead, the answer is that Strabo +is refuted by Caesar, who says that his ships assembled _ad portum +Itium_,[2794]--‘in the Itian harbour.’ The Portus Itius must have +been a port, properly so called; and the more discerning advocates of +Wissant naturally accept this view.[2795] + +Long maintains, further, that, although Caesar does not say directly +that the passage from the Portus Itius to Britain was actually the +shortest, yet he does so indirectly; for he tells us that he went to +the country of the Morini ‘because the shortest passage to Britain was +from their country’; and the port in their country which he selected +was the Portus Itius.[2796] But, as all who are familiar with the +_Commentaries_ will admit, Long throws an undue strain upon Caesar’s +language. Caesar tells us, in general terms, that the shortest passage +to Britain was from the country of the Morini: but it is bad logic to +conclude from this statement that the passage from the Portus Itius +must have been actually the shortest as the crow flies. Caesar would +never have chosen the passage which was in this sense the shortest if +it had been on other grounds objectionable: obviously what he meant to +say was that of the regular passages to Britain that from the country +of the Morini was the shortest; and the passage from the Portus Itius +being, as he says, ‘the most convenient,’ was, for all practical +purposes, the shortest. + +It is clear, then, that Long failed to establish the identity of the +Portus Itius with Wissant. Let us see what better informed advocates of +the same theory have to say. + +2. Not to mention the arguments which are common to him and Long, Dr. +Guest gives the following reasons for his belief:--that the (assumed) +harbour of Wissant was large enough to hold Caesar’s fleet; that +it lay beneath Cape Grisnez, which he identifies with the Itian +promontory; and that William of Poitiers, a chronicler of the eleventh +century, called it ‘Portus Icius’.[2797] He will not admit that William +was simply stating his own opinion: ‘I think,’ he says, ‘this name may +have been handed down to him by the Romanised Gauls, inasmuch as the +name of Ician seems to have been long kept afloat in the recollection +of the Celtic population of these islands’; and he points out that +‘the old Irish name for the English Channel is _Muir n’ Icht_’, or +‘the Itian sea’. But the fact on which he lays most stress is the +proximity of Wissant to Cape Grisnez. He freely admits, indeed, that +Cap d’Alprech may, in Caesar’s time, have been a more considerable +promontory than it is at present;[2798] but he cannot conceive that +the promontory which Ptolemy selected for especial mention should have +been any other than the famous cape which is and must always have been +the most conspicuous feature of the north-eastern coast of France, and +which marks the point where the coast, making a sharp angle, begins to +trend towards the east. ‘Cape Grisnez,’ he concludes, ‘there can hardly +be a doubt, was the Ician promontory, and if so, the great port which +lay beneath it must have been the Ician Port.’[2799] + +‘The great port which lay beneath it,’--these words, Dr. Guest, beg +the whole question. That the harbour of Wissant was large enough to +hold Caesar’s fleet would be true, if Dr. Guest’s conjectural tracing +of its outline were _correct_: but the fact, if it were a fact, would +simply remove one of the objections which have been brought against +Wissant; it would not prove that Wissant was the Portus Itius. For +the harbour of Boulogne was also large enough, and was also, as will +presently appear, in other respects far more convenient. The argument +that William of Poitiers called Wissant the Portus Itius has no weight. +Maistre Wace, who wrote about a century after William of Poitiers, +believed that Caesar had sailed from Boulogne.[2800] Moreover, Hericus, +a monk of the ninth century,[2801] identified Bibracte with Autun; but +it is now universally admitted, and it is certain, that Hericus was +wrong.[2802] It may be admitted that _a priori_ it would seem much more +likely that the Itian promontory was Cape Grisnez than that it was +Cap d’Alprech; but if the former identification is to be accepted, +it is necessary to assume that Ptolemy made a gross blunder. It is +of course quite true, as Dr. Guest says,[2803] that Ptolemy did make +mistakes; but still the fact remains that the geographical position +which he assigns to the Itian promontory is, allowing for a slight +error in longitude, that of Cap d’Alprech. As Mr. Peskett puts it, +‘Ptolemy, proceeding northward, places the headland between the Somme +and Boulogne’;[2804] and I may add that if you only know Cap d’Alprech +by the map, you will be surprised, when you actually see it, to find +how bold a headland it is. Moreover, even if Ptolemy was mistaken, it +does not follow that the Itian harbour was Wissant. Professor Rhys, who +believes that the Gauls as well as the Irish called the Channel ‘the +sea of Icht’, remarks that ‘in that case Portus Ictius would designate +Caesar’s place of embarcation, somewhat in the same way that Dover +might in English be termed the Channel Harbour. The former probably +had a Gaulish name of its own, which may have become the Latin one +also as soon as the Romans began to be a little more at home in the +north of Gaul; so that it would be labour in vain to try to detect +_Ictius_ in any place-name still current on the French coast.’[2805] +Let us, however, assume, for the sake of argument, that Professor +Rhys is mistaken. Even then it does not follow that the Portus Itius +was Wissant. For it will not be denied that Boulogne was, in Caesar’s +time as in the time of the emperors, a frequented harbour; and it is +certain that Wissant was not a harbour capable of containing Caesar’s +fleet. Therefore Boulogne, which is only nine statute miles south of +Cape Grisnez, was obviously the nearest important harbour to that +promontory. Why, then, if Cape Grisnez was the Itian promontory, +should Boulogne not have been called the Itian harbour? Even on the +desperate theory that when Caesar spoke of a harbour, he did not mean +a harbour but only a roadstead, that roadstead was not at Wissant; for +if Caesar’s ships had waited there, either at anchor or on the beach, +exposed to the north-west winds for twenty-five days, they would have +been in extreme peril. + +Dr. Guest admits of course that Boulogne, not Wissant, was the +permanent harbour of the Romans in North-Eastern Gaul under the empire; +but in this fact he sees no objection to his theory. He believes that +the Romans, when they had to choose a permanent harbour, rejected +Wissant and chose Boulogne because of the sterility of the country in +the neighbourhood of the former. ‘Wissant,’ he remarks, ‘or rather the +port adjacent to Wissant, may have answered Caesar’s purpose, when he +had hundreds of ships to supply the wants of his commissariat; but when +a port was to be provided to meet the ordinary purposes of traffic, it +was necessary to select one that possessed local resources.’[2806] + +The reason which Dr. Guest gives for the choice of Boulogne is sound +enough as far as it goes; but what support does it lend to the theory +that Caesar used Wissant as a temporary harbour? The sterility of +the neighbourhood would hardly have recommended it. It must have had +some great advantage to compensate for this defect if it was really +to be preferred, even as a temporary harbour, to Boulogne. But it is +impossible to point out one single advantage which Wissant could have +had, for Caesar’s purpose, over Boulogne, save only that, as the crow +flies, it was a little nearer to Britain. + +Dr. Guest, indeed, assures us that ‘Caesar had no time for weighing +the comparative merits of the ports north and south of him, and for +determining which of them was “the most convenient”’.[2807] No time! +Had he not five days to spare for Volusenus’s reconnaissance? A +single day would have sufficed to ride along the coast from Wissant +to Boulogne; a few minutes spent at each of those places would have +sufficed ‘for determining which of them was “the most convenient”’: but +the greatest general of Rome could not spare even one day for a duty +which the worst would not have neglected; so he pitched upon Wissant, +because, as Dr. Guest tells us, ‘it afforded him the shortest passage’! +So argued the man who, according to Freeman, ‘settled the whole +matter,’ the man who, from Freeman’s point of view, appeared to stand, +side by side with Stubbs, ‘at the head of living students of English +history.’[2808] + +3. Heller is not as ardent an advocate of Wissant as Guest; but he +has written some very ingenious papers in defence of Guest’s view. +Many of his reasons are virtually identical with those of the English +scholar; but from Caesar’s narrative of his second voyage he deduces a +fresh argument, which deserves special attention. Caesar, as we have +seen, set sail about sunset with a light south-westerly wind. About +midnight the wind dropped: the fleet, borne by the tide, drifted out +of its course;[2809] and ‘at daybreak Caesar saw Britain lying behind +on the port quarter’ (_orta luce sub sinistra Britanniam relictam +conspexit_[2810]). From the last statement Heller infers that Caesar’s +ship must have drifted to some point off the North Foreland: otherwise, +he argues, the word _relictam_ would be meaningless. For, he remarks, +Caesar believed that one side of Britain faced the north. Therefore +it must be assumed that he had no knowledge of that part of the coast +which trends northward beyond the mouth of the Thames: he must have +thought that the coast, at the North Foreland, turned sharply towards +the west. Otherwise he could not have believed that he had left Britain +behind; nor could he have believed this unless he had drifted to some +point off the North Foreland. Now Caesar started on his voyage about +the 6th of July.[2811] On that day the sun set about 8.16; and on the +following morning it rose about 3.54. There must have been light enough +to show the British coast as early as 3.15 or 3.20. Heller maintains +that Caesar could by daybreak have reached a point about 2 German [or +9½ English] miles south-east of the North Foreland, not quite as far +north as the latitude of Ramsgate, if he had sailed from Wissant; but +he insists that if he had sailed from Boulogne, he could not have +drifted further northward than the latitude of Deal, in which case he +could not have said that he ‘saw Britain left _behind_ on the port +quarter’.[2812] + +This argument rests upon a strained interpretation of the word +_relictam_. It is probably true that Caesar could not have drifted +as far north as the latitude of Ramsgate if he had sailed from +Boulogne;[2813] but even if he had only drifted as far north as the +latitude of Walmer, he would have been perfectly justified in using +the word _relictam_. For that word does not imply that Caesar believed +himself to have left the _northern_ coast of Britain behind: it simply +implies that, as the current was carrying him in a north-easterly +direction[2814] and therefore sweeping him every minute further and +further away from Britain, ‘he saw Britain lying behind on the port +quarter.’ There is a parallel passage in the twenty-first chapter of +the _Acts of the Apostles_, which shows that this was his meaning. +In the second and third verses of that chapter the writer, after +describing the voyage of himself and St. Paul from Ephesus by way of +Cos and Rhodes to Patara, says, ‘Having found a ship crossing over unto +Phoenicia, we went aboard, and set sail. And _when we had come in sight +of Cyprus, leaving it on the left hand_, we sailed unto Syria, and +landed at Tyre’ (καὶ εὑρόντες πλοῖον διαπερῶν εἰς Φοινίκην ἐπιβάντες +ἀνήχθημεν, ἀναφάναντες δὲ τὴν Κύπρον καὶ καταλιπόντες αὐτὴν εὐώνυμον +ἐπλέομεν εἰς Συρίαν καὶ κατήλθομεν εἰς Τύρον). If the reader will look +at his map, he will see that the writer of the _Acts_, when he came in +sight of Cyprus and left it on the left hand, was in precisely the same +position with regard to Cyprus as Caesar would have been in with regard +to Britain if, drifting in a north-easterly direction, he had descried +the coast of Britain from some point in the latitude of Deal.[2815] +And if Heller will use his common sense he will see that if a ship +about the latitude of Deal were drifting away from Britain, that ship +would have left Britain behind just as really as if it had passed Cape +Wrath and were drifting towards Iceland. + +Lastly, even if Heller’s explanation of the word _relictam_ were +correct, the argument which he builds upon it would be unsound; for +obviously that argument would only hold good if Caesar had drifted +north of the latitude of the North Foreland. Heller himself admits that +he had hardly drifted so far north as the latitude of Ramsgate; and at +this point, on Heller’s own theory, he could no more have said that he +had left _the northern coast_ of Britain _behind_ than if he had been +in the latitude of Deal. + +Both Heller[2816] and Guest[2817] deduce an argument in favour +of Wissant from a well-known passage of Strabo.[2818] It runs as +follows:--‘There are four regular passages from the Continent to the +island, namely, from the mouths of the Rhine, the Seine, the Loire, and +the Garonne. People who cross from the country near the Rhine do not +sail from the mouth of that river, but from the country of the Morini +... _and_ in their country is the Itian (harbour), which Caesar used as +his naval station, when he was crossing to the island’ (τέτταρα δ’ ἐστὶ +διάρματα, οἷς χρῶνται συνήθως ἐπὶ τὴν νῆσον ἐκ τῆς ἠπείρου, τὰ ἀπὸ τῶν +ἐκβολῶν τῶν ποταμῶν, τοῦ τε Ῥήνου καὶ τοῦ Σηκοάνα καὶ τοῦ Λείγηρος καὶ +τοῦ Γαρούνα. τοῖς δ’ ἀπὸ τῶν περὶ τὸν Ῥῆνον τόπων ἀναγομένοις οὐκ ἀπ’ +αὐτῶν τῶν ἐκβολῶν ὁ πλοῦς ἐστιν, ἀλλὰ ἀπὸ τῶν ὁμορούντων τοῖς Μεναπίοις +Μορινῶν, παρ’ οἷς ἐστι καὶ τὸ Ἴτιον, ᾧ ἐχρήσατο ναυστάθμῳ Καῖσαρ ὁ +θεός, διαίρων εἰς τὴν νῆσον). I have italicized the word _and_, because +the meaning of καί has been disputed. Dr. Guest argues that the port +from which the inhabitants of the country near the Rhine sailed must +have been Boulogne; and, he continues, ‘every unprejudiced reader ... +will be of opinion that he (Strabo) distinguishes it from his “Itium”.’ +In other words, Guest would translate the doubtful clause by ‘in whose +country there is _also_ the Itian (harbour)’. + +I, for one, fully agree with Dr. Guest; but some scholars are unable to +do so. Long,[2819] remarking that a similar use of καί, particularly in +clauses which begin with a relative, as παρ’ οἷς, is common in Strabo +and also in Thucydides, affirms that ‘the purpose of καί, when it is so +used, is to mark emphatically some thing or circumstance in addition +to one which has been mentioned’. Guest[2820] retorts that Xylander, +in his Latin version of Strabo, first published in Casaubon’s edition +of 1597, and revised by Siebenkees, who did not alter Xylander’s +translation of the passage in question, and Groskurd, in his German +version of 1831--‘the most careful and conscientious translation of +Strabo that has yet appeared’--both render και by ‘also’. This array +of authorities does not disconcert Long. He remarks[2821] that the old +Latin versions of Strabo and other Greek writers, although they were +very useful in their day, ‘are not of much value when there is any +great difficulty.’ Groskurd’s translation--‘wo auch der Hafen Ition +ist’--he regards as ambiguous. Had Groskurd desired to express, in +his translation, that Strabo meant to affirm the existence of another +harbour, besides those which he had just mentioned, he would have +written, not ‘wo _auch_’, but ‘wo _ebenfalls_’ (der Hafen Ition ist). +But, says Long, ‘Strabo mentions four usual points of transit from +Gallia to Britain, and if in this passage he means that there was +another besides the Itius, then there would be five points of transit +instead of four, and Strabo would contradict himself.’[2822] Long then +quotes two passages in support of his interpretation of και. ‘Strabo,’ +he remarks, ‘says that Sinuessa is in the gulf of Setia, and adds αφ +ου και το ονομα.[2823] Groskurd translates και by “auch”, which has no +meaning here.... Again, Strabo, speaking of the high Alps, says περι +ὁ δη και συνισταντο οι λησται;[2824] which Groskurd translates, “die +Gipfel, um welche denn auch die Räuber sassen.” Xylander simply says +“ubi degebant latrones”, which I prefer to Groskurd’s version, though +Xylander’s version is not quite exact.’ + +To these arguments Guest made no reply; but Heller[2825] did so. He +admits that Thucydides, in relative sentences, often did use καί in +the sense which Long claims for it; but this sense, he maintains, is +restricted to phrases of which the meaning is unmistakable. + +If Strabo did really mean to say that the Itian port was different +from that port of the Morini which was commonly used as the point of +departure for Britain, then I can only say that I believe, with Rudolf +Schneider,[2826] that Strabo was mistaken. As Caesar was the only other +ancient writer who mentioned the Portus Itius, and as he did not say +exactly where it was, it would have been quite natural for Strabo to +suppose that the Portus Itius was not the same as the well-known port +of the Morini. + +4. Finally, it has been affirmed by Henry[2827] and many other writers +that the so-called ‘Camp de César’ and the various hillocks known as +‘mottes’ which are to be found in the neighbourhood of Wissant were +defensive works erected by Caesar or his lieutenants for the protection +of the Portus Itius; and de Saulcy tells us that an inhabitant of +Wissant, whose trustworthiness he had proved, informed him that +about two kilometres north-east of the village, at Haute-Sombre, +there existed a camp several hectares in extent, in which, he says, +‘il faudra reconnaître le camp des trois légions et des deux mille +cavaliers de Labienus.’[2828] + +All these allegations have been disproved. The so-called tradition +which ascribed the ‘Camp de César’ to the invader of Britain originated +in the eighteenth century:[2829] at all events it is not mentioned by +any of the earlier advocates of Wissant; and the camp has been proved +to be of post-Roman date.[2830] Moreover, its area is not more than +50 ares 30 centiares, or 6,016 square yards, less than one acre and a +quarter, which would not have sufficed to accommodate more than 500 +men.[2831] As for the ‘mottes’, they have been excavated, and have +been proved to be simply _tumuli_, which contained skeletons, flint +implements, and bone pins. And the Abbé Haigneré[2832] has shown, in an +amusing paragraph, that the so-called camp of Labienus, which, needless +to say, is not marked on the _Carte de l’État-Major_, is purely +imaginary. + +Every argument which has been adduced in favour of Wissant has now been +examined; and if I could have accepted them or any one of them, I would +gladly have done so, for I myself once argued that the Portus Itius was +at Wissant. But my knowledge was then imperfect. It is not possible to +prove that the Portus Itius was at Wissant: it is possible to prove +that it was not. + +1. Although Wissant is nearer to England than Boulogne, yet Caesar +would have gained nothing, even in regard to his mere voyage, by making +Wissant his place of departure. Captain Iron, the harbour-master +of Dover, unhesitatingly affirmed, after we had studied the chart +together, that the fleet would have ‘made a better run’ from Boulogne +than from Wissant. The reader will have no difficulty in understanding +this if he will consult the Admiralty Chart (_Dungeness to the +Thames_), and the Atlas entitled _Tidal Streams in the English and +Irish Channels_. It must be remembered that both in 55 and in 54 B.C. +Caesar started from Gaul when the tide was running down the Channel; +and that on his first voyage the tide turned north-eastward between +4.30 and 5 a.m., when he had been three or four hours at sea, and on +his second about 9.30 p.m., two hours or so after he had set sail. +Thus, on each occasion, the latter and greater portion of the voyage +was made on the flood tide.[2833] + +Wauters does indeed succeed in proving that, in the middle ages, +Wissant was very frequently used as a place of embarkation by +travellers, merchants, and even troops sailing for the opposite +coast;[2834] and the point of his argument is that if, in the middle +ages, a large army could embark at Wissant, Caesar’s army could have +done the same; and that if Wissant was a convenient point of departure +for a voyage to Britain in the middle ages, it was not less convenient +in the time of Caesar. Haigneré[2835] retorts, truly enough, that the +quantity of merchandise which passed through the port at any one time +was very small, and that, as a rule, not more than two or three vessels +left the port simultaneously; but when he affirms[2836] that the +largest army which ever sailed from Wissant was a force of 2,000 men, +which John of Hainault led in 1327 to assist Edward the Third against +the Scots,[2837] he lays himself open to criticism. Wauters[2838] +replies that the force with which the Earl of Leicester sailed from +Wissant in 1173 must have been very large; for in the battle of +Fornham, in which the earl suffered defeat soon after he had landed +in Suffolk, 10,000 of his men were killed. This statement, which was +accepted by the late Bishop of Oxford,[2839] was made on the authority +of Benedict of Peterborough,[2840] who also describes the army of the +Earl of Leicester as _infinitus exercitus_. But (if we are to accept +the statement of a mediaeval monk as to the number of men who were +killed in a battle) Benedict does not say that _the army_ set sail +from Wissant, while Ralph de Diceto[2841] merely says that the Earl +of Leicester embarked in a ship at Wissant, accompanied by a numerous +band (_venit apud Witsant, ubi ... plurima comitante caterva, navem +ascendit_); and, assuming that the troops all embarked at Wissant, +there is no evidence that all the transports which carried them sailed +together. It is generally admitted even by the partisans of Wissant +(though not by Dr. Guest) that the mediaeval port was merely the creek +formed by the Rieu d’Herlan, otherwise called Rieu de Sombre; and if it +is true that an army which lost 10,000 men in a single battle embarked +at Wissant in 1173, the bulk of the ships which carried it must have +been anchored in the roadstead. The frequency with which Wissant was +used as a place of embarkation in the middle ages undoubtedly proves +that it was convenient, and this fact has been slurred over by the +advocates of Boulogne; but it nevertheless remains certain that Caesar +would not have found it convenient to sail from Wissant when _the +greater part of his voyage would have to be made upon the eastward +stream, and with a south-west wind_. At the same time I admit that we +do not know from what quarter the wind was blowing in his first voyage: +we only know that when he set sail it was favourable.[2842] + +2. There is another objection to Wissant, which Dr. Guest, if he had +been consistent, would have been the first to urge. Like all the +other advocates of Wissant, he identifies the _superior portus_ with +Sangatte. Yet he tells us himself that it is hard to see how there +could ever have been a harbour at Sangatte.[2843] Similarly, H. L. +Long, himself an advocate of Wissant, who was well acquainted with the +coast between Boulogne and Calais, observes that ‘as a port, in our +acceptation of the term, Sangatte has fewer pretensions ... than even +Wissant; but still it is, and always has been a small station’.[2844] +The theory that it was a naval station is no doubt supported by the +fact that it was the terminus of a Roman road: but Caesar speaks of a +_portus_; and when Dr. Guest has to confute George Long, he is most +emphatic in insisting that _portus_ means ‘a harbour’ in the strictest +sense of the word.[2845] + +Let us, however, assume that Sangatte may conceivably have possessed +a harbour in Caesar’s time. Even so, it is impossible to admit that +Sangatte can have been the _superior portus_. For, if the eighteen +ships which carried the cavalry had started from Sangatte, the +conditions of wind and tide which would have rendered a voyage from +Wissant to Kent less favourable than from Boulogne would obviously have +been more unfavourable still. + +3. There is one passage in Caesar’s narrative which, to a sailor, would +be alone sufficient to prove that Wissant was not the port from which +Caesar sailed in 55 B.C. We have seen that the gale which drove some +of the cavalry transports from the point where they were first sighted +westward down the coast carried the others back to the port from which +they had started. I will assume that the latter were laid to on the +port tack:[2846] if they could not work to windward, a glance at the +map will show that they could not have returned to any point east of +Wissant. The gale must obviously have blown from some point between +the east and the north; and, if Caesar sailed from Wissant, the place +from which the transports started must, as we have seen, have been +Sangatte. Now it is absolutely incredible that a gale which drove some +of these ships from a point near the South Foreland[2847] westward down +the coast should have carried the others back to Sangatte. Caesar says +that the former were ‘in great peril’, and that, when they anchored, +the waves broke over them. A sailor would at once understand what their +peril was. They were in no danger of being driven ashore; for while the +gale was at its height they stood out to sea.[2848] They ran before +the wind; and they were in danger either of broaching to or, possibly, +of being ‘pooped’.[2849] From this we should conclude that the wind, +when it struck the ships somewhere east or north-east of the South +Foreland,[2850] blew from about the north-east: indeed, as the waves +broke over the ships, it may have blown from north-east by east; for, +if it had blown from the north-east or north-east by north, the ships, +if they anchored close in shore, west of Folkestone, would have been in +a sheltered position.[2851] The most easterly point at which they can +be assumed to have been when they were caught by the gale is NW. 4° N. +of Sangatte. Therefore if the wind had blown from the north-east, the +ships that were carried back to the port from which they had started +would have had to sail within less than eight points and a half of it +in order to reach Sangatte. But, as Falconer[2852] says, a ship laid to +in a gale makes from 5½ to 6½ points of lee-way. Reduce this estimate +to four, and you will see that the transports would have had to lie +within less than four points and a half of the wind in order to make +Sangatte. No ancient ship could have done this. Close-hauled and under +short canvas, as they would necessarily have been, the transports, as +Commander Richmond remarked to me, would ‘just have sagged to leeward’. +It may be objected that the tide would have helped them if it was +running up the Channel. But the flood tide is almost neutralized by a +north-easterly gale, and simply makes the sea more vicious: the ships +would have moved so slowly that they could not have crossed the Channel +in one tide; and when it turned and began to sweep them westward, their +prospect of reaching Sangatte would have been more hopeless than ever. +With a north-easterly gale, or even one which blew from north-east by +north, it would have been absolutely impossible, so Commander Richmond +and the harbour-master of Dover have separately and independently +affirmed, for the vessels to fetch that anchorage.[2853] + +4. Desjardins[2854] shows that, whereas four Roman roads, meeting at +Gesoriacum, are mentioned in the itineraries,[2855] not a single Roman +road led to Wissant. The advocates of Wissant have, indeed, replied +that this proves nothing, since, in Caesar’s time, there were no Roman +roads in any part of Gaul.[2856] But this reply is nugatory. Since +no Roman roads led to Wissant, it is clear that if Wissant was the +Portus Itius, this harbour, which Caesar had ascertained to be ‘the +most convenient’ port of departure for Britain, was regarded by his +successors as useless. Such a hypothesis is not tenable. + +5. The mention of roads suggests another objection to Wissant. We +have seen that Caesar’s army, consisting of five legions and 2,000 +cavalry, remained weatherbound at the Portus Itius in 54 B.C. for +about twenty-five days; and that with them were three other legions +and 2,000 cavalry, who were left behind under the command of Labienus +to guard the ports during Caesar’s absence.[2857] Thus for twenty-five +days a force amounting to at least 32,000 men and 4,000 horses had to +be fed; and of these not less than 12,500 men and 2,000 horses for +about ten weeks more.[2858] No calculation is needed to show that these +multitudes could not possibly have been supplied by the country in +the neighbourhood of Wissant, even if it were as fertile as (according +to Dr. Guest himself) it is ‘notoriously barren’.[2859] Their food +must have come from a distance; and to transport it to Wissant without +roads would have been a task of extreme difficulty. Dr. Guest assumes +that Caesar’s fleet would have supplied his wants.[2860] But the fleet +could only have procured grain from a port. Surely, then, Caesar +would have found it most convenient to start from a port which was in +communication by road or by river with the interior. Such a port was +Boulogne, which enjoyed both these means of transit. What would have +been gained by abandoning it for the isolated Wissant? + +Again, it will be remembered that Labienus built sixty ships during +Caesar’s absence in Britain;[2861] and we have seen that most of the +modern advocates of Wissant admit that there was no harbour there, +except the tiny creek formed by the ruisseau d’Herlan, or possibly +a roadstead which may have been partially sheltered by the Banc de +Laine. Not one of them has attempted to explain how Labienus could have +found the means of building sixty ships upon an exposed beach. But let +us admit that his genius could have improvised dockyards.[2862] Let +us even admit that the harbour of Dr. Guest’s imagination did really +exist. Still, sixty ships cannot be built without timber. How was all +this timber to be brought to Wissant without roads and without a river? +Even assuming that there was a Gallic road, it is doubtful whether +Labienus could have impressed the amount of carriage necessary to +transport the timber from the forests. But a few miles off at Boulogne +the difficulty would have disappeared.[2863] + +6. Another objection is so obvious that it must impress every candid +inquirer. If Wissant was the Portus Itius, why was Wissant never +once mentioned during the first millennium of our era? There is no +evidence worthy of the name that it was used as a port before the +year 1013.[2864] It is surely inexplicable that the port which Caesar +regarded as the most convenient for his purpose should have been found +so inconvenient or so superfluous by his successors that during the +imperial epoch it fell into entire disuse. Wauters indeed retorts that +if Wissant was eclipsed by Gesoriacum under the Empire, so was the +Gallic town of Bibracte by the Gallo-Roman Augustodunum, and that, +although the naval station was Gesoriacum, Wissant _may_ have been +a great commercial port.[2865] But he omits to explain how a great +commercial port could have been left unnoticed by history, or how it +could have existed without a river and roads to connect it with the +interior. Nor is there any analogy between Wissant and Bibracte. The +hill-fort of Bibracte gradually fell into disuse because when Gaul +settled down under the Roman dominion it was no longer required.[2866] + +7. Finally, Mariette[2867] argues that the mere name of Wissant, which, +like the names of many other villages in the Boulonnais, is of German +origin, proves that it was not founded before the fifth century, and +consequently that there could have been no frequented harbour there in +Caesar’s time. + +It has now been demonstrated that Caesar did not sail from Wissant. +That it was the point of departure of his first expedition is out of +the question; for in that case the _portus ulterior_, from which the +cavalry transports set sail, must have been Sangatte; and we have seen +that they could not have returned to Sangatte when they were dispersed +by the gale. The _portus ulterior_ can only have been Ambleteuse; and +therefore Caesar sailed in 55 B.C. from Boulogne. But nobody will +believe that, having had experience of the advantages of Boulogne, he +would have discarded it in favour of a place which, for his purpose, +was in all respects inferior. + +Nevertheless, to satisfy doubters, I shall state the case for and +against Boulogne. + + +IX. BOULOGNE + +The reasons which point to the identification of the _Portus Itius_ +with Boulogne are, speaking generally, that Boulogne, and Boulogne +only, satisfies all the requirements of Caesar’s narrative. + +To begin with, the passage for sailing-vessels from Boulogne to the +south-eastern part of Britain is, and always has been, in circumstances +such as Caesar described, not only very convenient but by far the most +convenient. This is the testimony of seafaring men, both English and +French, who have practical experience of the winds and the currents +in the Channel: it was admitted, or rather strenuously maintained, +by Henry,[2868] who advocated the claims of Wissant; and any man +who studies the Admiralty Chart--_Dungeness to the Thames_--the +_Channel Pilot_, and the Atlas, published by the Admiralty, which +is entitled _Tidal Streams in the English and Irish Channels_, may +convince himself of its truth. Captain Pollet, the harbour-master of +Calais and Boulogne, furnished information to Ernest de Saulcy, who +was determined, by hook or by crook, to make out a plausible case in +support of Wissant; but he avowed his own opinion that Caesar must have +sailed from Boulogne.[2869] Captain Iron, the harbour-master of Dover, +in conversation with me, has done the same. + +Secondly, the whole of Caesar’s fleet could easily have assembled in +the port of Boulogne; and they certainly could not have assembled in +any other port, properly so-called, on the coast of the Morini,[2870] +except the mouth of the Canche, which was several miles further +from Britain than Boulogne, and was in no respect more convenient. +Desjardins[2871] has shown that the estuary of the Liane was much +broader and deeper in Caesar’s time than it was in the nineteenth +century before the harbour was modernized, and that, as the headland +which sheltered it has suffered greatly from erosion, it extended +further seaward; and not only was it ample in extent, but it was the +only port protected from every wind.[2872] No one has described its +merits more eloquently than Henry, the advocate of Wissant; and no one +was more competent to form an opinion. He describes Gesoriacum as ‘le +havre le plus commode et le mieux situé de toute la Gaule-Belgique, +pour le commerce, la construction et l’équipement des vaisseaux’.[2873] +But, although it is certain that there would have been ample room in +the Liane for Caesar’s 800 small vessels,[2874] Airy insists that it +would have been impossible for them to clear the harbour in a single +tide.[2875] Now Caesar does not say that they did clear the harbour in +a single tide; nor is it necessary to assume that they did. Captain +Iron has, however, assured me that Caesar’s fleet of shallow vessels +could have cleared the harbour in a single tide even if the depth of +the water then had been no greater than in 1877. In that year the depth +_at low tide_ was 1 metre 60, or more than 5 feet[2876]; and it may +be regarded as certain that the draught of Caesar’s vessels in the +second expedition was much less than five feet.[2877] The estuary of +the Liane has been silted up so much since Caesar’s time that it would +hardly be an exaggeration to say that its depth then was three times as +much as in 1877;[2878] and it has been ascertained from the sinking of +artesian wells at the cement works of M. Demarle at Capécure[2879] that +at that place the ancient bed of the river is 19 metres below the level +of spring tides.[2880] + +Thirdly, the distance of Ambleteuse from Boulogne corresponds closely +enough with Caesar’s estimate of the distance of the _ulterior portus_ +from the Portus Itius. This does not prove the identity of the Portus +Itius with Boulogne: but, if it is not a fact, the Portus Itius was +not Boulogne; and it is therefore necessary to examine the arguments +of those who have denied it. ‘On measuring,’ says Airy,[2881] ‘upon +the beautiful Admiralty Chart the distance between the centre of the +entrance to Boulogne and the centre of the entrance to Ambleteuse, I +find it to be not quite 4½ nautical miles, or 5½ Roman miles; instead +of the 8 miles given by Caesar.’ This estimate is accurate; but it is +also irrelevant; for Airy measures the distance by sea; and Caesar +must have meant the distance by land. ‘It was quite immaterial,’ says +Lewin,[2882] ‘what was the distance by sea, for the eighteen transports +were windbound, and could not reach him; but, as he could not dispense +with the vessels, he had to consider what portion of his force could be +most conveniently despatched thither, and as the transports lay eight +miles off, he thought it best, in order to save time, to send thither +his cavalry ... by the nearest road from the port of Boulogne, through +Wimille and Slacq to the church at Ambleteuse, the distance is twelve +kilometres.’[2883] It is amusing to find that Airy, who lays so much +stress upon the accuracy of Caesar’s (assumed) estimate of the distance +by sea from the Portus Itius to the _ulterior portus_, maintains on the +preceding page (_Essays on the Invasion of Britain_, &c., p. 27) that +Caesar’s estimates of distances by sea were valueless. + +Fourthly, Caesar’s narrative of the adventures of his cavalry +transports is easily comprehensible on the hypothesis that the port +from which he himself sailed was Boulogne, but on no other.[2884] As we +have seen, the storm of the 30th of August, 55 B.C., which prevented +them from making the Kentish coast near Caesar’s camp, drove some of +them westward to a point on the south coast, and carried the rest back +to the point whence they had started, namely, the _ulterior portus_. +That port, if Caesar sailed from Boulogne, was Ambleteuse; and there is +no difficulty in believing, nor has it ever been denied, that the wind, +before which some of the ships ran from the neighbourhood of the South +Foreland[2885] in the direction of Dungeness, would have carried the +others, which were laid to, back to Ambleteuse. + +Fifthly, Caesar, as we have seen, sailed from the Portus Itius with a +south-westerly wind;[2886] and it is needless to tell any one who will +consult the map that to sail with a south-westerly wind, especially +with flat-bottomed vessels which made a great deal of lee-way, and on +the easterly going stream, from Boulogne either to Sandwich, Deal, +Walmer, Hythe, or Lympne, would have been easier than to sail from +Wissant. + +Sixthly, it is universally admitted that Boulogne, which Pliny[2887] +calls the _portus Morinorum Britannicus_, was the permanent naval +station of the Romans in the imperial epoch, and that it was the +harbour from which they habitually sailed for the coast of Kent.[2888] +An inscription preserved in the Boulogne museum[2889] proves that this +station was established at least as early as the reign of Claudius, +while Suetonius[2890] tells us that Claudius embarked at Gesoriacum for +Britain. Indeed there is indirect evidence that the station existed in +the time of Augustus; for the road which ran from Mediolanum (Milan) +past Lugdunum (Lyons), Durocortorum (Reims), and Ambiani (Amiens), +to Gesoriacum[2891] was constructed by Agrippa. It has been argued +that, although Gesoriacum was the recognized harbour from the time of +Augustus, the fact does not prove that it was the harbour from which +Caesar sailed. But to those who admit that it has been proved that no +other port existed which would have served Caesar’s purpose the fact +will appear conclusive.[2892] + +Seventhly, Desjardins[2893] has pointed out that Gallic ports were +always either in the mouths of rivers or otherwise sheltered from +storms. Such a port was Gesoriacum; and if Wissant was a Gallic harbour +at all, it was a solitary exception to the rule. + +Lastly, Rudolf Schneider[2894] lays great stress upon the fact that, +according to Pomponius Mela,[2895] no harbour on the northern coast +of Gaul was better known than Gesoriacum; and he reminds us that +Pliny[2896] mentioned no other harbour in the country of the Morini. +Unless, he argues, the Portus Itius was identical with Gesoriacum, +Mela, Pliny, and the later writers must have forgotten its existence. +Now nothing would be easier than to make a dialectical reply to this +argument,--Is it not equally remarkable that none of these writers +even hints that Gesoriacum was the Portus Itius? This was the reply +which I made myself on another occasion. But the reply was sophistical. +Schneider’s argument depends upon the assumption that the Portus Itius +was one of the great harbours of Gaul; and considering that it could +accommodate 800 vessels, this assumption is certainly reasonable. +At all events it is impossible to suggest any other explanation of +the fact that after Strabo no writer mentioned the Portus Itius for +more than a thousand years, except this,--that the Portus Itius and +Gesoriacum were one. + +It would be waste of time to repeat the arguments, which have already +been stated by implication in the section on Wissant, based upon the +unique advantages that Boulogne possessed in being connected with the +interior by river and road.[2897] + +It remains only to consider the objections which have been made to the +identification of the Portus Itius with Boulogne. + +1. The very fact that Boulogne was called Gesoriacum is regarded by +Long[2898] as presumptive evidence that it was not called Portus Itius. + +Desjardins,[2899] who evidently regards this as a serious objection, +has taken great pains to remove it. He argues that the Portus Itius +was not exactly the same as the imperial harbour of Gesoriacum, but +that it comprised that part of the estuary of the Liane which lies +between Bréquerecque and Isques; and, he triumphantly remarks, the name +‘Isques’ is derived from _Itius_. But ‘Isques’ cannot have been derived +from _Itius_: the names ‘Ausques’,‘Quesques’, ‘Clerques’, ‘Setques’, +and ‘Wisques’ are derived from _Alciacum_, _Kessiacum_, _Quertliacum_, +_Sethiacum_, and _Wiciacum_; and the inference is that not _Itius_ +but _Isiacum_ would have been transformed into ‘Isques’.[2900] Rudolf +Schneider,[2901] who is too honest and too hard-headed to be deluded +by Desjardins’s attempt to draw a distinction between Gesoriacum and +Portus Itius, frankly admits that the unrecorded change of name has not +been explained. But is there anything to explain? ‘Portus Itius’ is +not, properly speaking, a name at all: it does not designate a town; +it means simply ‘the Itian harbour’. Long saw nothing inexplicable +in the fact that Gesoriacum was called by Pliny _portus_ [Morinorum] +_Britannicus_: why, then, should he have found it impossible to +believe that its harbour was called by Caesar _portus Itius_?[2902] Was +not the port of Athens called the Piraeus? + +2. Long, after making the amazing remark that ‘such a port as Boulogne +would have been quite useless in Caesar’s second expedition’, says that +‘the Romans estimated the distance from Boulogne to the British coast +at fifty Roman miles; but this is too much.... However, they were right +in making the distance more than the distance from Itius to the nearest +point of the British coast; and the conclusion is that Gesoriacum and +Itius were different places.’[2903] + +The conclusion is simply that, assuming the identity of Gesoriacum with +the Portus Itius, Caesar’s estimate of the distance from Gesoriacum to +Britain was different from that of later writers. Besides, the only one +of ‘the Romans’, as far as we know, who ‘estimated the distance from +Boulogne to the British coast at fifty Roman miles’ was Pliny;[2904] +and it may be presumed that by ‘the British coast’ he meant Rutupiae, +or Richborough, which was a port, if not the chief port, of arrival in +his day. For he estimated the shortest passage at fifty Roman miles: +according to Dion Cassius,[2905] the shortest passage was 450 stades; +and this, according to the _Itinerary_ of Antonine,[2906] was precisely +the length of the passage from Boulogne to Richborough. + +Long goes on to say that in the _Itinerary_ of Antonine the distance +from Boulogne to Richborough ‘was estimated at 450 stadia; and, if +we follow d’Anville in estimating this maritime stadium at ten to +the Roman mile, the distance is fairly given. So if we take the 320 +stadia which Strabo gives as the length of Caesar’s voyages, we have +thirty-two Roman miles; or, if we take the reading which Eustathius, +copying Strabo, has in his commentary on Dionysius, 300 stadia, we +have exactly thirty Roman miles, as in Caesar’s text. The conclusion +is that, in addition to the fact of Boulogne (Gesoriacum) and Ouissant +(Itius) having different names, the ancient authorities place them at +different distances from the British coast.’[2907] + +Again Long’s conclusion is at fault. To begin with, Strabo did not +estimate the maritime stadium at ten, but at eight to the Roman +mile.[2908] Assuming, however, that he did estimate it at one-tenth of +a Roman mile, there is no reason to suppose that when Caesar estimated +the distance from the Portus Itius to Britain, he meant the distance +to Richborough; and the only conclusion that can be drawn from Long’s +data is that ‘the ancient authorities’ reckoned the length of Caesar’s +voyage less than the distance between Richborough and Boulogne. And +when Long says that the estimated distance, 450 stadia, from Boulogne +to Richborough ‘is fairly given’, it is amusing to find him admitting +that Caesar’s estimate of 30 miles ‘exceeds the distance from Wissant +to the nearest part of the English coast, and it is about the true +distance from Boulogne to the same part of the English coast’. Thus, on +Long’s own showing, Caesar’s estimate of the distance from the Portus +Itius to the British coast corresponds with the actual distance from +Boulogne to the same, and the estimate of the _Itinerary_ is equally +true. The reader who has followed him so far will hardly be surprised +by his remark, that ‘even a real good harbour would have been useless +to Caesar’.[2909] + +3. Heller,[2910] after quoting the statement of Pliny as to the length +of the shortest passage from Boulogne to Britain, and the statement +of the _Itinerary_ of Antonine as to the distance from Boulogne to +Richborough, argues (_a_) that, as they overestimated the distance from +Gaul to Britain, Caesar probably did the same; (_b_) that if Pliny had +identified Boulogne with the Portus Itius, he would not have estimated +the distance of Boulogne from the nearest point of Britain at 50 miles, +but would have followed Caesar and written ‘about 30’; (_c_) that if +Caesar had started from Boulogne, he would, according to the usual +tendency of the ancients, have overestimated the distance from Boulogne +to Britain, and would therefore have reckoned it at considerably more +than ‘about 30 miles’, seeing that the actual distance from Boulogne to +Dover is 33. + +The first of these arguments, if it had come from a tiro, might have +been passed over with a smile; but one would hardly have expected it +from Heller. The third is based upon a misleading statement;[2911] and +even if we could be sure that Caesar overestimated the length of his +voyage, it would be inconclusive, for, as we have seen,[2912] it is not +improbable that he estimated it at 40 Roman miles. And as for Pliny, +‘the shortest passage,’ which he estimated at 50 miles, was probably, I +repeat, the passage from Boulogne to Richborough. + +4. H. L. Long,[2913] if I do not misunderstand him, argues that there +could have been no port at Ambleteuse in the days of Caesar. Speaking +of ‘the immense irruption of blown sand’, he maintains that ‘this dune +... acts as a dam to the drainage of the valley; an interruption which +must have produced swamps in former days, and is now but imperfectly +corrected by an artificial channel, the embouchure of which forms the +little harbour of Ambleteuse’. + +This argument obviously depends upon the untenable assumption that the +sand-dune existed in Caesar’s time; and it is shaken by the fact that +Roman antiquities have been discovered at Ambleteuse.[2914] Moreover, +according to the writer of the article _Ambleteuse_ in M. Vivien de +Saint-Martin’s _Nouveau Dictionnaire de Géographie Universelle_ (i, +1879, p. 115), Ambleteuse, under the rule of the English, had an +excellent harbour,[2915] and was not choked up by the accumulation of +sand until after 1549.[2916] + +5. General Creuly,[2917] referring to the attack made by 6,000 of the +Morini upon the Roman soldiers who disembarked from the two ships which +failed to make the harbours in 55 B.C. and were carried ‘a little +further down’, insists that Caesar’s account of this episode[2918] is +incompatible with the view that the Portus Itius was Boulogne. For, +he argues, the 6,000 Morini could not have belonged to the _pagus +Gesoriacus_, that is to say, the district of Boulogne, since the +inhabitants of this region had submitted to Caesar, and, moreover, it +was so sparsely populated that 6,000 men could not have assembled on +the spur of the moment. He also reminds us that on the day following +the attack Labienus marched against the rebellious Morini, and soon +subdued them, as, owing to a drought, they were unable to take refuge +in the marshes which had served them as an asylum in the preceding +year;[2919] and he denies that there were any marshes in the _pagus +Gesoriacus_ large enough to serve such a purpose. + +Creuly can only make a show of sustaining these objections by resorting +to Airy’s fantastic theory,[2920]--that Caesar, when he said that two +of his ships were carried ‘a little further down’, meant not ‘down the +coast’ but ‘in the direction of the wind’. If the inhabitants of the +district of Boulogne had submitted, why should they not have rebelled? +The Aduatuci submitted and afterwards rebelled:[2921] the Nervii +submitted and afterwards rebelled;[2922] the Britons submitted and +afterwards rebelled:[2923]--but it is needless to multiply examples. +For Caesar expressly states that the Morini who attacked his soldiers +_had_ submitted to him before he sailed for Britain.[2924] I am not +concerned to defend the accuracy of his statement, that their number +was 6,000: but Creuly admits that 6,000 Morini did assemble somewhere +in their own country; and how can he prove that the district of +Boulogne was more sparsely populated than any other? As to the marshes, +there is no evidence that they were in the immediate neighbourhood of +the spot where the soldiers were attacked; but if they were, what is +there to prevent us from identifying them with the marshes south of +Boulogne, between Camiers and Dannes?[2925] + +6. Heller’s objection,[2926] that if Caesar had sailed from Boulogne +in 54 B.C. it would have been impossible for his ship to drift so +far by daybreak on the following morning as to justify him in saying +that he ‘saw Britain lying behind on the port quarter’ (_sub sinistra +Britanniam relictam conspexit_[2927]), has been already answered. + +7. Caesar, describing his return to Gaul in 54 B.C., says that ‘at +daybreak he reached land’ (_prima luce terram attigit_), and that +his ‘ships were hauled up on the shore’ (_subductis navibus_[2928]). +It has been argued that ‘both of these expressions point to the +conclusion that he did not enter the mouth of a river’, and that ‘if +the Portus Itius was in the estuary of the Liane, to haul up the ships +over the banks on to the meadows would surely have been a difficult +operation’.[2929] The author of this argument forgot that the ships +need not have been hauled up on to the meadows at all unless they had +gone far up the river, and that they may have been docked. But an +expert whom he has since consulted assures him that, even if it had +been necessary to haul up the ships over the banks on to the meadows, +the operation would have involved no serious difficulty. + +If this inquiry had merely established the probability of the +identification of the Portus Itius with the harbour of Boulogne, it +would not be possible to justify the labour which has been expended +upon it except on the ground that it will save those who may wish to +inform themselves a vast amount of research, and provide them with +complete equipment for arriving at an independent conclusion. But that +conclusion, if it is reached conscientiously by an unbiassed mind, can +only be one. + + + + +THE PLACE OF CAESAR’S LANDING IN BRITAIN + + +I. INTRODUCTION + +After I had completed the researches which I undertook for the purpose +of writing this article, I saw that if an able soldier, or even an +intelligent civilian, who had a sufficient knowledge of ancient +warfare, were to ask himself where Caesar landed in Britain, he could +solve the problem after a brief inspection of the Ordnance Map. He +would perceive that there was only one part of the Kentish coast on +which Caesar could have expected to land, in the face of an enemy, +and then to march into the interior, without incurring unnecessary +loss. If he were told that a study of the tides had proved that Caesar +must have landed elsewhere, he would reply, ‘There must be something +wrong in your calculations. Perhaps you have neglected to allow for +the influence which strong winds and other causes exert upon the tidal +currents. Perhaps you have misinterpreted or unduly strained certain +parts of Caesar’s narrative. It is even possible that Caesar himself +may, from lapse of memory, have mis-stated the day on which he first +landed. Any one of these suppositions is credible: but it is incredible +that the experienced officer whom he sent to reconnoitre the British +coast should have advised him to land below a range of hills when open +country was more easily accessible; still more that he should have +accepted the advice. It is absolutely certain that Caesar did not +commit an act of folly which any general who knew his business would +have avoided.’ + +But such a summary mode of treating the question would not convince the +scholars who must be convinced before it can be set at rest; and the +conclusion at which they have arrived is that it is insoluble. So said +Mommsen:[2930] so say Mr. Warde Fowler,[2931] Mr. Tozer,[2932] and, +apparently, Dr. Hodgkin;[2933] so said the late eminent geographer, H. +Kiepert, according to whom the numerous attempts which have been made +to determine Caesar’s landing-place ‘have, because of the vagueness +of many expressions of the principal source [the _Commentaries_ of +Caesar], not attained more than a hypothetical value, even after three +centuries of learned quarrels’.[2934] Not because of the vagueness +of Caesar’s expressions, but because those who have commented upon +them have not taken the trouble to inform themselves. The indications +which Caesar gives are sufficient to enable any attentive reader to +determine the place where he landed with such certainty that every +doubt shall be removed,--if he knows how to use them; if, that is to +say, he possesses sufficient collateral knowledge to enable him to +understand what he reads. It is not enough to be a Latin scholar. It +is necessary also to study the ancient geography of the coast of Kent; +to be acquainted with the tidal phenomena of the English Channel; to +have at least an elementary knowledge of seamanship; to know Caesar’s +writings intimately, and not merely read the Fourth and Fifth Books +for the occasion; and, above all, to gain that understanding of the +principles of ancient warfare which can only be acquired by one who has +studied the history of modern campaigns, and has learned, by experience +or from intercourse with practical men, how things actually happen. No +genius is needed; only industry, backed by common sense and by some +intelligence and acumen; but such industry as may, perhaps, be thought +disproportionate with the object. Not even Mommsen, with his colossal +power of work, could spare the necessary time. + + +II. THE DATA FURNISHED BY CAESAR AND OTHER ANCIENT WRITERS + +The data which we find in the _Commentaries_ are the following. Before +starting on his first voyage, Caesar sent a military tribune, named +Volusenus, whom he believed to possess the necessary qualifications, +in a ship of war, to make a thorough reconnaissance of the British +coast, and to ascertain what harbours were capable of accommodating a +large flotilla.[2935] Volusenus returned to Gaul four days after his +departure, having made all the observations that it was possible for +him to make without landing; for he had not ventured to put himself +in the power of the natives. Caesar himself marched his army into the +country of the Morini, as the shortest passage to Britain was from +their coast. The fleet which he ordered to assemble consisted of about +100 country-built merchant vessels, collected from the neighbouring +districts, as well as some ships of war and small fast-sailing +vessels, called _speculatoria navigia_, or ‘scouts’. His intention +had been made known in Britain by traders; and while his ships were +assembling, envoys sent by several British tribes presented themselves +before him, and promised to give him hostages, and to submit to the +Roman People. On their return they were accompanied by Commius, a +Gallic chieftain, who acted as Caesar’s political agent and who took +with him about thirty of his own horsemen. Of the merchant vessels +eighteen had assembled in a harbour 8 Roman miles ‘beyond’ that which +sheltered the rest of the fleet,[2936] and were prevented by contrary +winds from joining them. Caesar set sail ‘about the third watch’ +(_tertia fere vigilia_) in favourable weather, having ordered the +cavalry to march to the ‘further’ port, embark there on the eighteen +transports, and follow him. Their movements, however, were somewhat +dilatory. ‘About the fourth hour’ (_hora circiter diei quarta_) the +leading division of the fleet had approached so close to the British +coast that Caesar could see an armed force of the enemy drawn up +‘on all the heights’ (_in omnibus collibus_). ‘The formation of the +ground,’ he says, ‘was peculiar, the sea being so closely walled +in by precipitous heights that it was possible to throw a missile +from the ground above on to the shore.’[2937] Regarding the place as +unsuitable for landing, he waited at anchor ‘till the ninth hour’ (_ad +horam nonam_) for the arrival of the rest of the fleet. Meanwhile he +assembled his generals and military tribunes, communicated to them +the report which he had received from Volusenus, and gave them all +necessary instructions. They returned to their respective vessels; and, +‘getting wind and tide simultaneously in his favour,’ Caesar weighed +anchor, sailed on (_progressus_) about 7 Roman miles, and ran the +ships aground ‘on an open and evenly shelving shore’ (_aperto ac plano +litore_).[2938] + +The natives, divining his intention, had sent on ahead their cavalry +and charioteers, who were followed by the rest of the forces. The +important points in Caesar’s description of the disembarkation are +as follows:--some of the enemy, in opposing it, threw missiles from +the shore; others advanced a little way into the water, riding or +driving their horses. The transports, on account of their relatively +considerable draught, had necessarily grounded in deep water; and on +this account the Roman soldiers hesitated before jumping into the sea +to wade ashore. During the conflict Caesar made some of his war-galleys +sheer off a little from the transports, and take up a position on +the enemy’s exposed flank; and later on, when legionaries who had +just dropped into the sea and gathered in small groups were being +hard pressed, he manned the small fast-sailing craft and the small +boats belonging to the galleys, and sent them to the rescue. The enemy +derived an advantage from their knowledge of the places where the water +was shallow. Caesar concludes his description of the landing by saying +that it was impossible to pursue the enemy far, because ‘the cavalry +had not been able to keep their course and make the island’. + +On the fourth day after the landing (the day of the landing being +doubtless reckoned as the first day)[2939] the eighteen transports that +carried the cavalry again set sail from the ‘further’ harbour with a +light wind. They were approaching the British coast and were visible +from Caesar’s camp, when a sudden storm came on with the result that +some of them were carried back to the harbour whence they had started, +while the others ‘were driven down in great peril to the lower and +more westerly part of the island’ (_ad inferiorem partem insulae, quae +est propius solis occasum, magno suo cum periculo deicerentur_). They +anchored: but the waves broke over them; and they were obliged to stand +out to sea in the face of night[2940] and make for the Continent. + +On the same night there was a full moon; and Caesar remarks that full +moon causes extraordinarily high tides in the ocean. Owing to the high +tide and the gale, the ships of war, which had been drawn up on the +shore, were waterlogged, and many of the transports, which were riding +at anchor, were driven ashore and wrecked. A few days later one of the +legions was sent out in the ordinary course to cut corn. Presently +Caesar was informed by the troops on guard in front of the camp that +an unusual quantity of dust was visible in the direction in which the +legion had gone. When he had advanced ‘some little distance’ (_paulo +longius_) from the camp, he saw that his troops were in difficulties; +and he tells us that the place to which they had gone was the only +[accessible] spot in which the corn had not been cut, and that there +were woods close by. In repelling an attack which was made upon his +camp just before his departure, he made use of Commius’s small troop of +cavalry, and immediately afterwards he ‘burned all the buildings far +and wide’ (_omnibus longe lateque aedificiis incensis_). On his return +voyage he set sail soon after midnight. + +The flotilla with which he sailed for Britain in the following year +consisted of more than 800 vessels. Of these over 540 were transports +and 28 war-galleys, while the rest belonged to individuals.[2941] Some +of the vessels used in the former expedition had been repaired: the +rest were built and rigged by Caesar’s troops during the winter of +55-54 B.C., and the following spring. The transports drew very little +water, and were adapted for rowing as well as sailing; and, to provide +room for troop-horses and stores, they were made proportionately +broader than the trading vessels used by the Italians in the +Mediterranean. Carrying five legions and 2,000 cavalry, they sailed +from the Portus Itius ‘about sunset’(_ad solis occasum_), with a light +south-westerly breeze. About midnight the wind dropped: the fleet was +carried far out of its course by the tidal stream; and at daybreak +Caesar ‘descried Britain lying behind on the left’ (_Britanniam sub +sinistra relictam conspexit_). He then followed the turn of the tide, +and, as he tells us, ‘rowed hard to gain the part of the island where, +as he had learned in the preceding summer, it was best to land’ (_remis +contendit ut eam partem insulae caperet qua optimum esse egressum +superiore aestate cognoverat_). He remarks that the soldiers who +rowed the heavily-laden transports deserved great credit for their +unremitting labour, which enabled them to keep up with the war-galleys. +The whole fleet had reached the coast by about noon. No enemy was to be +seen; and Caesar learned afterwards from prisoners that large forces +had collected at the landing-place, but that, panic-stricken by the +sight of 800 vessels, they had abandoned the shore and retreated to +‘higher ground’ (_superiora loca_). + +After the disembarkation Caesar selected a suitable spot for his camp. +‘About the third watch’ (_de tertia vigilia_) he marched to encounter +the enemy, whose whereabouts he had ascertained from prisoners. He left +the ships riding at anchor in charge of ten cohorts and 300 cavalry; +and he describes the anchorage as on ‘a nice open shore’[2942] (_litore +molli atque aperto_). The force which accompanied him consisted of +four legions and 1,700 horse. After a march of about 12 Roman miles +he descried the enemy. They advanced with their cavalry and chariots +‘from the higher ground’ (_ex loco superiore_)[2943] to the banks of a +stream, and attempted to prevent the Romans from crossing. Repulsed by +Caesar’s cavalry, they took refuge in a stronghold in the neighbouring +woods, which is described by Caesar as ‘a well-fortified post of great +natural strength’ (_locum egregie et natura et opere munitum_). + +In a storm which occurred on the following night most of the ships were +driven ashore, about 40 being totally wrecked; and in order to prevent +a repetition of this disaster, the ships were all hauled up on dry land +and ‘connected with the camp by one entrenchment’ (_cum castris una +munitione coniungi_). + +In his general description of Britain Caesar says that neither the +beech nor the fir grow in the island.[2944] He describes it as +triangular, and says that one of its sides faces Gaul, and that ‘one +corner of this side, by Kent--the part which almost all ships from Gaul +make for--has an easterly, and the lower one a southerly outlook’. +Of the other two sides one, he says, ‘trends westward towards Spain’ +(_alterum vergit ad Hispaniam atque occidentem solem_); while the +other has a northerly aspect, and ‘its corner looks if anything in +the direction of Germany’ (_eius angulus lateris maxime ad Germaniam +spectat_). + +The territories of Cassivellaunus were ‘separated from those of the +maritime tribes by a river called the Thames, about 80 [Roman] miles +from the sea’. + +On the second of the two voyages by which the troops were transported +back to Gaul in 54 B.C., the ships started in a dead calm (_summa +tranquillitate_) at the beginning of the second watch, and reached +harbour at daybreak.[2945] + +The only piece of evidence worth quoting which is not in the +_Commentaries_ is the statement of Dion,[2946] that Caesar, in +sailing from his anchorage to his landing-place in 55 B.C., rounded +a promontory. Some commentators, however, believe that important +additional evidence is furnished by Plutarch and Valerius Maximus; and +the statements in question will be considered in subsequent sections of +this article. + + +III. THE DAY ON WHICH CAESAR LANDED IN 55 B.C. + +It is absolutely certain, and is universally admitted, that the full +moon which Caesar mentions occurred on the night of August 30-1, 55 +B.C.:[2947] to speak more precisely, it occurred at 3 h. 33 m. a.m. +on the 31st.[2948] Now, with one or two exceptions, which shall be +presently considered, the commentators have concluded that Caesar +landed on the fourth day before the full moon, that is to say, on +the 27th of August. But any one who has read this article with close +attention will have seen that their conclusion rests upon a careless +interpretation of Caesar’s narrative. Caesar says that the eighteen +cavalry transports sailed from Gaul on the fourth day after he landed +in Britain; that when they were approaching the island they were +prevented from keeping their course by a storm; that some of them were +driven westward down the coast and anchored, but were obliged to run +back, in the face of night, for the Continent; and that on the same +night there was a full moon.[2949] Whereupon the commentators leap +to the conclusion that the day on which Caesar landed was the fourth +before the full moon. They forget that what Caesar said was, not that +the transports approached the British coast on the fourth day after he +landed, but that on that day they started from Gaul. The distinction +is important. The transports may have weighed anchor in the night. On +all his four voyages Caesar set sail at night; and Strabo says that +for vessels sailing from Gaul this was the regular practice.[2950] +Let us assume that Caesar landed on the 26th of August. Then, if we +adopt, as almost all the commentators have done, the inclusive mode +of reckoning, the transports may have sailed from Gaul on the night +of the 29th.[2951] On the 30th, in the morning, they would have +been approaching Britain. Then came on the storm. On the following +night--the night of August 30-1--occurred the full moon. + +It may be objected that if Caesar had landed in Britain on the 26th of +August, and if his transports had set sail on the night of the 29th, +but after midnight--say between 2 and 3 a.m.--he would have said that +they set sail not on the fourth but on the fifth day after his landing. +I will take note of this objection, but I doubt whether it is valid. +In the thirty-third chapter of the Second Book of the _Commentaries_, +after describing the sortie made by the Aduatuci, which took place in +the third watch of the night, that is to say after midnight, and their +repulse, he goes on to say that ‘on the following day the gates were +broken open’ (_postridie eius diei refractis portis_ &c.); in other +words, he loosely reckoned the third watch of the night as part of the +day that preceded the one which he calls _postridie eius diei_. It is +therefore at least possible, I think it probable, that he landed on the +fifth day before the moon which he described as full. + +But it has been argued that Caesar may have made a mistake in +describing the moon as full. He remarks, as we have seen, that the full +moon produces very high tides in the Channel; and he states that on the +night of this particular full moon many of his ships were waterlogged +by an extraordinarily high tide. But the strongest spring tides, in the +eastern part of the Channel, between Dungeness and Beachy Head, occur, +not at the time of full moon, but a day and a half later, and east +of Dungeness two days later.[2952] Airy,[2953] premising that ‘it is +impossible to judge precisely of the day of full moon, either from the +appearance of the moon’s diameter ... or from the time of moon-rising’, +argues that the moon which Caesar described as full was probably, as +a matter of fact, that which produced the spring tide. Accordingly he +assumes that Caesar landed on the third day before the full moon. + +Airy’s argument, however, is unsound. No well-informed man needs +to be told that, long before Caesar’s time, astronomers were able +to predict the phases of the moon with sufficient accuracy for all +ordinary purposes. Livy records that in 168 B.C. a tribune in the army +of Aemilius Paullus told his men that a lunar eclipse would occur on +the following night.[2954] It is therefore at least not unlikely that +Caesar should have known on what night the full moon which followed his +landing occurred. The fact that the extraordinarily high tide occurred +on the night which he calls the night of the full moon, presents no +difficulty. The tide on the night of the full moon, even though, in +normal circumstances, it would not have risen as high as a spring tide, +properly so called, would in any case have been unusually high; and +under the influence of the gale which Caesar mentions, its height would +of course have been increased. Extraordinarily high tides, indeed, have +occurred in such circumstances even at neaps;[2955] and it would be +just as reasonable to argue that Caesar ante-dated the day in question +as that he post-dated it. For, as Airy himself assures us, the moon +would have appeared full on the night before it really was so, that is +to say, on the night of August 29-30; and if, as Airy assumes, full +moon had occurred on the night before that to which Caesar assigned it, +he would surely have noticed that the moon appeared full on the two +successive nights which preceded what, on Airy’s hypothesis, he called +the night of the full moon. + +The conclusion is that it is not possible to say with absolute +certainty on what day Caesar landed. It is morally certain that he +adopted the inclusive method of reckoning.[2956] It is, as we have +seen, probable that he landed on the fifth, but he may have landed +on the fourth day before the moon which he described as full. It is +highly probable that he fixed the day of the full moon correctly; but +we cannot be perfectly sure. Accordingly it seems to me probable that +he landed on the 26th of August: but he may have landed on the 27th, or +possibly even on the 25th. + +Nevertheless, I assure the reader that this uncertainty matters +nothing. If he will bear with me to the end, he will see that we shall +be able, notwithstanding, to determine the place of landing. + + +IV. DID CAESAR LAND AT THE SAME PLACE IN BOTH HIS EXPEDITIONS? + +It remains to inquire whether, in both his expeditions, Caesar landed +at the same place. The commentators are virtually unanimous in holding +that he did; and Napoleon, whose view is an exception to the rule, +believes that the landing-place of 54 B.C. was only a few kilometres +north of that of the preceding year.[2957] He and von Göler[2958] +both rely on the express statement of Dion Cassius[2959]; but Dr. +F. Vogel,[2960] who attaches no importance to Dion’s testimony on +matters of this kind, reminds us that Caesar ‘speaks only of the +place which he had ascertained in the preceding year to be the best +for landing’,[2961] and does not say that he had actually landed +there. I agree with Vogel that Dion’s statement proves nothing; for +there is no reason to suppose that it represents anything but his own +interpretation of Caesar’s words. Nevertheless, it is certain that +Caesar did land in the same ‘part of the island’[2962] in 54 B.C. +and in 55. For, as we shall subsequently see, if he landed on both +occasions in East Kent, the coast which answers to the requirements of +his narrative lies within the extreme limits of Walmer and Sandwich: +if in 55 B.C. he landed at any point west of the South Foreland, it is +not possible to suggest any reason why he should have chosen in the +following year a new landing-place also on the west of that promontory +but in a different ‘part of the island’; and not only has it never been +suggested, but it is incredible that he should have landed in 55 B.C. +on one side, and in 54 on the other side of the South Foreland. + +It is hardly necessary to add that before his fleet hove in sight in +54 B.C. the Britons assembled in great force to oppose his landing: in +other words, they felt sure that he would attempt to land at or near +the place where he had landed the year before. + + +V. THE VARIOUS THEORIES ABOUT CAESAR’S PLACE OF LANDING + +Not less than a dozen different theories have been formed regarding the +place of Caesar’s landing. It has been identified with Weybourne on the +coast of Norfolk; with Richborough; with the neighbourhood of Sandwich; +with Deal, or, to speak more correctly, the coast between Deal Castle +and Walmer Castle; with Dover, Folkestone, Hythe, Lympne, Hurst on +the northern fringe of Romney Marsh, Bonnington near Appledore, Rye, +Bulverhythe, and Pevensey. Most of these theories, however, obviously +fall into groups. Richborough, Sandwich, and Deal; Hythe, Lympne, +Hurst, and Bonnington; Bulverhythe and Pevensey,--these three groups +represent three main theories, each of which has undergone modification +in detail. The rest may be summarily dismissed. The absurd suggestion +that Caesar landed in Norfolk was elaborated in two successive +pamphlets;[2963] and, what is still more amazing, a zealous antiquary +thought it necessary to devote a third[2964] to its refutation. +Neither Folkestone nor Rye has now any advocates; and the absurdity +of their pretensions must be self-evident to every intelligent reader +of the _Commentaries_. The theory that Caesar landed at Dover is only +worth mentioning because it was seriously maintained by the eminent +geographer, Konrad Mannert;[2965] and perhaps Heller underestimated the +acumen of his readers when he took the trouble to confute it.[2966] +The claim of Bonnington was maintained with considerable ingenuity by +a professional advocate in a book[2967] which George Long,[2968] who +dissented from its conclusions, commended as ‘a work of real value’; +and it would not be safe to ignore it. Even the view that Caesar landed +at Pevensey demands consideration. It was first put forward in 1852 by +the late Astronomer Royal, who defended it against a series of attacks +with equal ability and vivacity: a few years ago it was resuscitated +by Professor Ridgeway: Mr. Warde Fowler[2969] observes that ‘much can +be said in favour of this opinion’; and the late Camden Professor of +Ancient History in the University of Oxford[2970] was inclined to +accept it. But the controversies which have attracted most attention +have been centred between the advocates of Lympne or Hythe on the one +side and of Deal or Sandwich on the other. And, although there are +many collateral questions, the chief point at issue is this,--when +Caesar sailed with wind and tide in his favour from the place where +he anchored on the morning of his first voyage, and steered for the +place where he landed, was the tidal stream running up or down the +Channel? Among those who have recently approached the subject the +prevailing belief would appear to be that it has been proved that he +sailed down. ‘The old belief,’ writes Mr. Warde Fowler,[2971] ‘that he +turned eastwards and landed at Deal cannot, in the present state of our +knowledge of the tides, be any longer maintained.’ I engage to convince +every reader who will give me his attention that the so-called proof is +no proof at all. + + +VI. THE QUESTION OF THE TIDES + +Before we attempt to construct a tide-table for the 26th and 27th of +August, 55 B.C., we must first satisfy ourselves whether in that year, +at any given period of the moon’s age, the tidal stream in the eastern +part of the English Channel began to flow and to ebb at precisely the +same time as it does in similar circumstances now. On this point there +has been much divergence of opinion. Dr. Guest, the late geologist +George Dowker, and Professor Montagu Burrows have all argued that the +changes which have taken place in the configuration of the coast[2972] +must have produced changes in the tidal currents. The points on which +Dr. Guest laid special stress were, that in Caesar’s time Thanet was +an island; that Dungeness did not then exist; that Romney Marsh was +covered at high tide by an estuary 50,000 acres in extent; and that the +estuary of the Thames was far wider than it is now.[2973] Dowker called +attention to the great changes which, since Caesar’s time, must have +taken place in the Goodwin Sands: ‘would no effect,’ he asked, ‘be +felt by the tides if the Goodwins were now an island?’ Again, observing +that Drew ‘points out how the beach formerly near Rye had been swept +away, and re-deposited in a different direction’, he concluded that +‘geological changes of outline have altered the direction and velocity +of the currents’.[2974] Some years later he returned to the subject. +‘If,’ he wrote,[2975] ‘we assume the Straits are now one mile wider +than when Caesar visited our shores,[2976] the tide which runs with +a velocity of about three miles an hour up Channel, would carry more +water into the German Ocean than a river a mile wide and 15 feet +deep.... There are other changes also that have taken place in the +German Ocean, which must have exerted immense influence on the tides +when we remember that a north-east wind will materially heighten the +tidal lever by forcing up the water of the North Sea. The travelling of +beach in an eastward direction shows that the set of the tide is more +strong in that direction now on some part of the coast than formerly.’ +Finally, Professor Montagu Burrows remarks[2977] that ‘Not only may the +depth of the Channel have largely varied, but the space over which the +tides travel must be at least two miles wider than it was some 2,000 +years ago,[2978] and therefore the point of meeting of the North and +South tide-streams cannot possibly be exactly the same’. + +On the other hand, Airy says, ‘I express my opinion without hesitation +that no conceivable changes in the coast within historical times can +have produced any sensible change in the relation of the tidal currents +to the moon’s age.’[2979] + +I have submitted these remarks to Sir George Darwin, the author of +the articles on the tides in the Ninth Edition of the _Encyclopaedia +Britannica_ and the Supplement to that edition. ‘In my opinion,’ he +replies, ‘Airy is absolutely right and Burrows and the others wrong. +A channel from Sandwich to Reculver could not have made any sensible +change, and so also it would be impossible to detect the difference if +Goodwin Sands were an island. All the phenomena now observed must have +occurred at the same times within, say, a minute, and with an intensity +measurably identical in the days of Caesar. Even if you were in a +position to indicate exactly the nature of the changes in the channel +since that time, it would be impossible to compute the nature of the +_excessively minute_ changes in the currents.’ + +This decisive answer will not be seriously gainsaid. Evidently the +divergence of opinion is between those who are not and those who are +qualified to judge. + +Airy says that ‘on the day of Caesar’s landing the tide off Dover +turned to the west about 1 h. in the afternoon, and at 3 h. it would +be running with a strong stream to the west’.[2980] Airy, as we have +seen,[2981] supposes that the day of Caesar’s landing was the 28th of +August; but if the statement which I have just quoted is accurate, it +follows that even on the 26th the tide at 3 p.m. was running westward. +Again, in 1866, the Admiralty Hydrographer affirmed that on the 27th of +August, 55 B.C., the current ran westward until 6.30 p.m.;[2982] and if +he is right, it must on the previous day, unless the circumstances were +abnormal, have continued flowing in the same direction until 5 p.m. or +later. Lewin,[2983] relying upon a table compiled by a Mr. Barton of +Dover, and based upon observations made by ‘some experienced pilot or +fisherman’, and upon another table filled up from actual observation +‘on every day of July, 1862’, states that ‘with high water ... at +7.31 a.m., the tide could not turn eastward at the earliest until +4.26 p.m., and at the latest not until 5.21 p.m.’ Nevertheless, he +admits[2984] that, with high tide at 7.31 a.m., the tide might possibly +have turned eastward at 4 p.m. Finally, Mr. H. E. Malden tells us that +‘at any time that afternoon between two o’clock and seven, in any part +of the Channel between Dunge Ness and Dover, the tidal current was +running westward ... when Sir George Airy, the greatest authority of +the century upon the tides, says that they were the same then as now, +_cadit quaestio_. We are lifted out of the uncertainties of historical +topography into the certainties of scientific knowledge.’[2985] + +This pronouncement is certainly calculated to overawe the timid +inquirer. Nevertheless, I venture to suggest that a man who knows +little or nothing about the tides should refrain from patting on the +back one who knew a great deal, but who did not think it necessary for +his purpose to tell all that he knew. + +Airy may have been the greatest authority of the century upon the +tides: but, apart from his asseveration that they were the same then +as now, in the contribution which he made to the solution of the +problem which we are investigating he relied upon authorities which +are accessible to everybody. Those authorities (I will mention a few +besides those which Airy used) are the _Nautical Almanac_; _Tide Tables +for the British and Irish Ports_ (published by order of the Lords +Commissioners of the Admiralty); the _Channel Pilot_; _Tidal Streams, +English and Irish Channels_ (an Atlas of 12 charts published at the +Admiralty in 1899); Captain Usborne Moore’s _Report on Observations ... +in the Straits of Dover_ (also published at the Admiralty in 1899); +an article by Admiral Sir F. W. Beechey published in _Philosophical +Transactions_, volume cxli, 1851, pages 703-18; and an article +published in _Archaeologia_, volume xxxix, 1863, pages 277-302. The +last-named article includes a report of observations on the tidal +streams in the Straits of Dover, made in 1862 under the superintendence +of E. K. Calver, R.N. These observations were made for the purpose +of settling the question whether the stream with which Caesar sailed +from his anchorage ran up or down the Channel. They were made ‘in +comparatively still weather’ on the 21st of August, the 4th and 5th of +September, and the 4th of October, 1862, at eleven distinct stations +within a space extending to one mile and a half from the shore, and +from the South Foreland to Shakespeare’s Cliff. The days on which +they were made were, reckoning inclusively, respectively the fifth +before the new moon, and the fifth, the fourth, and the fourth before +the full moon. ‘From the average of these observations,’ says Calver, +‘it appears that, when high water at Dover occurs about 7 h. 30 m. +a.m., the inshore flood or easterly-going stream ... turns 4 h. 48 m. +after it is high water upon the shore. Taking then, for example, a 7 +h. 31 m. a.m. high water, and assuming that the ebb or westerly-going +stream runs on the average for 6¼ hours, it follows that the flood or +easterly-going stream on that day would turn off Dover at 12 h. 19 m., +and the succeeding ebb ... would run to the westward until 6 h. 34 m. +p.m.[2986]’ Vice-Admiral W. H. Smyth, summing up the results of the +observations, remarked that the tide turned westward ‘soonest near +the beach and latest in the offing’, and that ‘the turn is sooner to +the east of Dover than to the west, still not differing more than one +hour’.[2987] + +So far as we have yet examined them, the results of these observations +fully bear out what Airy and Lewin maintain,--if it is assumed that +high tide at Dover on the day of Caesar’s landing must have occurred +about 7.30 a.m. But if we scrutinize the tables more closely, and give +due weight to certain other facts emphasized by our authorities, we +shall see that the dogmatism of Airy and Lewin is unjustifiable. They +and their followers make no allowance for the great influence which +winds exert upon the tidal streams in the Channel.[2988] Moreover, it +is useless to base conclusions upon the average of the results obtained +in Surveyor Calver’s observations. If we scan the tables which give +those results in detail, we shall find that although, on the average, +the stream turned westward 4 h. 48 m. after high water at Dover, yet on +the 21st of August it turned only 3 h. 40 m. after high water.[2989] +We shall also find that the duration of the flood, as observed by +Calver, varied from 4 to 7 hours; and although the duration of the ebb +was only observed twice,[2990] it may actually have varied as much. +On the first of the two occasions on which it was observed it was 6 +hours, 10 minutes; on the second, only 5 hours, 53 minutes;[2991] +and, according to the _Channel Pilot_,[2992] it is occasionally only 4 +hours. Therefore it is possible that if on the day of Caesar’s landing +high water occurred at Dover at 7.31 a.m., the tide may have turned +westward as early as 11.11 a.m., and may have continued to run westward +for a period not longer than 5 hours, 53 minutes, that is to say, until +5.4 p.m. + +But this is not all. It is desirable that the reader should become +acquainted with Lewin’s methods of reasoning. Lewin himself, after +studying the _Admiralty Tide Tables_ for the year 1859, admits that ‘on +January 14th, being the fourth day before the full moon, high water at +Dover is at 5.31 a.m.’, and that it may possibly have occurred as early +on the day of Caesar’s landing. This admission throws a breaking strain +upon his theory; but by dint of dexterous manipulation of the facts he +is just able to make a show of saving it from ignominious collapse. +‘As’ he says, ‘the stream turns at four hours after high water, and +continues for seven hours, it turns at the earliest at 9.31 a.m. and +runs till 4.31 p.m.... In no case, therefore, would the tide be running +east at 3 p.m.’ But Lewin is here compelled to ignore observations +of which, in another part of his book, he makes free use. As we have +already seen, he admits[2993] that on a day when high tide occurred at +7.31 a.m. the stream might turn eastward at 4.26 or even at 4 p.m. If +he is right, it follows that on a day when high tide occurred at 5.31 +a.m. the stream might turn eastward at 2.26 or even at 2 p.m. To make +this admission, from which, if he had been confronted with his own +words, he could by no subtlety have escaped, would have been to throw +up his case; and such candour would have been too much to expect from +a professional advocate. Let him, however, shift his ground, if he +pleases, and rely upon Calver’s observations. They will not avail him. +We have just seen that, according to Calver, the stream turned westward +on the 21st of August, 1862, 3 h. 40 m. after high water; and the +duration of the westward stream, on one of the two occasions on which +he observed it, was only 5 h. 53 m.[2994] According to these data, if, +on the day of Caesar’s landing, high tide had occurred at 5.31 a.m., +the westward stream might have ceased at 3.4 p.m. It would have been +impossible for Lewin, if he had been required to take account of this +statement, to deny it. But to admit it would have been to sign the +death-warrant of his own theory. + +So far I have only been concerned to show that Lewin’s whole train +of reasoning, examined in the light of the evidence which he himself +adduces, is radically unsound. I have argued on his hypothesis--that +high tide at Dover, on the day of Caesar’s landing, _may_ have +occurred at the earliest time at which it can possibly occur on the +fourth day before the full moon. Neither Lewin nor Airy nor any other +commentator has attempted to determine, by the aid of lunar tables, +the hour at which, on the day in question, high tide did actually +occur.[2995] Nevertheless, if the problem which we intend to solve is +to be attacked in a scientific spirit, the hour ought to be determined. +Messrs. John A. Sprigge, William Fraser Doak, M.A., F.R.A.S., and T. +Charlton Hudson, B.A., F.R.A.S., all of the Nautical Almanac Office, +have been so kind as to determine it for me. Their calculations are +preserved; and at the end of this article, on page 665, will be found +a memorandum, in which they have described the method on which they +worked. It will be sufficient here to state the results, the error in +which, as they point out, is probably insignificant. On the 26th of +August, 55 B.C., the Greenwich mean time of high water at Dover was +6.21 a.m.; on the 27th, 7.42 a.m.; and on the 28th, 8.44 a.m.[2996] +Thus it turns out that on the day of Caesar’s landing high water did +not occur at all early. This fact, however, will not sustain the theory +of Airy and Lewin. Since high water at Dover on the 26th of August +occurred at 6.21 a.m., and since the tidal stream, according to one of +Calver’s observations, turned 3 hours, 40 minutes after high water, +the stream may have turned westward at 10.1 a.m. Assuming that the +duration of the westward stream was 5 hours, 53 minutes--the same as +that recorded on one occasion by Calver--the stream would have ceased +at 3.54 p.m. But Calver’s observations were made ‘in comparatively +still weather’;[2997] and, to quote Admiral Beechey, ‘winds greatly +affect the time of turn of the stream.’[2998] Now Caesar sailed from +his anchorage with wind as well as tide in his favour; and the wind +which carried him to his landing-place may have accelerated the turn of +the stream. It is clear, therefore, that on the day of Caesar’s landing +the stream may have turned eastward earlier than 3.54 p.m.; and if it +turned twenty-five minutes earlier, it turned in ‘the ninth hour’. + +But, it will be objected, Caesar may have landed on the 27th of August; +and in that case the stream could not have turned eastward before the +close of the ninth hour. Certainly it could not have done so unless it +had turned westward unusually early, or unless its westward duration +had but little exceeded four hours; and although this has been shown +to be within the bounds of possibility,[2999] it is to the last degree +improbable. But if he landed on the 26th of August, an assumption which +has been proved to be not inconsistent with his narrative,[3000] it is +not improbable that the stream may have turned eastward in the ninth +hour; and this is all that I am concerned at present to show. + +It may be said that, in order to refute the dogma of Airy and Lewin, +I have supposed an extreme case. I can only say that I did not start +with the intention either of refuting or defending that dogma: I +merely examined it, and found that it would not bear examination. And +I am justified in supposing an extreme, or rather an exceptional, +case because Airy and Lewin have both affirmed that it is absolutely +impossible that in the ninth hour on the day of Caesar’s first landing +in Britain the tidal stream can have been running towards the east. +But, supposing that it did not turn eastward until after the ninth +hour, still the theory that Caesar must have sailed in the opposite +direction will not stand. For the reader, if he has patience to bear +with me to the end, will convince himself, from Caesar’s own words, +that Caesar did not stir from his anchorage until after the ninth hour +had passed. + + +VII. THE THEORY THAT CAESAR LANDED AT PEVENSEY + +The two distinguished advocates of the theory that Caesar landed at +Pevensey are not in complete accord. Airy holds that he sailed both +in 55 and in 54 B.C. from the mouth of the Somme;[3001] Professor +Ridgeway from Wissant.[3002] It has been proved in my article on the +Portus Itius that he started from Boulogne; and whoever accepts that +proof will, perhaps, skip this section. I am willing, however, for the +sake of argument, to accept in turn both Airy’s identification of the +Portus Itius and that of Professor Ridgeway: but I may remark that when +Airy wrote he had forgotten that in Caesar’s time there was a natural +harbour at Pevensey;[3003] and if Caesar had landed in a harbour he +would not have left the fact unnoticed. + +If we are to accept the premiss on which Airy himself lays so much +stress, namely, that in 55 B.C. the tidal currents in the Channel, at +any given period of the moon’s age, were the same as they are now, +Caesar did not land at Pevensey. Airy, as we have seen, assumes that +Caesar landed, in 55 B.C., on the third day before the full moon, and, +appealing to the authority of Sir F. W. Beechey, he affirms that, off +Hastings, the current turns westward five miles from the coast two +hours later than it does close inshore. ‘If,’ he concludes, ‘we suppose +Caesar to have first attempted the neighbourhood of St. Leonards, the +tide, which a few miles from shore had turned to the west at 11 h., +was, at 3 h., running in full stream to the west.’[3004] But, in order +to prop up his theory, Airy is forced to place Caesar’s anchorage at +five nautical or nearly six statute miles from the shore. To prove +that such an assumption is absurd, it is only necessary to say that, +at a distance of five nautical miles, Caesar could not have seen the +armed men who, as he tells us,[3005] were swarming upon the cliffs, +without the assistance of a powerful telescope.[3006] Lewin[3007] +rightly concludes that Caesar must have anchored within a mile from +the shore, at the outside, and probably within half a mile. Now high +water at Dover on the 27th of August, 55 B.C., occurred at 7.42, and +therefore at Hastings at 7.23 a.m.[3008] But off Hastings, within a +mile from the shore, the current turns westward about the time of high +tide,[3009] runs westward for about six hours and a half, and then +runs eastward for about six hours. At 3 p.m., therefore, on the 27th +of August, the tide off Hastings would have been running eastward, and +would have continued to do so until about 7.50 p.m. And on the 28th of +August, which Airy wrongly assumes to have been the day of Caesar’s +landing, the tide off Hastings would have turned eastward about 2.53 +p.m., and would have continued to run in that direction until about +8.53. Consequently, on the theory of the tides which Airy himself so +strenuously maintains, it would have been impossible for Caesar to sail +with the tide from Hastings or from St. Leonards to Pevensey.[3010] +Even on Airy’s assumption that Caesar anchored five nautical miles +from the shore, his theory cannot stand: he can only make a show of +propping it up by assuming that Caesar landed on the 28th of August. +On the 27th, the stream would have turned westward at about 9.30 a.m., +and would have ceased running westward about 4 p.m. Therefore, even +supposing that Caesar started on his seven miles’ sail in the ninth +hour,[3011] he would have done so on the very last of the tidal stream, +when it was barely moving; and it would have turned against him before +he had half finished his voyage. + +Very wisely, from his own point of view--for his silence has hitherto +passed unnoticed--Airy ignored Caesar’s account of the voyage of +his cavalry transports. Some of them, as we have seen, were ‘swept +down in great peril’ (_magno suo cum periculo deicerentur_[3012]), +evidently running before the gale, ‘to the lower and more westerly +part of the island’ (_ad inferiorem partem insulac quae est propius +solis occasum_[3013]): the others were carried back to the port from +which they had started. That port, according to Airy, was the mouth of +the Authie. The gale evidently blew from about the north-east; but, +in order to give Airy the fullest latitude, I will assume that it was +from the north-north-east, although in either case the ships which ran +before the wind, once they had got under the lee of Beachy Head, would +have been in smooth water! The course which the transports would have +had to steer for the Authie, if they had been sighted off Pevensey, +would have been SE. by E. 2° S., or within less than nine points of +the wind. But in the gale they could hardly have made less than four +points of lee-way.[3014] Therefore, in order to reach their supposed +destination, they would have been obliged to lie within less than five +points of the wind, which they could not have done.[3015] ‘No!’ said +the harbour-master of Dover to me, after he had studied the chart, ‘No! +they would have fetched Dieppe.’[3016] I have assumed that they could +work to windward: if they could not, it is self-evident that they could +not have returned to the mouth of the Authie. + +But if any one is not convinced, let him hear Airy plead his own cause. + +1. Airy argues that Volusenus would never have recommended Caesar +to land under the cliffs of Dover, or at any point under the cliffs +between Folkestone and Hythe. ‘No commander,’ he says, ‘would steer +ships to a mural cliff three hundred feet high, with the intention of +landing in order to invade the country; nor would any defenders station +themselves there to repel an invasion; nor could a “telum” be thrown +with any aim. But a daring officer might steer to a less perpendicular +cliff, ten to thirty feet high, with the intention of forcing a +landing.... Such are the cliffs between Hastings and Pevensey; and I +conclude that they answer exactly to Caesar’s description.’ Assuming +that the cliffs off which Caesar anchored, when he first approached the +British coast, were in the neighbourhood of St. Leonards, Airy affirms +that ‘the run of eight[3017] miles would bring him to the beach of +Pevensey, answering perfectly to his description’.[3018] + +Now whether Caesar did or did not steer towards ‘a mural cliff three +hundred feet high’, he certainly anchored off cliffs which he calls +‘precipitous heights’ (_angusti montes_); and Airy makes too great a +demand upon our credulity when he requires us to believe that Caesar +described by the words _angusti montes_ a ‘cliff ten to thirty feet +high’. So much for the theory that Caesar anchored off the clifflets of +St. Leonards:[3019] the argument that he could not have anchored off +the cliffs of Dover shall be considered in its proper place. The reader +has of course already observed that Volusenus, being a sane man, would +never have recommended Caesar to ‘force a landing’ under any cliffs, +great or small. + +2. Airy argues that the Britons would naturally have assembled at +Pevensey in order to oppose Caesar’s landing, because ‘Pevensey was +the weakest point of Britain’.[3020] No! replies Lewin, Pevensey +was not _then_ the weakest point; for it was ‘backed by the Andred +Forest’.[3021] Airy[3022] triumphantly observes that William the +Conqueror landed there; but Lewin[3023] rejoins that when William +landed the forest presented less difficulty to an invader than in +Caesar’s time, as the Romans and the Saxons must have made clearances. +Be this as it may, it is certain that William did not attempt to march +northward through the forest. He returned, immediately after his +victory, to Hastings: from Hastings he marched eastward to Romney, +and from Romney to Dover.[3024] He had his own reasons for landing at +Pevensey: but Caesar, for reasons equally good, chose the shortest +passage; and although, as I have shown,[3025] these words are not to +be taken in an absolutely literal sense, they alone exclude the notion +that Caesar landed in Sussex. Obviously it is in the last degree +improbable that Volusenus would have reconnoitred the coast so far +westward as Pevensey; nor could the Britons have expected that Caesar +would be so foolish as to double the length of his voyage in order to +land there.[3026] + +3. Airy argued that, except on the hypothesis that Caesar landed +at Pevensey, it is impossible to account for the long duration of +his first voyage. His rate of sailing, said Airy, if, as Dr. Guest +maintained, he had started from Wissant and anchored off the Dover +cliffs, would not have exceeded two miles an hour. ‘When in Shetland,’ +he adds, ‘I have sailed in one of the ordinary fishing-boats of the +country, hoisting a single lug-sail ... with a pleasant, easy breeze +(sometimes dying away), from Lerwick to the head of Balta Sound, in +Unst, in about eight hours. The distance, as measured on the Admiralty +Chart, exceeds forty nautical miles.’[3027] + +This was one of Airy’s more plausible arguments; and it demands +consideration. To begin with, it must be pointed out that Caesar did +not, as Dr. Guest believed, sail from Wissant, but from Boulogne, +which is more than seven nautical miles further from Dover. Airy +assumed[3028] that Caesar’s first voyage lasted from midnight till +10 a.m. But it is impossible to say how long it lasted. Caesar does +not say that he started at midnight: he says that he started ‘about +the third watch’ (_tertia fere vigilia_); and the third watch lasted, +on the night of the 25th-26th of August, from midnight till 2.32 +a.m., on the night of the 26th-27th till 2.33 a.m.[3029] Nor does +he say that he reached Britain at 10 a.m.; he says that he reached +it ‘about the fourth hour of the day’, which lasted on the 26th of +August from 8.33 to 9.42.[3030] As Mr. Peskett says, ‘the possible +duration of the voyage lies between the extreme limits of 9 h. 40′ +and 6 hours.’[3031] Split the difference, and you will find that the +average rate of sailing would have been about three knots and a half +per hour. The answer to Airy’s argument is that Caesar’s narrative is +quite consistent with the view that his ships may have remained for +some time anchored off the Gallic coast in the expectation that the +cavalry transports would sail out of Ambleteuse harbour to join them; +and, further, that the wind may have shifted to an unfavourable quarter +before the voyage was at an end.[3032] + +4. Airy[3033] maintains that a river corresponding with Caesar’s +description of the one on the banks of which he defeated the Britons +on the day after his second landing,[3034] is to be found in the +neighbourhood of Pevensey, and of Pevensey only. That river, he says, +was the Rother, and the scene of the victory was Robertsbridge. He +produces evidence to show that if Rye Sluice were broken, ‘the whole +valley at Robertsbridge would now become a great tidal morass.’ This, +he continues, ‘was its state in the age of Caesar, and it must have +been a very formidable defence against an army advancing from the +coast.’ + +Undoubtedly; so formidable that it would have been absolutely +impassable. How Caesar’s cavalry succeeded in forcing their way over +this ‘great tidal morass’ Airy omits to explain. If he had studied +Caesar’s description[3035] of the much less formidable morass over +which his ablest marshal, Labienus, tried in vain to construct a +causeway, and from which he was obliged to retreat, he would hardly +have made Caesar attempt to cross ‘a great tidal morass’ in the face of +an enemy. + +Caesar, as we have seen, descried at daybreak, on his second voyage, +the coast of Britain ‘lying behind on the left’;[3036] and if these +words mean, as all commentators except Airy and Professor Ridgeway +maintain, that he had drifted to some point east or north-east of the +South Foreland, they alone dispose of Airy’s theory. Airy of course saw +this; and accordingly he put his own construction upon the passage. ‘I +cannot conceive,’ he says,[3037] ‘that the expression refers to any +direction but to that of the drift; it asserts that, in reference to +the direction of tidal current, the coast was on the left hand. It is +therefore indecisive as to place.’ + +Lewin, in his reply,[3038] overlooked one consideration, which by +itself overthrows Airy’s interpretation. If, as Airy would have us +believe, Caesar’s vessel had not drifted as far east as Dover, she +was, owing to the direction of the current, moving parallel with the +British coast.[3039] How, then, could Caesar, in the case supposed by +Airy, have said that he saw Britain ‘_lying behind_ on the left’ (_sub +sinistra relictam_)? + +The theory that Caesar landed at Pevensey is irreconcilable with the +fact that the four chieftains who attacked his naval camp in 54 B.C. +belonged not to Sussex but to Kent.[3040] Airy endeavoured to answer +this objection by the remark that the men of Kent were more numerous +than those of Sussex, and would therefore have gone to the assistance +of their countrymen.[3041] But, replied Lewin,[3042] ‘as the men of +Kent were distinct from the Regni, or men of Sussex, the natural +inference to be drawn from the assault of the camp by the _men of +Kent_ surely is that the _camp was in Kent_.’ I may point out further +that, considering the state of internecine war in which the Britons +habitually lived, and which was only suspended for the time under the +pressure of a common danger,[3043] it is not credible that the men of +Kent would have consented to make a long march away from their own +territory in order to undertake an operation which would have properly +devolved upon another tribe, and unlikely that they would have been +sufficiently well organized to feed their army during a march of such +duration. + +The distance between the mouth of the Somme, which Airy identifies +with the Portus Itius, and St. Leonards, where he maintains that +Caesar first reached Britain, is, as he himself says,[3044] ‘about +52 nautical miles,’ that is to say, rather more than 65 Roman miles: +the distance between the Portus Itius and Britain, according to +Caesar’s estimate,[3045] was about 30 Roman miles. To say nothing of +this glaring discrepancy, Caesar’s account of his return voyage from +Britain to Gaul in 54 B.C. presents a difficulty which taxed all Airy’s +ingenuity to explain away. Caesar[3046] tells us that he started in the +second watch in a dead calm (_summa tranquillitate_), and reached Gaul +at daybreak. Naturally the opponents of Airy’s theory insist that to +cross from Pevensey to the mouth of the Somme in this time would have +been impossible. + +But Airy is never so confident as when he has to defend an untenable +position. He roundly asserts that his critics do not understand +Caesar’s language. _Summa tranquillitas_, he tells them, does not mean +‘a dead calm’: it means ‘a stiff north-west wind’. Professor Thompson, +he informs us, assured him that a favourable wind ‘is compatible +with a “tranquillum mare”’; and he refers, in support of this view, +to a passage in one of Cicero’s letters,[3047]--‘I am forced to +wait for fair weather owing to the open ships ... of the Rhodians’ +(_Nos Rhodiorum aphractis ceterisque longis navibus tranquillitates +aucupaturi eramus_). He also appeals to two passages in Vergil:-- + + _placidi straverunt aequora venti, + Creber et adspirans rursus vocat Auster in altum,_[3048] + +and + + _postquam alta quierunt + Aequora, tendit iter velis portumque relinquit._[3049] + +‘It appears to me,’ he observes, ‘that Virgil’s idea of circumstances +favourable to navigation always implied the co-existence of brisk wind +and smooth water.’ The idea that Caesar’s fleet was rowed across the +Channel he scouts as ridiculous. ‘If,’ he adds, ‘with smooth water +there had been a brisk breeze, the steerage would have been good +... the voyage would have been easy ... we have only to suppose a +stiff north-west wind, capable of carrying the ships 7 or 8 miles an +hour.’[3050] + +Now as to the first of these passages, the context shows that Cicero +had been weatherbound by the violence of the trade winds; and he uses +the word _tranquillitates_ in the sense of ‘fine weather’ in contrast +with these.[3051] His vessels were undecked; and therefore he could not +venture to set sail in a rough sea. It can hardly be inferred from this +passage, which Airy does not understand, that _summa tranquillitas_ +means ‘a stiff north-west wind’. The first passage quoted from Vergil +simply says that gentle winds (_placidi venti_--an expression by no +means identical with _summa tranquillitas_) stilled the sea, and that +then a southerly wind invited Aeneas to set sail: the second tells us +that Aeneas set sail after the cessation of a storm. If Cicero does +not imply that _summa tranquillitas_ means ‘a stiff north-west wind’, +neither does Vergil. If Airy had really known his authorities, he would +have called to mind the passage in which Cicero[3052] relates, in +language virtually identical with that of Caesar, that he was prevented +from sailing by ‘an astonishingly dead calm’ (_mirae tranquillitates_). +And if he had known his Caesar, he would have thought of the +passage[3053] which tells how the ships of the Veneti were becalmed in +their fight with Decimus Brutus,--‘suddenly there was a dead calm, and +they could not stir’ (_tanta subito malacia ac tranquillitas exstitit +ut se ex loco commovere non possent_). If _tanta tranquillitas_ means +‘such a dead calm’, as it assuredly does, it is not easy to see how +_summa tranquillitas_ can mean ‘a stiff north-west wind’. If these +passages do not fix the meaning of _summa tranquillitas_, we may +dispense with further research.[3054] + +I confess that I do not know whether more to admire the audacity and +resource which Airy displayed in controversy, or the sublime lack of +humour which permitted him to translate _summa tranquillitas_ by ‘a +stiff north-west wind’. + +So much for the late Astronomer Royal. If I do not ignore the arguments +of Professor Ridgeway, it is because I am unwilling to appear wanting +in due respect for his reputation. But I would ask him to explain one +little difficulty which he has left unnoticed,--namely, how Caesar’s +cavalry transports could have contrived to return, as, on his theory, +they must have done, from a point near Pevensey to Sangatte, that is to +say, to steer E. 9° N. in the teeth of a gale which unquestionably blew +from some point east of north? Let the professor consult any seafaring +man, and he will learn that such a feat would have been absolutely, +absurdly impossible. + +1. Professor Ridgeway labours to show that the distance of Pevensey +from Wissant corresponds with the distance, as stated by Caesar, +of Britain from the Portus Itius. He assures us that, according to +certain MSS. (which, however, he does not specify), that distance was +not ‘about thirty’, but ‘about forty miles’ (_circiter milium passuum +XXXX....a continenti_[3055]). + +It is surprising that so distinguished a scholar should have committed +himself to a statement which five minutes’ search in any critical +edition of the _Commentaries_ would have shown to be unfounded. The +_MSS._ to which he appeals have no existence; or, if they exist, they +have never come to light.[3056] But, as I have already shown, on other +grounds,[3057] Caesar _may_ have written _XXXX_; so let Professor +Ridgeway have the benefit of the doubt, though I need hardly say that +the distance of Pevensey, and even of Bexhill, from Wissant is much +more than forty Roman miles. + +2. The professor then invokes the authority of Dion Cassius. ‘If,’ +he argues, ‘Caesar, on coming into the land of the Morini, found, as +Dio says, that all the landing places opposite the continent were +held by Britons, by which he evidently means the landing places in +the narrow part of the Channel, would Caesar obstinately persist in +crossing at the narrowest spot, or like a wise general seek for a more +suitable, although more distant landing place?’ This view, he pleads, +is supported by the fact that Caesar describes the passage from the +Portus Itius not as the shortest, but simply as the most convenient +(_commodissimus_).[3058] + +Mr. H. E. Malden makes the obvious reply that Caesar did not, in point +of fact, avoid the landing-places in question for the reason suggested +by Professor Ridgeway; for ‘he landed in the teeth of a British +army’.[3059] Moreover, as we have already seen, Caesar tells us that he +sailed from the coast of the Morini ‘because the shortest passage to +Britain was from their country’. + +3. The professor contends that his theory is supported by Caesar’s +account of his voyage in 54 B.C. Mr. Malden[3060] told him that Caesar +could not have sailed from Wissant [or, as he ought to have said, from +Boulogne] to Pevensey with a south-west wind;[3061] and that, since +the tide must have carried him in 54 B.C. at least as far as the South +Foreland,[3062] it would have been impossible for his men to row to +Pevensey--a distance of fifty-five miles--between dawn and noon, that +is to say in less than nine hours. The professor replied to the former +objection that Caesar ‘evidently sailed, not direct for Pevensey, but +rather across Channel’.[3063] The reply was as true as it was futile; +but it was true only because Caesar was bound, not for Pevensey but for +East Kent. Mr. Malden’s second objection the professor endeavoured to +rebut by the following arguments:--First, that as Caesar’s men began +to row at 3 a.m.,[3064] continued rowing till noon, and had the tide +in their favour for the first six hours, they could, if necessary, +have rowed fifty-five miles in nine hours. Secondly, that fifty-five +miles is an excessive estimate; and that the actual distance was not +more than thirty-nine; for _accessum est ad Britanniam_[3065] [the +words by which Caesar describes the arrival of his fleet] ‘seems to +denote nothing more than what he expressed by the words _Britanniam +attigit_[3066] in the story of the former voyage. But,’ continues the +professor, ‘he did not land at all at the place where he _Britanniam +attigit_, but dropped down with the tide seven miles further. Moreover, +Caesar does not say that he made for the very spot where he had landed +before, but simply _remis contendit ut eam partem insulae caperet qua +optimum esse egressum superiore aestate cognoverat_[3067] [“rowed +hard to gain the part of the island where, as he had learned in the +preceding summer, it was best to land”]. The high cliffs formed his +landmark.’ The professor is presumably referring to the cliffs eight +miles east of Pevensey, which, as Airy points out, are ‘from ten to +thirty feet high’: these cliffs would evidently have made a most +conspicuous ‘landmark’. However, the professor contrives to reduce the +length of the voyage by eight miles at one end: he curtails it at the +other by simply denying, like Airy, that when Caesar ‘saw Britain lying +behind on the left’, he had drifted past the South Foreland. He insists +that Caesar ‘might use the word _relictam_ [‘left behind’] when, +instead of finding himself close to the shore of Britain, he discovered +that, between the course he had sailed and the way he had drifted, he +had moved away from Britain’.[3068] This remark only shows that the +professor did not know what was the direction of the flood tide. Unless +Caesar had got past the South Foreland by the time when he ‘saw Britain +lying behind on the left’, the tide had not carried him ‘away from +Britain’. + +The professor’s argument comes to this. He says that Caesar’s men +rowed as hard as they could; that they could have rowed fifty-five +miles in nine hours, but that they only did row thirty-nine! He asks +us to believe that they rowed fifty-five miles in nine hours, though, +on his own showing, the tide was against them for one-third of that +time![3069] Finally, when he argues that because Caesar did not land in +55 B.C. at the point where he _Britanniam attigit_, therefore he did +not land in 54 B.C. at the point where _accessum est ad Britanniam_, +he forgets two things:--first, that Caesar distinctly says that in 55 +B.C. he sailed on seven miles from the point where he first _Britanniam +attigit_, whereas all commentators except Professor Ridgeway have +drawn from Caesar’s narrative the inevitable inference that in 54 B.C. +he landed at the point where _accessum est ad Britanniam_; secondly, +that the Britons expected him to land in 54 B.C. at the point where +_accessum est ad Britanniam_, for ‘large forces had assembled there’ +(_magnae manus eo convenissent_). Does the professor seriously mean +to argue that if Caesar had landed elsewhere, he would not have said +so?[3070] + +Not a single argument of the least weight has been or can be adduced +to show that Caesar landed at Pevensey or anywhere on the coast of +Sussex.[3071] On the other hand, there is not a single objection which +has here been brought against that theory which is not alone sufficient +to overthrow it. The truth is that Airy, with all his scientific +knowledge and controversial skill, was not adequately equipped to +discuss the question: his classical scholarship left much to be +desired; and, having once committed himself to the preposterous theory +that the Portus Itius was in the estuary of the Somme, he was forced to +look for Caesar’s landing-place far to the west of that part of Britain +in which Caesar’s narrative inevitably places it. To that part of +Britain our inquiry must henceforth be confined. Whether Caesar landed +east or west of the cliffs of Dover, he landed in Kent. + + +VIII. THE THEORY THAT CAESAR LANDED AT LYMPNE OR HYTHE + +The most dexterous advocate of the theory that Caesar landed on +Romney Marsh was Thomas Lewin; and it says a great deal for his +persuasiveness that not one of his critics appears to have detected +the inconsistencies with which his work abounds. Those which vitiate +his argument, in so far as it relates to the tides, I have mentioned +already.[3072] The rest all spring from one and the same source. When +Lewin wrote his book, he adopted a theory as to the configuration of +Romney Marsh which, after obtaining what he considered ‘more accurate +information’,[3073] he discarded. This information he embodied in an +appendix to his second edition; but at the same time he allowed the +statements based upon his former researches to stand. Thus on page 65, +note 4, he implies that ‘the heart of the marsh’ was inhabited; but +in his preface (pages v-vi) he affirms that ‘the eastern end of the +Marsh where Caesar arrived was as much _terra firma_ in his day as in +our own’, virtually admitting, as the context and the map which faces +page liii alike show, that the rest was inundated at every high tide. +On page 92 he says that ‘the sea, as is proved incontestably by the +fragments of ships and anchors which have been dug up, flowed to the +very base of the hill, and formed there the port of Limne. Stutfall +[castle], therefore, was formed for the protection of the shipping.’ On +pages lxviii and lxix the incontestable proof is not only contested but +flung to the winds: ‘the fragments of ships and anchors’ are silently +annihilated; Stutfall Castle, it now appears, ‘was for the protection, +not of the port, but of Saxonicum littus’; and the ‘Portus Limanis’ +(_sic_) becomes a ‘narrow gut’, extending from a point near Shorncliffe +to West Hythe behind a bank of shingle broken by a narrow entrance +nearly opposite Hythe. In an article which Lewin contributed to the +fortieth volume of _Archaeologia_ he remarks that if the Portus Lemanis +had been at the foot of Lympne Hill, ‘we should expect to find some +vestiges, however faint, of the port itself’: but, he adds, ‘I have +never heard or read (though I have often inquired) that any remnant of +a pier or sunken vessel, or even any anchor or other part of a ship’s +tackle, was ever discovered in this part.’[3074] Are we to infer, +then, Mr. Lewin, that when you told us on page 92 of your book that +‘fragments of ships and anchors’ had been ‘dug up’ at the foot of the +hill, you were romancing? On turning back to page 42, we find that the +above-mentioned ‘narrow gut’ first came into existence in the time of +the Saxons; but on page lxix we learn with bewilderment that it ‘must +have continued such until the abandonment of Britain by the Romans or +nearly so’. In the article which he contributed to _Archaeologia_ Lewin +changed his mind again. In the map which illustrates this article the +‘narrow gut’ extends no further westward than Hythe. On page 44 of the +book we read that Caesar landed on ‘the western side’ of ‘the creek of +Limne’ or ‘port of Limne’, the very existence of which the author’s +later and ‘more accurate information’ led him to deny. On pages lxxii +and lxxiv Caesar’s landing-place is silently transferred from ‘the +western side’ of ‘the creek of Limne’ to Hythe. On page 44 two islands +mentioned (according to Lewin) by Valerius Maximus are identified with +‘two islands’ depicted on ‘old maps’ of ‘the bay of Limne’: on page +lxxiii we are asked to identify them with two ‘islands’ in the ‘narrow +gut’ above mentioned. + +The reader now understands that, according to the theory of the ancient +configuration of Romney Marsh which Lewin adopted in his Appendix and +illustrated in the map facing page liii of his book, it would have +been impossible for Caesar to land opposite Lympne, because on that +theory the marsh between Lympne Hill and the shingle beach was flooded +by the sea at high tide. Nevertheless, I shall consider the arguments +by which Lewin defended his original view--that Caesar landed opposite +Lympne--because distinguished scholars still hold that there was a +harbour there in Roman times. + +When we come to examine Lewin’s final view--that Caesar landed at +Hythe--we shall find some difficulty in doing justice to it; for +he carefully avoids committing himself to any clear explanation of +his meaning. If we look at his map[3075] of the ‘narrow gut’, which +he believed to have extended from West Hythe to a point opposite +Shorncliffe, we shall see that, on his theory, Caesar must have done +one of two things. Either he must have landed on the shingle west of +the mouth of the gut, or he must have landed on the shingle east of +that mouth; for Lewin clearly gives us to understand that the Roman +ships did not sail into the harbour.[3076] He maintains that on the +day on which the first landing occurred a fierce struggle took place +between the Romans and the Britons in ‘the field south of Hythe’.[3077] +In order to reach this field, the Romans would have had to walk along +the shingle either westward or eastward, and then along the northern +shore of the ‘narrow gut’. But Caesar distinctly states that as soon +as the Romans stood on dry land, that is to say, on Lewin’s own +showing, on the shingle beach, they put the Britons to flight.[3078] +What becomes, then, of the imaginary combat in ‘the field south of +Hythe’? Furthermore, Lewin, while he is constrained to admit that this +field is ‘below high-water mark’, assures us that it was ‘certainly +dry at low water’.[3079] But he himself strenuously maintains that +the Romans _began_ to land three hours after low tide.[3080] Perhaps +he was uneasily conscious that he had contradicted himself when he +suggested that the Britons ‘would unquestionably have possessed +the skill to embank the port and drain the land in the immediate +neighbourhood’.[3081] + +The theory that Caesar landed at or near Hythe involves another +mystery, which Lewin does not attempt to clear up. Where was the camp +which, in 54 B.C., Caesar linked by ‘a single defensive work’ (_una +munitione_[3082]) with the ships which he found it necessary to haul +up on dry land, and how was the defensive work constructed? Lewin +tells us that the ships could not possibly have been drawn up opposite +Shorncliffe, because the shore there ‘is rocky and precipitous’.[3083] +Therefore, if the landing took place near Hythe, they must have been +drawn up on the beach west of Shorncliffe, and on the seaward side of +the ‘narrow gut’,--as he suggests, opposite Hythe. If so, of what was +the ‘defensive work’ composed? Surely not of shingle? The entrenchments +which a child constructs with his toy spade at Margate would have +been just as effective. But if not of shingle, what other material +was available on a shingle beach? And what was the direction of the +‘defensive work’ which connected the ships with the camp? Presumably +the camp was on dry land behind the ‘narrow gut’, and constructed not +of shingle but of earth. Now the entrenchment which protected the ships +and connected them with this camp could hardly have been carried across +the ‘narrow gut’, which was deeply submerged at every high tide! I can +only suppose, then, that the connecting work was really constructed, +by some occult process, of shingle; traced out along the shingle beach +either eastward towards Shorncliffe, or westward to West Hythe Oaks, +and then along the northern shore of the ‘narrow gut’ until it joined +the camp. Or if, as Lewin suggests, the camp with which the ships +were connected was distinct from the camp which Caesar marked out on +an ‘advantageous position’ (_loco idoneo_[3084]) immediately after +his second landing; and if, as he affirms,[3085] it ‘must have stood +upon the seashore’, and its site ‘must long since have disappeared’; +then it can only be concluded that camp and connecting work were both +constructed of shingle! + +Again, it is incredible that a gale which drove some of Caesar’s +eighteen cavalry transports past Hythe or Lympne to a more westerly +part of the island should have carried the rest back to the port from +which they had started, which Lewin rightly identified with Ambleteuse. +If the ships had been approaching Hythe when the storm arose, they +would have been obliged, in order to return to Ambleteuse, to steer SE. +by E. 9° S.[3086] Now Lewin himself maintains that the gale blew from +the north-east.[3087] As a matter of fact, if it had blown from this +quarter at Lympne or Hythe, it would have been practically innocuous; +for off either of those places vessels would have been sheltered from +it by the hills, and the transports which were driven westward would +not have been, as they were, swept by the waves: if the gale had blown +from the north-east off Walmer, its direction off Hythe would have been +about east-north-east.[3088] Still, for the sake of argument, I will +accept Lewin’s view. According to it, the ships would have been forced +to sail within less than eight points of the wind. But in a heavy gale +a ship will make as much as six points and a half of lee-way.[3089] +Let us reduce this estimate to four, which is certainly a liberal +reduction.[3090] It follows that the hapless transports would have +been required, in order to reach their destination, to lie within less +than four points of the wind, a feat which, I need hardly say, would +have been utterly impossible.[3091] Furthermore, Lewin affirms, in an +unguarded moment, that the gale, when a few hours later it wrecked +Caesar’s ships as they rode at anchor, was still blowing from the +north-east: but he does not explain how a north-easterly gale could +have driven ashore, that is to say, driven in a northerly direction, +ships anchored off Lympne or Hythe! + +Such are a few of the absurdities in which Lewin’s theory plunges him. +However, he shall be heard in his own defence. + +The argument upon which Lewin lays the most stress has been already +refuted.[3092] He maintains that at the time when Caesar, on the day of +his first voyage, quitted his anchorage and sailed with the stream to +the spot where he was to land, the stream must have been running down +the Channel.[3093] Let us assume, in order to allow more than its due +weight to his argument, that Caesar must have weighed anchor as early +as 3.30 p.m.,[3094] though I shall afterwards prove that the assumption +is both unnecessary and false; and let us also suppose that the tide +did not actually turn eastward until after 5 p.m. Even then, unless +Caesar could have calculated the exact time which it had still to run +with more than the certainty of the experts who prepare the _Admiralty +Tide Tables_, he would have had to face the risk that, before he +could reach his landing-place, it might turn against him. Even if +Heller[3095] is not right in interpreting the words ‘getting wind and +tide simultaneously in his favour’ (_et ventum et aestum uno tempore +nactus secundum_) as meaning that Caesar weighed anchor just after the +stream had turned, there can be no doubt that this would have been the +wisest course to pursue. + +1. Having disposed, to his own satisfaction, of the question of the +tides, Lewin remarks that ‘Hythe would be much nearer than Deal, and +was the natural port for vessels from Boulogne’.[3096] + +Yes, nearer by a bare two miles, and a few yards nearer than Walmer! +But, as Lewin himself insists,[3097] Caesar, when he sailed from +Boulogne, did not intend to land either at Hythe or at Deal; and unless +he intended to sail direct to one of those places, Lewin’s argument +collapses. Moreover, since the greater part of the voyage was made upon +the easterly-going stream, it would have taken longer to sail to Hythe +than to the coast between Walmer and Deal. And when Lewin affirms that +Hythe ‘was the natural port for vessels from Boulogne’, he apparently +forgets that he has already told us that ‘Folkestone ... would be the +natural port for Boulogne’,[3098] that Caesar’s fleet never entered +Hythe harbour, and that ‘the mooring of the Roman vessels within it +would be certain destruction’.[3099] + +2. Lewin attempts to show that the wind which carried Caesar from +Boulogne to his anchorage on his first voyage, and which would, if +it had continued, have been in his favour if he had intended to sail +on towards Deal, veered round before he quitted his anchorage.[3100] +His argument runs as follows:--‘Caesar says that he started from his +anchorage ... having _got_ the wind in his favour, and the Latin word +_nactus_ implies that the wind had undergone a change.... When he +embarked at Boulogne he despatched the cavalry to Ambleteuse ... with +orders to follow him with all haste; but ... they did not leave that +haven for Britain until the fourth day after,[3101] and no plausible +reason can be given for this except that, for the whole of this +interval, the wind was contrary; that is ... had shifted.’ In a later +passage[3102] he maintains that if the wind had not shifted during the +voyage, the length of the passage, and especially the tardy arrival +of the transports, would be inexplicable. Moreover, he says, the word +_nactus_ ‘implies a change either in the _wind_ or the tide: the tide +had not changed, and therefore the change alluded to must have been +in the wind’.[3103] While, however, he argues that the wind must have +shifted, he endeavours to secure his retreat by affirming that, if it +had not shifted, Caesar could nevertheless have sailed to Hythe as +easily as to Deal. ‘Supposing,’ he says,[3104] ‘the wind to have blown +from the south, it would have been favourable to a movement, from a +point opposite Dover, either to the east or west.’ + +I freely admit--indeed I have myself maintained--that the wind had +shifted during the voyage. It had shifted to a point unfavourable, or +comparatively unfavourable, to ships sailing from North-Eastern Gaul +to Britain. I also, like Lewin, maintain that it shifted again before +Caesar quitted his anchorage. The fact is obvious. But what then? How +can Lewin prove that before Caesar quitted his anchorage the wind did +not shift to a quarter which would have been favourable to a run from +a point off the cliffs of Dover towards Deal? Moreover, it is not +true that if the wind had ‘blown from the south, it would have been +favourable to a movement, from a point opposite Dover, either to the +east or west’. If the wind had blown exactly from the south, it would +certainly not have been called favourable to a movement from a point +opposite Dover to Hythe, that is to say, within less than seven points +of the wind; and if the wind had blown from any point west of south, +the word ‘favourable’ would have been still less appropriate.[3105] + +3. Lewin maintains that the wisest course which Caesar could have +pursued when he sailed on from his anchorage in 55 B.C. would have +been to steer westward. ‘Let us first consider,’ he says,[3106] ‘_a +priori_, what a prudent commander might be expected to do under +similar circumstances.... To the right he would see the precipitous +chalk cliffs stretching away ... till they terminated at the South +Foreland.... The lowlands about Walmer and Deal would not be visible; +and it is at least doubtful whether Volusenus had included them in +his survey ... tracing the line of cliffs westward, he could not +fail to see that they terminated at Sandgate, and that a broad level +plain there succeeded.’ At Hythe, he adds, there was a landing-place +‘distinctly visible from his moorings’.[3107] + +This argument rests upon the absolutely groundless assumption that +Volusenus had not reconnoitred the coast on the north of the South +Foreland;[3108] in other words, that Volusenus, whom Caesar specially +selected as a thoroughly competent man, had grossly neglected his duty +and disobeyed his instructions. Besides, even if the landing-place +at Hythe had been ‘distinctly visible’ from Caesar’s moorings,[3109] +nothing would have been gained; for Caesar acted, not upon what he +could see, but, as he tells us himself,[3110] upon what he had learned +from the report of Volusenus. Whether he could or could not see ‘from +his moorings’ the place where he was to land, he knew the direction +in which he intended to sail. Finally, when Lewin considers ‘_a +priori_’ that ‘a prudent commander might be expected under similar +circumstances’ to land at Hythe or Lympne, he only advertises his own +ignorance of a commander’s business. As I shall show presently,[3111] +no commander who was not hopelessly incompetent would have dreamed, in +the circumstances of ancient warfare, of attempting to land either at +Hythe or at Lympne. + +4. Lewin contends in his text that at Lympne and in his appendix that +at Hythe there was a landing-place which exactly corresponded with +Caesar’s description; and he denies that any such landing-place exists +at Deal. He affirms[3112] that the shore on the western side of ‘the +creek of Lympne’ was ‘_apertum_ or open, for the heights to the north +were at least a mile distant. The sea-beach was also _molle_ or soft +... in a sailor’s sense, _i.e._ it consisted of shingle, than which +nothing can be more favourable to the security of vessels.... Sand, +on the contrary, is, in naval phraseology, of the hardest kind, as it +has no “give”, and a ship beating against it would soon be dashed to +pieces.’ He says that, according to Lucan,[3113] Plutarch,[3114] and +Dion Cassius,[3115] there was ‘marshy ground’ at the place where Caesar +landed, and he assures us that marshes were formed by the streams which +entered the port of Hythe.[3116] He remarks that, according to Valerius +Maximus,[3117] there were two small islands near the landing-place, +which were the scene of an exploit performed by one of Caesar’s +centurions: ‘on looking,’ he says, ‘at the old maps of this part of the +coast, I find ... that the bay of Limne contained ... two islands.’ +Like other people who had learned to measure the trustworthiness of +Valerius Maximus, Lewin had himself been sceptical about the anecdote +of the centurion; but how could he resist the testimony of the ‘old +maps’? He admits that he was converted:--‘the circumstance, so +apocryphal before, becomes thus no inconsiderable argument for placing +the descent in this locality.’[3118] Afterwards he changes his mind, +and transfers the islands some distance to the east of Lympne. They +actually existed, he tells us, a few years before the publication of +his book, ‘either near to or in the ancient port of Hythe’; they also +are depicted in various old maps; and they were ‘carted away’ by the +late James Elliott, the engineer of Romney Marsh.[3119] Furthermore, +he assures us[3120] that the incident described by Valerius Maximus is +also noticed by Plutarch,[3121] who ‘lays the scene in sight of Caesar +himself, and therefore close to the camp; and in a marsh or swamp, +which, with the light afforded by the account of Valerius, must be +taken to mean a lagoon subject to the alternations of the high and low +tides’. + +Now as to the exact meaning of the word _apertum_ in the passage to +which Lewin refers, the commentators are not agreed. While he insists +that the beach on which he believes Caesar to have landed was ‘open’, +because ‘the heights to the north were at least a mile distant’, Dr. +Guest[3122] denies that they were ‘open’, because ‘there is a range +of heights at no great distance’. According to Long,[3123] ‘“open” +means that from the beach he could see into the country.’ Now any +one who has read the _Commentaries_ attentively will see that all +these explanations are wrong. For in his narrative of the second +expedition[3124] Caesar tells us that he ‘felt little anxiety for the +ships, as he was leaving them at anchor on a nice open shore’[3125] +(_eo minus veritus navibus, quod in litore molli atque aperto deligatas +ad ancoras relinquebat_). If the explanations which I have quoted +were correct, the word _apertum_ in this passage would be irrelevant. +Whether the ‘heights’ were ‘at no great distance’, or ‘from the beach +finish him with one more blow, but the Magician stepped to one side and +struck Gran’pa on the head, sending him to his knees. Gran’pa, however +much the blow hurt, never uttered a groan, and as he struggled dizzily +to his feet he tried to ward off the blows that old Jingles showered +upon him. + +Part of the blows Gran’pa received on his left arm, the others slid +harmlessly off his cane. + +Gran’pa backed away from the Magician and his face was worried, for the +blow upon his head had made Gran’pa weak in the knees. + +But although he dodged and gave ground Gran’pa waited for an opening and +at last, as the Magician missed a swing at Gran’pa’s head, Gran’pa drew +his cane back over his shoulder and brought it down with all his might +upon old Jingles’ crown. + +The blow was of such force it would have broken the Magician’s head if +the cane had not split in two, and as it was the wicked man staggered +from the blow. + +Gran’pa, with but the handle of his cane in his hand, jumped forward to +strike again, but he missed his footing and went rolling down the stone +steps. + +When Gran’pa fell in front of the Magician, the Princess, Janey and Mrs. +Tiptoe started running. + +“Run for your lives!” cried the Princess. “He will change all of us into +animals! Run!” + +[Illustration: Catching his long nose in her hands she gave it a tweak. +(page 145)] + +The Magician staggered after Gran’pa who had rolled clear to the bottom +of the long flight of steps. The Magician in his anger did not see +Johnny or the Chief of Detectives, who still sat in a daze part of the +way down the steps, so as he passed them, Johnny stuck his foot out and +tripped up the Magician. + +Down the long flight of steps the Magician fell, his long arms and legs +hitting the steps and his crooked stick flying high in the air as he +turned over and over. + +Johnny, though still dazed, got to his feet and started down the steps, +hoping he could get the Magician’s crooked stick. + +The Magician rolled to the bottom of the steps and he found Gran’ma +there to meet him; for as soon as the others had started to run, they +had released Gran’ma. + +So Gran’ma waited until old Jingles had stopped rolling, then she rushed +at him, and, catching his long nose in her hands, she gave it a tweak. + +With one scream of pain, the Magician lay still, and as Johnny raised +the crooked stick to bring it down upon Jingles’ head, Gran’ma stopped +him. + +“I said I’d tweak his nose,” Gran’ma cried, “and I’ll tweak it again +just as soon as he awakens!” + +Gran’pa sat up and looked around. + +“Give me another sack of peanuts,” he said. + +The Magician showed signs of awakening, so Gran’ma gave his long nose +another tweak which made him lie still. + +The Princess called to the people still standing around the door of the +Castle. + +“Call the Guards!” she shouted. “We’ll tie him and keep him chained up +for ever!” + +The voice of their Princess seemed to arouse the people from their +numbness and fear and eight Guards came running out from behind the +great doors where they had hidden themselves. + +When the Guards came to pick up the Magician to carry him away Gran’ma +pushed them back. + +“No you don’t!” she told them. “He stays right here while I tweak his +nose until he never has another speck of magic in him!” + +And as the Magician stirred again, Gran’ma gave his long nose another +hard tweek. + +“But Gran’ma,” Janey cried, “the Princess must be obeyed! She wants the +wicked creature put in chains and in prison!” + +“Now, you let me be!” Gran’ma said. “I’m boss here and here he stays +until I—” + +Just as this moment the Dancing Master rushed down the steps and blew a +puff from the magic bellows upon the face of old Jingles. It first +formed a puffy white cloud, then it settled grain by grain. There was a +breathless silence. + +Gran’ma did not finish what she was about to say, for as the magic +powder touched the Magician’s face, his long nose disappeared, his +wicked eyes changed and his face took on the appearance of a young man. +And as they all watched in wonder and amazement they saw his long, thin +fingers change into young hands, and the thin form beneath the torn, +dusty clothes alter until a fine young man lay before them. + +The Dancing Master blew another puff of the powder upon the prostrate +form and the old torn clothes changed into silk and velvet. + +“Dear me!” Gran’ma cried. “Perhaps we have made a mistake! It isn’t old +Jingles!” + +And when the Strange Young Man opened his eyes and saw the crowd +standing around him, he ran his hand across his forehead as if trying to +recollect something. + +“Where am I?” he asked. + +“You are in the City of Nite,” answered the Princess. “Guards, assist +him into the Castle!” + +“I believe I can walk,” said the Strange Young Man, “but I cannot +imagine how I got here, for I have never heard of the City of Nite +before.” And with this he stood upon his feet. + +“This is indeed strange,” said the Princess. “Let us all go into the +Castle.” And as the people drew aside to let them pass, the Princess, +Mrs. Tiptoe, Gran’ma and Janey went up the steps, followed by the +Strange Young Man, the Tiptoe Brothers, Gran’pa and Johnny. + +“My name is David,” the Strange Young Man said, when all had taken +chairs in the Princess’ drawing room and he saw that they looked to him +for an explanation, “and my home is in Dayland, or at least,” he +continued, “it used to be there.” + +“Dayland is on the other side of the Moon!” said the Princess. “My +father and mother and I visited there once!” + +“If Dayland is on the other side of the Moon,” said David, “this must be +the Land Back of the Moon.” + +“It is,” the Princess replied. “If you looked through the Moon you would +see it. It’s the Magical Land of Noom.” + +“How strange that I should be here!” and David passed his hand over his +forehead in a puzzled manner. “I faintly remember strange rhymes and +jingles of which I dreamed.” + +“You did not dream them,” Gran’ma hastened to explain. “You were old +Jingles the Magician until a few moments ago, then Mr. Tiptoe puffed the +magic powder on you and changed you back to your own self.” + +“Dear me,” sighed David. “If this is true tell me how long I have been +in this strange shape, for I speak truly when I tell you that I am +really at a loss to account for the cruel and wicked things which I must +have done while I was not myself.” + +“You first came to the City of Nite as a witch and said you were the +Princess,” the Chief of Detectives told him. + +“But you will remember,” the Princess said, turning to the Chief of +Detectives, “that I met him first as Old Jingles, when I saw the Queer +Horse who had eaten his head off, and that was over eighty years ago.” + +“Dear me,” David sighed. “Then there is no telling how long I have been +old Jingles or the Witch. I’m awfully sorry,” he told the Princess. “I +wouldn’t have harmed you for the world.” + +“Isn’t it just like a fairy tale!” Janey cried. + +“Perhaps it is,��� David smiled, “but it seems like a disagreeable dream +to me and until I get back to my own country, I really cannot explain +how it all came about.” + +“What is the last thing you remember?” Johnny asked. + +“Let me see! We were having a great ball or something at the Castle and +I had just stepped outside the door to look at the Sun when—when—well, +that is the last thing I can recall, except the queer dreams about +rhymes and jingles.” + +“You don’t remember what you did with our Flying Boat, do you?” Johnny +asked. + +“No, I can not recall a Flying Boat, at all,” David answered. + +[Illustration] + +“That was the only way we had of returning to the Earth,” Gran’ma said, +a little sadly, “and I feel that we should return as soon as we can.” + +When Gran’pa had told him of the children’s Flying Boat and how he had +made one to follow the children to the Moon, David said, “Perhaps you +could make another and so return to the Earth! Perhaps you could take me +to my home in it, first.” + +Gran’pa asked the Princess if he could build another Flying Boat and +although the Princess wished them to stay at the Castle with her always, +she realized that they must be as anxious to return to the Earth as she +had been to return to the City of Nite. So the Princess sent word to the +Royal Carpenter to bring boards and nails to the Castle roof and there +Gran’pa superintended the building of the new Flying Boat. + +While this was being built, the Princess took her friends to visit her +father and mother, with whom they spent two happy weeks, seeing the +sights and having dances and dinners given in their honor. + +When they returned to the City of Nite, the Flying Boat had been +completed and stood upon the Castle roof all ready to sail. It was a +sturdy, beautifully built machine—quite the nicest one that has ever +been made. + +There were tears in the eyes of the Princess and Mrs. Tiptoe as David, +Gran’ma, Gran’pa and the children took their seats in the boat. + +“Good-bye! Good-bye!” they cried. “Do not forget that we shall be most +happy to have you visit us again!” And the Princess gave Gran’ma, +Gran’pa, Janey and Johnny each a beautiful ring in which was set a +wonderful Moonstone. + +[Illustration] + +Then when she had kissed them all good-bye again Gran’pa turned the +little knob marked “Start” and the new Flying Boat rose slowly from the +roof of the Castle and sailed away. + +The Princess and the people of Nite watched the Flying Boat until it was +out of sight, and then the Princess and Mrs. Tiptoe and the Tiptoe +Brothers went into the Castle. + +“I wished for them to stay,” said the Princess. “Didn’t you love them +all?” + +“Indeed I did,” Mrs. Tiptoe answered as she wiped her eyes. “They were +all so kind and unselfish.” + +“It is nice to know and love them,” said Mr. Tiptoe, “and while I know +they had many unpleasant experiences in the Magical Land of Noom, I am +so glad they came.” + +“Yes,” replied the Princess, “we owe all our present happiness to them +and I hope they will come again to visit us soon.” + +“Let’s all write a long letter and send it to them,” the Chief of +Detectives suggested. + +“How?” the others inquired. + +“Let us write the letter, then address it care of the Earth and puff the +magic powder upon it. They will be sure to receive it!” + +“That is an excellent idea!” the Princess cried joyfully. “We will start +it right away.” + +So they all set to work on the letter, so as to send it off at once. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + + CHAPTER XIII + EVERYBODY GOES HOME + + +When the Flying Boat was out of sight of the City of Nite, Gran’pa +pressed the speed button and the new craft shot through the air like a +comet, passing over the mountains and valleys in a flash. In a very few +moments it had covered a distance that had taken the travelers long +hours to walk. + +The new Flying Boat whizzed around the bend in the Moon and flew over +the side which is always turned towards the Earth. + +“This must be the Dayland in which you live!” Gran’pa said to David. + +“It is!” David answered. “See, there is the Earth!” + +By shading their eyes from the Sun, Gran’ma, Gran’pa and the children +could see a blue-green Star winking and blinking in the sky and could +faintly make out the shape of the land and the oceans upon its surface. + +As they sped along above the Moon, they watched the wonderful changes in +coloring below them. They saw many cities and villages and looked into +enormous craters of extinct volcanoes. + +At last they saw in the distance a city of white with wonderful steeples +and towers on the great building standing in the center. It was a +regular fairy book castle with glistening windows and hanging gardens. + +“There it is!” David shouted. “Guide the Flying Boat to the balcony at +the right of the Palace!” And as Gran’pa brought the Flying Boat to rest +as directed, many people rushed out of the Palace, and knelt before +David. “Our King has returned!” they shouted. “Long live the King!” And +they all came and kissed his hand. + +When David saw Gran’ma and Gran’pa and Janey and Johnny looking at him +in astonishment he put his arms around them and helped them from the +boat. + +“We did not know you were a King!” exclaimed Janey. + +The King laughed for the first time and it was such a cheery, pleasant +laugh they almost forgot that he was a King and Gran’ma gave his hand a +squeeze. + +[Illustration: “There it is!” David shouted. “Guide the Flying Boat to +the balcony at the right of the Palace!” (page 154)] + +As the King led them inside the Palace all the bells in the city began +chiming. “You must at least stay and have dinner with me,” he said. + +The King wished them to stay until he had learned how he came to change +characters, but as soon as they had finished dinner, Gran’ma said they +must leave. + +“If I can discover just what happened when I walked out to look at the +Sun,” the King laughed as he said good-bye, “I will write to you and try +to find a way to get the letter into your hands.” + +“It seems as if you could make a little Flying Boat and put the letter +in it and send it to us,” Johnny said. + +“Then you can expect to hear from me,” the King replied, as he waved +good-bye to them. + +[Illustration] + +Gran’ma and the children took a nap while Gran’pa guided the Flying Boat +on its return trip and when he finally awakened them, the new Flying +Boat stood in the back yard near the kitchen door at Gran’pa’s home. + +“Well,” said Gran’ma as she jumped out of the boat, “the Castle of the +Princess was comfortable and beautiful and King David’s Palace was +magnificent, but our little old home is the best of all!” + +“Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home!” Gran’pa sang as he +helped Janey from the boat. + +“I hope the moths haven’t got in the carpets!” Gran’ma said, as she +opened the back door. + +[Illustration] + +Johnny ran to the chicken shed and came back with six or seven eggs. + +Janey helped Gran’ma set the table and Gran’pa built the kitchen fire. +Then Gran’pa went to the smoke-house and brought in a large ham. + +“We’ll have some good old ham and eggs!” he said. + +Gran’ma made the fluffiest biscuits she had ever baked and they sat down +to a breakfast which they all enjoyed more than they had ever enjoyed a +breakfast before. + +“Now that we are back home again, doesn’t it all seem far away and +strange, like a fairy tale one has read a long time ago?” Gran’ma +suggested. + +“Yes, and like a real fairy tale, it has turned out very happily,” +Gran’pa smiled. + +“I wonder if we shall ever hear from the Princess or from the King,” +Johnny said. + +“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the King should marry the beautiful +Princess, just as all pretty fairy tales end?” mused Gran’ma. + + + THE END + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. + 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. + 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Destination--Death + + By WILBUR S. PEACOCK + + One man had to die on Uranus' frozen + crust, so that the other might + live--and Bart Caxton had a gun. + + [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from + Planet Stories Winter 1943. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that + the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +The yellow gauge clicked with a tiny sound, and the oxygen tank went +dry. The relay ratchetted slowly, automatically coupled on the next +tank, and the needle on the gauge climbed to high-pressure again. + +Bart Caxton watched the needle swing, and beads of perspiration rode +high on his cheekbones. He twisted the metal mug in his hands, and his +voice was ragged with welling emotion. + +"Three weeks," he said viciously. "And we're five weeks from the +shipping lanes. There isn't enough oxygen to carry us back." + +"Shut up!" Tom Headley's tone was thin with suppressed anger. "All the +damned talking in the world won't change things. We've got to land now, +have got to find the _kronalium_, or we'll never get back." + +He leaned against the wall, searching the cloud-shrouded ground below +the ship, feeling the uneven drumming of the rockets driving the ship +forward. Nerves crawled his back, and sweat slimed his hands. He +shuddered, imagining the horrors that might lie below. + +The mug banged against the floor, and Caxton was standing, +half-crouched, his heavy face set and stony, his hands riding the butts +of his twin dis-guns. + +"I say we go back," he snarled through set teeth. + +Headley laughed, and the sound was the only thing that could have +broken the tension of the moment. He tilted his head and laughed until +the tears ran from his eyes; and slowly the rage faded from Caxton's +face, and his shoulders sagged in weary futility. + +"Okay, you win," Caxton said sullenly. "I know I can't force you to +turn around, since you're the only one of us that can recognize and +work _kronalium_ for the stern jets. But," and his eyes were swirling +pools of flaming hate. "When we do get back, I'm going to blow a hole +through your back some night." + +Tom Headley turned away, the fear piling in his mind until it was a +choking cloud that stifled all thought. + +"_If_ we get back," he said dully. + + * * * * * + +He slid his hands over the control panel, adjusting the studs and +levers with a delicate familiarity, striving to bring another ounce of +power from the single rocket-bank that still functioned. But there was +only the uneven beat of the rockets vibrating the floor as they had +done for three days now, and no adjustment of the controls could make +them function better. + +Bart Caxton sat again, fumbled a cigarette from his pocket, then +dropped it to the floor. His face was white beneath its tan, and there +was a haunted desperation in the tightness of his bulky body. + +"How long will it take?" he asked. "Will we make it back to Earth +before--" His voice thickened. "--before we smother to death?" + +Tom Headley shrugged. "It'll be tight," he said slowly. "We'll be on +half oxygen-rations the full trip back. But it can be done; I went +three months on half-rations once--and then got drunk on Earth's air +for two days after I landed." + +"To hell with you and your fancy trips!" The madness was building again +in Caxton's mind. "You've been everywhere--but you ain't been _here_; +you don't know what Uranus is like, nobody does." + +He lunged to his feet, pressed close to the port. His breath clouded +the quartzite pane, and he polished the glass impatiently. + +"Look at that," he said thinly. "That's the place we were going to +explore; that's the place where it is so cold and the pressure so +great, air collapses and can't be breathed. We were going to do what +the early explorers failed to do; try to find life and minerals. They +failed because their space suits could not stand the cold. Now we'll be +marooned there because a damned meteor busted our stern rockets all to +hell!" + +"Don't blame _me_ for that," Headley said, and instantly regretted the +words. + +"_Okay!_" Caxton spun back to his seat. "I let the force-screen die for +a couple of hours while I slept. But don't think I'm taking the blame +for the whole mess, even at that. This was your screwy idea." + +Headley nodded. "If we succeed, our reputations will be big enough to +gain us backing for almost anything." He grinned, and some of the fear +was gone from his mind. "Hell, what if we are cooped up here for a +few days? I'll fix the rockets, we'll do a bit of exploring, and then +high-tail it back for more oxygen. We'll live in vac-suits and save our +air; and the suits hold enough rations to last us for three months." + +"And if the rockets aren't fixed?" + +Tom Headley forced the thought from his mind. "They'll be fixed," he +said quietly. + +Bart Caxton slumped into a sullen silence, his slitted eyes watching +the profile of his companion. Slowly, cunning crept into his face, and +his right hand slid along his thigh toward one belt-gun. + +"I wouldn't," Headley said without moving. "You can't fix the ship, and +help won't be sent for us for at least three months. A man couldn't +live that long, on the oxygen we have left, I don't believe." + +"I might make the oxygen last for _me_ until I got back to a regular +traffic lane." + +Headley swung about, and anger paled his face. "Damn it, Caxton," he +said brittlely, "_we'll_ get out of this! Probably, because of the +pressure and cold on the planet, we'll find frozen air which can be +thawed out; we'll look for it along with the _kronalium_." He watched +the stillness of his partner's hand. "Murder won't solve anything!" he +finished softly. + +Bart Caxton nodded slowly. "Sorry, Headley," he said. "It's just that +I've never been in a jam like this before." + +Tom Headley grinned. "We'll see it through--together," he said. + +"Okay!" Caxton's tone was sullenly agreeable, but small fires of +cunning still swirled in his eyes. + +"Get ready for a shock-landing," Headley said relievedly, reached for +the controls. + + * * * * * + +The icy wind roared like ten million furies about the grounded +ship, sucking up the powdery snow, smashing it against the gleaming +alumisteel hull. Great boulders of snow and ice tumbled playfully about +the rubbly landscape, splashed in foamy explosions into the semi-frozen +pools of liquid that dotted the planet's surface. + +Tom Headley shivered involuntarily, turned back from the port. + +"Colder than the hinges of hell out there," he said worriedly. "I can +understand how the first crude vac-suits couldn't stand up for very +long." + +"Yeah!" Caxton glanced up from sealing the zipper slit at the front of +his suit. "I only hope these suits can take it." + +"They can; they're made for absolute-zero work in space. Here, the only +trouble lies in the super-gravity and the wind. Either might rupture +the outfits." + +Caxton watched snow pile against a huge boulder, then saw it whisked +instantly away by the force of the wind. He glanced at his vac-suit +against the wall, and fear rode the sullenness of his eyes. + +"Who's going out to do the exploring?" + +Headley smiled from where he tugged on his suit. "Both of us," he said +cheerfully. "We'll stay together with a shock-line; then if one of us +is injured, the other can help him back to the ship." + +He shrugged his shoulders into the suit, closed the air-tight zipper. +Caxton turned slowly, lifted his suit, carefully fitted it to his +stocky body. His fingers shook slightly, and his face was white. + +Tom Headley watched his partner silently for a moment, then shrugged +and checked the oxy-cylinder pressure-gauge. The needle pressed tight +against its rest-pin. He lifted the glassite helmet, swung it idly in +his hand for a moment. He knew the grimness of the moment, knew that +the tank on his back held less than six hours of life-saving oxygen. +When that was gone, if he were not back at the ship, he would die. A +wry smile lifted the corners of his mobile mouth. Within the suit were +enough concentrates and vitamin capsules to last him for months, and +a special apparatus made it possible for water to be drawn from the +air he breathed. He grinned at the thought; without air, the rest was +superfluous. + +"Okay," Caxton said finally, "let's take a look." He slipped on the +helmet, cogged it to his shoulder-plates, left the visi-port open. +Cunning still burned in his eyes, and his gaze dropped when he caught +the full impact of Headley's distrust. + +Headley locked on his helmet, cogged the port shut, tested his radio. +Caxton answered shortly, shut his visi-ports and both turned to the +entrance of the ship. + +Metal squealed beneath Headley's hands; then the cogs were loose. +Headley braced his shoulder against the port, strained mightily, was +joined by his partner. Together, their strength was sufficient to force +the door open against pressure of the air outside. + + * * * * * + +The air gushed in with incredible force, shoved the men forcefully +against the metal wall, then subsided as the pressure was equalized. +Headley stepped forward, felt the icy crystals of snow tapping against +his suit. He thrust one arm through the port, gasped, as gravity jerked +it groundward. He leaned back, sighed. Inside the ship, with its +inertia-stasis gravity, normal movement was possible; but outside, with +the super-gravity, even slow walking would be a job. + +"Set your suit control for three graves," he ordered. "That way, we'll +have enough weight to stay on the ground, and will still be able to +move." + +Bart Caxton growled an unintelligible reply, drew his right arm from +the semi-rigid sleeve of his suit, made an adjustment on the suit's +control-panel. Instantly, weight descended with pile-driving force, and +muscles corded in his legs to counteract the tripled gravity. + +Headley adjusted his gravity control, then connected himself to Caxton +with a ten-foot length of cable. Carefully, he lowered himself from the +port, stood erect in the howling wind and snow, waited until Caxton +had clambered down to his side. Reaching upward, they closed the port, +leaving it uncogged, so that they could easily reenter. + +Headley checked his radi-compass bearings, then braced the full force +of the wind, Caxton pressing forward at his side. They struggled toward +the ice-sheathed cliff a hundred yards away, each step an agony of +effort, clumsily dodging a huge boulder that rolled a lazy path of +death toward them. + +Snow smashed at them, made vision difficult, went whirling away. +Even through the radi-heated layers of their suits, they could feel +the implacable cold plucking at their lives with skeletal fingers of +death. Minutes passed, as they fought through the drifting snow, each +minute an age of effort; and when Headley glanced back, he felt a +vague surprise to find that they had travelled so short a distance. He +grinned at Caxton. + +"Like trying to run in a slow-motion dream," he said, frowned slightly +when he heard his partner's sullen growl of acknowledgment. + +They struggled forward again, approaching the cliff of ice and rock +that towered overhead. Headley splashed heedlessly through a small pool +of semi-liquid, halted with a tiny cry of excitement. + +"Look!" he said. "That rock's alive." + +Bart Caxton tilted his gaze to where several clay-colored rocks lay at +the edge of the pool. + +"You're nuts," he said. "They're just rocks." + +"I'll swear I saw one move out of the way of my foot," Headley insisted +stubbornly, bent and lifted the first of the rocks. + +It was heavy in his hands, and he had the uncanny sensation that +it squirmed impatiently as he lifted it. He examined it carefully, +ignoring Caxton's impatient words for them to hurry. And even as he +watched, he saw the living rock split in his hands, opening down the +side, disclosing gill-like fringed flesh that looked like slivers of +whitish ice. + +"_It is alive!_" he exclaimed excitedly, then dropped the stone as +sudden giddiness clutched at his senses. + +Caxton caught at his drooping body. "What's wrong?" he snapped. + +Headley blinked his eyes. "Nothing!" he disclaimed. "Just a combination +of pressure and lack of oxygen." He reached for his suit's panel, +opened the oxygen valve another quarter turn. + +He shook his head slightly, then bent to study the rock he had dropped. +It had not moved, nor had its mouth-like opening closed. It lay at his +feet in the shallow liquid, resembling nothing more than a ruptured +rock. + +"To hell with it!" Caxton said disagreeably. "Let's find the +_kronalium_." + +Headley nodded, stumbled after Caxton. But jubilation was in his heart. +When he and Caxton returned, they would take back several of the +rock-creatures as living proof of the success of their mission. + +He glanced back, saw squat legs flick from the opening in the rock, +saw the creature scurry back to the few others of its kind that rested +at the side of the semi-frozen pool of liquid. He grinned again, then +pressed forward to lead the way to the cliff. + + * * * * * + +They rested in the lee of the escarpment, safe from the howling wind, +huddling out of the way of the rocks and snow-clots that went spinning +by from the fury of the storm. + +"Now what?" Caxton asked. + +Tom Headley glanced at the gauges below the level of his chin, watched +the needles carefully. + +"God!" he said. "This place is a storehouse of minerals and elements. +We'll have no trouble getting money for an expedition." + +"Damn it!" Rage knotted Caxton's voice until it was a thin screech. +"Who cares about that; do you find any traces of _kronalium_?" + +Headley watched a single dial, turned slowly, studying the line of +cliff-base at his left. "Close by," he said. "It must be a big deposit, +for the needle doesn't waver." + +"Then let's get to it!" Caxton came to his feet, towered over his +squatting partner. + +Headley struggled upright, fighting the super-gravity, led the way down +the edge of the escarpment. Time and again, he fell, tripped by the +gravity, whirled aside by the smashing wind. Each time, he struggled +erect, forced himself to go forward again. + +He watched the needle floating in its case, followed its point +unerringly toward a shallow recess in the cliff's base. Using his belt +pick, he chopped at the layer of ice and snow, let out a shout of +relief when a strip of reddish metal appeared. + +"This is it," he announced. "Now the repair job will be simple." + +Bart Caxton nodded, seeing the metal, and for a brief second his hand +hovered over the single gun strapped to his suit. Then he relaxed, +caught his pick in his right hand, bent forward to help smash away +great chunks of the metal. + +"It's almost anticlimactic," he said shortly, "finding this stuff so +easily." + +Tom Headley grinned. "It would have been more anticlimactic," he said, +"not to have found it. I've found _traces_ of it on every planet I've +visited." + +Then they worked without further conversation, digging loose a great +pile of the metal, making staggering trips to the ship with the +precious element that was the only metal with which their rocket tubes +could be repaired. Hours later, they cogged the port shut on their +ship, exhausted the tainted air, released a breathable atmosphere. + +Out of their suits, they ate a quick meal, began the task of smelting +the _kronalium_ so that it would fit the wrecked drive mechanism at +the rear of the ship. Headley worked with the quiet sureness of a +man whose life had been self-sufficient; Caxton worked with the grim +doggedness of a man who knows that his life hinges upon his speed in +working. + + * * * * * + +They worked in shifts, eating and sleeping when they could, Caxton +doing the crude work, Headley putting the final touches upon the +delicate task that was theirs. + +And forty hours later they stood in admiration of the job they had +done. New metal tubes glowed redly in the light of the radi-lamps, +ready to send the ship hurtling back toward inhabited space. They still +sparkled from the heat generated when Headley had given them a trial +burst of power. + +"And that's that," Headley said. His face was grim and lined, and his +smile was a trifle forced. + +Bart Caxton nodded, but his eyes were on the bank of dials that +indicated the quantity of oxygen still aboard the ship. His lips were +thin, and his eyes blank, as he made swift calculations in his chaotic +mind. + +"Let's blast off," he said. + +Tom Headley grinned. "Not yet," he said. "There's five hundred pounds +of _kronalium_ back there that we're taking along. And I want several +of those rock animals for living proof that we've been here." + +Anger distorted Caxton's features. His hand sought the gun at his +waist, then dropped beneath the steadiness of Headley's gaze. + +"All right," he agreed sullenly. "But let's hurry." + +Five trips they made, carrying the metal back to the ship, knowing that +each trip made them more wealthy, so scarce was the metal in great +quantities. + +And then, on the sixth trip, Caxton snatched the single gun from +Headley's waist. He laughed as he did so, and the sound was thin and +strained with triumph. + +"It's you or me, Headley," he snarled. "And I figure it's going to be +me." + +Headley felt horror welling into his mind, but he forced his voice to +be absolutely calm and unemotional. + +"Don't be a fool, man," he said. "Both of us can make it back, by going +on short oxy-rations." + +Caxton shook his head. "_I'm_ going back," he said viciously. "I'm +taking the ship, the _kronalium_, and a couple of those damned animals +for evidence. I'll say that you died on Uranus." His voice was suddenly +flat and deadly. "_Sucker!_" + +A cone of blackness flared from the gun in his hand, caught Tom +Headley, dropped him in his tracks. He twitched silently, lay where he +had fallen, his right arm splashing liquid from the tiny pool at his +feet. + +[Illustration: _A cone of blackness dropped Headley in his tracks._] + +Bart Caxton tossed the gun aside, leaned over, unscrewed the hinged +valve on Headley's oxygen tank, then callously dumped the unconscious +man into the pool. + +Then, without another glance at the body submerged in the pool, Caxton +caught up three of the living rocks, turned and fought his way back to +the ship. He stood for a moment in the ship's port, staring bleakly at +the pool where the dying body of his partner lay. Then he slammed the +port, cogged it shut. + +He laid the rock animals in a dark corner of the tank room, then walked +heavily back to the control room and removed his suit. Grinning, he +sank into the pilot's seat, and his hands raced over the controls. + +Rockets drummed, and the ship fled into space on a tail of flaming +gasses. + +Bart Caxton watched the gauges, then reached out and adjusted the +oxygen valve. He would have to go on three-quarters' rations, but there +would still be oxygen left when he struck the spacelanes. + + * * * * * + +And back on Uranus, Tom Headley stirred out of his unconsciousness. +He gasped, struggled to his feet. Metal banged on his shoulder, and a +reaching hand found the opened valve. He instinctively screwed it shut, +dull horror and terror piling in his mind. + +He knew that he had but seconds to live, and the utter futility of his +predicament made the situation even more horrible. True, he had his +radio--but its range was less than a hundred miles; it would bring +rescue only if a rescue party landed. He laughed a bit, grimly, +ironically, remembering the great supply of food tablets that were in +his suit. All that he lacked to live was air. + +Then he frowned, seeing the oxygen gauge in his suit. The needle +pressed tight against its stop-post. He tapped it, then checked another +gauge. And sudden understanding came to his eyes--and he fought against +the hysterical laughter that filled his throat. + +Bart Caxton had failed in his murder attempt. + +For Tom Headley's shoulder tank was full of liquid oxygen. He had +fallen into a pool of oxygen, liquesced by the tremendous pressure of +Uranus, and the pressure of the atmosphere had forced the oxygen into +his tank. + +Now there were but the interminable weeks of waiting that were to come +before a rescue expedition was sent to save him. + + * * * * * + +And on the ship speeding back to the spacelanes, Bart Caxton clawed at +his shirt collar. He gasped, trying to get oxygen from the dying air. +He read the gauges with incredulous eyes, then came to his feet and +lurched down the corridor. He swung through the door of the tank room, +swayed there, his eyes straining into the semi-darkness. + +And a terrible scream ripped at his constricted throat. For he knew +then the thing that Headley would shortly discover. The pools of +semi-frozen liquid on Uranus were of liquid oxygen--and the animals in +those pools lived on pure oxygen. + +Even as he watched, one animal turned from the last tank of oxygen, ran +frantically about on short legs, then collapsed, its split mouth gaping +in death. + +Caxton screamed, felt nausea cramping at his body. He remembered then +the liquid into which he had rolled Headley's body, and he knew the +other man would live to see Earth again. And he knew then that the +animals in the ship had used in minutes the life-giving gas that should +have lasted for days. + +And even as he screamed, he fell. And the last sight he had was of the +rock-animals' split mouths laughing at him and his plans in an awful +mocking silence. + + + + + + + + + + + + +THE INSTITUTE OF INDUSTRIAL RESEARCH + + + Allerton S. Cushman, A. M., Ph. D., _Director, In Charge + Division Metallurgical Problems_. + + Henry A. Gardner, _Assistant Director, In Charge Division of + Paint Technology_. + + N. Monroe Hopkins, Ph. D., _In Charge Division of Electrical + Engineering and Electrochemistry_. + + Chas. A. Crampton, M. D., Ph. G., _In Charge Division of + Food and Drug Products_. + + G. W. Coggeshall, Ph. D., _In Charge Division of Mill + Problems_. + + Chas. Baskerville, Ph. D., F. C. S., _In Charge Technology + of the Rarer Elements_. + + +Copyright, 1911, The Institute of Industrial Research + + + + + THE INSTITUTE OF INDUSTRIAL RESEARCH + + + THE PRESERVATION + + OF THE + + EXTERIOR OF WOODEN BUILDINGS + + + BY + + ALLERTON S. CUSHMAN, Director + THE INSTITUTE OF INDUSTRIAL RESEARCH + + AND + + HENRY A. GARDNER, Asst. Director + IN CHARGE DIVISION OF PAINT + TECHNOLOGY, THE INSTITUTE OF INDUSTRIAL RESEARCH + + + [Illustration] + + + WASHINGTON 1911 + + + + WASHINGTON, D. C. + PRESS OF JUDD & DETWEILER, INC. + 1911 + + + + + +PREFACE. + + +For a number of years the writers have been making a study of +industrial problems and have been publishing the information which they +have acquired, regarding the value of various structural materials, +for the benefit of consumers as well as producers. The Institute +of Industrial Research has received so many requests recently for +information in regard to just what paints should be selected for the +protection and decoration of houses and other buildings that it has +seemed best to sum up the subject in the form of a special pamphlet +or bulletin. It is only after years of investigation work carried on +by the authors, both separately and in co-operation, that any review +of the work has seemed possible, for only recently have the results +of tests carried on in a number of different localities seemed to +justify a definite opinion in regard to the best selection of exterior +paints. No attack on any one paint material is here included, but the +value of each has been carefully weighed, and the attempt is made +to discuss them in the light of experience and knowledge. It is the +authors' intention in this bulletin to put into the hands of architects +and paint users who may not be thoroughly familiar with the technical +properties of paint materials, information which will enable them to +make a proper and intelligent selection of paints for the preservation +and decoration of the exterior of wooden buildings. + + + + +The Preservation of the Exterior of Wooden Buildings + + +_Lumber and its Relation to Paints_: The proper choice and treatment of +lumber is one of the most important problems which the builder as well +as the painter has to face. When about to build a dwelling, barn, or +other structure made principally of wood, the question is sure to arise +in regard to what variety to select so as to get the maximum service +and money value. The locality in which the structure is to be built +must often have a bearing upon this question. While it is true that the +painting of each type of wood demands the special consideration of the +painter, it is also true that the study of paints for wood protection +points toward the production of a paint that will give satisfactory +results under all conditions and on all grades. It is the writers' +opinion that a paint may be made that will be perfectly well suited +for the preservation of every species of wood, provided the paint is +properly treated in the hands of the skillful and intelligent painter, +who can produce lasting results on almost every type by varying the +proportion of thinners and oil in the various coats. The painter who +uses the same paint on soft pine, and again on hard pine, without +making a special study of how to reduce the priming coat for the hard +pine, will be likely to get inferior results on the latter. In case +of failure, the natural impulse is often to place the blame upon the +paint, whereas the real responsibility may rest upon the painter's lack +of knowledge. + + Note.--For a more detailed account of the lumber question, + see "Modern Lumber as a Problem for the Painter," read by + John Dewar, at the Convention of Master House Painters' and + Decorators' Association of Pennsylvania, January, 1911, + Pittsburg, Pa. + + + Photographs Showing Different Forms of + Decay Exhibited by Improperly + Made Paints + +[Illustration: Blistering] + +[Illustration: Chalking] + +[Illustration: Checking] + +[Illustration: Cracking] + +[Illustration: Scaling] + +[Illustration: General Disintegration] + +_Signs of Paint Failure_: Those who are responsible for the care and +maintenance of property are familiar with the condition of surface +presented by almost all wooden buildings or structures which have been +improperly painted with inferior paints. "Chalking" or "flouring" +are terms used to describe the condition of a paint surface which +has deteriorated within the paint film. The formation of minute +fissures, generally spoken of as "checking," as well as the effects +best described as cracking, scaling, peeling, and blistering, are +other signs of failure which cause paint coatings to present an +unsightly appearance, and which point inevitably either to the use of +improperly made paints or to improper application. The cause of these +conditions is not difficult to understand when even a brief study of +the character of the materials entering into the composition of a paint +has been made. It is, however, a fortunate circumstance that the proper +admixture of different types of pigments enables us to correct the +strong tendency exhibited by special pigments to rapidly deteriorate +in an oil film. This point will be more fully discussed in a later +paragraph. + + +_Requisites of a Good Paint_: Progressive manufacturers are aiming to +produce a paint which will show, under the widest range of conditions, +good hiding power, adhesiveness, freedom from internal strains, +permanency of color, relatively high imperviousness to moisture, +sufficient elasticity to prevent scaling or cracking when subjected +to expansion or contraction, and freedom from the chemical action +which results in deep checking or excessive chalking. Such a product +as this cannot be attained, in the writers' opinion, by the use of +any one pigment in linseed oil. In order to meet all the demands as +stated above, there should be in an economical and durable paint a +proper percentage of the various pigments which, united, will tend to +correct each other's faults, and thus produce a durable paint coating +of maximum efficiency. + + +_The Composition of Paints_: As is well known, a paint is a mixture of +one or more pigments and a vehicle which acts the part of the spreading +and binding medium. Up to the present time the vehicle portion of +paints has generally been made of linseed oil, admixed with some +volatile thinner, such as turpentine. The subject of oils and paint +vehicles will be discussed more fully later on. + + +_Physical Properties of Pigments_: The pigment portion of a paint +for use on barns and farm buildings may, if desired, be composed +of properly selected iron oxides or other colored pigments, even +containing in some cases a moderately high percentage of silica, clay, +or other inert materials, and give perfectly satisfactory results. For +the preservation and decoration of dwellings, however, the pigment +portion of paints is generally made as a whole or in part of the more +expensive white pigments, such as white lead and zinc oxide. The +relative values and properties of these white base pigments will now be +taken up. + + +_White Leads_: White lead, either of the corroded or sublimed type, is +perhaps the most generally used of all the white pigments as a paint +base. Corroded white lead is a basic carbonate of lead, while sublimed +white lead is a basic sulphate of the same metal. Both of these types +are white, and admirably adapted as painting materials. They take +relatively the same amount of oil and spread easily, producing paint +films which are highly opaque and which, therefore, hide efficiently +the surface upon which they are placed. Sublimed white lead is a +relatively finer pigment than corroded white lead, and seems to show +a tendency to chalk to a greater extent upon exposure to the weather. +Corroded white lead is more alkaline, however, than sublimed white +lead, and when used alone with linseed oil generally shows a tendency +to chalk to a considerable extent in a short time and to show deep +checking, thus permitting the admission of moisture. The alkaline +nature of this pigment produces considerable action upon certain +tinting colors and results in fading or darkening, when mixed with +delicate greens or blues. + +The use of white lead has been condemned in some parts of this country +as well as abroad, because of its alleged poisonous properties. While +it is true that lead poisoning may occasionally occur in some factories +where the workman and his conditions are not properly safeguarded, it +is, nevertheless, a fact that lead poisoning very seldom occurs among +painters of experience and cleanly habits. Carelessness in mixing +white lead is, fortunately, a practice almost obsolete among modern +painters. The use of paints already ground in oil by means of machinery +to a pasty condition, allowing easy working and reducing, obviates the +danger of lead poisoning from any such cause as this, even though the +percentage of lead in such paints is in preponderance. Recent efforts +that have been made by the legislatures of certain States to brand +lead paints as poisonous are not only unnecessary, but show a complete +ignorance of the problem. + + +_Zinc Pigments_: Another pigment which has proved itself of great +value to the painter is zinc oxide. The use of this pigment may be +said to have almost revolutionized the paint industry of the world, +and its increased consumption during the last ten years is sufficient +evidence of its value as a painting material. Zinc oxide is produced +by oxidation and sublimation of zinc ores and is not only extremely +fine, but of great whiteness. It has good hiding power, although not +quite so great as that shown by the white leads. It tends to produce +a glossy surface, making it especially valuable for use on interior +work and in enamels. When used alone it has the effect of hardening +the oil film in which it is enveloped, and upon long exposure causes +cracking and scaling. However, when the sublimed or corroded white +leads are properly combined with zinc oxide, a more durable surface is +produced, the shortcomings of each pigment being overbalanced by the +good properties of the other. The proper combining properties of zinc +oxide with white lead may be said to vary between 20 to 55 per cent +of zinc oxide for paints designed for exterior use. In the opinion of +the authors, lead and zinc pigments in the above percentage, properly +blended and ground, make paints of far better wearing value than can be +produced with either white lead or zinc oxide used alone. + + +_Zinc Lead_: Zinc lead, a pigment sublimed from mixed lead and zinc +ores and containing about equal proportions of zinc oxide and lead +sulphate intimately combined, as well as leaded zinc, a produce +similarly produced, but with the zinc oxide running about 75 per cent, +are white base pigments of value, which are used to a considerable +extent. They are generally slightly off color, however, and are +therefore used most largely in paints which are to be tinted in various +colors. + + +_Lithopone_: Lithopone, a pigment produced by precipitation, and +consisting of zinc sulphide and barium sulphate, is of great value in +the manufacture of interior paints. On account of its liability to +darken and disintegrate, however, it is seldom used on exterior work, +although recent tests have shown that when used in combination with +zinc oxide and whiting, it gives very promising results. + + +_Crystalline Pigments and Their Use_: Barytes (barium sulphate), silex +(silica), whiting (calcium carbonate), gypsum (calcium sulphate), +asbestine (silicate of magnesia), and China clay (silicate of +alumina) are white crystalline pigments which, when ground in oil, +become transparent. All of these pigments possess the property of +strengthening a paint film made of white lead and zinc oxide, and often +increase the durability of such a paint. Barytes, silica, and China +clay are especially valuable for this purpose. Asbestine, because of +its needle-like structure and low gravity, prevents settling and acts +as a reinforcer of paint films. Whiting or calcium carbonate should be +used when zinc oxide is in excess in a paint, so that the hardness of +the paint may be overcome. + +A white paint must be possessed of sufficient opacity to efficiently +hide the surface upon which it is placed, when three coats are applied +for new work or two coats for repainting work. Mixtures of the white +leads and zinc oxide, with the latter pigment running not over 55 per +cent, will easily produce such a result and wear well. It is generally +deemed advisable, however, by most manufacturers to take advantage of +the excessive opacity of such mixtures, which allows the introduction +of moderate percentages of those inert pigments which give greater +strength and other desirable features to a paint. The percentage of +natural crystalline inert pigments to add to a white paint made of +lead and zinc must, however, be moderate and insufficient to detract +materially from the hiding power of the paint. + + Note.--Pigments such as silica, barytes, China clay, and + asbestine are thoroughly inert. Recent investigations have + proved that they accelerate the drying of linseed oil, but + this is not due to any chemical action they exert, but rather + to their physical action in distributing the mass of oil in + which they are ground, and thus allowing a greater surface to be + exposed to the oxygen of the air. + + It is also possible that some of the inert pigments may stimulate + oxidation by catalytic or contact action, although they are not + chemically active in themselves. + + +_White-Paint Formulas_: From these conclusions which have come +from wide experience in the testing of paints under actual service +conditions, there can be recommended to the buyer of paints and to the +manufacturer and master painter those machine-mixed paints in white, +made by reputable manufacturers, the composition of which will show a +mixture of white lead and zinc oxide, with the latter pigment within +limits of between 15 to 55 per cent, and especially the same mixtures +reinforced with the moderate percentage of crystalline inert pigments +referred to above. + +Tinted paints possess greater hiding power than white paints, and +the above proportions would be somewhat changed for a tinted paint +containing any percentage of coloring material. Tinted paints are, +moreover, far more serviceable than white paints, as will be shown +later. + + +_Mill vs. Paddle_: The mixtures under consideration should be ground +in linseed oil by the manufacturer, through stone or steel mills, to +a very fine condition, as it is only through proper grinding that the +pigments can be properly blended. The mixing of paint by hand is, +fortunately, to a large extent a thing of the past. The uneven lumping +of hand-mixed paints are often the cause of their failure. Such ancient +and crude practice should be avoided by every painter, for it is more +economical to obtain semi-paste paints, properly ground by machinery, +to such a condition that they may be easily broken up and tempered. +Such paints may be reduced to the proper consistency with oil and +volatile thinner for application to any kind of wood. + +In the opinion of the writers, a majority of the paints sold by +reputable dealers and made by reputable manufacturers in this country +are not only made from the best linseed oil and highest-grade pigments +obtainable, but are put up in a form ready for the painter to thin down +with full oil or turpentine reductions, either for priming work or to +be used without reductions for finishing coats. The large metropolitan +painter who wishes to make his own tints and shades may, however, +prefer to have his mixed pigment paint ground by the manufacturer in +heavy paste form for certain purposes. + + +_Results of Field Tests_: A careful analysis of the results of field +tests which have been carried on in different parts of the country +would be far too voluminous for insertion in this bulletin. The +official findings of special committees of inspection have already been +published in special reports. Whereas there may still remain ground +for some difference of opinion in regard to the interpretation of the +results obtained on the various test fences, there can be no doubt that +considerable information of the highest value has been yielded, both +to the producers and consumers of paints. One of the principal results +obtained from these tests has led to the opinion expressed above by the +writers, that better results can be obtained by a proper mixture of +selected pigments than by the use of any one pigment in linseed oil. +This conclusion has also been reached by engineers of the United States +Navy, and, as a result, the specifications of the Bureau of Yards and +Docks for paints made of straight white lead and oil have recently been +changed to call for white lead combined with upwards of 50 per cent +of zinc oxide. Many engineers and master painters have interpreted the +results of the tests in the same way, and the attention of the authors +has been called to a number of opinions which show that the tendency +of demand among those who are properly informed is for a high-grade +combination type of paint rather than for any single pigment paint. + + +_Color_: The selection of the color for a dwelling or other structure +is a matter that depends largely upon the good judgment and taste of +the owner, combined with the advice of the painter. One point, however, +should be impressed upon the mind of both, namely, that PRACTICALLY +ALL SHADES OR TINTS MADE UPON A GOOD WHITE PAINT BASE, THROUGH THE USE +OF PERMANENT TINTING COLORS, WILL BETTER WITHSTAND EXPOSURE TO THE +ATMOSPHERE THAN THE WHITE BASE USED ALONE. Owing to the cheerful +effect produced by the use of white paint on dwellings, a very large +quantity of white will continue to be used. If these white paints are +designed in line with the suggestions brought out above--that is to +say, if the white lead bases are properly reinforced with zinc oxide +and other pigmentary materials--better results will undoubtedly be +obtained, as far as appearance and durability is concerned, than if +white lead had been used alone. The consumer should remember, however, +that more durable results will be obtained by the use of tinted paints. + + +_Reductions and Thinners_: Turpentine, with its sweet odor, high +solvent action, and wonderful oxidizing value, has always taken first +place among the volatile liquids used for thinning paints. Wood +turpentines, produced from the steam distillation of fine-cut fat +pinewood or from the destructive distillation of stumpage and sawdust, +have been refined in some cases, by elimination of odor and toxic +effects, to such purity that they are equally as good as the purest +grades of gum turpentine, and their use is bound to increase in the +paint industry. + +The painter and manufacturer have come to understand that certain +grades of asphaltum and paraffine distillates are equally as +satisfactory as turpentine for use in paints for exterior purposes. +Those volatile oils which are distilled from crude oil with either +a paraffine or asphaltum base and possessed of boiling point, flash +point, color, and evaporative value approximating similar constants of +turpentine, are excellently suited to partly, and in some cases wholly, +replace turpentine in exterior paints. A little additional drier added +to paints thinned with these materials will cause oxidation to take +place in the proper time. + + * * * * * + +Prominent master painters[A] have shown that benzol, a product obtained +from the distillation of coal tar, differing from benzine, a product +obtained from the distillation of petroleum, is a valuable thinner to +use in the reduction of paints for the priming of resinous lumber such +as cypress and yellow pitch pine. The penetrating and solvent value of +benzol is high, and it often furnishes a unison between paint and wood +that is a prime foundation to subsequent coatings, preventing the usual +scaling and sap exudations, which often appear on a painted surface. +Because of the great solvent action of benzol, however, this material +should never be used in the second and third coatings. These facts will +doubtless interest the Southern painter, who has so much wood of a +refractory nature to paint. + +[A] Dewar, Titzel _et al._ + + +_Oils_: The increasing cost of linseed oil has raised the interesting +question as to whether or not it is good practice to use an admixture +of other oils in connection with it, in high grade paint coatings. +Strong differences of opinion will probably be found in regard to this +question, and undoubtedly further investigation work is necessary in +order to decide it. A number of different oils have been proposed for +the purpose, of which, perhaps, soya bean oil is the one which has been +most prominently discussed. No definite formulas, however, should be +recommended until the results of investigations which are now being +carried on are in hand. A systematic series of test panels is now +being erected in Washington, D. C., on the grounds of The Institute of +Industrial Research, which are designed to gather data covering just +this point. + +The flax crop conditions have been most discouraging during the past +two years, and the natural shortage of seed has caused a rise in the +price of linseed oil, which has necessitated a rise in the price +of paint. The added protection to be secured, however, through the +frequent application of paint far outweighs any increased cost which +has been caused by the rise in price of the raw commodities entering +into the composition of paint. + + * * * * * + + + + + + + + + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + + + + + +THE RIGHT OF WAY + +By Gilbert Parker + +Volume 2. + + +IX. OLD DEBTS FOR NEW +X. THE WAY IN AND THE WAY OUT +XI. THE RAISING OF THE CURTAIN +XII. THE COMING OF ROSALIE +XIII. HOW CHARLEY WENT ADVENTURING, AND WHAT HE FOUND +XIV. ROSALIE, CHARLEY, AND THE MAN THE WIDOW PLOMONDON JILTED +XV. THE MARK IN THE PAPER +XVI. MADAME DAUPHIN HAS A MISSION +XVII. THE TAILOR MAKES A MIDNIGHT FORAY +XVIII. THE STEALING OF THE CROSS + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +OLD DEBTS FOR NEW + +Jo Portugtais was breaking the law of the river--he was running a little +raft down the stream at night, instead of tying up at sundown and camping +on the shore, or sitting snugly over cooking-pot by the little wooden +caboose on his raft. But defiance of custom and tradition was a habit +with Jo Portugais. He had lived in his own way many a year, and he was +likely to do so till the end, though he was a young man yet. He had many +professions, or rather many gifts, which he practised as it pleased him. +He was river-driver, woodsman, hunter, carpenter, guide, as whim or +opportunity came to him. On the evening when Charley Steele met with his +mishap he was a river-driver--or so it seemed. He had been up nor'west a +hundred and fifty miles, and he had come down-stream alone with his raft- +which in the usual course should take two men to guide it--through +slides, over rapids, and in strong currents. Defying the code of the +river, with only one small light at the rear of his raft, he voyaged the +swift current towards his home, which, when he arrived opposite the Cote +Dorion, was still a hundred miles below. He had watched the lights in +the river-drivers' camps, had seen the men beside the fires, and had +drifted on, with no temptation to join in the songs floating out over the +dark water, to share the contents of the jugs raised to boisterous lips, +or to thrust his hand into the greasy cooking-pot for a succulent bone. + +He drifted on until he came opposite Charlemagne's tavern. Here the +current carried him inshore. He saw the dim light, he saw dark figures +in the bar-room, he even got a glimpse of Suzon Charlemagne. He dropped +the house behind quickly, but looked back, leaning on the oar and +thinking how swift was the rush of the current past the tavern. His eyes +were on the tavern door and the light shining through it. Suddenly the +light disappeared, and the door vanished into darkness. He heard a +scuffle, and then a heavy splash. + +"There's trouble there," said Jo Portugais, straining his eyes through +the night, for a kind of low roar, dwindling to a loud whispering, and +then a noise of hurrying feet, came down the stream, and he could dimly +see dark figures running away into the night by different paths. + +"Some dirty work, very sure," said Jo Portugais, and his eyes travelled +back over the dark water like a lynx's, for the splash was in his ear, +and a sort of prescience possessed him. He could not stop his raft. It +must go on down the current, or be swerved to the shore, to be fastened. + +"God knows, it had an ugly sound," said Jo Portugais, and again strained +his eyes and ears. He shifted his position and took another oar, where +the raft-lantern might not throw a reflection upon the water. He saw a +light shine again through the tavern doorway, then a dark object block +the light, and a head thrust forward towards the river as though +listening. + +At this moment he fancied he saw something in the water nearing him. He +stretched his neck. Yes, there was something. + +"It's a man. God save us--was it murder?" said Jo Portugais, and +shuddered. "Was it murder?" + +The body moved more swiftly than the raft. There was a hand thrust up-- +two hands. + +"He's alive!" said Jo Portugais, and, hurriedly pulling round his waist +a rope tied to a timber, jumped into the water. + +Three minutes later, on the raft, he was examining a wound in the head of +an insensible man. + +As his hand wandered over the body towards the heart, it touched +something that rattled against a button. He picked it up mechanically +and held it to the light. It was an eye-glass. + +"My God!" said Jo Portugais, and peered into the man's face. "It's +him." Then he remembered the last words the man had spoken to him-- +"Get out of my sight. You're as guilty as hell!" But his heart yearned +towards the man nevertheless. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE WAY IN AND THE WAY OUT + +In his own world of the parish of Chaudiere Jo Portugais was counted a +widely travelled man. He had adventured freely on the great rivers and +in the forests, and had journeyed up towards Hudson's Bay farther than +any man in seven parishes. + +Jo's father and mother had both died in one year--when he was twenty- +five. That year had turned him from a clean-shaven cheerful boy into a +morose bearded man who looked forty, for it had been marked by his +disappearance from Chaudiere and his return at the end of it, to find his +mother dead and his father dying broken-hearted. What had driven Jo from +home only his father knew; what had happened to him during that year only +Jo himself knew, and he told no one, not even his dying father. + +A mystery surrounded him, and no one pierced it. He was a figure apart +in Chaudiere parish. A dreadful memory that haunted him, carried him out +of the village, which clustered round the parish church, into Vadrome +Mountain, three miles away, where he lived apart from all his kind. It +was here he brought the man with the eye-glass one early dawn, after two +nights and two days on the river, pulling him up the long hill in a low +cart with his strong faithful dogs, hitching himself with them and +toiling upwards through the dark. In his three-roomed hut he laid his +charge down upon a pile of bear-skins, and tended him with a strange +gentleness, bathing the wound in the head and binding it again and again. + +The next morning the sick man opened his eyes heavily. He then began +fumbling mechanically on his breast. At last his fingers found his +monocle. He feebly put it to his eye, and looked at Jo in a strange, +questioning, uncomprehending way. + +"I beg--your pardon," he said haltingly, "have I ever--been intro--" +Suddenly his eyes closed, a frown gathered on his forehead. After a +minute his eyes opened again, and he gazed with painful, pathetic +seriousness at Jo. This grew to a kind of childish terror; then slowly, +as a shadow passes, the perplexity, anxiety and terror cleared away, and +left his forehead calm, his eyes unvexed and peaceful. The monocle +dropped, and he did not heed it. At length he said wearily, and with an +incredibly simple dependence: + +"I am thirsty now." + +Jo lifted a wooden bowl to his lips, and he drank, drank, drank to +repletion. When he had finished he patted Jo's shoulder. + +"I am always thirsty," he said. "I shall be hungry too. I always am." + +Jo brought him some milk and bread in a bowl. When the sick man had +eaten and drunk the bowlful to the last drop and crumb, he lay back with +a sigh of content, but trembling from weakness and the strain, though +Jo's hand had been under his head, and he had been fed like a little +child. + +All day he lay and watched Jo as he worked, as he came and went. +Sometimes he put his hand to his head and said to Jo: "It hurts." +Then Jo would cool the wound with fresh water from the mountain spring, +and he would drag down the bowl to drink from it greedily. + +It was as though he could never get enough water to drink. So the first +day in the hut at Vadrome Mountain passed without questioning on the part +of either Charley Steele or his host. + +With good reason. Jo Portugais saw that memory was gone; that the past +was blotted out. He had watched that first terrible struggle of memory +to reassert itself, as the eyes mechanically looked out upon new and +strange surroundings, but it was only the automatic habit of the sight, +the fumbling of the blind soul in its cell-fumbling for the latch which +it could not find, for the door which would not open. The first day on +the raft, as Charley had opened his eyes upon the world again after that +awful night at the Cote Dorion, Jo. had seen that same blank +uncomprehending look--as it were, the first look of a mind upon the +world. This time he saw, and understood what he saw, and spoke as men +speak, but with no knowledge or memory behind it--only the involuntary +action of muscle and mind repeated from the vanished past. + +Charley Steele was as a little child, and having no past, and +comprehending in the present only its limited physical needs and motions, +he had no hope, no future, no understanding. In three days he was upon +his feet, and in four he walked out of doors and followed Jo into the +woods, and watched him fell a tree and do a woodsman's work. Indoors he +regarded all Jo did with eager interest and a pleased, complacent look, +and readily did as he was told. He seldom spoke--not above three or four +times a day, and then simply and directly, and only concerning his wants. +From first to last he never asked a question, and there was never any +inquiry by look or word. A hundred and twenty miles lay between him and +his old home, between him and Kathleen and Billy and Jean Jolicoeur's +saloon, but between him and his past life the unending miles of eternity +intervened. He was removed from it as completely as though he were dead +and buried. + +A month went by. Sometimes Jo went down to the village below, and then, +at first, he locked the door of the house behind him upon Charley. +Against this Charley made no motion and said no word, but patiently +awaited Jo's return. So it was that, at last, Jo made no attempt to lock +the door, but with a nod or a good-bye left him alone. When Charley saw +him returning he would go to meet him, and shake hands with him, and say +"Good-day," and then would come in with him and help him get supper or do +the work of the house. + +Since Charley came no one had visited the house, for there were no paths +beyond it, and no one came to the Vadrome Mountain, save by chance. But +after two months had gone the Cure came. Twice a year the Cure made it a +point to visit Jo in the interests of his soul, though the visits came to +little, for Jo never went to confession, and seldom to mass. On this +occasion the Cure arrived when Jo was out in the woods. He discovered +Charley. Charley made no answer to his astonished and friendly greeting, +but watched him with a wide-eyed anxiety till the Cure seated himself at +the door to await Jo's coming. Presently, as he sat there, Charley, who +had studied his face as a child studies the unfamiliar face of a +stranger, brought him a bowl of bread and milk and put it in his hands. +The Cure smiled and thanked him, and Charley smiled in return and said: +"It is very good." + +As the Cure ate, Charley watched him with satisfaction, and nodded at him +kindly. + +When Jo came he lied to the Cure. He said he had found Charley wandering +in the woods, with a wound in his head, and had brought him home with him +and cared for him. Forty miles away he had found him. + +The Cure was perplexed. What was there to do? He believed what Jo said. +So far as he knew, Jo had never lied to him before, and he thought he +understood Jo's interest in this man with the look of a child and no +memory: Jo's life was terribly lonely; he had no one to care for, and no +one cared for him; here was what might comfort him! Through this +helpless man might come a way to Jo's own good. So he argued with +himself. + +What to do? Tell the story to the world by writing to the newspaper at +Quebec? Jo pooh-poohed this. Wait till the man's memory came back? +Would it come back--what chance was there of its ever coming back? Jo +said that they ought to wait and see--wait awhile, and then, if his +memory did not return, they would try to find his friends, by publishing +his story abroad. + +Chaudiere was far from anywhere: it knew little of the world, and the +world knew naught of it, and this was a large problem for the Cure. +Perhaps Jo was right, he thought. The man was being well cared for, and +what more could be wished at the moment? The Cure was a simple man, and +when Jo urged that if the sick man could get well anywhere in the world +it would be at Vadrome Mountain in Chaudiere, the Cure's parochial pride +was roused, and he was ready to believe all Jo said. He also saw reason +in Jo's request that the village should not be told of the sick man's +presence. Before he left, the Cure knelt down and prayed, "for the good +of this poor mortal's soul and body." + +As he prayed, Charley knelt down also, and kept his eyes-calm unwondering +eyes-full fixed on the good M. Loisel, whose grey hair, thin peaceful +face, and dark brown eyes made a noble picture of patience and devotion. + +When the Cure shook him by the hand, murmuring in good-bye, "God be +gracious to thee, my son," Charley nodded in a friendly way. He watched +the departing figure till it disappeared over the crest of the hill. + +This day marked an epoch in the solitude of the hut on Vadrome Mountain. +Jo had an inspiration. He got a second set of carpenter's tools, and +straightway began to build a new room to the house. He gave the extra +set of tools to Charley with an encouraging word. For the first time +since he had been brought here, Charley's face took on a look of +interest. In half-an-hour he was at work, smiling and perspiring, and +quickly learning the craft. He seldom spoke, but he sometimes laughed a +mirthful, natural boy's laugh of good spirits and contentment. From that +day his interest in things increased, and before two months went round, +while yet it was late autumn, he looked in perfect health. He ate +moderately, drank a great deal of water, and slept half the circle of the +clock each day. His skin was like silk; the colour of his face was as +that of an apple; he was more than ever Beauty Steele. The Cure came +two or three times, and Charley spoke to him but never held conversation, +and no word concerning the past ever passed his tongue, nor did he have +memory of what was said to him from one day to the next. A hundred ways +Jo had tried to rouse his memory. But the words Cote Dorion had no +meaning to him, and he listened blankly to all names and phrases once so +familiar. Yet he spoke French and English in a slow, passive, +involuntary way. All was automatic, mechanical. + +The weeks again wore on, and autumn became winter, and then at last one +day the Cure came, bringing his brother, a great Parisian surgeon lately +arrived from France on a short visit. The Cure had told his brother the +story, and had been met by a keen, astonished interest in the unknown man +on Vadrome Mountain. A slight pressure on the brain from accident had +before now produced loss of memory--the great man's professional +curiosity was aroused: he saw a nice piece of surgical work ready +to his hand; he asked to be taken to Vadrome Mountain. + +Now the Cure had lived long out of the world, and was not in touch with +the swift-minded action and adventuring intellects of such men as his +brother, Marcel Loisel. Was it not tempting Providence, a surgical +operation? He was so used to people getting ill and getting well without +a doctor--the nearest was twenty miles distant--or getting ill and dying +in what seemed a natural and preordained way, that to cut open a man's +head and look into his brain, and do this or that to his skull, seemed +almost sinful. Was it not better to wait and see if the poor man would +not recover in God's appointed time? + +In answer to his sensitively eager and diverse questions, Marcel Loisel +replied that his dear Cure was merely mediaeval, and that he had +sacrificed his mental powers on the altar of a simple faith, which might +remove mountains but was of no value in a case like this, where, clearly, +surgery was the only providence. + +At this the Cure got to his feet, came over, laid his hand on his +brother's shoulder, and said, with tears in his eyes: + +"Marcel, you shock me. Indeed you shock me!" + +Then he twisted a knot in his cassock cords, and added "Come then, +Marcel. We will go to him. And may God guide us aright!" + +That afternoon the two grey-haired men visited Vadrome Mountain, and +there they found Charley at work in the little room that the two men had +built. Charley nodded pleasantly when the Cure introduced his brother, +but showed no further interest at first. He went on working at the +cupboard under his hand. His cap was off and his hair was a little +rumpled where the wound had been, for he had a habit of rubbing the place +now and then--an abstracted, sensitive motion--although he seemed to +suffer no pain. The surgeon's eyes fastened on the place, and as Charley +worked and his brother talked, he studied the man, the scar, the contour +of the head. At last he came up to Charley and softly placed his fingers +on the scar, feeling the skull. Charley turned quickly. + +There was something in the long, piercing look of the surgeon which +seemed to come through limitless space to the sleeping and imprisoned +memory of Charley's sick mind. A confused, anxious, half-fearful look +crept into the wide blue eyes. It was like a troubled ghost, flitting +along the boundaries of sight and sense, and leaving a chill and a +horrified wonder behind. The surgeon gazed on, and the trouble in +Charley's eye passed to his face, stayed an instant. Then he turned away +to Jo Portugais. "I am thirsty now," he said, and he touched his lips in +the way he was wont to do in those countless ages ago, when, millions +upon millions of miles away, people said: "There goes Charley Steele!" + +"I am thirsty now," and that touch of the lip with the tongue, were a +revelation to the surgeon. + +A half-hour later he was walking homeward with the Cure. Jo accompanied +them for a distance. As they emerged into the wider road-paths that +began half-way down the mountain, the Cure, who had watched his brother's +face for a long time in silence, said: + +"What is in your mind, Marcel?" The surgeon turned with a half-smile. + +"He is happy now. No memory, no conscience, no pain, no responsibility, +no trouble--nothing behind or before. Is it good to bring him back?" + +The Cure had thought it all over, and he had wholly changed his mind +since that first talk with his brother. "To save a mind, Marcel!" he +said. + +"Then to save a soul?" suggested the surgeon. "Would he thank me?" + +"It is our duty to save him." + +"Body and mind and soul, eh? And if I look after the body and the mind?" + +"His soul is in God's hands, Marcel." + +"But will he thank me? How can you tell what sorrows, what troubles, he +has had? What struggles, temptations, sins? He has none now, of any +sort; not a stain, physical or moral." + +"That is not life, Marcel." + +"Well, well, you have changed. This morning it was I who would, and you +hesitated." + +"I see differently now, Marcel." + +The surgeon put a hand playfully on his brother's shoulder. + +"Did you think, my dear Prosper, that I should hesitate? Am I a +sentimentalist? But what will he say? + +"We need not think of that, Marcel." + +"But yet suppose that with memory come again sin and shame--even crime?" + +"We will pray for him." "But if he isn't a Catholic?" + +"One must pray for sinners," said the Curb, after a silence. + +This time the surgeon laid a hand on the shoulder of his brother +affectionately. "Upon my soul, dear Prosper, you almost persuade me to +be reactionary and mediaeval." + +The Curb turned half uneasily towards Jo, who was following at a little +distance. This seemed hardly the sort of thing for him to hear. + +"You had better return now, Jo," he said. + +"As you wish, M'sieu'," Jo answered, then looked inquiringly at the +surgeon. + +"In about five days, Portugais. Have you a steady hand and a quick eye?" + +Jo spread out his hands in deprecation, and turned to the Curb, as though +for him to answer. + +"Jo is something of a physician and surgeon too, Marcel. He has a gift. +He has cured many in the parish with his herbs and tinctures, and he has +set legs and arms successfully." + +The surgeon eyed Jo humorously, but kindly. "He is probably as good a +doctor as some of us. Medicine is a gift, surgery is a gift and an art. +You shall hear from me, Portugais." He looked again keenly at Jo. "You +have not given him 'herbs and tinctures'?" + +"Nothing, M'sieu'." + +"Very sensible. Good-day, Portugais." + +"Good-day, my son," said the priest, and raised his fingers in +benediction, as Jo turned and quickly retraced his steps. + +"Why did you ask him if he had given the poor man any herbs or tinctures, +Marcel?" said the priest. + +"Because those quack tinctures have whiskey in them." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Whiskey in any form would be bad for him," the surgeon answered +evasively. + +But to himself he kept saying: "The man was a drunkard--he was a +drunkard." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE RAISING OF THE CURTAIN + +M. Marcel Loisel did his work with a masterly precision, with the aid of +his brother and Portugais. The man under the instruments, not wholly +insensible, groaned once or twice. Once or twice, too, his eyes opened +with a dumb hunted look, then closed as with an irresistible weariness. +When the work was over, and every stain or sign of surgery removed, sleep +came down on the bed--a deep and saturating sleep, which seemed to fill +the room with peace. For hours the surgeon sat beside the couch, now and +again feeling the pulse, wetting the hot lips, touching the forehead with +his palm. At last, with a look of satisfaction, he came forward to where +Jo and the Cure sat beside the fire. + +"It is all right," he said. "Let him sleep as long as he will." He +turned again to the bed. "I wish I could stay to see the end of it. +Is there no chance, Prosper?" he added to the priest. + +"Impossible, Marcel. You must have sleep. You have a seventy-mile drive +before you to-morrow, and sixty the next day. You can only reach the +port now by starting at daylight to-morrow." + +So it was that Marcel Loisel, the great surgeon, was compelled to leave +Chaudiere before he knew that the memory of the man who had been under +his knife had actually returned to him. He had, however, no doubt in +his own mind, and he was confident that there could be no physical harm +from the operation. Sleep was the all-important thing. In it lay the +strength for the shock of the awakening--if awakening of memory there +was to be. + +Before he left he stooped over Charley and said musingly: "I wonder what +you will wake up to, my friend?" Then he touched the wound with a light +caressing finger. "It was well done, well done," he murmured proudly. + +A moment afterwards he was hurrying down the hill to the open road, where +a cariole awaited the Cure and himself. + +For a day and a half Charley slept, and Jo watched him with an +affectionate solicitude. Once or twice, becoming anxious, because of the +heavy breathing and the motionless sleep, he had forced open the teeth, +and poured a little broth between. + +Just before dawn on the second morning, worn out and heavy with slumber, +Jo lay down by the piled-up fire and dropped into a sleep that wrapped +him like a blanket, folding him away into a drenching darkness. + +For a time there was a deep silence, troubled only by Jo's deep +breathing, which seemed itself like the pulse of the silence. Charley +appeared not to be breathing at all. He was lying on his back, seemingly +lifeless. Suddenly on the snug silence there was a sharp sound. A tree +outside snapped with the frost. + +Charley awoke. The body seemed not to awake, for it did not stir, but +the eyes opened wide and full, looking straight before them--straight up +to the brown smoke-stained rafters, along which were ranged guns and +fishing-tackle, axes and bear-traps. Full clear blue eyes, healthy and +untired as a child's fresh from an all-night's drowse, they looked and +looked. Yet, at first, the body did not stir; only the mind seemed to be +awakening, the soul creeping out from slumber into the day. Presently, +however, as the eyes gazed, there stole into them a wonder, a trouble, an +anxiety. For a moment they strained at the rafters and the crude weapons +and implements there, then the body moved, quickly, eagerly, and turned +to see the flickering shadows made by the fire and the simple order of +the room. + +A minute more, and Charley was sitting on the side of his couch, dazed +and staring. This hut, this fire, the figure by the hearth in a sound +sleep-his hand went to his head: it felt the bandage there! + +He remembered now! Last night at the Cote Dorion! Last night he had +talked with Suzon Charlemagne at the Cote Dorion; last night he had drunk +harder than he had ever drunk in his life, he had defied, chaffed, +insulted the river-drivers. The whole scene came back: the faces of +Suzon and her father; Suzon's fingers on his for an instant; the glass of +brandy beside him; the lanterns on the walls; the hymn he sang; the +sermon he preached--he shuddered a little; the rumble of angry noises +round him; the tumbler thrown; the crash of the lantern, and only one +light left in the place! Then Jake Hough and his heavy hand, the flying +monocle, and his disdainful, insulting reply; the sight of the pistol in +the hand of Suzon's father; then a rush, a darkness, and his own fierce +plunge towards the door, beyond which were the stars and the cool night +and the dark river. Curses, hands that battered and tore at him, the +doorway reached, and then a blow on the head and--falling, falling, +falling, and distant noises growing more distant, and suddenly and +sweetly--absolute silence. + +Again he shuddered. Why? He remembered that scene in his office +yesterday with Kathleen, and the one later with Billy. A sensitive chill +swept all over him, making his flesh creep, and a flush sped over his +face from chin to brow. To-day he must pick up all these threads again, +must make things right for Billy, must replace the money he had stolen, +must face Kathleen again he shuddered. Was he at the Cote Dorion still? +He looked round him. No, this was not the sort of house to be found at +the Cote Dorion. Clearly this was the hut of a hunter. Probably he had +been fished out of the river by this woodsman and brought here. He felt +his head. The wound was fresh and very sore. He had played for death, +with an insulting disdain, yet here he was alive. + +Certainly he was not intended to be drowned or knifed--he remembered the +knives he saw unsheathed--or kicked or pummelled into the hereafter. It +was about ten o'clock when he had had his "accident"--he affected a +smile, yet somehow he did not smile easily--it must be now about five, +for here was the morning creeping in behind the deer-skin blind at the +window. + +Strange that he felt none the worse for his mishap, and his tongue was as +clean and fresh as if he had been drinking milk last night, and not very +doubtful brandy at the Cote Dorion. No fever in his hands, no headache, +only the sore skull, so well and tightly bandaged but a wonderful thirst, +and an intolerable hunger. He smiled. When had he ever been hungry for +breakfast before? Here he was with a fine appetite: it was like coals of +fire heaped on his head by Nature for last night's business at the Cote +Dorion. How true it was that penalties did not always come with-- +indiscretions. Yet, all at once, he flushed again to the forehead, for a +curious sense of shame flashed through his whole being, and one Charley +Steele--the Charley Steele of this morning, an unknown, unadventuring, +onlooking Charley Steele--was viewing with abashed eyes the Charley +Steele who had ended a doubtful career in the coarse and desperate +proceedings of last night. With a nervous confusion he sought refuge in +his eye-glass. His fingers fumbled over his waistcoat, but did not find +it. The weapon of defence and attack, the symbol of interrogation and +incomprehensibility, was gone. Beauty Steele was under the eyes of +another self, and neither disdain, nor contempt, nor the passive stare, +were available. He got suddenly to his feet, and started forward, as +though to find refuge from himself. + +The abrupt action sent the blood to his head, and feeling a blindness +come over him, he put both hands up to his temples, and sank back on the +couch, dizzy and faint. + +His motions waked Jo Portugais, who scrambled from the floor, and came +towards him. + +"M'sieu'," he said, "you must not. You are faint." He dropped his hands +supportingly to Charley's shoulders. + +Charley nodded, but did not yet look up. His head throbbed sorely. +"Water--please!" he said. + +In an instant Jo was beside him again, with a bowl of fresh water at his +lips. He drank, drank, drank, until the great bowl was drained to the +last drop. + +"Whew! That was good!" he said, and looked up at Jo with a smile. +"Thank you, my friend; I haven't the honour of your acquaintance, but--" + +He stopped suddenly and stared at Jo. Inquiry, mystification, were in +his look. + +"Have I ever seen you before?" he said. "Who knows, M'sieu'!" + +Since Jo had stood before Charley in the dock near six years ago he had +greatly changed. The marks of smallpox, a heavy beard, grey hair, and +solitary life had altered him beyond Charley's recognition. + +Jo could hardly speak. His legs were trembling under him, for now he +knew that Charley Steele was himself again. He was no longer the simple, +quiet man-child of three days ago, and of these months past, but the man +who had saved him from hanging, to whom he owed a debt he dare not +acknowledge. Jo's brain was in a muddle. Now that the great crisis was +over, now that the expected thing had come, and face to face with the +cure, he had neither tongue, nor strength, nor wit. His words stuck in +his throat where his heart was, and for a minute his eyes had a kind of +mist before them. + +Meanwhile Charley's eyes were upon him, curious, fixed, abstracted. + +"Is this your house?" + +"It is, M'sieu'." + +"You fished me out of the river by the Cote Dorion?" He still held his +head with his hands, for it throbbed so, but his eyes were intent on his +companion. + +"Yes, M'sieu'." + +Charley's hand mechanically fumbled for his monocle. Jo turned quickly +to the wall, and taking it by its cord from the nail where it had been +for these long months, handed it over. Charley took it and mechanically +put it in his eye. "Thank you, my friend," he said. "Have I been +conscious at all since you rescued me last night?" he asked. + +"In a way, M'sieu'." + +"Ah, well, I can't remember, but it was very kind of you--I do thank you +very much. Do you think you could find me something to eat? I beg your +pardon--it isn't breakfast-time, of course, but I was never so hungry in +my life!" + +"In a minute, M'sieu'--in one minute. But lie down, you must lie down a +little. You got up too quick, and it makes your head throb. You have +had nothing to eat." + +"Nothing, since yesterday noon, and very little then. I didn't eat +anything at the Cote Dorion, I remember." He lay back on the couch and +closed his eyes. The throbbing in his head presently stopped, and he +felt that if he ate something he could go to sleep again, it was so +restful in this place--a whole day's sleep and rest, how good it would be +after last night's racketing! Here was primitive and material comfort, +the secret of content, if you liked! Here was this poor hunter-fellow, +with enough to eat and to drink, earning it every day by every day's +labour, and, like Robinson Crusoe no doubt, living in a serene self- +sufficiency and an elysian retirement. Probably he had no +responsibilities in the world, with no one to say him nay, himself only +to consider in all the universe: a divine conception of adequate life. +Yet himself, Charley Steele, an idler, a waster, with no purpose in life, +with scarcely the necessity to earn his bread-never, at any rate, until +lately--was the slave of the civilisation to which he belonged. Was +civilisation worth the game? + +His hand involuntarily went to his head. It changed the course of his +thoughts. He must go back to-day to put Billy's crime right, to replace +the trust-moneys Billy had taken by forging his brother-in-law's name. +Not a moment must be lost. No doubt he was within driving distance of +his office, and, bandaged head or no bandaged head, last night's +disgraceful doings notwithstanding, it was his duty to face the wondering +eyes--what did he care for wondering eyes? hadn't he been making eyes +wonder all his life?--face the wondering eyes in the little city, and set +a crooked business straight. Fool and scoundrel certainly Billy was, but +there was Kathleen! + +His lips tightened; he had a strange anxious flutter of the heart. When +had his heart fluttered like this? When had he ever before considered +Kathleen's feelings as to his personal conduct so delicately? Well, +since yesterday he did feel it, and a sudden sense of pity sprang up in +him--vague, shamefaced pity, which belied the sudden egotistical flourish +with which he put his monocle to his eye and tried futilely to smile in +the old way. + +He had lain with his eyes closed. They opened now, and he saw his host +spreading a newspaper as a kind of cloth on a small rough table, and +putting some food upon it-bread, meat, and a bowl of soup. It was +thoughtful of this man to make his soup overnight-he saw Jo lift it from +beside the fire where it had been kept hot. A good fellow-an excellent +fellow, this woodsman. + +His head did not throb now, and he drew himself up slowly on his elbow- +then, after a moment, lifted himself to a sitting posture. + +"What is your name, my friend?" he said. + +"Jo Portugais, M'sieu'," Jo answered, and brought a candle and put it on +the table, then lifted the tin-plate from over the bowl of savoury soup. + +Never before had Charley Steele sat down to such a breakfast. A roll and +a cup of coffee had been enough, and often too much, for him. Yet now he +could not wait to eat the soup with a spoon, but lifted the bowl and took +a long draught of it, and set it down with a sigh of content. Then he +broke bread into the soup--large pieces of black oat bread--until the +bowl was a mass of luscious pulp. This he ate almost ravenously, his eye +wandering avidly the while to the small piece of meat beside the bowl. +What meat was it? It looked like venison, yet summer was not the time +for venison. What did it matter! Jo sat on a bench beside the fire, his +face turned towards his guest, dreading the moment when the man he had +nursed and cared for, with whom he had eaten and drunk for so long, +should know the truth about himself. He could not tell him all there was +to tell, he was taking another means of letting him know. + +Charley did not speak. Hunger was a new sensation, a delicious thing, +too good to be broken by talking. He ate till he had cleared away the +last crumbs of bread and meat and drunk the last drop of soup. He looked +at the woodsman as though wondering if he would bring more. Jo evidently +thought he had had enough, for he did not move. Charley's glance +withdrew from Jo, and busied itself with the few crumbs remaining upon +the table. He saw a little piece of bread on the floor. He picked it up +and ate it with relish, laughing to himself. + +"How long will it take us to get to town? Can we do it this morning?" + +"Not this morning, M'sieu'," said Jo, in a sort of hoarse whisper. + +"How many hours would it take?" + +He was gathering the last crumbs of his feast with his hand, and looking +casually down at the newspaper spread as a table-cloth. + +All at once his hand stopped, his eyes became fixed on a spot in the +paper. He gave a hoarse, guttural cry, like an animal in agony. His +lips became dry, his hand wiped a blinding mist from his eyes. + +Jo watched him with an intense alarm and a horrified curiosity. He felt +a base coward for not having told Charley what this paper contained. +Never had he seen such a look as this. He felt his beads, and told them +over and over again, as Charley Steele, in a dry, croaking sort of +whisper, read, in letters that seemed monstrous symbols of fire, a record +of himself: + +"To-day, by special license from the civil and ecclesiastical courts [the +paragraph in the paper began], was married, at St. Theobald's Church, +Mrs. Charles Steele, daughter of the late Hon. Julien Wantage, and niece +of the late Eustace Wantage, Esq., to Captain Thomas Fairing, of the +Royal Fusileers--" + +Charley snatched at the top of the paper and read the date "Tenth of +February, 18-!" It was August when he was at the Cote Dorion, the 5th +August, 18-, and this paper was February 10th, 18-. He read on, in the +month-old paper, with every nerve in his body throbbing now: a fierce +beating that seemed as if it must burst the heart and the veins: + +"--Captain Thomas Fairing, of the Royal Fusileers, whose career in our +midst has been marked by an honourable sense of public and private duty. +Our fellow-citizens will unite with us in congratulating the bride, whose +previous misfortunes have only increased the respect in which she is +held. If all remember the obscure death of her first husband (though the +body was not found, there has never been a doubt of his death), and the +subsequent discovery that he had embezzled trust-moneys to the extent of +twenty-five thousand dollars, thereby setting the final seal of shame +upon a misspent life, destined for brilliant and powerful uses, all +have conspired to forget the association of our beautiful and admired +townswoman with his career. It is painful to refer to these +circumstances, but it is only within the past few days that the estate of +the misguided man has been wound up, and the money he embezzled restored +to its rightful owners; and it is better to make these remarks now than +repeat them in the future, only to arouse painful memories in quarters +where we should least desire to wound. + +"In her new life, blessed by a romantic devotion known and admired by +all, Mrs. Fairing and her husband will be followed by the affectionate +good wishes of the whole community." + +The man on the hearth-stone shrank back at the sight of the still, white +face, in which the eyes were like sparks of fire. His impulse had been +to go over and offer the hand of sympathy to the stricken man, but his +simple mind grasped the fact that no one might, with impunity, invade +this awful quiet. Charley was frozen in body, but his brain was awake +with the heat of "a burning fiery furnace." + +Seven months of unconscious life-seven months of silence--no sight, no +seeing, no knowing; seven months of oblivion, in which the world had +buried him out of ken in an unknown grave of infamy! Seven months--and +Kathleen was married again to the man she had always loved. To the world +he himself was a rogue and thief. Billy had remained silent--Billy, whom +he had so befriended, had let decent men heap scorn and reproaches on his +memory. Here was what the world thought of him--he read the lines over +again, his eyes scorching, but his finger steady, as it traced the lines +slowly: "the obscure death . . . . ." "embezzled trustmoneys . . . +. ." "the final seal of shame upon a misspent life!" + +These were the epitaphs on the tombstone of Charley Steele; dead and +buried, out of sight, out of repute, soon to be out of mind and out of +memory, save as a warning to others--an old example raked out of the +dust-bin of time by the scavengers of morality, to toss at all who trod +the paths of dalliance. + +What was there to do? Go back? Go back and knock at Kathleen's door, +another Enoch Arden, and say: "I have come to my own again?" Return and +tell Tom Fairing to go his way and show his face no more? Break up this +union, this marriage of love in which these two rejoiced? Summon +Kathleen out of her illegal intercourse with the man who had been true to +her all these years? + +To what end? What had he ever done for her that he might destroy her +now? What sort of Spartan tragedy was this, that the woman who had been +the victim of circumstances, who had been the slave to a tie he never +felt, yet which had been as iron-bound to her, should now be brought out +to be mangled body and soul for no fault of her own? What had she done? +What had she ever done to give him right to touch so much as a hair of +her head? + +Go back, and bring Billy to justice, and clear his own name? Go back, +and send Kathleen's brother, the forger, to jail? What an achievement +in justice! Would not the world have a right to say that the only decent +thing he could do was to eliminate himself from the equation? What +profit for him in the great summing-up, that he was technically innocent +of this one thing, and that to establish his innocence he broke a woman's +heart and destroyed a boy's life? To what end! It was the murderer +coming back as a ghost to avenge himself for being hanged. Suppose he +went back--the death's-head at the feast--what would there be for himself +afterwards; for any one for whom he was responsible? Living at that +price? + +To die and end it all, to disappear from this petty life where he had +done so little, and that little ill? To die? + +No. There was in him some deep, if obscure, fatalism after all. If he +had been meant to die now, why had he not gone to the bottom of the river +that yesterday at the Cote Dorion? Why had he been saved by this yokel +at the fire, and brought here to lie in oblivion in this mountain hut, +wrapped in silence and lost to the world? Why had his brain and senses +lain fallow all these months, a vacuous vegetation, an empty +consciousness? Was it fate? Did it not seem probable that the Great +Machine had, in its automatic movement, tossed him up again on the shores +of Time because he had not fallen on the trap-door predestined for his +eternal exit? + +It was clear to him that death by his own hand was futile, and that if +there were trap-doors set for him alone, it were well to wait until he +trod upon them and fell through in his appointed hour in the movement of +the Great Machine. + +What to do--where to live--how to live? + +He got slowly to his feet and took a step forward half blindly. The man +on the bench stirred. Crossing the room he dropped a hand on the man's +shoulder. "Open the blind, my friend." + +Jo Portugais got to his feet quickly, eyes averted--he did not dare look +into Charley's face--and went over and drew back the deer-skin blind. +The clear, crisp sunlight of a frosty morning broke gladly into the room. +Charley turned and blew out the candle on the table where he had eaten, +then walked feebly to the window. Standing on the crest of the mountain +the hut looked down through a clearing, flanked by forest trees. + +It was a goodly scene. The green and frosted foliage of the pines and +cedars; the flowery tracery of frost hanging like cobwebs everywhere; the +poudre sparkle in the air; the hills of silver and emerald sloping down +to the valley miles away, where the village clustered about the great old +parish church; the smoke from a hundred chimneys, in purple spirals, +rising straight up in the windless air; over all peace and a perfect +silence. + +Charley mechanically fixed his eye-glass and stood with hands resting on +the window-sill, looking, looking out upon a new world. + +At length he turned. + +"Is there anything I can do for you, M'sieu'?" said Jo huskily. + +Charley held out his hand and clasped Jo's. "Tell me about all these +months," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE COMING OF ROSALIE + +Charley Steele saw himself as he had been through the eyes of another. +He saw the work that he had done in the carpentering shed, and had no +memory of it. The real Charley Steele had been enveloped in oblivion for +seven months. During that time a mild phantom of himself had wandered, +as it were in a somnambulistic dream, through the purlieus of life. +Open-eyed, but with the soul asleep, all idiosyncrasy laid aside, all +acquired impressions and influences vanished, he had been walking in the +world with no more complexity of mind than a new-born child, nothing +intervening between the sight of the eyes and the original sense. + +Now, when the real Charley Steele emerged again, the folds of mind and +soul unrolling to the million-voiced creation and touched by the antenna +of a various civilisation, the phantom Charley was gone once more into +obscurity. The real Charley could remember naught of the other, could +feel naught, save, as in the stirring industrious day, one remembers that +he has dreamed a strange dream the night before, and cannot recall it, +though the overpowering sense of it remains. + +He saw the work of his hands, the things he had made with adze and plane, +with chisel and hammer, but nothing seemed familiar save the smell of the +glue pot, which brought back in a cloudy impression curious unfamiliar +feelings. Sights, sounds, motions, passed in a confused way through his +mind as the smell of the glue crept through his nostrils; and he +struggled hard to remember. But no--seven months of his life were gone +for ever. Yet he knew and felt that a vast change had gone over him, had +passed through him. While the soul had lain fallow, while the body had +been growing back to childlike health again, and Nature had been pouring +into his sick senses her healing balm; while the medicaments of peace and +sleep and quiet labour had been having their way with him, he had been +reorganised, renewed, flushed of the turgid silt of dissipation. For his +sins and weaknesses there had been no gall and vinegar to drink. + +As Charley stood looking round the workshop, Jo entered, shaking the snow +from his moccasined feet. "The Cure, M'sieu' Loisel, has come," he said. +Charley turned, and, without a word, followed Jo into the house. There, +standing at the window and looking down at the village beneath, was the +Cure. As Charley entered, M. Loisel carne forward with outstretched +hand. + +"I am glad to see you well again, Monsieur," he said, and his cool thin +hand held Charley's for a moment, as he looked him benignly in the eye. + +With a kind of instinct as to the course he must henceforth pursue, +Charley replied simply, dropping his eye-glass as he met that clear +soluble look of the priest--such a well of simplicity he had never before +seen. Only naked eye could meet that naked eye, imperfect though his own +sight was. + +"It is good of you to feel so, and to come and tell me so," he answered +quietly. "I have been a great trouble, I know." + +There was none of the old pose in his manner, none of the old cryptic +quality in his words. + +"We were anxious for your sake--and for the sake of your friends, +Monsieur." + +Charley evaded the suggestion. "I cannot easily repay your kindness and +that of Jo Portugais, my good friend here," he rejoined. + +"M'sieu'," replied Jo, his face turned away, and his foot pushing a log +on the fire, "you have repaid it." + +Charley shook his head. "I am in a conspiracy of kindness," he said. +"It is all a mystery to me. For why should one expect such treatment +from strangers, when, besides all, one can never make any real return, +not even to pay for board and lodging!" + +"'I was a stranger and ye took me in,"' said the Cure, smiling by no +means sentimentally. "So said the Friend of the World." + +Charley looked the Curb steadily in the eyes. He was thinking how simply +this man had said these things; as if, indeed, they were part of his +life; as though it were usual speech with him, a something that belonged, +not an acquired language. There was the old impulse to ask a question, +and he put the monocle to his eye, but his lips did not open, and the +eye-glass fell again. He had seen familiarity with sacred names and +things in the uneducated, in excited revivalists, worked up to a state +clairvoyant and conversational with the Creator; but he had never heard +an educated man speak as this man did. + +At last Charley said: "Your brother--Portugais tells me that your +brother, the surgeon, has gone away. I should have liked to thank him +--if no more." + +"I have written him of your good recovery. He will be glad, I know. But +my brother, from one stand-point--a human stand-point--had scruples. +These I did not share, but they were strong in him, Monsieur. Marcel +asked himself--" He stopped suddenly and looked towards Jo. + +Charley saw the look, and said quickly: "Speak plainly. Portugais is my +friend." + +Jo turned slowly towards him, and a light seemed to come to his eyes--a +shining something that resolved itself into a dog-like fondness, an utter +obedience, a strange intense gratitude. + +"Marcel asked himself," the Cure continued, "whether you would thank him +for bringing you back to--to life and memory. I fear he was trying to +see what I should say--I fear so. Marcel said, 'Suppose that he should +curse me for it? Who knows what he would be brought back to--to what +suffering and pain, perhaps?' Marcel said that." + +"And you replied, Monsieur le Cure?" + +"I replied that Nature required you to answer that question for yourself, +and whether bitterly or gladly, it was your duty to take up your life and +live it out. Besides, it was not you alone that had to be considered. +One does not live alone or die alone in this world. There were your +friends to consider." + +"And because I had no friends here, you were compelled to think for me!" +answered Charley calmly. "Truth is, it was not a question of my friends, +for what I was during those seven months, or what I am now, can make no +difference to them." + +He looked the Cure in the eyes steadily, and as though he would convey +his intentions without words. The Curb understood. The habit of +listening to the revelations of the human heart had given him something +of that clairvoyance which can only be pursued by the primitive mind, +unvexed by complexity. + +"It is, then, as though you had not come to life again? It is as though +you had no past, Monsieur?" + +"It is that, Monsieur." + +Jo suddenly turned and left the room, for he heard a step on the frosty +snow without. + +"You will remain here, Monsieur?" said the Cure. "I cannot tell." + +The Cure had the bravery of simple souls with a duty to perform. He +fastened his eyes on Charley. "Monsieur, is there any reason why you +should not stay here? I ask it now, man to man--not as a priest of my +people, but as man to man." + +Charley did not answer for a moment. He was wondering how he should put +his reply. But his look did not waver, and the Cure saw the honesty of +the gaze. At length he replied: "If you mean, have I committed any crime +which the law may punish?--I answer no, Monsieur. If you mean, have I +robbed or killed, or forged--or wronged a woman as men wrong women? No. +These, I take it, are the things that matter first. For the rest, you +can think of me as badly as you will, or as well, for what I do +henceforth is the only thing that really concerns the world, Monsieur le +Cure." + +The Cure came forward and put out his hand with a kindly gesture. +"Monsieur, you have suffered," he said. + +"Never, never at all, Monsieur. Never for a moment, until I was dropped +down here like a stone from a sling. I had life by the throat; now it +has me there--that is all." + +"You are not a Catholic, Monsieur?" asked the priest, almost pleadingly, +and as though the question had been much on his mind. + +"No, Monsieur." + +The Cure made no rejoinder. If he was not a Catholic, what matter +what he was? If he was not a Catholic, were he Buddhist, pagan, or +Protestant, the position for them personally was the same. "I am very +sorry," he said gently. "I might have helped you had you been a +Catholic." + +The eye-glass came like lightning to the eye, and a caustic, questioning +phrase was on the tongue, but Charley stopped himself in time. For, +apart from all else, this priest had been his friend in calamity, had +acted with a charming sensibility. The eye-glass troubled the Cure, and +the look on Charley's face troubled him still more, but it passed as +Charley said, in a voice as simple as the Cure's own: + +"You may still help me as you have already done. I give you my word, +too"--strange that he touched his lips with his tongue as he did in the +old days when his mind turned to Jean Jolicoeur's saloon--"that I will do +nothing to cause regret for your humanity and--and Christian kindness." +Again the tongue touched the lips--a wave of the old life had swept over +him, the old thirst had rushed upon him. Perhaps it was the force of +this feeling which made him add, with a curious energy, "I give you my +word, Monsieur le Cure." At that moment the door opened and Jo entered. + +"M'sieu'," he said to Charley, "a registered parcel has come for you. +It has been brought by the postmaster's daughter. She will give it to no +one but yourself." + +Charley's face paled, and the Cure's was scarcely less pale. In +Charley's mind was the question, Who had discovered his presence here? +Was he not, then, to escape? Who should send him parcels through the +post? + +The Cure was perturbed. Was he, then, to know who this man was--his name +and history? Was the story of his life now to be told? + +Charley broke the silence. "Tell the girl to come in." Instantly +afterwards the postmaster's daughter entered. The look of the girl's +face, at once delicate and rosy with health, almost put the question of +the letter out of his mind for an instant. Her dark eyes met his as he +came forward with outstretched hand. + +"This is addressed, as you will see, 'To the Sick Man at the House of Jo +Portugais, at Vadrome Mountain.' Are you that person, Monsieur?" she +asked. + +As she handed the parcel, Charley's eyes scanned her face quickly. How +did this habitant girl come by this perfect French accent, this refined +manner? He did not know the handwriting on the parcel; he hastily tore +it open. Inside were a few dozen small packets. Here also was a sheet +of paper. He opened and read it quickly. It said: + + Monsieur, I am not sure that you have recovered your memory and your + health, and I am also not sure that in such case you will thank me + for my work. If you think I have done you an injury, pray accept my + profound apologies. Monsieur, you have been a drunkard. If you + would reverse the record now, these powders, taken at opportune + moments, will aid you. Monsieur, with every expression of my good- + will, and the hope that you will convey to me without reserve your + feelings on this delicate matter, I append my address in Paris, and + I have the honour to subscribe myself, with high consideration, + Monsieur, yours faithfully, + MARCEL LOISEL. + +The others looked at him with varied feelings as he read. Curiosity, +inquiry, expectation, were common to them all, but with each was a +different personal feeling. The Cure's has been described. Jo +Portugais' mind was asking if this meant that the man who had come +into his life must now go out of it; and the girl was asking who was +this mysterious man, like none she had ever seen or known. + +Without hesitation Charley handed over the letter to the Cure, who took +it with surprise, read it with amazement, and handed it back with a flush +on his face. + +"Thank you," said Charley to the girl. "It is good of you to bring it +all this way. May I ask--" + +"She is Mademoiselle Rosalie Evanturel," said the Cure smiling. + +"I am Charles Mallard," said Charley slowly. "Thank you. I will go now, +Monsieur Mallard," the girl said, lifting her eyes to his face. He +bowed. As she turned and went towards the door her eyes met his. She +blushed. + +"Wait, Mademoiselle; I will go back with you," said the Cure kindly. He +turned to Charley and held out his hand. "God be with you, Monsieur-- +Charles," he said. "Come and see me soon." Remembering that his brother +had written that the man was a drunkard, his eyes had a look of pity. +This was the man's own secret and his. It was a way to the man's heart; +he would use it. + +As the two went out of the door, the girl looked back. Charley was +putting the surgeon's letter into the fire, and did not see her; yet she +blushed again. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +HOW CHARLEY WENT ADVENTURING AND WHAT HE FOUND + +A week passed. Charley's life was running in a tiny circle, but his mind +was compassing large revolutions. The events of the last few days had +cut deep. His life had been turned upside down. All his predispositions +had been suddenly brought to check, his habits turned upon the flank and +routed, his mental postures flung into confusion. He had to start life +again; but it could not be in the way of any previous travel of mind or +body. The line of cleavage was sharp and wide, and the only connection +with the past was in the long-reaching influence of evil habits, which +crept from their coverts, now and again, to mock him as his old self had +mocked life--to mock him and to tempt him. Through seven months of +healthy life for his body, while brain and will were sleeping, the whole +man had made long strides towards recreation. But with the renewal of +will and mind the old weaknesses, roused by memory, began to emerge +intermittently, as water rises from a spring. There was something +terrible in this repetition of sensation--the law of habit answering +to the machine-like throbbing of memory, as, a kaleidoscope turning, +turning, its pictures pass a certain point at fixed intervals--an +automatic recurrence. He found himself at times touching his lips with +his tongue, and with this act came the dry throat, the hot eye, the +restless hand feeling for a glass that eluded his fingers. + +Twice in one week did this fever surge up in him, and it caught him in +those moments when, exhausted by the struggle of his mind to adapt itself +to the new conditions, his senses were delicately susceptible. Visions +of Jolicoeur's saloon came to his mind's eye. With a singular +separateness, a new-developed dual sense, he saw himself standing in the +summer heat, looking over to the cool dark doorway of the saloon, and he +caught again the smell of the fresh-drawn beer. He was conscious of +watching himself do this and that, of seeing himself move here and there. +He began to look upon Charley Steele as a man he had known--he, Charles +Mallard, had known--while he had to suffer for what Charley Steele had +done. Then, all at once, as he was thinking and dreaming and seeing, +there would seize upon him the old appetite, coincident with the seizure +of his brain by the old sense of cynicism at its worst--such a worst as +had made him insult Jake Hough when the rough countryman was ready to +take his part that wild night at the Cote Dorion. + +At such moments life became a conflict--almost a terror--for as yet he +had not swung into line with the new order of things. In truth, there +was no order of things; for one life was behind him and the new one was +not yet decided upon, save that here he would stay--here out of the +world, out of the game, far from old associations, cut off, and to be for +ever cut off, from all that he had ever known or seen or felt or loved! +. . . Loved! When did he ever love? If love was synonymous with +unselfishness, with the desire to give greater than the desire to get, +then he had never known love. He realised now that he had given Kathleen +only what might be given across a dinner-table--the sensuous tribute of +a temperament, passionate without true passion or faith or friendship. +Kathleen had known that he gave her nothing worth the having; for in some +meagre sense she knew what love was, and had given it meagrely, after her +nature, to another man, preserving meanwhile the letter of the law, +respecting that bond which he had shamed by his excesses. + +Kathleen was now sitting at another man's table--no, probably at his own +table--his, Charley Steele's own table in his own house--the house he had +given her by deed of gift the day he died. Tom Fairing was sitting where +he used to sit, talking across the table--not as he used to talk--looking +into Kathleen's face as he had never looked. He was no more to them than +a dark memory. "Well, why should I be more?" he asked himself. "I am +dead, if not buried. They think me down among the fishes. My game is +done; and when she gets older and understands life better, Kathleen will +say, 'Poor Charley--he might have been anything!' She'll be sure to say +that some day, for habit and memory go round in a circle and pass the +same point again and again. For me--they take me by the throat--" He +put his hand up as if to free his throat from a grip, his tongue touched +his lips, his hands grew restless. + +"It comes back on me like a fit of ague, this miserable thirst. If I +were within sight of Jolicoeur's saloon, I should be drinking hard this +minute. But I'm here, and--" His hand felt his pocket, and he took out +the powders the great surgeon had sent him. + +"He knew--how did he know that I was a drunkard? Does a man carry in his +face the tale he would not tell? Jo says I didn't talk of the past, that +I never had delirium, that I never said a word to suggest who I was, or +where I came from. Then how did the doctor--man know? I suppose every +particular habit carries its own signal, and the expert knows the +ciphers." He opened the paper containing the powders, and looked round +for water, then paused, folded the paper up, and put it in his pocket +again. He went over to the window and looked out. His shoulders set +square. "No, no, no, not a speck on my tongue!" he said. "What I can't +do of my own will is not worth doing. It's too foolish, to yield to the +shadow of an old appetite. I play this game alone--here in Chaudiere." + +He looked out and down. The sweet sun of early spring was shining +hard, and the snow was beginning to pack, to hang like a blanket on the +branches, to lie like a soft coverlet over all the forest and the fields. +Far away on the frozen river were saplings stuck up to show where the ice +was safe--a long line of poles from shore to shore--and carioles were +hurrying across to the village. Being market-day, the place was alive +with the cheerful commerce of the habitant. The bell of the parish +church was ringing. The sound of it came up distantly and peacefully. +Charley drew a long breath, turned away to a pail of water, filled a +dipper half full, and drank it off gaspingly. Then he returned to the +window with a look of relief. + +"That does it," he said. "The horrible thing is gone again--out of my +brain and out of my throat." + +As he stood there, Jo came up the hill with a bundle in his arms. +Charley watched him for a moment, half whimsically, half curiously. Yet +he sighed once too as Portugais opened the door and came into the room. +"Well done, Jo!" said he. "You have 'em?" + +"Yes, M'sieu'. A good suit, and I believe they'll fit. Old Trudel says +it's the best suit he's made in a year. I'm afraid he'll not make many +more suits, old Trudel. + +"He's very bad. When he goes there'll be no tailor--ah, old Trudel will +be missed for sure, M'sieu'!" + +Jo spread the clothes out on the table--a coat, waistcoat, and trousers +of fulled cloth, grey and bulky, and smelling of the loom and the +tailor's iron. Charley looked at them interestedly, then glanced at the +clothes he had on, the suit that had belonged to him last year--grave- +clothes. + +He drew himself up as though rousing from a dream. "Come, Jo, clear out, +and you shall have your new habitant in a minute," he said. Portugais +left the room, and when he came back, Charley was dressed in the suit of +grey fulled cloth. It was loose, but comfortable, and save for the +refined face--on which a beard was growing now--and the eye-glass, he +might easily have passed for a farmer. When he put on the dog-skin fur +cap and a small muffler round his neck, it was the costume of the +habitant complete. + +Yet it was no disguise, for it was part of the life that Charles Mallard, +once Charley Steele, should lead henceforth. + +He turned to the door and opened it. "Good-bye, Portugais," he said. + +Jo was startled. "Where are you going, M'sieu'?" + +"To the village." + +"What to do, M'sieu'?" + +"Who knows?" + +"You will come back?" Jo asked anxiously. + +"Before sundown, Jo. Good-bye!" + +This was the first long walk he had taken since he had become himself +again. The sweet, cold air, with a bracing wind in his face, gave peace +to the nerves but now strained and fevered in the fight with appetite. +His mind cleared, and he drank in the sunny air and the pungent smell of +the balsams. His feet light with moccasins, he even ran a distance, +enjoying the glow from a fast-beating pulse. + +As he came into the high-road, people passed him in carioles and sleighs. +Some eyed him curiously. What did he mean to do? What object had he in +coming to the village? What did he expect? As he entered the village +his pace slackened. He had no destination, no object. He was simply +aware that his new life was beginning. + +He passed a little house on which was a sign, "Narcisse Dauphin, Notary." +It gave him a curious feeling. It was the old life before him. "Charles +Mallard, Notary?"--No, that was not for him. Everything that reminded +him of the past, that brought him in touch with it, must be set aside. +He moved on. Should he go to the Cure? No; one thing at a time, and +today he wanted his thoughts for himself. More people passed him, and +spoke of him to each other, though there was no coarse curiosity--the +habitant has manners. + +Presently he passed a low shop with a divided door. The lower half was +closed, the upper open, and the winter sun was shining full into the +room, where a bright fire burned. + +Charley looked up. Over the door was painted, in straggling letters: +"Louis Trudel, Tailor." He looked inside. There, on a low table, bent +over his work, with a needle in his hand, sat Louis Trudel the tailor. +Hearing footsteps, feeling a shadow, he looked up. Charley started at +the look of the shrunken, yellow face; for if ever death had set his +seal, it was on that haggard parchment. The tailor's yellow eyes ran +from Charley's face to his clothes. + +"I knew they'd fit," he said, with a snarl. "Drove me hard, too!" + +Charley had an inspiration. He opened the halfdoor, and entered. + +"Do you want help?" he said, fixing his eyes on the tailor's, steady and +persistent. + +"What's the good of wanting--I can't get it," was the irritable reply, as +he uncrossed his legs. + +Charley took the iron out of his hand. "I'll press, if you'll show me +how," he said. + +"I don't want a fiddling ten-minutes' help like that." + +"It isn't fiddling. I'm going to stay, if you think I'll do." + +"You are going to stop-every day?" The old man's voice quavered a +little. + +"Precisely that." Charley wetted a seam with water as he had often seen +tailors do. He dropped the hot iron on the seam, and sniffed with +satisfaction. + +"Who are you?" said the tailor. + +"A man who wants work. The Cure knows. It's all right. Shall I stay?" + +The tailor nodded, and sat down with a colour in his face. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +ROSALIE, CHARLEY, AND THE MAN THE WIDOW PLOMONDON JILTED + +From the moment there came to the post-office the letter addressed to +"The Sick Man at the House of Jo Portugais at Vadrome Mountain," Rosalie +Evanturel dreamed dreams. Mystery, so fascinating a thing in all the +experiences of life, took hold of her. The strange man in the lonely +hut on the hill, the bandaged head, the keen, piercing blue eyes, the +monocle, like a masked battery of the mind, levelled at her--all appealed +to that life she lived apart from the people with whom she had daily +commerce. Her world was a world of books and dreams, and simple, +practical duties of life. Most books were romance to her, for most were +of a life to which she had not been educated. Even one or two purely +Protestant books of missionary enterprise, found in a box in her dead +mother's room, had had all the charms of poetry and adventure. It was +all new, therefore all delightful, even when the Protestant sentiments +shocked her as being not merely untrue, but hurting that aesthetic sense +never remote from the mind of the devout Catholic. + +She had blushed when monsieur had first looked at her, in the hut on +Vadrome Mountain, not because there was any soft sentiment about him in +her heart--how could there be for a man she had but just seen!--but +because her feelings, her imagination, were all at high temperature; +because the man compelled attention. The feeling sprang from a deep +sensibility, a natural sense, not yet made incredulous by the ironies of +life. These had never presented themselves to her in a country, in a +parish, where people said of fortune and misfortune, happiness and +sorrow, "C'est le bon Dieu!"--always "C'est le bon Dieu!" + +In some sense it was a pity that she had brains above the ordinary, that +she had had a good education and nice tastes. It was the cultivation of +the primitive and idealistic mind, which could not rationalise a sense of +romance, of the altruistic, by knowledge of life. As she sat behind the +post-office counter she read all sorts of books that came her way. When +she learned English so as to read it almost as easily as she read French, +her greatest joy was to pore over Shakespeare, with a heart full of +wonder, and, very often, eyes full of tears--so near to the eyes of her +race. Her imagination inhabited Chaudiere with a different folk, living +in homes very unlike these wide, sweeping-roofed structures, with double +windows and clean-scrubbed steps, tall doors, and wide, uncovered stoops. +Her people--people of bright dreaming--were not quarrelsome, or childish, +or merely traditional, like the habitants. They were picturesque and +able and simple, doing good things in disguise, succouring distress, +yielding their lives without thought for a cause, or a woman, and loving +with an undying love. + +Charley was of these people--from the first instant she saw him. The +Cure, the Avocat, and the Seigneur were also of them, but placidly, +unimportantly. "The Sick Man at Jo Portugais' House" came out of a +mysterious distance. Something in his eyes said, "I have seen, I have +known," told her that when he spoke she would answer freely, that they +were kinsfolk in some hidden way. Her nature was open and frank; she +lived upon the house-tops, as it were, going in and out of the lives of +the people of Chaudiere with neighbourly sympathy and understanding. Yet +she knew that she was not of them, and they knew that, poor as she was, +in her veins flowed the blood of the old nobility of France. For this +the Cure could vouch. Her official position made her the servant of the +public, and she did her duty with naturalness. + +She had been a figure in the parish ever since the day she returned from +the convent at Quebec, and took her dead mother's place in the home and +the parish. She had a quick temper, but there was not a cheerless note +in her nature, and there was scarce a dog or a horse in the parish but +knew her touch, and responded to it. Squirrels ate out of her hand, she +had even tamed two partridges, and she kept in her little garden a bear +she had brought up from a cub. Her devotion to her crippled father was +in keeping with her quick response to every incident of sorrow or joy in +the parish--only modified by wilful prejudices scarcely in keeping with +her unselfishness. + +As Mrs. Flynn, the Seigneur's Irish cook, said of her: "Shure, she's not +made all av wan piece, the darlin'! She'll wear like silk, but she's not +linen for everybody's washin'." And Mrs. Flynn knew a thing or two, as +was conceded by all in Chaudiere. No gossip was Mrs. Flynn, but she knew +well what was going on in the parish, and she had strong views upon all +subjects, and a special interest in the welfare of two people in +Chaudiere. One of these was the Seigneur, who, when her husband died, +leaving behind him a name for wit and neighbourliness, and nothing else, +proposed that she should come to be his cook. In spite of her protest +that what was "fit for Teddy was not fit for a gintleman of quality," the +Seigneur had had his way, never repenting of his choice. Mrs. Flynn's +cooking was not her only good point. She had the rarest sense and an +unfailing spring of good-nature--life bubbled round her. It was she that +had suggested the crippled M. Evanturel to the Seigneur when the office +of postmaster became vacant, and the Seigneur had acted on her +suggestion, henceforth taking greater interest in Rosalie. + +It was Mrs. Flynn who gave Rosalie information concerning Charley's +arrival at the shop of Louis Trudel the tailor. The morning after +Charley came, Mrs. Flynn had called for a waistcoat of the Seigneur, who +was expected home from a visit to Quebec. She found Charley standing at +a table pressing seams, and her quick eye took him in with knowledge and +instinct. She was the one person, save Rosalie, who could always divert +old Louis, and this morning she puckered his sour face with amusement by +the story of the courtship of the widow Plomondon and Germain Boily the +horse-trainer, whose greatest gift was animal-training, and greatest +weakness a fondness for widows, temporary and otherwise. Before she left +the shop, with the stranger's smile answering to her nod, she had made up +her mind that Charley was a tailor by courtesy only. So she told Rosalie +a few moments afterwards. + +"'Tis a man, darlin', that's seen the wide wurruld. 'Tis himisperes he +knows, not parrishes. Fwhat's he doin' here, I dun'no'. Fwhere's he +come from, I dun'no'. French or English, I dun'no'. But a gintleman +born, I know. 'Tis no tailor, darlin', but tailorin' he'll do as aisy as +he'll do a hunderd other things anny day. But how he shlipped in here, +an' when he shlipped in here, an' what's he come for, an' how long he's +stayin', an' meanin' well, or doin' ill, I dun'no', darlin', I dun' +no'." + +"I don't think he'll do ill, Mrs. Flynn," said Rosalie, in English. + +"An' if ye haven't seen him, how d'ye know?" asked Mrs. Flynn, taking a +pinch of snuff. + +"I have seen him--but not in the tailor-shop. I saw him at Jo Portugais' +a fortnight ago." + +"Aisy, aisy, darlin'. At Jo Portugais'--that's a quare place for a +stranger. 'Tis not wid Jo's introducshun I'd be comin' to Chaudiere." + +"He comes with the Cure's introduction." + +"An' how d'ye know that, darlin'?" + +"The Curb was at Jo Portugais' with monsieur when I went there." + +"You wint there!" + +"To take him a letter--the stranger." "What's his name, darlin'?" + +"The letter I took him was addressed, 'To the Sick Man at Jo Portugais' +House at Vadrome Mountain.'" + +"Ah, thin, the Cure knows. 'Tis some rich man come to get well, and +plays at bein' tailor. But why didn't the letther come to his name, +I wander now? That's what I wander." + +Rosalie shook her head, and looked reflectively through the window +towards the tailor-shop. + +"How manny times have ye seen him?" + +"Only once;" answered Rosalie truthfully. She did not, however, tell +Mrs. Flynn that she had thrice walked nearly to Vadrome Mountain in the +hope of seeing him again; and that she had gone to her favourite resort, +the Rest of the Flax-Beaters, lying in the way of the riverpath from +Vadrome Mountain, on the chance of his passing. She did not tell Mrs. +Flynn that there had scarcely been a waking hour when she had not thought +of him. + +"What Portugais knows, he'll not be tellin'," said Mrs. Flynn, after a +moment. "An' 'tis no business of ours, is it, darlin'? Shure, there's +Jo comin' out of the tailor-shop now!" + +They both looked out of the window, and saw Jo encounter Filion Lacasse +the saddler, and Maximilian Cour the baker. The three stood in the +middle of the street for a minute, Jo talking freely. He was usually +morose and taciturn, but now he spoke as though eager to unburden his +mind--Charley and he had agreed upon what should be said to the people of +Chaudiere. + +The sight of the confidences among the three was too much for Mrs. Flynn. +She opened the door of the post office and called to Jo. "Like three +crows shtandin' there!" she said. "Come in--ma'm'selle says come in, +and tell your tales here, if they're fit to hear, Jo Portugais. Who are +you to say no when ma'm'selle bids!" she added. + +Very soon afterwards Jo was inside the post-office, telling his tale with +the deliberation of a lesson learned by heart. + +"It's all right, as ma'm'selle knows," he said. "The Cure was there when +ma'm'selle brought a letter to M'sieu' Mallard. The Cure knows all. +M'sieu' come to my house sick-and he stayed there. There is nothing like +the pine-trees and the junipers to cure some things. He was with me very +quiet some time. The Cure come and come. He knows. When m'sieu' got +well, he say, 'I will not go from Chaudiere; I will stay. I am poor, and +I will earn my bread here.' At first, when he is getting well, he is +carpent'ring. He makes cupboards and picture-frames. The Cure has one +of the cupboards in the sacristy; the frames he puts on the Stations of +the Cross in the church." + +"That's good enough for me!" said Maximilian Cour. "Did he make them +for nothing?" asked Filion Lacasse solemnly. + +"Not one cent did he ask. What's more, he's working for Louis Trudel for +nothing. He come through the village yesterday; he see Louis old and +sick on his bench, and he set down and go to work." + +"That's good enough for me," said the saddler. "If a man work for the +Church for nothing, he is a Christian. If he work for Louis Trudel for +nothing, he is a fool--first-class--or a saint. I wouldn't work for +Louis Trudel if he give me five dollars a day." + +"Tiens! the man that work for Louis Trudel work for the Church, for all +old Louis makes goes to the Church in the end--that is his will. The +Notary knows," said Maximilian Cour. + +"See there, now," interposed Mrs. Flynn, pointing across the street to +the tailor-shop. "Look at that grocer-man stickin' in his head; and +there's Magloire Cadoret and that pig of a barber, Moise Moisan, starin' +through the dure, an'--" + +As she spoke, the barber and his companion suddenly turned their faces to +the street, and started forward with startled exclamations, the grocer +following. They all ran out from the post-office. Not far up the street +a crowd was gathering. Rosalie locked the office-door and followed the +others quickly. + +In front of the Hotel Trois Couronnes a painful thing was happening. +Germain Boily, the horse-trainer, fresh from his disappointment with the +widow Plomondon, had driven his tamed moose up to the Trois Couronnes, +and had drunk enough whiskey to make him ill-tempered. He had then begun +to "show off" the animal, but the savage instincts of the moose being +roused, he had attacked his master, charging with wide-branching horns, +and striking with his feet. Boily was too drunk to fight intelligently. +He went down under the hoofs of the enraged animal, as his huge boar- +hound, always with him, fastened on the moose's throat, dragged him to +the ground, and tore gaping wounds in his neck. + +It was all the work of a moment. People ran from the doorways and +sidewalks, but stayed at a comfortable distance until the moose was +dragged down; then they made to approach the insensible man. Before any +one could reach him, however, the great hound, with dripping fangs, +rushed to his master's body, and, standing over it, showed his teeth +savagely. The hotel-keeper approached, but the bristles of the hound +stood up, he prepared to attack, and the landlord drew back in haste. +Then M. Dauphin, the Notary, who had joined the crowd, held out a hand +coaxingly, and with insinuating rhetoric drew a little nearer than the +landlord had done; but he retreated precipitously as the hound crouched +back for a spring. Some one called for a gun, and Filion Lacasse ran +into his shop. The animal had now settled down on his master's body, his +bloodshot eyes watching in menace. The one chance seemed to be to shoot +him, and there must be no bungling, lest his prostrate master suffer at +the same time. The crowd had melted away into the houses, and were now +standing at doorways and windows, ready for instant retreat. + +Filion Lacasse's gun was now at disposal, but who would fire it? Jo +Portugais was an expert shot, and he reached out a hand for the weapon. + +As he did so, Rosalie Evanturel cried: "Wait, oh, wait!" Before any one +could interfere she moved along the open space to the mad beast, speaking +soothingly, and calling his name. + +The crowd held their breath. A woman fainted. Some wrung their hands, +and Jo Portugais, with blanched face, stood with gun half raised. With +assured kindness of voice and manner, Rosalie walked deliberately over to +the hound. At first the animal's bristles came up, and he prepared to +spring, but murmuring to him, she held out her hand, and presently laid +it on his huge head. With a growl of subjection, the dog drew from the +body of his master, and licked Rosalie's fingers as she knelt beside +Boily and felt his heart. She put her arm round the dog's neck, and said +to the crowd, "Some one come--only one--ah, yes, you, Monsieur!" she +added, as Charley, who had just arrived on the scene, came forward. +"Only you, if you can lift him. Take him to my house." + +Her arm still round the dog, she talked to him, as Charley came forward, +and, lifting up the body of the little horse-trainer, drew him across his +shoulder. The hound at first resented the act, but under Rosalie's touch +became quiet, and followed at their heels towards the post-office, +licking the wounded man's hands as they hung down. Inside M. Evanturel's +house the injured man was laid upon a couch. Charley examined his +wounds, and, finding them severe, advised that the Cure be sent for, +while he and Jo Portugais set about restoring him to consciousness. +Jo had skill of a sort, and his crude medicaments were efficacious. + +When the Cure came, the injured man was handed over to his care, and he +arranged that in the evening Boily should be removed to his house, to +await the arrival of the doctor from the next parish. + +This was Charley's public introduction to the people of Chaudiere, and it +was his second meeting with Rosalie Evanturel. + +The incident brought him into immediate prominence. Before he left the +post-office, Filion Lacasse, Maximilian Cour, and Mrs. Flynn had given +forth his history, as related by Jo Portugais. The village was agog with +excitement. + +But attention was not centred on himself, for Rosalie's courage had set +the parish talking. When the Notary stood on the steps of the saddler's +shop, and with fine rhetoric proposed a vote of admiration for the girl, +the cheering could be heard inside the post-office, and it brought Mrs. +Flynn outside. + +"'Tis for her, the darlin'--for Ma'm'selle Rosalie--they're splittin' +their throats!" she said to Charley as he was making his way from the +sick man's room to the street door. "Did ye iver see such an eye an' +hand? That avil baste that's killed two Injins already--an' all the men +o' the place sneakin' behind dures, an' she walkin' up cool as leaf in +mornin' dew, an' quietin' the divil's own! Did ye iver see annything +like it, sir--you that's seen so much?" + +"Madame, it is not touch of hand alone, or voice alone," answered +Charley. + +"Shure, 'tis somethin' kin in baste an' maid, you're manin' thin?" + +"Quite so, Madame." + +"Simple like, an' understandin' what Noah understood in that ark av his +--for talk to the bastes he must have, explainin' what was for thim to +do." + +"Like that, Madame." + +"Thrue for you, sir, 'tis as you say. There's language more than tongue +of man can shpake. But listen, thin, to me"--her voice got lower-- +"for 'tis not the furst time, a thing like that, the lady she is-- +granddaughter of a Seigneur, and descinded from nobility in France! 'Tis +not the furst time to be doin' brave things. Just a shlip of a girl she +was, three years ago, afther her mother died, an' she was back from +convint. A woman come to the parish an' was took sick in the house of +her brother--from France she was. Small-pox they said at furst. 'Twas +no small-pox, but plague, got upon the seas. Alone she was in the house +--her brother left her alone, the black-hearted coward. The people +wouldn't go near the place. The Cure was away. Alone the woman was-- +poor soul! Who wint--who wint and cared for her? Who do ye think, sir?" + +"Mademoiselle?" + +"None other. 'Go tell Mrs. Flynn,' says she, 'to care for my father till +I come back,' an' away she wint to the house of plague. A week she +stayed, an' no one wint near her. Alone she was with the woman and the +plague. 'Lave her be,' said the Cure when he come back; "tis for the +love of God. God is with her--lave her be, and pray for her,' says he. +An' he wint himself, but she would not let him in. ''Tis my work,' says +she. ''Tis God's work for me to do,' says she. 'An' the woman will live +if 'tis God's will,' says she. 'There's an agnus dei on her breast,' +says she. 'Go an' pray,' says she. Pray the Cure did, an' pray did we +all, but the woman died of the plague. All alone did Rosalie draw her to +the grave on a stone-boat down the lane, an' over the hill, an' into the +churchyard. An' buried her with her own hands at night, no one knowin' +till the mornin', she did. So it was. An' the burial over, she wint +back an' burned the house to the ground--sarve the villain right that +lave the sick woman alone! An' her own clothes she burned, an' put on +the clothes I brought her wid me own hand. An' for that thing she did, +the love o' God in her heart, is it for Widdy Flynn or Cure or anny other +to forgit? Shure the Cure was for iver broken-hearted, for that he was +sick abed for days an' could not go to the house when the woman died, an' +say to Rosalie, 'Let me in for her last hour.' But the word of Rosalie +--shure 'twas as good as the words of a praste, savin' the Cure prisince +wheriver he may be!" + +This was the story of Rosalie which Mrs. Flynn told Charley, as he stood +at the street door of the post-office. When she had finished, Charley +went back into the room where Rosalie sat beside the sick man's couch, +the hound at her feet. She came forward, surprised, for he had bade her +good-bye but a few minutes before. + +"May I sit and watch for an hour longer, Mademoiselle?" he said. "You +will have your duties in the post-office." + +"Monsieur--it is good of you," she answered. + +For two hours Charley watched her going in and out, whispering directions +to Mrs. Flynn, doing household duty, bringing warmth in with her, and +leaving light behind her. + +It was afternoon when he returned to his bench in the tailor-shop, and +was received by old Louis Trudel in peevish silence. For an hour they +worked in silence, and then the tailor said: + +"A brave girl--that. We will work till nine to-night!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE MARK IN THE PAPER + +Chaudiere was nearing the last of its nine-days' wonder. It had filed +past the doorway of the tailor-shop; it had loitered on the other side of +the street; it had been measured for more clothes than in three months +past--that it might see Charley at work in the shop, cross-legged on a +bench, or wielding the goose, his eye glass in his eye. Here was +sensation indeed, for though old M. Rossignol, the Seigneur, had an eye- +glass, it was held to his eye--a large bone-bound thing with a little +gold handle; but no one in Chaudiere had ever worn a glass in his eye +like that. Also, no one in Chaudiere had ever looked quite like +"M'sieu'"--for so it was that, after the first few days (a real tribute +to his importance and sign of the interest he created) Charley came to be +called "M'sieu'," and the Mallard was at last entirely dropped. + +Presently people came and stood at the tailor's door and talked, or +listened to Louis Trudel and M'sieu' talking. And it came to be noised +abroad that the stranger talked as well as the Cure and better than the +Notary. By-and-by they associated his eye-glass with his talent, so that +it seemed, as it were, to be the cause of it. Yet their talk was ever of +simple subjects, of everyday life about them, now and then of politics, +occasionally of the events of the world filtered to them through vast +tracts of country. There was one subject which, however, was barred; +perhaps because there was knowledge abroad that M'sieu' was not a +Catholic, perhaps because Charley himself adroitly changed the +conversation when it veered that way. + +Though the parish had not quite made up its mind about him, there were a +number of things in his favour. In the first place, the Cure seemed +satisfied; secondly, he minded his own business. Also, he was working +for Louis Trudel for nothing. These things Jo Portugais diligently +impressed on the minds of all who would listen. + +From above the frosted part of the windows of the post-office, in the +corner where she sorted letters, Rosalie could look over at the tailor's +shop at an angle; could sometimes even see M'sieu' standing at the long +table with a piece of chalk, a pair of shears, or a measure. She watched +the tailor-shop herself, but it annoyed her when she saw any one else do +so. She resented--she was a woman and loved monopoly--all inquiry +regarding M'sieu', so frequently addressed to her. + +One afternoon, as Charley came out, on his way to the house on Vadrome +Mountain, she happened to be outside. He saw her, paused, lifted his fur +cap, and crossed the street to her. + +"Have you, perhaps, paper, pens, and ink for sale, Mademoiselle?" + +"Yes, oh yes; come in, Monsieur Mallard." + +"Ah, it is nice of you to remember me," he answered. "I see you every +day--often," she answered. + +"Of course, we are neighbours," he responded. "The man--the horse- +trainer--is quite well again?" + +"He has gone home almost well," she answered. She placed pens, paper, +and ink before him. "Will these do?" + +"Perfectly," he answered mechanically, and laid a few pens and a bottle +of ink beside the paper. + +"You were very brave that day," he said--they had not talked together +since, though seeing each other so often. + +"Oh, no; I knew he would make friends with me--the hound." + +"Of course," he rejoined. + +"We should show animals that we trust them," she said, in some confusion, +for being near him made her heart throb painfully. + +He did not answer. Presently his eye glanced at the paper again, and was +arrested. He ran his fingers over it, and a curious look flashed across +his face. He held the paper up to the light quickly, and looked through +it. It was thin, half-foreign paper, without lines, and there was a +water-mark in it-large, shadowy, filmy--Kathleen. + +It was paper made in the mills which had belonged to Kathleen's uncle. +This water-mark was made to celebrate their marriage-day. Only for one +year had this paper been made, and then the trade in it was stopped. It +had gone its ways down the channels of commerce, and here it was in his +hand, a reminder, not only of the old life, but, as it were, the +parchment for the new. There it was, a piece of plain good paper, ready +for pen and ink and his letter to the Cure's brother in Paris--the only +letter he would ever write, ever again until he died, so he told himself; +but hold it up to the light and there was the name over which his letter +must be written--Kathleen, invisible but permanent, obscured, but brought +to life by the raising of a hand. + +The girl caught the flash of feeling in his face, saw him holding the +paper up to the light, and then, with an abstracted air, calmly lay it +down. + +"That will do, thank you," he said. "Give me the whole packet." She +wrapped it up for him without a word, and he laid down a two-dollar note, +the last he had in the world. + +"How much of this paper have you?" he asked. The girl looked under the +counter. "Six packets," she said. "Six, and a few sheets over." + +"I will take it all. But keep it for me, for a week, or perhaps a +fortnight, will you?" He did not need all this paper to write letters +upon, yet he meant to buy all the paper of this sort that the shop +contained. But he must get money from Louis Trudel--he would speak about +it to-morrow. + +"Monsieur does not want me to sell even the loose sheets?" + +"No. I like the paper, and I will take it all." + +"Very good, Monsieur." + +Her heart was beating hard. All this man did had peculiar significance +to her. His look seemed to say: "Do not fear. I will tell you things." + +She gave him the parcel and the change, and he turned to go. "You read +much?" he asked, almost casually, yet deeply interested in the charm and +intelligence of her face. + +"Why, yes, Monsieur," she answered quickly. "I am always reading." + +He did not speak at once. He was wondering whether, in this primitive +place, such a mind and nature would be the wiser for reading; whether it +were not better to be without a mental aspiration, which might set up +false standards. + +"What are you reading now?" he asked, with his hand on the door. + +"Antony and Cleopatra, also Enoch Arden," she answered, in good English, +and without accent. + +His head turned quickly towards her, but he did not speak. + +"Enoch Arden is terrible," she added eagerly. "Don't you think so, +Monsieur?" + +"It is very painful," he answered. "Good-night." He opened the door and +went out. + +She ran to the door and watched him go down the street. For a little she +stood thinking, then, turning to the counter, and snatching up a sheet of +the paper he had bought, held it up to the light. She gave a cry of +amazement. + +"Kathleen!" she exclaimed. + +She thought of the start he gave when he looked at the water-mark; she +thought of the look on his face when he said he would buy all this paper +she had. + +"Who was Kathleen?" she whispered, as though she was afraid some one +would hear. "Who was Kathleen!" she said again resentfully. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +MADAME DAUPHIN HAS A MISSION + +One day Charley began to know the gossip of the village about him from a +source less friendly than Jo Portugais. The Notary's wife, bringing her +boy to be measured for a suit of broadcloth, asked Charley if the things +Jo had told about him were true, and if it was also true that he was a +Protestant, and perhaps an Englishman. As yet, Charley had been asked +no direct questions, for the people of Chaudiere had the consideration +of their temperament; but the Notary's wife was half English, and being +a figure in the place, she took to herself more privileges than did old +Madame Dugal, the Cure's sister. + +To her ill-disguised impertinence in English, as bad as her French and as +fluent, Charley listened with quiet interest. When she had finished her +voluble statement she said, with a simper and a sneer-for, after all, a +Notary's wife must keep her position--"And now, what is the truth about +it? And are you a Protestant?" + +There was a sinister look in old Trudel's eyes as, cross-legged on his +table, he listened to Madame Dauphin. He remembered the time, twenty- +five years ago, when he had proposed to this babbling woman, and had been +rejected with scorn--to his subsequent satisfaction; for there was no +visible reason why any one should envy the Notary, in his house or out of +it. Already Trudel had a respect for the tongue of M'sieu'. He had not +talked much the few days he had been in the shop, but, as the old man had +said to Filion Lacasse the saddler, his brain was like a pair of shears-- +it went clip, clip, clip right through everything. He now hoped that his +new apprentice, with the hand of a master-workman, would go clip, clip +through madame's inquisitiveness. He was not disappointed, for he heard +Charley say: + +"One person in the witness-box at a time, Madame. Till Jo Portugais is +cross-examined and steps down, I don't see what I can do!" + +"But you are a Protestant!" said the woman snappishly. This man was +only a tailor, dressed in fulled cloth, and no doubt his past life would +not bear inspection; and she was the Notary's wife, and had said to +people in the village that she would find out the man's history from +himself. + +"That is one good reason why I should not go to confession," he replied +casually, and turned to a table where he had been cutting a waistcoat-- +for the first time in his life. + +"Do you think I'm going to stand your impertinence? Do you know who I +am?" + +Charley calmly put up his monocle. He looked at the foolish little woman +with so cruel a flash of the eye that she shrank back. + +"I should know you anywhere," he said. + +"Come, Stephan," she said nervously to her boy, and pulled him towards +the door. + +On the instant Charley's feeling changed. Was he then going to carry the +old life into the new, and rebuke a silly garish woman whose faults were +generic more than personal? He hurried forward to the door and +courteously opened it for her. + +"Permit me, Madame," he said. + +She saw that there was nothing ironical in this politeness. She had a +sudden apprehension of an unusual quality called "the genteel," for no +storekeeper in Chaudiere ever opened or shut a shop-door for anybody. +She smiled a vacuous smile; she played "the lady" terribly, as, with a +curious conception of dignity, she held her body stiff as a ramrod, and +with a prim merci sailed into the street. + +This gorgeous exit changed her opinion of the man she had been unable to +catechise. Undoubtedly he had snubbed her--that was the word she used in +her mind--but his last act had enabled her, in the sight of several +habitants and even of Madame Dugal, "to put on airs," as the charming +Madame Dugal said afterwards. + +Thinking it better to give the impression that she had had a successful +interview, she shook her head mysteriously when asked about M'sieu', and +murmured, "He is quite the gentleman!" which she thought a socially +distinguished remark. + +When she had gone, Charley turned to old Louis. + +"I don't want to turn your customers away," he said quietly, "but there +it is! I don't need to answer questions as a part of the business, do +I?" + +There was a sour grin on the face of old Trudel. He grunted some +inaudible answer, then, after a pause, added: "I'd have been hung for +murder, if she'd answered the question I asked her once as I wanted her +to." + +He opened and shut his shears with a sardonic gesture. + +Charley smiled, and went to the window. For a minute he stood watching +Madame Dauphin and Rosalie at the post-office door. The memory of his +talk with Rosalie was vivid to him at the moment. He was thinking also +that he had not a penny in the world to pay for the rest of the paper he +had bought. He turned round and put on his coat slowly. + +"What are you doing that for?" asked the old man, with a kind of snarl, +yet with trepidation. + +"I don't think I'll work any more to-day." + +"Not work! Smoke of the devil, isn't Sunday enough to play in? You're +not put out by that fool wife of Dauphin's?" + +"Oh no--not that! I want an understanding about wages." + +To Louis the dread crisis had come. He turned a little green, for he was +very miserly-for the love of God. + +He had scarcely realised what was happening when Charley first sat down +on the bench beside him. He had been taken by surprise. Apart from the +excitement of the new experience, he had profited by the curiosity of the +public, for he had orders enough to keep him busy until summer, and he +had had to give out work to two extra women in the parish, though he had +never before had more than one working for him. But his ruling passion +was strong in him. He always remembered with satisfaction that once when +the Cure was absent and he was supposed to be dying, a priest from +another parish came, and, the ministrations over, he had made an offering +of a gold piece. When the young priest hesitated, his fingers had crept +back to the gold piece, closed on it, and drawn it back beneath the +coverlet again. He had then peacefully fallen asleep. It was a gracious +memory. + +"I don't need much, I don't want a great deal," continued Charley when +the tailor did not answer, "but I have to pay for my bed and board, and I +can't do it on nothing." + +"How have you done it so far?" peevishly replied the tailor. + +"By working after hours at carpentering up there"--he made a gesture +towards Vadrome Mountain. "But I can't go on doing that all the time, +or I'll be like you too soon." + +"Be like me!" The voice of the tailor rose shrilly. + +"Be like me! What's the matter with me?" + +"Only that you're in a bad way before your time, and that you mayn't get +out of this hole without stepping into another. You work too hard, +Monsieur Trudel." + +"What do you want--wages?" + +Charley inclined his head. "If you think I'm worth them." + +The tailor viciously snipped a piece of cloth. "How can I pay you wages, +if you stand there doing nothing?" "This is my day for doing nothing," +Charley answered pleasantly, for the tailor-man amused him, and the +whimsical mental attitude of his past life was being brought to the +surface by this odd figure, with big spectacles pushed up on a yellow +forehead, and shrunken hands viciously clutching the shears. + +"You don't mean to say you're not going to work to-day, and this suit of +clothes promised for to-morrow night--for the Manor House too!" + +With a piece of chalk Charley idly made heads on brown paper. "After +all, why should clothes be the first thing in one's mind--when they are +some one else's! It's a beautiful day outside. I've never felt the sun +so warm and the air so crisp and sweet--never in all my life." + +"Then where have you lived?" snapped out the tailor with a sneer. +"You must be a Yankee--they have only what we leave over down there!" +--he jerked his head southward. "We don't stop to look at weather here. +I suppose you did where you come from?" + +Charley smiled in a distant sort of way. "Where I came from, when we +weren't paid for our work we always stopped to consider our health--and +the weather. I don't want a great deal. I put it to you honestly. Do +you want me? If you do, will you give me enough to live on--enough to +buy a suit of clothes a year, to pay for food and a room? If I work for +you for nothing, I have to live on others for nothing, or kill myself as +you're doing." + +There was no answer at once, and Charley went on: "I came to you because +I saw you wanted help badly. I saw that you were hard-pushed and sick--" + +"I wasn't sick," interrupted the tailor with a snarl. + +"Well, overworked, which is the same thing in the end. I did the best I +could: I gave you my hands--awkward enough they were at first, I know, +but--" + +"It's a lie. They weren't awkward," churlishly cut in the tailor. + +"Well, perhaps they weren't so awkward, but they didn't know quite what +to do--" + +"You knew as well as if you'd been taught," came back in a growl. + +"Well, then, I wasn't awkward, and I had a knack for the work. What was +more, I wanted work. I wanted to work at the first thing that appealed +to me. I had no particular fancy for tailoring--you get bowlegged in +time!"--the old spirit was fighting with the new--"but here you were at +work, and there I was idle, and I had been ill, and some one who wasn't +responsible for me--a stranger-worked for me and cared for me. Wasn't it +natural, when you were playing the devil with yourself, that I should +step in and give you a hand? You've been better since--isn't that so?" +The tailor did not answer. + +"But I can't go on as we are, though I want only enough to keep me +going," Charley continued. + +"And if I don't give you what you want, you'll leave?" + +"No. I'm never going to leave you. I'm going to stay here, for you'll +never get another man so cheap; and it suits me to stay--you need some +one to look after you." + +A curious soft look suddenly flashed into the tailor's eyes. + +"Will you take on the business after I'm gone?" he asked at last. +"It's along time to look ahead, I know," he added quickly, for not in +words would he acknowledge the possibility of the end. + +"I should think so," Charley answered, his eyes on the bright sun and the +soft snow on the trees beyond the window. + +The tailor snatched up a pattern and figured on it for a moment. +Then he handed it to Charley. "Will that do?" he asked with anxious, +acquisitive look, his yellow eyes blinking hard. + +Charley looked at it musingly, then said "Yes, if you give me a room +here." + +"I meant board and lodging too," said Louis Trudel with an outburst of +eager generosity, for, as it was, he had offered about one-half of what +Charley was worth to him. + +Charley nodded. "Very well, that will do," he said, and took off his +coat and went to work. For a long time they worked silently. The tailor +was in great good-humour; for the terrible trial was over, and he now had +an assistant who would be a better tailor than himself. There would be +more profit, more silver nails for the church door, and more masses for +his soul. + +"The Cure says you are all right. . . . When will you come here?" he +said at last. + +"To-morrow night I shall sleep here," answered Charley. + +So it was arranged that Charley should come to live in the tailor's +house, to sleep in the room which the tailor had provided for a wife +twenty-five years before--even for her that was now known as Madame +Dauphin. + +All morning the tailor chuckled to himself. When they sat down at noon +to a piece of venison which Charley had prepared himself--taking the +frying-pan out of the hands of Margot Patry, the old servant, and cooking +it to a turn--Louis Trudel saw his years lengthen to an indefinite +period. He even allowed himself to nervously stand up, bow, shake +Charley's hand jerkingly, and say: + +"M'sieu', I care not what you are or where you come from, or even if +you're a Protestant, perhaps an Englishman. You're a gentleman and a +tailor, and old Louis Trudel will not forget you. It shall be as you +said this morning--it is no day for work. We will play, and the clothes +for the Manor can go to the devil. Smoke of hell-fire, I will go and +have a pipe with that, poor wretch the Notary!" + +So, a wonderful thing happened. Louis Trudel, on a week-day and a +market-day, went to smoke a pipe with Narcisse Dauphin, and to tell him +that M. Mallard was going to stay with him for ever, at fine wages. He +also announced that he had paid this whole week's wages in advance; but +he did not tell what he did not know--that half the money had already +been given to old Margot, whose son lay ill at home with a broken leg, +and whose children were living on bread and water. Charley had slowly +drawn from the woman the story of her life as he sat by the kitchen fire +and talked to her, while her master was talking to the Notary. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE TAILOR MAKES A MIDNIGHT FORAY + +Since the day Charley had brought home the paper bought at the post- +office, and water-marked Kathleen, he had, at odd times, written down +his thoughts, and promptly torn the paper up again or put it in the fire. +In the repression of the new life, in which he must live wholly alone, so +far as all past habits of mind were concerned, it was a relief to record +his passing reflections, as he had been wont to do when the necessity for +it was less. Writing them here was like the bursting of an imprisoned +stream; it was relaxing the ceaseless eye of vigilance; freeing an +imprisoned personality. This personality was not yet merged into that +which must take its place, must express itself in the involuntary acts +which tell of a habit of mind and body--no longer the imitative and the +histrionic, but the inherent and the real. + +On the afternoon of the day that old Louis agreed to give him wages, and +went to smoke a pipe with the Notary, Charley scribbled down his thoughts +on this matter of personality and habit. + +"Who knows," he wrote, "which is the real self? A child comes into the +world gin-begotten, with the instinct for liquor in his brain, like the +scent of the fox in the nostrils of the hound. And that seems the real. +But the same child caught up on the hands of chance is carried into +another atmosphere, is cared for by ginhating minds and hearts: habit +fastens on him--fair, decent, and temperate habit--and he grows up like +the Cure yonder, a brother of Aaron. Which is the real? Is the instinct +for the gin killed, or covered? Is the habit of good living mere habit +and mere acting, in which the real man never lives his real life, or is +it the real life? + +"Who knows! Here am I, born with a question in my mouth, with the ever- +present 'non possumus' in me. Here am I, to whom life was one poor +futility; to whom brain was but animal intelligence abnormally developed; +to whom speechless sensibility and intelligence was the only reality; to +whom nothing from beyond ever sent a flash of conviction, an intimation, +into my soul--not one. To me God always seemed a being of dreams, the +creation of a personal need and helplessness, the despairing cry of the +victims of futility--And here am I flung like a stone from a sling into +this field where men believe in God as a present and tangible being; who +reply to all life's agonies and joys and exultations with the words +'C'est le bon Dieu.' And what shall I become? Will habit do its work, +and shall I cease to be me? Shall I, in the permanency of habit, become +like unto this tailor here, whose life narrows into one sole cause; whose +only wish is to have the Church draw the coverlet of forgiveness and +safety over him; who has solved all questions in a blind belief or an +inherited predisposition--which? This stingy, hard, unhappy man--how +should he know what I am denied! Or does he know? Is it all illusion? +If there is a God who receives such devotion, to the exclusion of natural +demand and spiritual anxieties, why does not this tailor 'let his light +so shine before men that they may see his good works, and glorify his +Father which is in heaven?' That is it. Therefore, wherefore, tailor- +man? Therefore, wherefore, God? Show me a sign from Heaven, tailor- +man!" + +Seated on his bench in the shop, with his eyes ever and anon raised +towards the little post-office opposite, he wrote these words. +Afterwards he sat and thought till the shadows deepened, and the tailor +came in to supper. Then he took up the pieces of paper, and, going to +the fire, which was still lighted of an evening, thrust them inside. + +Louis Trudel saw the paper burning, and, glancing down, he noticed that +one piece--the last--had slipped to the floor and was lying under the +table. He saw the pencil still in Charley's hand. Forthwith his natural +suspicion leaped up, and the cunning of the monomaniac was upon him. +With all his belief in le bon Dieu and the Church, Louis Trudel trusted +no one. One eye was ever open to distrust man, while the other was ever +closed with blind belief in Heaven. + +As Charley stooped to put wood in the fire, the tailor thrust a foot +forward and pushed the piece of paper further under the table. + +That night the tailor crept down into the shop, felt for the paper in the +dark, found it, and carried it away to his room. All kinds of thoughts +had raged through his diseased mind. It was a letter, perhaps, and if a +letter, then he would gain some facts about the man's life. But if it +was a letter, why did he burn it? It was said that he never received a +letter and never sent one, therefore it was little likely to be a letter. +if not a letter, then what could it be? Perhaps the man was English and +a spy of the English government, for was there not disaffection in some +of the parishes? Perhaps it was a plan of robbery. To such a state of +hallucination did his weakened mind come, that he forgot the kindly +feeling he had had for this stranger who had worked for him without pay. +Suspicion, the bane of sick old age, was hot on him. He remembered that +M'sieu' had put an arm through his when they went upstairs, and that now +increased suspicion. Why should the man have been so friendly? To lull +him into confidence, perhaps, and then to rob and murder him in his +sleep. Thank God, his ready money was well hid, and the rest was safe in +the bank far away! He crept back to his room with the paper in his hand. +It was the last sheet of what Charley had written, and had been +accidentally brushed off on the floor. It was in French, and, holding +the candle close, he slowly deciphered the crabbed, characteristic +handwriting. + +His eyes dilated, his yellow cheeks took on spots of unhealthy red, his +hand trembled. Anger seized him, and he mumbled the words over and over +again to himself. Twice or thrice, as the paper lay in one hand, he +struck it with the clinched fist of the other, muttering and distraught. + +"This tailor here. . . . This stingy, hard, unhappy man. . . . If +there is a God! . . . Therefore, wherefore, tailor-man? . . . +Therefore, wherefore, God? . . . Show me a sign from Heaven, tailor- +man!" + +Hatred of himself, blasphemy, the profane and hellish humour of--of the +infidel! A Protestant heretic--he was already damned; a robber--you +could put him in jail; a spy--you could shoot him or tar and feather him; +a murderer--you could hang him. But an infide--this was a deadly poison, +a black danger, a being capable of all crimes. An infidel--"Therefore, +wherefore, tailor-man? . . . Therefore, wherefore, God? . . . +Show me a sign from Heaven, tailor-man!" + +The devil laughing--the devil incarnate come to mock a poor tailor, to +sow plague through a parish where all were at peace in the bosom of the +Church. The tailor had three ruling passions--cupidity, vanity, and +religion. Charley had now touched the three, and the whole man was +alive. His cupidity had been flattered by the unpaid service of a +capable assistant, but now he saw that he was paying the devil a wage. +His vanity was overwhelmed by a satanic ridicule. His religion and his +God had been assaulted in so shameful a way that no punishment could be +great enough for the man of hell. In religion he was a fanatic; he was a +demented fanatic now. + +He thrust the paper into his pocket, then crept out into the hall and to +the door of Charley's bedroom. He put his ear to the door. After a +moment he softly raised the latch, and opened the door and listened +again. 'M'sieu' was in a deep sleep. + +Louis Trudel scarcely knew why he had listened, why he had opened the +door and stood looking at the figure in the bed, barely definable in the +semi-darkness of the room. If he had meant harm to the helpless man, he +had brought no weapon; if he had been curious, there the man was +peacefully sleeping! + +His sick, morbid imagination was so alive, that he scarcely knew what he +did. As he stood there listening, hatred and horror in his heart, a +voice said to him: "Thou shalt do no murder." The words kept ringing in +his ears. Yet he had not thought of murder. The fancied command itself +was his first temptation towards such a deed. He had thought of raising +the parish, of condign punishment of many sorts, but not this. As he +closed the door softly, killing entered his mind and stayed there. "Thou +shalt not" had been the first instigation to "Thou shalt." + +It haunted him as he returned to his room, undressed himself, and went +to bed. He could not sleep. "Show me a sign from Heaven, tailor-man!" +The challenge had been to himself. He must respond to it. The duty lay +with him; he must answer this black infidel for the Church, for faith, +for God. + +The more he thought of it, the more Charley's face came before him, with +the monocle shining and hard in the eye. The monocle haunted him. That +was the infidel's sign. "Show me a sign from Heaven, tailor-man!" What +sign should he show? + +Presently he sat up straight in bed. In another minute he was out and +dressing. Five minutes later he was on his way to the parish church. +When he reached it he took a tool from his pocket and unscrewed a small +iron cross from the front door. It was a cross which had been blessed by +the Pope, and had been brought to Chaudiere by the beloved mother of the +Cure, now dead. + +"When I have done with it I will put it back," he said, as he thrust it +inside his shirt, and hurried stealthily back to his house. As he got +into bed he gave a noiseless, mirthless laugh. All night he lay with his +yellow eyes wide open, gazing at the ceiling. He was up at dawn, +hovering about the fire in the shop. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE STEALING OF THE CROSS + +If Charley had been less engaged with his own thoughts, he would have +noticed the curious baleful look in the eyes of the tailor; but he was +deeply absorbed in a struggle that had nothing to do with Louis Trudel. + +The old fever of thirst and desire was upon him. All morning the door of +Jolicoeur's saloon was opening and shutting before his mind's eye, and +there was a smell of liquor everywhere. It was in his nostrils when the +hot steam rose from the clothes he was pressing, in the thick odour of +the fulled cloth, in the melting snow outside the door. + +Time and again he felt that he must run out of the shop and away to the +little tavern where white whiskey was sold to unwise habitants. But he +fought on. Here was the heritage of his past, the lengthening chain of +slavery to his old self--was it his real self? Here was what would +prevent him from forgetting all that he had been and not been, all the +happiness he might have had, all that he had lost--the ceaseless +reminder. He was still the victim to a poison which gave not only a +struggle of body, but a struggle of soul--if he had a soul. + +"If he had a soul!" The phrase kept repeating itself to him even as he +fought the fever in his throat, resisting the temptation to take that +medicine which the Curb's brother had sent him. + +"If he had a soul!" The thinking served as an antidote, for by the +ceaseless iteration his mind was lulled into a kind of drowse. Again and +again he went to the pail of water that stood on the window-sill, and +lifting it to his lips, drank deep and full, to quench the wearing +thirst. + +"If he had a soul!" He looked at Louis Trudel, silent and morose, the +clammy yellow of a great sickness in his face and hands, but his mind +only intent on making a waistcoat--and the end of all things very near! +The words he had written the night before came to him: "Therefore, +wherefore, tailor-man? Therefore, wherefore, God? . . . Show me a +sign from Heaven, tailor-man!" As if in reply to his thoughts there came +the sound of singing, and of bells ringing in the parish church. + +A procession with banners was coming near. It was a holy day, and +Chaudiere was mindful of its duties. The wanderers of the parish had +come home for Easter. All who belonged to Chaudiere and worked in the +woods or shanties, or lived in big cities far away, were returned--those +who could return--to take the holy communion in the parish church. +Yesterday the parish had been alive with a pious hilarity. The great +church had been crowded beyond the doors, the streets had been full of +cheerily dressed habitants. There had, however, come a sudden chill to +the seemly rejoicings--the little iron cross blessed by the Pope had been +stolen from the door of the church! + +The fact had been told to the Cure as he said the Mass, and from the +altar steps, before going to the pulpit, he referred to the robbery with +poignant feeling; for the relic had belonged to a martyr of the Church, +who, two centuries before, had laid down his life for the Master on the +coast of Africa. + +Louis Trudel had heard the Cure's words, and in his place at the rear of +the church he smiled sourly to himself. In due time the little cross +should be returned, but it had work to do first. He did not take the +holy communion this Easter day, or go to confession as was his wont. +Not, however, until a certain day later did the Cure realise this, though +for thirty years the tailor had never omitted his Easter-time duties. + +The people guessed and guessed, but they knew not on whom to cast +suspicion at first. No sane Catholic of Chaudiere could possibly have +taken the holy thing. Presently a murmur crept about that M'sieu' might +have been the thief. He was not a Catholic, and--who could tell? Who +knew where he came from? Who knew what he had been? Perhaps a jail- +bird-robber-murderer! Charley, however, stitched on, intent upon his own +struggle. + +The procession passed the doorway: men bearing banners with sacred texts, +acolytes swinging censers, a figure of the Saviour carved in wood borne +aloft, the Cure under a silk canopy, and a long line of habitants +following with sacred song. People fell upon their knees in the street +as the procession passed, and the Cure's face was bent here and there, +his hand raised in blessing. + +Old Louis got up from his bench, and, putting on a coat over his wool +jacket, hastened to the doorway, knelt down, made the sign of the cross, +and said a prayer. Then he turned quickly towards Charley, who, looking +at the procession, then at the tailor, then back again at the procession, +smiled. + +Charley was hardly conscious of what he did. His mind had ranged far +beyond this scene to the large issues which these symbols represented. +Was it one universal self-deception? Was this "religion" the pathetic, +the soul-breaking make-believe of mortality? So he smiled--at himself, +at his own soul, which seemed alone in this play, the skeleton in armour, +the thing that did not belong. His own words written that fateful day +before he died at the Cote Dorion came to him: + +"Sacristan, acolyte, player, or preacher, Each to his office, but who +holds the key? Death, only Death, thou, the ultimate teacher, Wilt show +it to me!" + +He was suddenly startled from his reverie, through which the procession +was moving--a cloud of witnesses. It was the voice of Louis Trudel, +sharp and piercing: + +"Don't you believe in God and the Son of God?" + +"God knows!" answered Charley slowly in reply--an involuntary +exclamation of helplessness, an automatic phrase deflected from its first +significance to meet a casual need of the mind. Yet it seemed like +satire, like a sardonic, even vulgar, humour. So it struck Louis Trudel, +who snatched up a hot iron from the fire and rushed forward with a snarl. +So astounded was Charley that he did not stir. He was not prepared for +the sudden onslaught. He did not put up his hand even, but stared at the +tailor, who, within a foot of him, stopped short with the iron poised. + +Louis Trudel repented in time. With the cunning of the monomaniac he +realised that an attack now might frustrate his great stroke. It would +bring the village to his shop door, precipitate the crisis upon the wrong +incident. + +As it chanced, only one person in Chaudiere saw the act. That was +Rosalie Evanturel across the way. She saw the iron raised, and looked +for M'sieu' to knock the tailor down; but, instead, she beheld the tailor +go back and put the iron on the fire again. She saw also that M'sieu' +was speaking, though she could hear no words. + +Charley's words were simple enough. "I beg your pardon, Monsieur," he +said across the room to old Louis; "I meant no offence at all. I was +trying to think it out in a human sort of way. I suppose I wanted a sign +from Heaven--wanted too much, no doubt." + +The tailor's lips twitched, and his hand convulsively clutched the shears +at his side. + +"It is no matter now," he answered shortly. "I have had signs from +Heaven; perhaps you will have one too!" + +"It would be worth while," rejoined Charley musingly. Charley wondered +bitterly if he had made an irreparable error in saying those ill-chosen +words. This might mean a breach between them, and so make his position +in the parish untenable. He had no wish to go elsewhere--where could he +go? It mattered little what he was, tinker or tailor. He had now only +to work his way back to the mind of the peasant; to be an animal with +intelligence; to get close to mother earth, and move down the declivity +of life with what natural wisdom were possible. It was his duty to adapt +himself to the mind of such as this tailor; to acquire what the tailor +and his like had found--an intolerant belief and an inexpensive security, +to be got through yielding his nature to the great religious dream. And +what perfect tranquillity, what smooth travelling found therein. + +Gazing across the street towards the little post-office, he saw Rosalie +Evanturel at the window. He fell to thinking about her. Rosalie, on her +part, kept wondering what old Louis' violence meant. + +Presently she saw a half-dozen men come quickly down the street, and, +before they reached the tailorshop, stand in a group talking excitedly. +Afterwards one came forward from the others quickly--Filion Lacasse the +saddler. He stopped short at the tailor's door. Looking at Charley, he +exclaimed roughly: + +"If you don't hand out the cross you stole from the church door, we'll +tar and feather you, M'sieu'." Charley looked up, surprised. It had +never occurred to him that they could associate him with the theft. +"I know nothing of the cross," he said quietly. "You're the only heretic +in the place. You've done it. Who are you? What are you doing here in +Chaudiere?" + +"Working at my trade," was Charley's quiet answer. He looked towards +Louis Trudel, as though to see how he took this ugly charge. + +Old Louis responded at once. "Get away with you, Filion Lacasse," he +croaked. "Don't come here with your twaddle. M'sieu' hasn't stole the +cross. What does he want with a cross? He's not a Catholic." + +"If he didn't steal the cross, why, he didn't," answered the saddler; +"but if he did, what'll you say for yourself, Louis? You call yourself a +good Catholic--bah!--when you've got a heretic living with you." + +"What's that to you?" growled the tailor, and reached out a nervous hand +towards the iron. "I served at the altar before you were born. Sacre! +I'll make your grave-clothes yet, and be a good Catholic when you're in +the churchyard. Be off with you. Ach," he sharply added, when Filion +did not move, "I'll cut your hair for you!" He scrambled off the bench +with his shears. + +Filion Lacasse disappeared with his friends, and the old man settled back +on his bench. + +Charley, looking up quietly from his work, said "Thank you, Monsieur." + +He did not notice what an evil look was in Louis Trudel's face as it +turned towards him, but Rosalie Evanturel, standing outside, saw it; and +she stole back to the post-office ill at ease and wondering. + +All that day she watched the tailor's shop, and even when the door was +shut in the evening, her eyes were fastened on the windows. + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +Is the habit of good living mere habit and mere acting +Suspicion, the bane of sick old age + + + + +Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made +available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) + + + +Note: Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive. See + https://archive.org/details/guestoneeyed00gunniala + + +Transcriber’s note: + + Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). + + + + + +GUEST THE ONE-EYED + + + * * * * * * + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ + +THE SWORN BROTHERS + + +A tale of the early days of Iceland by the most noted of living +Icelandic novelists. “To read it is like being struck in the face on a +sultry day with a breeze fresh from the glaciated mountains of the +Viking North.” + +—_The Bookman._ + +“Gunnarsson has made his characters so genuine, so red-blooded and so +masculine that they stand out like living men.” + +—_News-Tribune, Detroit._ + +_NEW YORK: ALFRED A. KNOPF_ + + * * * * * * + + +GUEST THE ONE-EYED + +Translated from the Danish of + +GUNNAR GUNNARSSON + +by W. W. Worster + + +[Illustration] + + +New York +Alfred · A · Knopf +1922 + +Copyright, 1915, by Gunnar Gunnarsson + +Copyright, 1922, by +Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. + +[Original title: AF BORGSLÆGTENS HISTORIE] + +Set up and printed by the Vail-Ballou Co., Binghamton, N. Y. +Paper furnished by W. F. Etherington & Co., New York, N. Y. +Bound by the H. Wolff Estate, New York, N. Y. + +Manufactured in the United States of America + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + CONTENTS + + + BOOK I + + ORMARR ØRLYGSSON 9 + + + BOOK II + + THE DANISH LADY AT HOF 107 + + + BOOK III + + GUEST THE ONE-EYED 189 + + + BOOK IV + + THE YOUNG EAGLE 273 + + + + + BOOK I + ORMARR ØRLYGSSON + + + + + CHAPTER I + + +Snow, snow, snow! + +Below and above—here, there, and everywhere! Up to his knees in snow, +Pall à Seyru struggled across the wind-swept heights. The snow whirled +down in great downy flakes, making it impossible to see more than a few +yards ahead. Stooping, with heavy, weary steps, he tramped on, an empty +sack slung across his shoulders. + +He had come from the trading station, and was on his way home to his own +hut in the mountains; the store-keeper had refused to grant him further +credit, and in consequence, he had chosen to return by this lonely track +across the hills, where he was sure of meeting no one on his way. It was +hard to come home at Christmas-time with empty hands to empty pots and +hungry mouths. + +His only comfort was the snow. It fell so thickly as to shut out all +around, and seemed to numb even the poor peasant’s despair within the +dismal prison of his mind. + +Now and again he heard a sound—the whir and cackle of ptarmigan flying +overhead. + +Suddenly a gust of wind sent the snow flying over the ground. +Another—and then gust followed gust, growing at last to a veritable +hurricane, that swept the very snow-clouds from the sky. And as if by +magic, a vast plain of snow lay open to his eyes. + +All Hofsfjordur was suddenly visible. Pall turned, and saw the last of +the clouds sweep down into the dark blue-green of the sea. To the +south-east, the peaks of the Hof Mountains rose out of the water, and +over the eastern landscape towered a long range of rocky mountains that +gradually merged into the great south-western plateau. His eye rested +for a moment on the vicarage farm of Hof—a few straggling buildings +clinging to the mountain-side, among which the black church itself +loomed out, right at the mouth of the fjord. The houses of the trading +station he could not see; they lay beyond, on the northern shore of the +fjord, safely sheltered behind the rocky walls of the islets that +offered such fine harbourage—to any ship that managed to reach so far. + +The parish itself lay between him and the Hof Mountains. A valley two +miles farther up was divided into two narrow dales by the Borgasfjall, a +steep and rocky height. The rivulets from the two valleys—now but +streaks of smooth ice—met lower down, making part of the valley into a +peninsula. The southern stream was named Hofsa, and its valley +Hofsardalur; the northernmost Borgara, and its valley Borgardalur; but +the rivulets, from their confluence to the outflow into Hofsfjordur, +still went by the name of Borgara, and the broad valley was called +Borgardalur. + +To the north, on the farther side of a narrow valley, likewise belonging +to the parish, were the faint outlines of broad, slowly rising hills—the +Dark Mountains. The ridge where Pall now stood was Borgarhals, and ran +for a long way between Borgardalur and Nordurdalen, in the heart of the +mountains, leading to the little glen where his cottage lay, close to a +brook, and not far from the lake. There were trout in the water there, +to be taken by net in summer, and in winter by fishing with lines +through holes in the ice. Wild geese, swans, and ducks were there in +plenty, from early spring to late autumn. + +But Pall’s thoughts had wandered far from all this, settling, as did his +glance, on a row of stately gables that rose above a low hill in the +centre of the peninsula, formed by the waters of Borgara and Hofsa. + +From three of the chimneys a kindly smoke ascended. The storm had +abated, and folk were beginning to move about here and there among the +outbuildings round the large walled farmyard. Already flocks of sheep +were on their way to the winter pasture at the foot of the hills, where +some dwarfed growth was still to be found. + +This was Borg, the home of Ørlygur the Rich, as he was called. It was by +no means uncommon for folk to speak of him as “the King,” for he ruled +over scores of servants, and owned hundreds of cattle and horses and +thousands of sheep. + +Suddenly Pall’s cheeks flushed with a happy thought. It had crossed his +mind that he might call at Borg. All knew that Ørlygur the Rich never +sent a poor man empty away. But then he realized that today was not the +first time the thought had come to him. No, better to give it up; he had +turned for help to Borg too many times before; he could not well ask +again. + +With bowed head, and face grey as before, he dragged himself along the +almost impassable track; he was exhausted; his limbs seemed heavy as if +in chains. + +From early morning to about ten o’clock, while the storm raged, the farm +hands and servants of Borg gathered in the women’s hall upstairs. The +men had come from their quarters, and sat about on the beds waiting for +the storm to abate before starting out to their work. The cowman alone +was forced to brave the elements and tend his cattle. + +Ørlygur had opened the door to his own room. He sat with his +two-year-old son Ketill on his knees, and talked quietly with his men, +exchanging views, or giving them advice about the work of the place. He +always treated them as his equals. The men sat with their +breakfast-plates on their knees, eating as they talked. Some of the +womenfolk went to and fro with food or heavy outdoor clothing; others +were darning socks or mending shoes. + +Ormarr, who was nearing his fourteenth year, sat in his father’s room, +on the edge of the bed, facing Ørlygur. It was in his mind that things +were beginning to be like they had been before his mother’s death, two +years ago. He sat with his hands on his knees, swinging his legs by way +of accompaniment to his thoughts. + +Never before had he missed his mother so sorely as this morning, when +every one else seemed to have forgotten her; never before had he felt +her loss so keenly. He sighed, checked the swinging of his legs, and sat +motionless for a while. Tears rose to his eyes. He felt he must go out, +or he would be crying openly in a minute, and disturb the comfort of the +rest. For a moment he sat pondering where to go, then he remembered that +the cowman would by now have finished work in the shed, and taking down +an old violin from a rack, he left the room. + +Reaching the cowshed, he sat down in his accustomed place, on a board +between two empty chests, and commenced tuning his instrument. It was an +old thing that had been in the family for generations, but no one could +remember having heard it played. Then, seven years before, Ormarr had +been taught the rudiments of music by a wandering fiddler, an +adventurous soul, who tramped the country with his fiddle slung over his +shoulder in a calfskin bag. Since then, Ormarr had given all his spare +time to the music. + +His father had marked with grief how this one interest had gradually +swallowed up all else; the boy cared nothing for the management of the +estate, or indeed for any other work. Possibly it was this which had led +Ørlygur, in spite of the doctor’s advice, to wish for another son. And +his wife had sacrificed her life in giving him what he wished. + +Hard and self-willed as he was in many ways, Ørlygur had yet a profound +belief in the right of every human being to determine his own life, to +follow his own nature and develop his gifts as long as it involved no +actual harm to others. And he made no attempt to coerce the boy; Ormarr +had his way. + + * * * * * + +About ten o’clock, when the snow had ceased, Ormarr slung his gun across +his shoulder and walked off toward Borgarhals to shoot ptarmigan. + +On the way, he met Einar à Gili, a troublesome fellow, who, in defiance +of the general feeling, had so little respect for the uncrowned king of +Borg that he had several times thrashed his son Ormarr without the +slightest provocation. It was the more unpardonable, since Einar was +about ten years older, and strong as a giant. And now, at sight of him, +Ormarr’s fingers fumbled in passionate helplessness at the trigger of +his gun. + +Einar hailed him, to all appearance innocent as could be. “Hey, Ormarr, +out shooting? Let’s go together?” + +Ormarr had no desire to go out shooting with Einar, but was curious to +know why the other had suggested it. + +“Then we can see who’s the best shot.” + +This was irresistible. Einar was a proverbially bad shot with a gun, and +Ormarr knew it. He made no protest, and they went on together. + +Every time he fired, Ormarr brought down two or three birds. Einar got +at the most one bird at a shot, and often sent the birds fluttering away +with broken wings. + +Nevertheless, Einar picked up all the birds that fell, and stuffed them +into his own bag. Ormarr demanded his share. + +“Oh, you’ve no bag, and there’s no sense wasting time tying your birds +together at every shot. Wait till we’ve done.” + +Ormarr had his suspicions, but said nothing. + +After a while they came to a good-sized rock, with two paths round. +Ormarr knew that the paths to the south was the longer. + +“Let’s go round and meet on the other side. I’ll go this way,” he said, +taking the northern path. And Einar agreed. + +When they met, neither had any more birds to show. + +“But you fired, I heard you,” said Einar. + +“I missed,” said Ormarr shortly. Einar laughed, but he took no notice. + +“Look, there’s one sitting on that rock,” said Ormarr suddenly, pointing +to a boulder some hundred yards away. “I’ll take him.” + +“No hurry,” said Einar; “I’ll bag that one myself. We needn’t go on any +longer—I’m going home now.” + +“How many have we got?” + +“Oh, twenty.” + +“Good, then give me mine.” + +“Ah, yes—next time we meet! I’m off. My love to the cattle at home.” + +Somewhat to his disappointment, Ormarr did not seem to be greatly +annoyed, but merely walked off, calling quietly over his shoulder: “Mind +you don’t miss that bird, Mr. Clever-with-your-gun.” + +Einar turned round angrily. “Don’t shout like that—you’ll scare it away. +That’s my twenty-first.” + +“All right. It’s too frightened of you to move. Go and see.” + +Einar took careful aim—his hand shook a little, but only because he was +inwardly chuckling over the trick he had played Ormarr, and the thought +of telling what he had done. Though, indeed, he might get little credit +for it all; people were rather apt to side with the lordly folk from +Borg. Still, it was good to have fooled that brat Ormarr again. + +The bird was sitting close on the rock. Einar fired, and, raising his +gun, saw that the bird was still in the same position. Seeing no +feathers fly, he thought he must have missed, and loaded again. Then +creeping cautiously forward, he rested his gun on a stone, and fired +again. The ptarmigan did not move. Einar felt sure his shot must have +taken effect. He went right up to it. The bird was dead enough, but what +was more, it was cold. And lifting it, he saw a piece of paper tied to +one of its legs, with a few words in pencil. “Clever shot, aren’t you? +Thanks for a pleasant day’s sport.—Ormarr.” + +“Curse the little jackanapes!” + +Einar never told any one after all how he had scored off Ormarr that +day. + + * * * * * + +Ormarr hurried along up hill and down, firing and reloading rapidly, +scarcely seeming to take aim at all, but never missing his bird. His +narrow sunburnt face was flushed with exertion, and drops of +perspiration trickled down from his forehead. His eyes searched eagerly +about for game, and in a very short time he had a bag of twenty-seven. +Then suddenly, coming round the corner of a rock, he stood face to face +with Pall à Seyru. Pall tried to avoid him, but Ormarr called him back. +He sat down, wiped the perspiration from his face, and smiled as Pall +came up. + +“Puh—I’m warm enough, for all it’s fifteen degrees of frost. You look +half frozen.” + +Pall muttered something, and tried to hide his empty sack, which had the +effect of drawing Ormarr’s attention to it. + +“What’s that—going back home with an empty bag? Won’t Bjarni let you +have things any more?” + +“I’m in debt there already. And I couldn’t promise to pay before next +autumn.” + +“But at Christmas-time—and you’re not a rich man.” + +“That makes but little difference in his books.” + +“Ho—who says that—you?” + +“’Twas Bjarni said so.” + +“And you had to go and ask him—beg of him—like that?” + +“Our cow didn’t calve, and we’ve no milk. And there’s no food in the +place beyond.” + +“H’m. What were you going this way round for? ’Tisn’t any short way +home.” + +“I didn’t want to meet anyone.” + +“And going back empty-handed? Why didn’t you come to us?” + +“I’ve been a burden to many this long time—to your folk more than any. +And I’ll not ask for help from the parish.” + +Something in the man’s face made Ormarr catch his breath. The blood left +his cheeks, and in a hushed voice he asked: + +“You mean—you’d....” + +Pall nodded. “Yes. There’s times when it seems better than living on +this way.” + +Ormarr sprang to his feet. + +“Pall ... here, take these birds—just from me. And come home and talk to +father. You must. He’ll be just as glad to do anything as you could be +for it. As for Bjarni, he’s a cur. You can tell him so from me next time +you see him.” + +Pall was silenced, and tears rose to his eyes. Ormarr understood, and +said no more. They divided the birds into two lots, though Ormarr would +gladly have carried the whole, and in silence they started off down the +slope. + + * * * * * + +Ormarr slept in a bed next to his father’s. It had been his mother’s +bed. When the light was put out that night, Ormarr had not yet found +courage to tell what he had been thinking of since his meeting with Pall +that day. Nor did he know what had passed between his father and Pall. + +Half an hour later, perceiving that his father was still awake, he +managed to whisper, softly and unsteadily: + +“Father!” + +It was as if Ørlygur had been waiting for this. He rose, and seated +himself at the boy’s bedside. + +“’Twas well you met Pall this morning, lad. His wife and two little +children were waiting for him to come home.” + +The words gave Ormarr the courage he had lacked. + +“Father, may I give him Blesa? His cow won’t calve for six weeks, and +they’ve no milk.” + +“I’ve promised Pall to send him Skjalda, and a few loads of hay the +first fine day the roads are passable. And I am going to take little +Gudrun to live here—they’ve enough to do as it is.” + +Ormarr’s heart was full of thankfulness to his father for his kindness +to Pall. But he was shy of speaking; words might say less than he meant. +And there must be no misunderstanding between his father and +himself—this thought was always in Ormarr’s mind, for he loved his +father deeply. Now in the darkness of the room, he could hardly +distinguish his features, but in his mind’s eye he saw him clearly, +sitting there on the bedside. He knew every line in the calm, composed +face, finely framed in the dark hair and brown beard. Often he had been +told that there was not a handsomer man to be found than his father. He +had the physique of an athlete, and Ormarr knew his every movement and +attitude. He strove now to breathe all his love towards the loved +figure, vaguely seen in reality, yet clear as ever to his mind. He felt +that his father could not fail to perceive the mute expression of his +loving gratitude. + +For a while both were silent. Then Ørlygur rose, and smoothing his son’s +hair, he said: + +“You know, Ormarr, that all I possess will in time belong to you and +your brother. Then you will be able to give away more than trifles. At +present, you have little to use in charity, but what you have, you may +do with as you please. Remember that it is our duty to help those who +are poorer wherever we can. And when you hear of any one that needs a +helping hand, always come to me. Wealth is not lost by charity. And now +good-night—it is time we were asleep.” + +He went back to his bed, and a moment after, spoke again. + +“Ormarr, you remember how generous your mother always was. You seem to +grow more like her every day. I think she would have been very happy +tonight.” + +Ormarr burst into tears, hiding his face in the pillow to make no sound. +And after a little while, he fell asleep. + +When he awoke next morning, he felt for the first time since his +mother’s death as if she were invisibly present among them—as a link +between his father and himself. + +And he was filled with a proud sense of having entered into a secret +covenant with his father; it gave him a feeling of manhood, of +responsibility. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + +Bjarni Jonsson, the trader, and Daniel Sveisson, the parish priest,—Sera +Daniel, as he was called,—sat drinking in Bjarni Jonsson’s front +parlour. They were seated by the window, looking out over the fjord. + +The sun was setting, and the shadow of the house was flung far out over +the smooth sea. The smoke from the chimney had already reached the rocky +haunt of the eider duck. The cliff was the home of immense flocks of +many-coloured birds, for it was spring, and the breeding season was at +its height. Numbers of gorgeous drakes were swimming round the rock, and +amongst them a few plump and comely eider duck, taking an hour’s rest +from their duties before sunset, leaving the nest and eggs to the care +of the father birds. + +Sera Daniel enjoyed the view, for he was looking out over his property. +The eider-duck cliffs, even those farther out, were by ancient custom +regarded as belonging to the living. And they brought him in a very nice +little sum. + +He puffed away at his long pipe in silence. + +Bjarni noticed his contented air, and was not pleased. Surely it would +be more reasonable that the revenue from the eider-duck cliffs should +come to him, Bjarni, as owner of the shore lands. But priests were all +alike, a greedy lot! For ages past they had been petted and spoiled with +all sorts of unjust privileges and unreasonable perquisites. And what +did they do for it all? Nothing in the least degree useful, nor ever +had—unless it were something useful to grow fat themselves in a +comfortable cure. + +Such was Bjarni’s train of thought. And he meant it all quite earnestly. +But he said nothing, for, outwardly, he and Sera Daniel were the best of +friends—drank their grog together, and played cards in all good +fellowship. At the moment, they were only waiting for the doctor to come +and take a hand. + +No, in his inmost heart Bjarni detested the priest; the portly figure of +the man was a continual eyesore to him. Sera Daniel was a man of +imposing presence, there was dignity and calm authority in his carriage +and bearing, and Bjarni, having no such attributes himself, found herein +further cause for jealousy. + +It would be hard to find a less imposing specimen of the human male than +Bjarni Jonsson, trader, of Hofsfjordur. Outwardly, he resembled more an +ill-nourished errand boy than anything else. His face was grey and +angular, the top of his head was covered with a growth of colourless +hair, and his pale blue eyes were as a rule void of expression, for the +reason that he was in constant fear of betraying his ever-present +jealousy of every one and everything round him. And the struggle had +marked his face, his eyes, every movement of his puny, stunted body, +with a stamp of servile cunning. His clothes hung about him like the +rags of a scarecrow in the field, the draggled moustache that hid most +of his mouth added to the general impression of meanness and +insincerity. + +At a first glance, Sera Daniel presented a complete contrast. + +His burly, well-fed body seemed to exhale an atmosphere of +cordiality——an ecclesiastical cheerfulness which gave his whole bearing +something of the stamp of the prelate. His fair hair carefully brushed +back from the broad, arched forehead, the blue, beaming eyes, the frank +expression of his clean-shaven face, which, however, never for a moment +relapsed from the bright, superior, yet mild professional mask of +dignity, of healthy godliness attained through inward strife and by the +grace of Heaven; the placid, yet telling gestures of his somewhat large, +plump hands; the sonorous voice with its echo of sanctity; and last, not +least, his faultless black attire—in short, his whole outward appearance +seemed to combine human forbearance and lofty understanding with the +rare power of living a full and yet exemplary life, kindly chastening +himself as well as others—all the qualities that go to the making of a +true servant of the Lord. + +But the simple, canny folk among whom he lived, and from whom he himself +was sprung, had not been long in penetrating beneath these externals. +They realized that he played his part well, and with a suitable mask, +which they tolerated, even respecting him for the same—at any rate, in +his presence, or when young people were about. But the elders among +themselves were not afraid of unmasking Sera Daniel with a sly wink, as +it were, in a manner of which he would certainly not have approved, nor +found consistent with the respect due to their spiritual guide. + +Men played their parts well in the parish of Hofsfjordur. + +And in the opinion of his parishioners, Sera Daniel was not the only one +who played a part at variance with the character behind the mask, though +Sera Daniel himself might have believed so. + +There was one family, or more exactly, a single figure, that did not fit +in with the cast of the local comedy. A keen observer could not have +failed to notice that the life of the community centred round this one +man: a dominant figure among the rest, who knew how to shape their views +according to his will. And he was a source of much annoyance to the +actors proper, more especially those who had cast themselves for leading +rôles. That man was Ørlygur à Borg. + +Ørlygur was in his forty-second year. From early youth he had been the +natural leader among his fellows; first and foremost, of course, as only +son and heir to Borg, but also by virtue of his personality, which was +excellently suited to bear the rank and wealth and responsibility +inherited from his forebears, who had, as far back as the memory of man, +been the self-appointed and generally respected leaders of the +community. + +Ørlygur à Borg, apart from being the greatest landowner in the district, +was also chairman of the local council, and led the singing in church—in +short, all that an Icelander combining wealth with intellect and +personality could attain. + +Moreover—and this was perhaps the corner-stone in the edifice of his +absolute authority—he was a conscientious adviser, an untiring and +disinterested helper of the poor, and an experienced and successful, +albeit unlicensed, veterinary surgeon. In this last capacity he was +consulted not only by the district, but also by many from other +counties, who were glad of his unfeed advice and skilful aid. + +It was generally recognized that Ørlygur à Borg was ever ready to serve +and assist any one, however humble, provided they accepted him as a +ruler. He never tolerated any attempt to place others on a footing of +equality with himself, or any violation of his privileges, however +slight. To those who submitted to his sway, he was a mild and gracious +god; to those who forgot the deference he demanded, he was a merciless +tyrant, swooping down on them in defiance of all generally accepted +notions of justice—though he would forget and forgive readily enough +when it was over. + +The peasants did not mind this. To them, Ørlygur à Borg was a kind of +human Providence—no less inevitable, and probably more pleasant, than +the divine. They knew, of course, that there was a King who ruled over +all, including the King of Borg. But they were nevertheless inclined to +place both on the same level. In the event of conflict arising, +doubtless Ørlygur à Borg would be a match for the other—even to gaining +for himself the armlet of sovereign power, as Halldor Snorrason had done +in the fight with Harold Hardrada. Ørlygur was equal to that at least. + +Their faith in him amounted almost to a religion. They felt themselves, +under his protection, secure and well provided for. + +Some few there were, however, who did not approve of the unlimited power +generally conceded to Ørlygur à Borg, and disliked what they considered +his unjustifiable assumption of superiority. This spring, there were at +least three such discontented souls within the parish. Two of them we +have met already—Sera Daniel and the trader, drinking their grog in the +parlour looking over the sea. And the third of the rebels was the +doctor, whom they were expecting to join them in a hand at cards. + +The priest and the trader, when alone together, spoke but little. They +had no interests in common. Their intellectual sphere was very limited, +and both had the same characteristic of the narrow-minded: concentrating +every atom of thought and will each on his own well-being. Consequently, +all talk between the two was obviously insincere; so much so, that even +these two not very sensitive beings realized the fact, and instinctively +shrank from any intimacy of conversation. + +On this occasion, as ill-luck would have it, the doctor kept them +waiting longer than usual, and Bjarni, as host, could not well sit all +the time without a word. At last, by way of saying something, he asked +how the wool was getting on. + +“Dry and packed three days ago,” answered Sera Daniel. + +Bjarni’s eyes flashed, and a smile flickered for a moment over his +wooden face. + +Sera Daniel read that smile, and marked the scorn of it. But as the +scorn, he knew, applied no less to the smiler than to himself he +refrained, on principle, from taking offence. + +Bjarni looked him straight in the face, and their eyes met. Then +suddenly both realized that this innocent and haphazard attempt at +casual conversation had opened up common ground between them, an +unexpected community of interest where each had only thought to find the +altogether unwished-for company of the other. + +Bjarni did not quite know how to improve the opportunity at first. He +decided on a gambit of innocent raillery. + +“Yes, we’re ready to weigh it now, I suppose ... that is, of course....” + +Sera Daniel looked searchingly at him, unwilling as yet to take any +definite step himself. + +“What are you paying this season?” + +“Sixty-five for best white, forty-two for black and mixed.” + +Sera Daniel glanced at him with a curious smile. “Is that—ah—the +ordinary price, or what you are paying Ørlygur à Borg?” + +The trader’s face flushed violently; the hand holding the glass trembled +a little. Without waiting for an answer, Sera Daniel made another shot. + +“Or perhaps you are thinking of paying the same price to all—for once?” + +Bjarni eyed him awhile in silence. He seemed to be turning over +something in his mind. The priest felt the glance, and knew what lay +behind it, but evinced no discomfiture. On the contrary, he met the +trader’s eyes with a smile of irritating calm. + +At last Bjarni spoke. + +“Yes,” he said slowly, “if you can let me have your wool tomorrow +morning.” + + * * * * * + +That same night Ormarr sat on the slope of the hill looking down to +Hofsa—just above the spot where the wool from Borg was washed every +spring. He was keeping watch over the clip. Large quantities were +already dry and stowed in bags; the grassy slopes were dotted with +little white piles of that which had still to be spread, waiting till +the morning sun had drawn the dew. + +Silently, filled with emotion, Ormarr gazed at the beauty and peace of +the spring night. The sky was clear and blue, and bright as day. + +Below him flowed the crystal rivulets, and farther off, above green +mountain slopes veiled in the glistening web of dew, rose stark grey +cliffs, furrowed by glimmering waters, higher up again, the luminous +white of the snow peaks, tinted all the night through with the gold of +dancing sun rays. + +From his childhood Ormarr had claimed the privilege of keeping guard +during the spring nights. In the earlier part of the season, he took his +post on the freshly growing pasture lands, keeping the sheep and horses +from straying in to nibble off the first blades of the young grass. +Later, when the sheep were shorn and driven up to the mountains, he +mounted guard over the wool, keeping a keen look-out for prowling +vagabonds, and covering up the heaps with tarpaulin in case of sudden +rain. + +To him, the vigils of these quiet nights were as hours of devotion. +During the lonely watches, he bared his soul in worship of the majesty +of nature, free of the restraint he always felt in the presence of +others. He drank in the fresh night air, with its sweetness of spring, +like a precious draught. And at times, the depth of his feeling brought +great tears to his eyes. Alone, he could allow himself to some extent +thus to give way to emotion, yet even then not without a certain sense +of shame. + +Tonight he was sadder than ever. It would be fine tomorrow, the last of +the wool would dry during the day, in time to be fetched away before +evening. + +That meant it was his last night’s watch this spring. + +His eyes took leave of the wild duck swimming in the stream near their +nests, that he had cared for and protected; several times he had waded +out to see how they fared. He looked the hillside up and down, bidding +good-bye to the buttercups and dandelions—every morning he had watched +their opening, a solitary witness, as they unfolded at the gracious +bidding of the sun. He noted, too, the great clusters of tiny-flowered +forget-me-nots that grew everywhere around. + +At five o’clock he rose to go. From one of the chimneys smoke was +already rising, thin and clear as from a censer; old Ossa had hung the +big kettle over the fire for early coffee. A big plate of new bread +would be waiting for him, with butter, meat, cheese, and a steaming cup +of coffee—a delicious meal. + +From force of habit he glanced round before moving off; counted the +chimneys from which smoke was rising, and looked about for any other +signs of life. Then suddenly he realized that something unusual was +going on. With trembling hands he adjusted the telescope he always +carried, and looked towards the spot. + +A moment later he lowered the glass and stared in bewilderment towards +the fjord. In a flash he realized what was happening, and set off home +at full speed. + +Heedless of Ossa and the meal she had already waiting for him, he dashed +up to his father’s room, not even stopping, as was his wont, to caress +the fair curly head of tiny Gudrun, the three-year-old daughter of Pall +à Seyru, whom Ørlygur had adopted. Ormarr loved the child. + +He did not stop till he reached his father’s bed. When Ørlygur opened +his eyes, he saw Ormarr standing before him, very pale, and breathless +with his speed. The sight startled even the King of Borg out of his +habitual calm; he sat up with a start. Realizing instinctively that +something was wrong, he reached out for his clothes at once. + +“What is it, my son?” + +“Father ... Sera Daniel ... carting his wool in already to the +station....” + +Ørlygur was already getting into his clothes. He stopped motionless for +a second; then a faint smile passed over his face, and he seemed to be +thinking. In less than a minute he had made up his mind. + +“The horses!” + +Ormarr did not wait for any further order. He hurried out of the room, +snatched up a bridle, and ran out calling: + +“Gryla, Køput, Kondut!” + +Barking and delighted, the farm dogs clustered round him, and followed +him out into the paddock, where he caught his father’s horse and vaulted +into the saddle. + +Ten minutes later, forty horses were stamping and neighing ready for +work. Swiftly they were brought round, the pack-saddle put on, and +loaded up with the finished wool. + +Ormarr had overheard his father’s brief, sharp orders to the foreman, a +man he could trust. He had kept close at hand all the time, listening +eagerly to what was said. At last, when all was ready for the start, he +looked up earnestly. + +“Father—may I?” + +Ørlygur à Borg looked at his son in surprise. + +“You? Nay, lad, I’m afraid that would hardly do.” + +But his voice was not so decided, harsh almost, as it was wont to be +when he refused a request. He even glanced inquiringly, as it were, at +the foreman, who smiled back merrily in return. That seemed to settle +it. Ormarr’s eyes were bright with anticipation. + +Ørlygur laid one hand on his son’s shoulder—not patting his head or +cheek as he generally did—and said: + +“Good. You can do the talking. You heard what is to be said and done—you +are sure you understand?” + +Ormarr did not give himself time to answer. But his leap into the saddle +was enough; evidently he had grasped the spirit of his father’s +commands. + +They did not take the usual route to the trading station; anything +moving along that road would be visible from below for the greater part +of the way. And they were to come unexpectedly. Therefore they took the +road across Borgarhals and Nordurdal, so as to reach the station before +any knew of their coming. + + * * * * * + +It was the unwritten law of the district that no wool should be brought +to the station before the King of Borg had sent in his. The custom dated +back further than any could remember, it was part of the traditional +precedence generally conceded to the masters of Borg. At first, it had +sprung from a natural desire among the people to show their respect for +their chieftain and benefactor. Then, when it had grown to be a +time-honoured custom, the men of Borg had taken care to have it +maintained, regarding any violation as a personal affront, a +challenge—and none had ever known such challenge to remain unpunished. + +There was, moreover, another custom in connection with the sales of +wool—to wit, that Ørlygur à Borg fixed his own price for his, while the +others who had wool to sell had to be satisfied with what the trader +chose to pay them. Ørlygur took no heed of ruling market prices, but +based his figures on the prices he had to pay during the past year for +goods he himself had bought from the trader. + +No one grumbled at the arrangement. Ørlygur always paid cash for what he +ordered, while every one else found it necessary to take goods on +credit; all had an account, great or small, with Bjarni, and were in +consequence dependent on his good-will. They knew, that in the event of +Bjarni’s good-will failing, there was always Ørlygur, ever ready to help +whoever asked. + +Truth to tell, Bjarni, the trader, was not a little nervous when Sera +Daniel arrived with his wool early in the morning. He did his best, +however, to conceal his uneasiness, but the false jocularity with which +he strove to hide it was belied by the anxious glances wherewith he +scanned every now and then the road from Borg. + +The weighing in was done in the big warehouse. Sera Daniel was smiling +and confident as usual, though his eyes showed signs of having slept ill +the night before. + +“Well, Sera Daniel,” said Bjarni, who was watching the weighing with +mock earnestness, “this is a bold stroke of yours indeed.” He glanced +hurriedly in the direction of Borg as he spoke. “Frankly I was not at +all sure that you would have ventured, when it came to the point. +Anyhow, I fancy this marks the end of ‘the King’s’ supremacy.” + +The doctor came up, yawning, and rubbing his eyes. + +“Aha—this looks nice,” he observed. And then, referring to Bjarni’s last +remark, he went on: “And it’s high time we did start acting for +ourselves. Rebellion, eh? I tell you what, I’ll stand drinks all round +when you’ve finished here.” + +There was great commotion at the station; folk hung about in crowds +outside the stockroom. A few only dared to enter; the rest preferred to +wait and see what happened. They were not without a certain satisfaction +at the act of rebellion, albeit aware that it was their duty to feel +indignant. There was a general atmosphere of excitement—what would +happen next? + +“And this year the price of wool is the same to all,” said Bjarni +exultantly to the doctor. “If he doesn’t care to deal with me, he can go +to Jon Borgari.” + +The doctor laughed loudly, and Sera Daniel smiled approval. Jon Borgari +was a man of sixty, who had set up on his own account in a small way, +some five years back. On payment of fifty Kroner, he had acquired a +licence to trade. His store was a mean little place, his whole +stock-in-trade hardly amounted to more than one of Ørlygur’s ordinary +purchases from Bjarni. He had found it impossible to do any considerable +business, as the peasants were all in debt to Bjarni already, and could +not transfer their custom elsewhere. Jon was considerably older than +Bjarni, but the latter’s business was of longer standing. Bjarni had +moved to Hofsfjordur twelve years before, and partly, at least, by his +industry and smartness, he had compelled an old-established house in the +place, a branch of a foreign firm, to close down. This he could never +have done had it not been for the patronage of Ørlygur à Borg. + +It was commonly supposed that Jon Borgari had saved a good sum in his +time—and the idea was further supported by his recent marriage to a +maiden of eighteen, who had accepted him in preference to many eager +suitors of the younger generation. But no one ever dreamed of +considering Jon Borgari as a possible “purveyor to the King.” + +Bjarni’s warehousemen were busy weighing in the priest’s consignment. +There was still no sign of life on the road from Borg. And gradually +even Bjarni himself began to forget his fears. + +Then suddenly the blow fell. Ormarr with his five men, and the laden +horses, came galloping up: Ørlygur à Borg had sent his wool. + +Bjarni was struck with amazement; for a moment he could not grasp the +situation. Sera Daniel retired prudently to the back of the room. The +doctor joined him, with an expression of pleasant anticipation on his +puffy face. This was going to be amusing. And, fortunately, he himself +had nothing to do with the affair. + +When the first shock had passed off, Bjarni realized with a feeling of +relief that Ørlygur himself had stayed at home. To the onlooker this was +a wonder in itself. Never before had Ørlygur à Borg sent in his wool +without accompanying it in person. + +For a moment all sorts of wild conjectures passed through Bjarni’s +brain. And then—he committed the fatal error of coming to the conclusion +which best suited himself; Ørlygur must have stayed away in order to +avoid being present at his own defeat, in the setting aside of ancient +custom. + +Ormarr did not dismount. He rode straight up to the trader, and said: + +“My father has given orders that his wool is to be weighed in at once.” + +He spoke without the slightest trace of emotion; as if it were a matter +of course that the trader should stop the weighing of any one else’s +wool and attend to Ørlygur’s forthwith. + +Bjarni again indulged in an erroneous inference: Ørlygur à Borg had +stayed away because he feared his demands might be refused. And if “the +King” himself thought that possible—why, then, it could be done! + +A wave of joy swept over Bjarni. He felt as if he had already won a +decisive battle against heavy odds. And his reply was given in a tone +more overbearing than usual—though he regretted it the moment he had +spoken. + +“We can’t very well stop weighing in this lot now. What do you say, Sera +Daniel?” + +Sera Daniel said nothing at all. His friend Bjarni would have to carry +the matter through without assistance. + +Bjarni turned to Ormarr once more—the boy was still in the saddle—and +adopting a fatherly tone, went on: + +“But it won’t take very long, you know. If you start unloading the +horses now, and get the bales undone, while we’re finishing this, there +won’t be much time lost.” + +But before any one could say more, a new development occurred. Ørlygur à +Borg, on his snorting, fiery mount, Sleipnir, dashed into the stockroom. + +His entry came like a thunder-clap. The onlookers, who had kept their +distance up to now, drew closer in, holding their breath. No one, not +even Ørlygur’s own men, with the exception of Ormarr, had expected this. + +Bjarni, Sera Daniel, and the doctor greeted him in servile fashion; he +answered with an impatient gesture, as of a sovereign in ungracious mood +towards importunate underlings. Then riding up to Ormarr, he asked +quietly: + +“What are you waiting for?” + +“They are weighing in Sera Daniel’s wool.” + +“Has Bjarni refused to take over mine at once?” + +“Yes. He asked us to unload and wait.” + +“Good. We will take it back to Borg.” + +Then, having given his orders, Ørlygur rode up to Bjarni, pressing him +so close that the foam from his horse bespattered the trader, forcing +him to retreat step by step. + +“Now mark you this, Bjarni Jonsson. You can hire horses yourself to +fetch that wool from Borg. But do not come until you are prepared to pay +a heavy price. I warn you, my wool this year will not be cheap.” + +Then, without a word of farewell, he turned his back on the speechless +and astonished trio, and with a cheery smile to the crowd, rode +homeward, followed by his men. + +That day messengers were sent out from Borg to all the farmers round, to +say that Ørlygur à Borg was willing to buy wool for cash, at the same +prices as offered by the trader. + +Next morning, he sent off one of his men with a letter and a +saddle-horse to Jon Borgari. Jon read the letter, mounted at once, and +rode back to Borg, where he was closeted with Ørlygur for some time. +When he left the place, he looked as if ten years had fallen from his +shoulders. + +The farmers understood that Ørlygur’s offer to buy their wool for cash +was equivalent to a command—they must choose between him and the trader. +And they did not hesitate a moment. + +Ørlygur paid them in gold and silver. Then, with his help, they wrote +out the lists of the goods they required, the lists being subsequently +handed to Jon Borgari. Jon was now Ørlygur’s ally, and in a very short +time his unpretending little store was threatening the trade of Bjarni +Jonsson’s own. + +Bjarni Jonsson’s trick had recoiled upon himself. He got Sera Daniel’s +wool—but not a pound from any one beside. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + +One burning hot afternoon, late in the summer, Ormarr was sitting up on +the edge of a high ridge of Borgarfjall, to the west of Borg. A great +flock of sheep grazed on the plateau below. + +Ormarr, as shepherd, found his task light. It was just after +lambing-time, and for the first two or three days the sheep had been +difficult to handle. Full of anxiety, and bleating piteously, they +rushed about in all directions, vainly seeking their offspring. Now, +however, they had more or less accustomed themselves to the new state of +things, and kept fairly well together, so that Ormarr was free to devote +most of his time to his favourite pursuits: playing the violin, and +dreaming. + +He made a curious picture, this fourteen-year-old peasant lad, as he sat +there, clad in rough homespun, his clothes fitting clumsily, and hiding +the lithe beauty of his frame. The clear-cut face, the strong chin +resting on the violin, and the lean hand with its supple fingers running +over the strings, contrasted strangely with the everyday coat, darned +and patched in many places. + +Often he fell into a reverie, his dark eyes gazing on the distant +mountains, the fingers relaxing, and the slender brown hand with the bow +resting on his knee. The face, too thin for a boy of his age, bore a +grave and thoughtful expression, with a touch of melancholy. The black +masses of curling, unruly hair, and the faint coppery tinge in the skin, +suggested Celtic descent. + +Yet despite the trace of something foreign in his appearance, he was at +heart a true child of his country. The wistful, dreamy thoughts that +burned in his dark, passionate eyes, betrayed that rich and abundant +imagination peculiar to the sons of Iceland, fostered by the great +solitude and desolate yet fertile grandeur of the land itself. So deeply +is the sense of that grandeur rooted in their hearts, that even those +who have roamed the world over, and lived most of their lives in milder +and richer climes, will yet declare that Iceland is the most beautiful +of all. + +Another typical trait in Ormarr’s nature was the melancholy that +consumed his soul—a product of youthful self-absorption without the +corresponding experience. + +His descent from the ancient and noble race of Borg was apparent in his +chariness of words, in his credulity,—it was a thing inconceivable, that +he or any of his should tell a falsehood,—in his self-reliance, and +strong belief that he was in the right, as long as he followed the +dictates of his own conscience. Young as he was, every look, every +feature, betrayed the born chieftain in him. + +This was evident most of all in his music—which consisted mainly of +dreams and fantasies he had himself composed. From the first day he had +learned to hold the instrument, he had thrown into his music a burning +interest and an overwhelming love. It gave him the only possible outlet +for the longing that filled him. + +Loneliness and despair sobbed in the sweet and passionate strains; the +strings vibrated with a deep desire, that yet had no conscious aim, but +the sound brought relief, though never satisfying to the full. + +His playing revealed his soul as a wanderer in the wilderness—as a giant +whose strength is doomed to slumber under the weight of unbreakable +shackles; it showed that, to him, life was a slow, consuming pain, the +purpose of which he could not grasp; that he was born with a wealth of +power, yet found no single thing to which he could devote it. Here he +was, heir to the estate, and yet—perhaps for that very reason—born in +bondage. + +Despite his youth, Ormarr was alive to the danger of his changing moods, +which, as he often thought, bordered on insanity. Proud as he was of +being heir to Borg, he nevertheless felt a smouldering hatred of his +heritage, since it fettered him from birth. With all these longings in +his soul, he was conscious of being himself part and parcel of Borg; +something told him that here, and here alone, was the soil in which his +personality and varying moods could grow into one harmonious and united +whole. He had only to follow in the steps of his fathers. But this, +again, seemed too easy a solution of the riddle of life—he preferred a +struggle to the death. It was as if his descent, and his natural +prospects, excluded him from all the adventures he longed for; the part +for which he seemed cast was beneath the level of his strength and +ability. + +But he realized that any outward expression of such thoughts would +compromise him, and bring disgrace upon his family: he must conceal +them, hide them in silence, never breathe a word of it all to any other. +Only in his music, where he could speak without betraying himself by +words, could he venture to ease his heart of its burden. + +He felt like a galley slave, chained to the oar for life, without hope +of escape. The idea of rebellion, of emancipation, had never crossed his +mind. Had any one suggested such a thing, he would have risen up in arms +against it at once, for, in spite of all, he felt himself so at one with +his race that to desert it thus would be nothing less than to betray +himself. + + * * * * * + +That same afternoon an unexpected event took place at Borg. The Vicar, +Sera Daniel, accompanied by Bjarni Jonsson, came to call. + +Ørlygur à Borg was resting on his bed, which in the daytime was covered, +like a couch, with a many-coloured rug, when news was brought him of the +visit. The girl informed him that she had asked the visitors into the +big hall. Ørlygur smiled when he heard their names. He had just returned +from a sale of driftwood, held at the instance of one of the farmers +whose lands ran down to the shore, and who yearly gathered in large +stocks of washed-up timber, which was subsequently sold, either +privately or by auction. He was tired, and felt too comfortable where he +was to care about moving. + +“Let them come in here if they have anything to say,” he told the girl. + +The two men exchanged glances when the message was brought them. Each +found a certain satisfaction in witnessing the humiliation of the other, +As these artists suffer under opprobrium and try to avoid it by +touching the field of the _faux bon_, their work becomes more and more +refined and genteel. The broadness, rough play, vitality, diminish +gradually until a sort of Drama League seriousness and church-sociable +good form are both satisfied. And all the more’s the pity, for the +thinning out of our lives goes on from day to day and these lively +arts are the only things which can keep us hard and robust and gay. +In America, where there is no recognized upper class to please, no +official academic requirements to meet, the one tradition of gentility +is as lethal as all the conventions of European society, and unlike +those of Europe our tradition provides no nourishment for the artist. +It is negative all the way through. + +In spite of gentility the lively arts have held to something a little +richer and gayer than the polite ones. They haven’t dared to be frank, +for a spurious sense of decency is backed by the police, and this +limitation has hurt them; but it has made them sharp and clever by +forcing their wit into deeper channels. There still exists a broadness +in slap-stick comedy and in burlesque, and once in a while vast figures +of Rabelaisian comedy occur. For the most part the lively arts are +inhibited by the necessity to provide “nice clean fun for the whole +family”--a regrettable, but inevitable penalty for their universal +appeal. For myself, I should like to see a touch more of grossness and +of license in these arts; it would be a sign that the blood hadn’t gone +altogether pale, and that we can still roar cheerfully at dirty jokes, +when they are funny. + +What Europeans feel about American art is exactly the opposite of +what they feel about American life. Our life is energetic, varied, +constantly changing; our art is imitative, anæmic (exceptions in both +cases being assumed). The explanation is that few Europeans see our +lively arts, which are almost secret to us, like the mysteries of a +cult. Here the energy of America does break out and finds artistic +expression for itself. Here a wholly unrealistic, imaginative +presentation of the way we think and feel is accomplished. No single +artist has yet been great enough to do the whole thing--but together +the minor artists of America have created the American art. And if +we could for a moment stop wanting our artistic expression to be +_necessarily_ in the great arts--it will be that in time--we should +gain infinitely. + +Because, in the first place, the lively arts have never had criticism. +The box-office is gross; it detects no errors, nor does it sufficiently +encourage improvement. Nor does abuse help. There is good professional +criticism in journals like _Variety_, _The Billboard_, and the +moving-picture magazines--some of them. But the lively arts can bear +the same continuous criticism which we give to the major, and if the +criticism itself isn’t bogus there is no reason why these arts should +become self-conscious in any pejorative sense. In the second place +the lively arts which require little intellectual effort will more +rapidly destroy the bogus than the major arts ever can. The close +intimacy between high seriousness and high levity, the thing that +brings together the extremes touching at the points of honesty and +simplicity and intensity--will act like the convergence of two armies +to squeeze out the bogus. And the moment we recognize in the lively +arts our actual form of expression, we will derive from them the same +satisfaction which people have always derived from an art which was +relevant to their existence. The nature of that satisfaction is not +easily described. One thing we know of it--that it is pure. And in the +extraordinarily confused and chaotic world we live in we are becoming +accustomed to demand one thing, if nothing else--that the elements +presented to us however they are later confounded with others, shall be +of the highest degree in their kind, of an impeccable purity. + + + + + _Appendices_ + + + + +APPENDIX TO “I AM HERE TO-DAY” + + +“The egregious merit of Chaplin,” says T. S. Eliot, “is that he has +escaped in his own way from the realism of the cinema and invented a +_rhythm_. Of course the unexplored opportunities of the cinema for +eluding realism must be very great.” + +It amused me once, after seeing _The Pawnshop_, to write down exactly +what had happened. Later I checked up the list, and I print it here. I +believe that Chaplin is so great on the screen, his effect so complete, +that few people are aware, afterward, of how much he has done. Nor can +they be aware of how much of Chaplin’s work is “in his own way”--even +when he does something which another could have done he adds to it +a touch of his own. I do not pretend that the following analysis is +funny; it may be useful: + +Charlot enters the pawnshop; it is evident that he is late. He compares +his watch with the calendar pad hanging on the wall, and hastily begins +to make up for lost time by entering the back room and going busily +to work. He takes a duster out of a valise and meticulously dusts his +walking-stick. Then proceeding to other objects, he fills the room with +clouds of dust, and when he begins to dust the electric fan, looking +at something else, the feathers are blown all over the room. He turns +and sees the plucked butt of the duster--and carefully puts it away for +to-morrow. + +With the other assistant he takes a ladder and a bucket of water +and goes out to polish the three balls and the shop sign. After some +horseplay he rises to the top of the ladder and reaches over to polish +the sign; the ladder sways, teeters, with Charlot on top of it. A +policeman down the street looks aghast, and sways sympathetically with +the ladder. Yet struggling to keep his balance, Charlot is intent on +his work, and every time the ladder brings him near the sign he dabs +frantically at it until he falls. + +A quarrel with his fellow-worker follows. The man is caught between the +rungs of the ladder, his arms imprisoned. Charlot calls a boy over to +hold the other end of the ladder and begins a boxing match. Although +his adversary is incapable of moving his arms, Charlot sidesteps, +feints, and guards, leaping nimbly away from imaginary blows. The +policeman interferes and both assistants run into the shop. By a toss +of a coin Charlot is compelled to go back to fetch the bucket. He +tiptoes behind the policeman, snatches the bucket, and with a wide +swing and a swirling motion evades the policeman and returns. He is +then caught by the boss in another fight and is discharged. + +He makes a tragic appeal to be reinstated. He says he has eleven +children, so high, and so high, and so high--until the fourth one is +about a foot taller than himself. The boss relents only as Charlot’s +stricken figure is at the door. As he is pardoned, Charlot leaps upon +the old boss, twining his legs around his abdomen; he is thrown off +and surreptitiously kisses the old man’s hand. He goes into the kitchen +to help the daughter and passes dishes through the clothes wringer to +dry them--passes a cup twice, as it seems not to be dry the first time. +Then his hands. The jealous assistant provokes a fight; Charlot has a +handful of dough and is about to throw it when the boss appears. With +the same motion Charlot flings the dough into the wringer, passes it +through as a pie crust, seizes a pie plate, trims the crust over it, +and goes out to work. + +At the pawnshop counter pass a variety of human beings. Charlot is +taken in by a sob story about a wedding ring; he tries to test the +genuineness of goldfish by dropping acid on them. Sent to the back +room, he takes his lunch out of the safe, gets into another fight, in +which he is almost beating his rival to death when the girl enters. +Charlot falls whimpering to the floor and is made much of. He returns +to the counter and the episode of the clock begins. + +A sinister figure enters, offering a clock in pawn. Charlot looks at +it; then takes an auscultator and listens to its heart-beat; then taps +it over crossed fingers for its pulmonary action; then taps it with a +little hammer to see the quality, as with porcelain; then snaps his +thumb on the bell. He takes an augur and bores a hole in it; then a +can-opener, and when he has pried the lid off he smells the contents +and with a disparaging gesture makes the owner smell them, too. He +then does dentistry on it, with forceps; then plumbing. Finally he +screws a jeweler’s magnifying glass into his eye and hammers what is +left in the clock, shakes out the contents, measures the mainspring +from the tip of his nose to arm’s length, like cloth, squirts oil on +the debris to keep it quiet, and, lifting the man’s hat from his head, +sweeps the whole mess into it and returns it with a sad shake of the +head. + +A pearl-buyer has meanwhile come in and Charlot retraces his steps to +the back room (carefully stepping over the buyer’s hat) and begins +to sweep. His broom becomes entangled with a piece of tape, which +fights back and gets longer and longer. Suddenly Charlot begins to +tight-rope upon it, balancing with the broom, and making a quick turn, +coming forward for applause. A final quarrel with the other assistant +ensues. As they are swarming round the legs of the kitchen table, the +boss comes in and Charlot flees, leaps into a trunk, and is hidden. +As the others enter the room, the pearl-buyer, who has stolen all the +valuables, holds them up with a revolver. Charlot leaps from the trunk, +fells the robber, and embraces the lovely maiden for a fade-out. + +All of this takes about thirty minutes. I have put down nearly +everything, for Chaplin is on the scene virtually all of the time. I am +fairly certain that ninety per cent. of this film could not have been +made, even badly, by anyone else. Analysis of _A Dog’s Life_ would +give the same result: the arrival at the climax being a little more +certain and the drama of the climax (the curtain scene--compared with +the clock scene above) being more involved in the course of action. + +Here follows a complete list of all of the pictures in which Charlie +Chaplin has appeared--all of those officially recognized by him: + + _Keystone_--1914: Making a Living, Mabel’s Strange Predicament, + The Kid Auto Racers, His Favorite Pastime, The Film Johnny, + The Cruel Cruel Love, The Dogcatcher, Mabel at the Wheel, The + Star Boarder, Twenty Minutes of Love, Caught in the Rain, + Tillie’s Punctured Romance, The Rounders, The Knockout, Caught + in the Cabaret, A Gentleman of Nerve, Mabel’s Busy Day, Mabel’s + Married Life, Dough & Dynamite, His Trysting Place, Laughing + Gas, His Prehistoric Past, Half Reel--Scenic Yosemite Valley. + + _Essanay Film Company_--1915–16: His New Job, A Night Out, + The Champion, The Tramp, The Jitney Elopement, In the Park, + By the Sea, The Woman, The Bank, Work, A Night in the Show, + Shanghaied, Carmen, Police. + + _Mutual Film Company_--1916–17: The Floorwalker, The Fireman, + The Vagabond, One A. M., The Count, Behind the Screen, The + Rink, The Pawnshop, Easy Street, The Cure, The Immigrant, The + Adventurer. + + _First National_--1918–23: Shoulder Arms, Sunnyside, The Idle + Class, Pay Day, A Dog’s Life, The Kid, A Day’s Pleasure, The + Pilgrim. + + + + +“BANANAS” AND OTHER SONGS + + +It was not my happiness to have heard _Yes; We Have No Bananas_ first +in America: and to understand phenomena one must know them in their +natural setting. The phrase itself was created, or brought to notice, +by Tad; as I have said in my wholly inadequate reference to his work, +he is a master of slang and a creator of it; some acknowledgment to +him might well appear on the cover of the song. His use of it was +immeasurably more delicate and more amusing than the song, because +he used it as a contradiction of all the blah and high-hat nonsense +in the world; it is in his hands fantastic, funny, and impertinently +pertinent. In the song I can’t see it; nor am I exceptionally taken +with the music, which is largely synthetic. + +However, if I cannot understand the success of the song (or +misunderstand it, for it seems to me to be “merely” popular) there are +those who understand better. I do not think that my quite secondary +powers of analysis would have risen to the following, by J. W. T. +Mason, correspondent of the London _Daily Express_, in New York: + + New York slang usually changes monthly. Of late there has been + a falling off in inspiration, and picturesque argot culled from + the city’s polyglot interminglings has fallen sadly behind New + York’s quick-witted reputation. At last, however, after months + of waiting a creative effort has been made, and one of the most + effective phrases descriptive of life in New York has resulted. + + One hears it on the stage, in the drawing-room, in the kitchen, + on the streets, everywhere: “Yes; we have no bananas.” A song + has been written about it, and is the musical rage of the + moment. + + Cardboard imitations of bunches of bananas are making their + appearance bearing the legend, “Yes; we have no bananas.” + Business men hang these ornaments in their offices, as a + reminder that, after all, there must be a way out of every + difficulty. The phrase originated in the fruit shops kept in + New York by Greeks, Italians, and Jews, whose knowledge of the + English language is limited in verbiage, but not in volubility, + nor in willingness to try. + + These ancient races come to the New World for profit, and + never like to turn a customer away. So they have evolved a + curious positive and negative for the same sentence. Why the + slangmakers hit on bananas has not been discovered. It might as + well have been any other commodity. But the phrase means that + one having asked for bananas in a fruit shop where there are + none, the anxious proprietor, seeking to be ingratiating and + not desiring to displease, answers: ‘Yes; we have no bananas.’ + Thereupon he may seek to sell a cabbage or a bunch of beets + instead, since most fruit shops in New York are vegetable + establishments as well. + + The phrase is a tribute to the optimism of the newly arrived + immigrant; to his earnest fight to master the language of his + temporary country, and so, somehow, is supposed to take on the + American characteristic of “getting there,” even though by way + of an affirmative in a negative sentence. + +It is, I believe, a generation at least since the English began to say +“Yes I don’t think.” And they talk about the cable having brought the +two countries closer together. O God! O Montreal! + + +AN INCOMPLETE LIST OF THE SONGS WRITTEN BY IRVING BERLIN + + When I Lost You + When I Leave the World Behind + Alexander’s Ragtime Band + Oh, How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning + (From _Yip-Yip-Yap-hank_) + Everybody’s Doing It + I Want to Go Back to Michigan + Ragtime Violin + When That Midnight Choo-Choo Leaves for Alabam’ + Mysterious Rag + Yiddle, On Your Fiddle + My Wife’s Gone to the Country + That Mesmerizing Mendelssohn Tune + Kiss Me + Call Me Up Some Rainy Afternoon + Grizzly Bear + I Want to Be in Dixie + Keep Away from the Fellow Who Owns an Automobile + International Rag + In My Harem + Snooky-Ookums + Somebody’s Coming to My House + You’ve Got Your Mother’s Big Blue Eyes + Araby + My Bird of Paradise + This Is the Life + They’re on Their Way to Mexico + He’s a Devil in His Own Home Town + He’s a Rag-picker + Along Came Ruth + Sadie Salome, Go Home + Wild Cherry + Next to Your Mother Who Do You Love + Sweet Italian Love + Piano Man + When I’m Alone I’m Lonesome + Ragtime Soldier Boy + Goody - Goody - Goody - Goody - Good + Pullman Porters on Parade + At the Devil’s Ball + Old Maids’ Ball + San Francisco Bound + If You Don’t Want Me, Why Do You Hang Around + Down in Chattanooga + When It’s Night Time Down in Dixieland + If That’s Your Idea of a Wonderful Time, Take Me Home + { The Hula-Hula + { Girl on the Magazine Cover + { I Love a Piano + { The Ragtime Melodrama + { When I Get Back to the U. S. A. + (From Stop! Look! and Listen!) + I’m Gonna Pin My Medal on the Girl I Left Behind + Settle Down in a One-Horse Town + (From Watch Your Step) + Mandy + (From Ziegfeld Follies) + A Pretty Girl is Like a Melody + (From Ziegfeld Follies) + Some One Else May Be There While I’m Gone + My Sweetie + Good-bye, France + The Hand That Rocked My Cradle Rules My Heart + I’ve Got My Captain Working for Me Now + You’d Be Surprised + If I’d Have My Way + (I’d Be a Farmer) + Nobody Knows and Nobody Seems to Care + I Never Knew + Homesick + All by Myself + Some Sunny Day + When You Walked Out + MUSIC BOX REVUE, 1922: + Say It With Music + Everybody Step + MUSIC BOX REVUE, 1923: + Lady of the Evening + Crinoline Days + Pack Up Your Sins + + +GOOD-BYE TO DEAR OLD ALASKA + +By John Murray Anderson and Irving Cæsar + + The scene it is Alaska and beneath the setting sun + We see a brave young miner toiling there. + He’s thinking of the home folks and when his day’s work is done, + To a humble little shack he doth repair. + He’s dreaming of the happy days + When he was but a boy, + The places he frequented long ago; + On memories’ wings he flies again to his dear mother’s knee. + ’Tis then we hear him whisper soft and low. + + REFRAIN + + Good-bye to dear old Alaska. + I’m going across the sea, + Back to the dear old home land, + My country, the land of the free. + I can picture a love nest at twilight + Where the old folks for me sit and pine, + So good-bye, Alaska, for I’m going home + To that old-fashioned mother of mine. + + Once again the scene is changed, he’s on a special train + And lands down at the Battery safe and sound. + He wends his way on Broadway and on every side again + The old familiar faces can be found. + + He lingers but a moment as he passes City Hall, + And there he hears the national anthem sung, + And just to prove he’s Yankee, aye, Yankee through and through, + He sings the chorus in his native tongue. + + --Sung by Jack Hazzard in “The Greenwich Village + Follies,” with dissolving views by Walter Hoban. + + +HEAVEN WILL PROTECT THE WORKING GIRL + +Words by Edgar Smith. Music by A. Baldwin Sloane. Copyright, 1909, by +Charles K. Harris. British copyright secured. + + A village maid was leaving home, with tears her eyes were wet. + Her mother dear was standing near the spot; + She says to her: “Neuralgia dear, I hope you won’t forget + That I’m the only mother you have got. + The city is a wicked place, as any one can see, + And cruel dangers ’round your path may hurl; + So ev’ry week you’d better send your wages back to me, + For Heaven will protect a working girl. + + CHORUS + + “You are going far away, but remember what I say, + When you are in the city’s giddy whirl, + From temptations, crimes, and follies, villains, taxicabs and + trolleys, + Oh! Heaven will protect the working girl.” + + Her dear old mother’s words proved true, for soon the poor girl met + A man who on her ruin was intent; + He treated her respectful as those villains always do, + And she supposed he was a perfect gent. + + But she found different when one night she went with him to dine + Into a table d’hôte so blithe and gay. + And he says to her: “After this we’ll have a demi-tasse!” + Then to him these brave words the girl did say: + + CHORUS + + “Stand back, villain; go your way! here I will no longer stay, + Although you were a marquis or an earl; + You may tempt the upper classes with your villainous demi-tasses, + But Heaven will protect the working girl.” + + + + +APPENDIX TO “THESE, TOO ...” + + +I cannot write about Eva Tanguay--not in the way of Aleister Crowley, +at any rate. Here are fragments from his appreciation: + + Eva Tanguay! It is the name which echoed in the Universe when + the Sons of the Morning sang together and shouted for joy, and + the stars cried aloud in their courses! I have no words to + hymn her glory, nay, not if I were Shelley and Swinburne and + myself in one--I must write of her in cold prose, for any art + of mine would be but a challenge; I rather make myself passive + and still, that her divine radiance may be free to illumine the + theme. Voco! per nomen nefandum voco. Te voco! Eva veni! + + Eva Tanguay is the soul of America as its most desperate + eagle-flight. Her spirit is tense and quivering, like + the violin of Paganini in its agony, or like an arrow of + Artemis--it is my soul that she hath pierced! + + The American Genius is unlike all others. The “cultured” + artist, in this country, is always a mediocrity. Longfellow, + Bryant, Emerson, Washington Irving, Hawthorne, a thousand + others, all prove that thesis.... + + Eva Tanguay is the perfect American artist. She is alone. She + is the Unknown Goddess. She is ineffably, infinitely sublime; + she is starry chaste in her colossal corruption. In Europe + men obtain excitement through Venus, and prevent Venus from + freezing by invoking Bacchus and Ceres, as the poet bids. But + in America sex-excitement has been analyzed; we recognize it to + be merely a particular case of a general proposition, and we + proceed to find our pleasure in the wreck of the nervous system + as a whole, instead of a mere section of it. The daily rush of + New York resembles the effect of Cocaine; it is a universal + stimulation, resulting in a premature general collapse; and + Eva Tanguay is the perfect artistic expression of this. She is + Manhattan, most loved, most hated, of all cities, whose soul + is a Delirium beyond Time and Space. Wine? Brandy? Absinthe? + Bah! such mother-milk is for the babes of effete Europe; we + know better. Drunkenness is a silly partial exaltation, feeble + device of most empirical psychology; it cannot compare with + the adult, the transcendental delights of pure madness.... + Why titillate one poor nerve? why not excite all together? + Leave sentiment to Teutons, passion and romance to Latins, + spirituality to Slavs; for us is cloudless, definite, + physiological pleasure! + + Eva Tanguay is--exactly and scientifically--this Soul of + America. She steps upon the stage, and I come into formal + consciousness of myself in accurate detail as the world + vanishes. She absorbs me, not romantically, like a vampire, + but definitely, like an anæsthetic, soul, mind, body, with + her first gesture. She is not dressed voluptuously, as + others dress; she is like the hashish dream of a hermit + who is possessed of the devil. She cannot sing, as others + sing; or dance, as others dance. She simply keeps on + vibrating, both limbs and vocal chords without rhythm, tone, + melody, or purpose. She has the quality of Eternity; she is + metaphysical motion. She eliminates repose. She has my nerves, + sympathetically irritated, on a razor-edge which is neither + pleasure nor pain, but sublime and immedicable stimulation. I + feel as if I were poisoned by strychnine, so far as my body + goes; I jerk, I writhe, I twist, I find no ease; and I know + absolutely that no ease is possible. For my mind, I am like one + who has taken an overdose of morphine and, having absorbed the + drug in a wakeful mood, cannot sleep, although utterly tired + out. And for my soul? Oh! Oh!--Oh! “Satan prends pitié de ma + longue misère!” Other women conform to the general curve of + Nature, to the law of stimulation followed by exhaustion; and + by recuperation after rest. Not so she, the supreme abomination + of Ecstasy! She is perpetual irritation without possibility + of satisfaction, an Avatar of sex-insomnia. Solitude of the + Soul, the Worm that dieth not; ah, me! She is the Vulture + of Prometheus, and she is the Music of Mitylene. She is the + one perfect Artist in this way of Ineffable Grace which is + Damnation. Marie Lloyd in England, Yvette Guilbert in France, + are her sisters in art: but they both promise Rest in the end. + The rest of Marie Lloyd is sleep, and that of Yvette Guilbert + death; but the lovers of Eva Tanguay may neither sleep nor die. + I could kill myself at this moment for the wild love of her.... + +And so on--until French intervenes. + + + + +THE KRAZY KAT BALLET + + +Mr John Alden Carpenter has been good enough to permit me to reprint +the programme note attached to his ballet of Krazy Kat, performed +Friday, January 20, 1922, at the Town Hall, in New York, and several +times thereafter. The piano transcription of the score, decorated with +many attractive designs by Herriman, is published. The note is: + + To all lovers of Mr Herriman’s ingenious and delightful + cartoons it must have seemed inevitable that sooner or later + Krazy Kat and Ignatz Mouse would be dragged by some composer + into music. I have tried to drag them not only into music but + on to the stage as well, by means of what I have called, for + obvious reasons, a Jazz Pantomime. + + To those who have not mastered Mr Herriman’s psychology it + may be explained that Krazy Kat is the world’s greatest + optimist--Don Quixote and Parsifal rolled into one. It is + therefore possible for him to maintain constantly at white heat + a passionate affair with Ignatz Mouse, in which the gender of + each remains ever a delightful mystery. Ignatz, on the other + hand, condenses in his sexless self all the cardinal vices. + If Krazy blows beautiful bubbles, Ignatz shatters them; if + he builds castles in Spain, Ignatz is there with a brick. In + short, he is meaner than anything, and his complex is cats. + + After a few introductory bars the curtain is raised and Krazy + is discovered asleep under a tree. Officer Pup passes, swinging + his club. All is well. Then comes Bill Poster, a canine + relative of Officer Pup, with his bucket and brush, and pastes + upon the wall an announcement of the grand ball which will + shortly be given for all the animals. The job finished, Bill + departs. + + Krazy wakes up; he rubs his eyes and reads the exciting + poster. He is moved to try his steps; he finds his feet heavy + and numerous. Of a sudden he spies on a clothes line which + the moving scenery has brought into view, a _ballet skirt_. + Undoubtedly it is his costume for the ball. He approaches + the clothes line, first with restraint, then with eagerness. + He snatches the skirt from the line, claps it on, and comes + bounding forward in high abandon. + + He is interrupted by the appearance of Old Joe Stork, drilling + by with his bundle on his back. He passes on, but he has + carelessly dropped his pack. Krazy sniffs at it, filled with + curiosity. He picks it up and carries it triumphantly to his + tree in the corner. He opens the bundle, and finds that it + contains not what you thought it would, but a vanity case, + mirror, rouge, powder-puff, lip-stick and all, complete, + including a beautiful pair of white cotton gloves. + + He abandons himself to the absorbing task of make-up for the + ball. Meanwhile the moving scenery has brought into view + the house of Ignatz Mouse. The door opens, and Ignatz’ head + appears. Opportunity has knocked. The Mouse steals forward and + is about to seize an inviting brick when Officer Pup (thank + heaven!) arrives in the very nick of time and drives him from + the scene. The unsuspecting Kat, in the meantime, has completed + his make-up. He now arises, draws on his white cotton gloves, + and then by way of further preparatory exercise, he indulges in + a bit of a Spanish dance. + + At its conclusion Krazy is suddenly confronted by the + _Mysterious Stranger_. The sophisticated audience will observe + that it is none other than Ignatz disguised as a catnip + merchant. Very formidable indeed! The Stranger steps briskly + forward and holds out to the ever-receptive Kat a bouquet--an + enormous bouquet of catnip. Krazy plunges his nose into the + insidious vegetable, inhales deeply to the very bottom of his + lungs, and then goes off at once into what Mr Herriman calls a + _Class A fit_. It is a fit progressive, a fit _de luxe_, the + Katnip Blues, in which the wily Ignatz joins as additional + incitement. When the frenzy has achieved its climax, the + Mouse throws off his disguise, seizes his brick, dashes it + full in the face of the Kat, and escapes. Krazy staggers back, + stunned and exhausted, but yet undaunted. There is the moment + of ecstatic recognition--Ignatz Dahlink--as he totters and + reels back to his little tree. He sinks down wearily under its + protecting boughs. The moon comes out. Krazy sleeps. Krazy + dreams. Indominatable Kat! + + + + +FURTHER NOTE ON THE FRATELLINI + + +The Fratellini are so ingenious and so full of surprises that it is +useless to try to keep up with them. I have seen them a dozen times +since first writing about them, sometimes three times in a week with +a still growing delight. Some of the stunts demand to be mentioned. +There is one as good as the photographer--it is based on the idea that +a saxophone player who cannot play the saxophone, is engaged because +he has a starving family; another, concealed in a box, does the actual +playing in the test before the manager of the house. The complications +can easily be guessed; but it is impossible to guess the combination of +delicacy and uproariousness with which they are rendered. At the end of +this act Alberto, the grotesque with the square painted windows over +his eyes, hides in a sack and you have one of the everlasting sources +of children’s humour carried to its supreme conclusion. Still another +stunt is a dancing act, first as a burlesque of ballet, and then as +a straight tango, with Francesco as a rather wicked old dowager in a +green dress, and Alberto with complete facial make-up, but otherwise +extremely chic, dancing exquisitely. Finally, I mention another +entrance, superior to the one described in the text. Francesco, very +much the English gentleman, arrives on the scene, followed by his two +servants, Paulo and Alberto, the former with a ludicrous exaggeration +of the Englishman’s travelling rug, the latter with a wicker hamper +of unimaginable proportions. As these two stagger after their master +he tries to get out, as if he had come into the wrong place. Finally +he addresses himself to an attendant, at the same time ordering his +servants to drop their impedimenta. Before these two have time to light +cigarettes, Francesco is off again, they must lift the huge burdens +and follow him; again he orders them to discharge and enters into +conversation; and this goes on until it works itself into a fury, the +master always walking in one direction while the servants are so far +behind him that they are walking in the opposite one. The human basis +of the event, the skill with which it is done, and the intensity of +it, are combined to make a miracle. At the end Alberto is so exhausted +that he sees visions and begins to fight a duel with his own shadow; he +leaps back, guards, and finally falls upon it and beats it to death. + +It may not be inappropriate to mention here the name of another clown +also appearing, although not regularly, at the Medrano. He is one of +the three Oréas, the other two being quite exceptional acrobats on +the trapeze. The clown Oréas does not create as the Fratellini do; he +parodies acrobatics and uses an amazingly physical adaptability for +immense fun. To be sure he falls off and on the bars; but he is also +capable of mounting a ladder in a series of march steps, and of missing +the support, as he swings from the bar, sliding round it with his arm +on the upright, and slipping down on his bottom, in a movement of +great grace. His little trick of taking a glass full of beer out of his +pocket at the end of each tumble is not new, but he does it extremely +well, and he has the sense of gait as well as the sense of costume and +impression. + + + + +THE CINEMA NOVEL + + +It begins to look as if we will have to find a new explanation for the +French. Since that would be difficult, I suggest that we hold fast to +the old one, with variations. Let us continue to say that they are +moribund and explain any outburst of activity as a death struggle. +The last gasp. History provides plenty of precedent, and we who find +pleasant things in their art and letters will rank ourselves with those +cultivated persons who cannot begin to care for Latin until it becomes +a highly corrupt language. + +I do not know whether seeing new opportunities and developing them +quickly are the best signs of degeneracy, for I seem to remember +reading about these things in the advertisements, where nothing as +irrevocable as degeneracy is permitted. The adaptability of the moving +picture scenario to something besides moving pictures was a thing +easy to guess; the thing has been done in both America and England in +burlesque of the films--an adaptation requiring and receiving very +little intelligence. + +It may be slightly beside the point, but it is interesting to note that +the cinema influence in literature in France is almost exactly opposite +to what it is here. There it seems to make for brevity, hardness, +clarity, brilliance. You will find it in the extraordinary stories of +Paul Morand and Louis Aragon; and you will find in neither of these +those characteristic sloppinesses which American authors are beginning +to blame on the movies. If they would take the trouble of studying the +pictures, instead of trying to make money out of them, and discover the +elements in the cinema technique which are capable of making their own +work fruitful, we might have better novels, and we certainly would have +a few less bad pictures. + +Two Frenchmen have, at the same time, used the scenario as a method of +fiction, and each of them has written a highly ironic piece which is +capable of being transferred to the film, but which reads sufficiently +well to be considered as an end in itself. + +Blaise Cendrars, poet, responsible for the _Anthologie Nègre_, is the +author of _La Fin du Monde_ and of _La Perle Fièvreuse_; the second of +these is running as a serial in a Belgian magazine, _Signaux_. Both +are called Novels; the third instalment of _The Pearl_ adding the word +cinematographic. _The End of the World_ is a cosmic cinema-novel in +fifty-five swift, concisely told scenes. + +It deals with a sort of deity, resident on a planet accessible to all +the mechanical comforts of this earth, who is induced to travel to Mars +as a propagandist for his own religion. Like many propagandists he errs +in his psychology and, in a Billy Sunday frenzy of the imagination, +shows the Martians all the cruelties his religion is capable of. Too +late he learns that “the Martians are disillusioned and confirmed +pacifists, iodophages living on the peptonic vapours of human blood, +but incapable of bearing the sight of the least cruelty.” The mission +failing, he decides to make good on certain prophecies uttered in his +name. The following scenes are left a little in the air; continuity +is lacking. One begins again with the sculptured angel on Notre Dame +blowing a blast on her trumpet and the whole world rushing towards +Paris and crumbling into dust. Thereafter, with the aid of retarded and +accelerated projection, we see the world slowly dissolving into its +elements, through those stages so graphically presented to us by H. G. +Wells. There is chaos, and then annihilation. + +And then, by an accident in the projection room, the film begins to +reverse and so, naturally, one gropes upward out of the slime and +returns to the first scene--to which is added the single phrase “It’s +bankruptcy.” It opens with the deity “at his American (roll-top) desk. +He hastily signs innumerable letters. He is in his shirt sleeves with +a green eye-shade on his forehead. He rises, lights a big cigar, looks +at his watch, strides nervously up and down the room.... He makes notes +on his pad and blows away the ash which falls from his cigar between +the leaves. Suddenly he snatches the telephone and begins to ’phone +furiously....” + +That is American movie technique which M Cendrars has evidently learned +all too well, because he uses it, in all its tedious detail, in _La +Perle Fièvreuse_, for which he is publishing not a scenario but a +director’s script, with the cutbacks and visions and close-ups all +numbered and marked. It is in the manner of the old Biograph movies +with what may turn out to be not such innocent fun at the expense of +the detective film. Among its characters are Max Trick, director of +Trick’s Criminal Courier, the great daily which specializes in criminal +news. He is marked “Type: le President Taft” and is first shown in +his office with twenty-five telephones in front of him; among his +collaborators are Nick Carter and Arsène Lupin, Conan Doyle and Maurice +Leblanc. + +What Jules Romains has accomplished is much more remarkable, for he has +pushed the method of the cinema forward a long and significant step, +and, while using everything it can give, he has produced a first class +work of fiction. The plot of _Donogoo-Tonka_ you will see at once, is +entirely suitable to filming; it is not perhaps suitable to commercial +success, but that can be, if it isn’t, another matter. + +It begins in Paris with the unfortunate Lamendin, who is about to +commit suicide. A friend gives him a card with the legend: “Before +committing suicide ... don’t fail to read the other side,” and on the +reverse is the advertisement of Professor Miguel Rufisque, director +of the Institute of Biometric Psychotherapy, who guarantees to give +you, within seven days, a violent love of life. Lamendin goes to the +consulting room and after a fantastic examination is given certain +instructions which eventually land him in the library of Prof. Yves +Trouhadec, a geographer. Trouhadec would be certain of election to the +Geographic Institute if he hadn’t, many years before, placed on a map +of South America the wholly imaginary town of Donogoo-Tonka, in the +gold-mining area. Lamendin now proposes to float a company, start an +expedition, and insure the Professor’s election by actually creating +the place. + +In the second reel Donogoo-Tonka is launched; in the third we have +adventurers in all parts of the world preparing to rush the gold +fields, while Lamendin tarries at home making fake moving pictures of +the place. At the end of the reel the adventurers have penetrated into +the heart of the South American desert and, too wearied to go forward, +aware of the deception practised upon them, encamp where they are. +Derisively they call the place Donogoo-Tonka. + +Later, a second group of adventurers comes. They are disappointed in +the look of the place. But they are interested to hear that gold is +being found; and while Lamendin at last sets sail, the Donogoo-Tonka +Central Bar and the London & Donogoo-Tonka’s Splendid Hotel are going +up; it is obviously the intention of the earlier arrivals to mulct the +later. + +And then, of course, gold really is found in the river bed and the +price of all provisions goes up fifty per cent. + +Regrettably, _en voyage_, Lamendin tells his pioneers that Donogoo +does not exist. On his arrival at Rio de Janeiro he receives a cable +from the Professor, demanding immediate results; and as he turns in +despair he reads the announcement by Agence Meyer-Kohn, of the next +caravan to the gold fields of Donogoo-Tonka. He arrives; he takes +possession; he founds an empire, in which the religion of Scientific +Error is established. Trouhadec, still living, is deified; he becomes +Trouhadec, Father of his Country. The utility of geography is one of +the prescribed subjects for public lectures. + +That is a slightly more intelligent plot than most of the adventure +things one sees in the movies. It is in the detail and in the +presentation of an _idea_, the idea of scientific error, that M Romains +has pressed beyond the professional technique of the moving picture +without once exceeding its natural limitations. For instance in the +waiting room where Lamendin sits with the other would-be suicides: + +“Absurdity, given off by so many brains, becomes palpable. One begins +to distinguish a sort of very subtle exhalation which disengages itself +from the human bodies and little by little charges the atmosphere.” +The settings in this scene are very much in the manner of _Caligari_. +Or there is the debate in the soul of Professor Trouhadec who knows +that he will profit by a fraud. From the beginning the spectator must +realize that the debate is only on the surface; that in his heart +Trouhadec is going to accept; the spectator is to see him thinking of +truth with a capital T and, much deeper down, of himself as a member +of the Institute. Just as in the exploitation of Donogoo-Tonka we +see a man coming up the steps of a subway station with the words +Donogoo-Tonka written on every step; until, as he emerges, his skull +ceases to be opaque, and we see the twelve little letters dancing in +his brain. M Romains has even carried the thing over into Keystone +farce, so sure is he of his medium. During one of the lectures “his +eloquence is so persuasive, his thought opens such penetrating channels +into human nature that, little by little, little by little, a soft down +begins to sprout on the bald head” of a man in the audience. _Ça c’est +du Cinema_, as M Cendrars says. + +M Romains has also a complete understanding of projection. He protests, +in a preface, against the monotonous speeding-up of pictures and +urges that this one be taken and shown in the rhythm of ordinary +life, with a shading toward slow, especially in the scenes “where the +only events which pass before us are the thoughts of the characters” +(required reading for Mr Griffith and Mr de Mille for one year is in +those words). In the scenes which exploit the shares in Donogoo-Tonka +we enter into the minds of individuals, of groups, of crowds; at the +end the very framework of a building succumbs to the madness of the +idea. And then, with a technical mastery not yet put into practise, +M Romains directs that the various scenes just projected be shown +again, side by side, with a gradually accelerated rhythm. In the scenes +of the adventurers we get glimpses at Marseilles, London, Naples, +Porto, Singapore, San Francisco; then we see the groups starting out; +the lines of their voyage converge. These scenes are projected first +in succession and then _simultaneously_. Each time we see them we +recognize some of the individuals we have seen before. “And when by +chance the faces are turned towards us, we have a feeling that they, +too, recognize us.” The cinema has not yet accomplished that; chiefly, +I fancy, because it never has been asked to. + +M Romains is the prophet of _unanisme_, and it would be remarkable +if he did not use the moving picture to push his point. The end of +Donogoo-Tonka is pure poetry. + +The horizon has receded before the Palace and the chief figures look +out into a light which has its own laws. Paris appears deep in the +background. “But so close, perhaps, that we are troubled to see it and +would like to fall back a step. + +“As if, yielding to friendly pressure, the world has renounced for one +evening its concept of space and all its habits.” + + + + +ACKNOWLEDGMENTS + + +I owe so much to others in connexion with this book that if I were to +set down the names and the reasons it would appear, quite properly, +that I have done little except collect and theorize about material +presented to me; it might also appear that I wish to make others +responsible. Virtually everyone I know has contributed something--and +in many cases they did so before I had thought of writing this book. +I can therefore make only specific acknowledgments. Above all to two +managing editors, John Peale Bishop and Edmund Wilson, Jr., of _Vanity +Fair_ and to their editor, Frank Crowninshield; they published several +essays which later served as the raw material for chapters here, +published portions of other chapters written expressly for this book, +and otherwise encouraged and prospered me--to such an extent that I owe +to them and to my fellow-editors of the _Dial_ the holiday which made +it possible for me to write at all. Except as otherwise acknowledged, +the illustrations are reproduced with the permission of the artists; +in addition, I have to thank the editors of the two journals mentioned +for joining their permission in the case of work they originally +reproduced, the firm of Albert and Charles Boni for the liberal use +of Frueh’s Stage Folk, and H. T. Parker of the Boston _Transcript_ +for letting me reprint _A Conversation in Old Athens_. For technical +information and exceptionally painstaking criticism I am indebted +to Sara and Gerald Murphy, Martin Brown, Alexander Steinert, Deems +Taylor, Lewis Galantière, H. K. Moderwell, and Dorothy Butler; for the +material in the appendix to Charles Chaplin, Irving Berlin, Bushnell +Dimond, Walter Hoban, and Sophie Wittenberg. My indebtedness to those +whom I do not know--those I have written about--is too apparent to need +emphasis, and too great to be adequately acknowledged. + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +[1] Except that supplied by the professional journals--often excellent. + +[2] But there is more to say; a little of it occurs on page 41. + +[3] Scenario by the adroit Anita Loos. + +[4] Seven years ago, when this imaginary conversation was published, I +wanted to be fair to Mr Eaton and to persuade Mr Griffith to do Helen +of Troy. I succeeded in neither, and the document has only historical +interest. I do not know Mr Eaton’s present stand on the movies, and +I apologize to him for retaining his name here. What I do know is Mr +Griffith’s position. It will be entertaining to compare it with the +imaginary future outlined for him above. See page 323. + + G. S. + +[5] See Appendix. + +[6] It appeared in _The New Republic_ and will probably be found in +_The Flower in Drama_ (Scribners). + +[7] See page 92. + +[8] My indebtedness, and, I suppose, the indebtedness of everyone who +cares at all for negro music, is apparent--to Afro-American Folksongs, +by Henry Edward Krehbiel (Schirmer). + +[9] It has been clairvoyantly pointed out to me by another composer +that Berlin’s preëminence in ragtime and jazz may be traced to his +solitary devotion to melody and rhythm; in the jazz sense there remains +something always pure in his work. This supports the suggestion made in +the next paragraph. + +[10] Internal, off-beat rhyme occurred as long ago as _Waiting for +the Robert E. Lee_. Bud de Sylva has used it intelligently, but +not expertly enough in _Where is the Man of My Dreams?_ and Brian +Hooker and William Le Baron make it a great factor in their highly +sophisticated lyrics. So also Cole Porter. + +[11] In “The Spice of Variety,” which he conducts for _Saucy Stories_. + +[12] Since writing this I am informed that the Winter Garden has +changed, at least structurally. But even if the type of show at +that house also changes, _The Passing Show_ as a type will be seen +elsewhere, so I leave what I have written. In 1913 or 1914 Mr H. K. +Moderwell wrote of the worst show in years, “They call it _The Passing +Show_. Let it pass.” Apparently they did. + +[13] This review appeared in _Vanity Fair_ sometime in the summer of +1922. I allow it to stand with nothing more than verbal corrections +in spite of my dislike of books which collect articles expressly +written for magazine publication, because I feel that the negro show +is extraordinarily transient and that a transient criticism of it is +adequate. The permanent qualities are touched on elsewhere; especially +in the essay entitled “Toujours Jazz.” Since this was written there +have been other negro shows, and I have heard that one was better than +_Shuffle Along_. What has interested me more is the report that there +is a “nigger show by white men” which is standing them up every night. +This verifies a prediction made below--that the negro show would have +an effect on the white man’s. I am not at all sure that there will +not continue to be negro shows for a long time--why in Heaven’s name +shouldn’t there be? They have their qualities and their great virtues. +It is only in relation to the sophisticated Broadway piece that I find +them lacking; and have perhaps not been fair enough to them. + +[14] For da Ponte’s share in the work, cf. Edgar Istel: Das Libretto, +which analyzes the changes made in Beaumarchais’ play. + +[15] All this was written before Bert Savoy died. I haven’t changed the +verbs to the past tense. “How well could we have spared for him....” + +[16] R. C. Benchley has written a just and sympathetic account of +Jackson. It appeared in a magazine and is not, so far as I know, +available in book form. + +[17] A number of comic-strip artists, on achieving fame, stop drawing, +leaving that work to copyists of exceptional skill. I do not know +whether this is the case in the _Happy Hooligan_ strip. + +[18] I must hasten to correct an erroneous impression which may have +caused pain to many of Krazy’s admirers. The three children, Milton, +Marshall, and Irving, are of Ignatz, not, as Mr Stark Young says, of +Krazy. Krazy is not an unmarried mother. For the sake of the record I +may as well note here the names of the other principals: Offisa Bull +Pupp; Mrs Ignatz Mice; Kristofer Kamel; Joe Bark the moon hater; Don +Kiyoti, that inconsequential heterodox; Joe Stork, alias Jose Cigueno; +Mock Duck; Kolin Kelly the brick merchant; Walter Cephus Austridge; and +the Kat Klan: Aunt Tabby, Uncle Tom, Krazy Katbird, Osker Wildcat, Alec +Kat, and the Krazy Katfish. + +[19] See Appendix. + +[20] Heywood Broun has discovered that everybody in vaudeville is an +“artist” except the trained seal. + +[21] I do not know enough of Carl Hyson and Dorothy Dickson or of the +Astaires to judge their place. + +[22] For example: “Ours is a sincere doubt as to whether the question +‘And what did _you_ do during the Great War?’ might not embarrass, +among others, God.” + +[23] He said of Firpo that when he came up after the sixth or seventh +knock-down, his face looked like a slateful of wrong answers. + +[24] A footnote to a footnote is preposterous. Perhaps the very excess +of its obscurity will give it prominence and render faint justice to +the old New York _Hippodrome_. It is a fine example of handling of +material, and of adjustment, spoiled occasionally by too much very loud +singing and a bit of art. It is part of New York’s small-townness; but +it is so vast in its proportions that it can never acquire the personal +following of a small one-ring circus like the Medrano in Paris. I adore +the _Hippodrome_ when it is a succession of acts: the trained crow +and Ferry who plays music on a fence and the amazing mechanical and +electrical effects. Joe Jackson, one of the greatest of clowns, played +there, too, and had ample scope. I like also the complete annihilation +of personality in the chorus. When you see three hundred girls doing +the same thing it becomes a problem in mass--I recall one instance when +it was a mass of white backs with black lines indicating the probable +existence of clothes--the whole thing was quite unhuman. And one great +scene in which, I believe, the whole of the personnel participated: +there were, it seemed, hundreds of tumblers and scores of clowns, and +a whole toy shop in excited action. Oddly enough, one finds that the +weakness of the _Hip_ is in its humour; there is plenty of it, but it +is not concentrated, and there is no specific _Hippodrome_ “style.” +What it will become under the new Keith régime remains to be seen. + +[25] I have seen them since in another entrance, the most brilliant of +all. See Appendix. + +[26] They nevertheless played exquisitely, I am told, in the +Cocteau-Milhaud _Bœuf sur le Toit_. + +[27] _Quanto più, un’ arte porta seco fatica di corpo, tanto più è +vile!_ Pater, who quotes this of Leonardo, calls it “princely.” + +[28] It is not too late for you to film Mr D. Taylor’s _Should a +Brother-in-Law Give a Damn?_ + +[29] I haven’t seen _The Covered Wagon_. Its theme returns to the +legendary history of America. There is no reason why it should not have +been highly imaginative. But I wonder whether the thousands of prairie +schooners one hears about are the film or the image. In the latter case +there is no objection. + +[30] They have done so. See “The Cinema Novel.” + +[31] I wrote once, and was properly rapped over the knuckles for +writing, that it wasn’t to escape Bach, but to escape Puccini, that +one played Berlin. Mr Haviland, whom I have quoted frequently, replied +that those who really cared for jazz cared for it, not as an escape +from any other art. I had not intended to write an apology; only, +since I was replying to the usual attack on the jazz arts, I wanted to +indicate that in addition to their primary virtues they have this great +secondary one, that when we are too fed up with bad drawing, bad music, +bad acting, and second-rate sentiment, we can be sure of consolation in +the lively arts. + + + + + _Index of Principal Names_ + + + + +INDEX OF PRINCIPAL NAMES + +(_Numerals enclosed in =equals signs= indicate the chief references_) + + + Adams, F. P., 120, =279–282= + + Ade, George, 119, 120, 166 + + Aiken, Spottiswood, 329 + + Alder, Else, 170 + + Anderson, John Murray, 131, 134, =143–145=, 153, 371 + + Anderson, Sherwood, 123, 341 + + Arbuckle, Fatty, 12, 18, 19 + + Astaires, The, 272 f + + + Bach, Johann Sebastian, 310, 350 + + Baer, Arthur “Bugs,” 278, =285–287= + + Baker, Belle, 196, 256 + + Balieff, Nikita, =260–262= + + Bara, Theda, 338 + + Barnes, Helen, 186 + + Barton, Jimmy, 172, 206, 207 + + Barrymore, John, 330 + + Bayes, Nora, 172 + + Beggar’s Opera, 169, 173, 188 + + Bell, Clive, 104, 108, 150 + + Benchley, R. C., 208, 316 + + Berlin, Irving, =57–66=, =69–80=, =83–108=, 131, 139, 141–143, 145, + 170, =186–188=, 216, 242, 273, 318, 348, 353, =369–371= + + Bernard, Sam, 142 + + Bernie, Barney, 100 + + Bierce, Ambrose, 120 + + Bitzer, George, 333 + + Blake, Sissle and, 94, 96, =149–158= + + Bolton, Guy, 165, 166 + + Braham, Philip, 74 + + Brian, Donald, 172, 272 + + Briants, The Two, 251, 257 + + Brice, Fanny, 135, 145, =191–200=, =208=, 251, 252, 309 + + Briggs, Clare, 216, =218–220= + + Brisbane, Arthur, 234 + + Brooks, Shelton, 156 + + Brooks, Van Wyck, 111 + + Broun, Heywood, 113, 129, 136, 250 f, 281, 283, =284–285= + + Brown Brothers, The Six, 251, 256 + + Brown, Jessica, 272 + + Busch, Wilhelm, 215 + + + Cabinet of Dr Caligari, The, 8, 325, 331, 335, 339 + + Cæsar, Irving, 371 + + Cantor, Eddie, 129, 139, =178–180=, 184, 196, 304 + + Carpenter, John Alden, 144, 217, 236, =240–242=, 377–379 + + Carter, Frank, 146 + + Carter, Nick, 328 + + Caryll, Ivan, 65, 165, 170 + + Castle, Irene, 186, 309, 318 + + Castle, Vernon and Irene, 156, =273–274= + + Cendrars, Blaise, =384–386= + + Chaliapin, Feodor, 204, 313 + + Chalif, Louis H., 318 + + Chaplin, Charlie, =3–24=, =41–54=, 144, 213, 232, 238, 241, 259, 301, + 309, 319, 334, 347, 348, 352, 353, =361–366= + + Cimarosa, Domenico, 164 + + Claire, Ina, 146, 185 + + Clark, Bobby, 134, 207 + + Cocteau, Jean, 304 + + Cohan, George M., 70, 78, =137–139=, 154, 171, 260, 271 + + Collier, Willie, 138, 142 + + Confrey, Zez, 84, 90, 92 + + Conklin, Chester, 12, 17 + + Conrad, Joseph, 327, 337 + + Cook, Clyde, 18 + + Cook, Joe, 178, 251, =258–260= + + Coogan, Jackie, 50 + + Crawford, Clifton, 172 + + Creamer and Layton, 94, 96, =149–158= + + Crowley, Aleister, =374–376= + + + D’Annunzio, Gabriele, 325 + + DeBeck, Billy, 224, 225 + + De Mille, Cecil, 6, 309, 338 + + Deslys, Gaby, 185, 186, 187, =209–210= + + Dickson, Dorothy, 272 f + + Dillingham, Charles B., 145–146, 169, 170 + + Dimond, Bushnell, 9 + + Dixon, Harland, 169, 186, 187, 273 + + Donahue, Jack, 256 + + Donaldson, Walter, 84, 91 + + Doner, Kitty, 179 + + Dooley, Johnny, 172, 241, 251, 255, 256, 271 + + Dooley, Mr (Martin), =111–126=, 309 + + Dooley, Ray, 178, 241 + + Doyle and Dixon, 186, 187, =273= + + Drew, Sidney, Mr & Mrs, 19–20 + + Dryden, Helen, 145, 172, 186 + + Duffy and Sweeney, 251, 257 + + Duncan, Isadora, 317 + + + Eaton, Walter Pritchard, =27–38= + + Eliot, T. S., 104, 106, 361 + + Ellis, Havelock, 345 + + Emerson, John, 339 + + Errol, Leon, 146, =206=, 260, 271 + + Europe, Jim, 100, 103, =156–158= + + + Fairbanks, Douglas, 20 + + Fall, Leo, 64, 65 + + Fazenda, Louise, 12 + + Ferry, 294 + + Fisher, Bud, 216 + + Fisher, Fred, 84, 91 + + Fortunello and Cirillino, 144, 209, 294, 297 + + Forty-niners, =260–261=, 316 + + Fox, Fontaine, 225 + + Fox, Harry, 186, 187 + + Fox, William, 334 + + France, Anatole, 118, 231 + + Fratellini, The Three, 209, =297–305=, =380–382= + + Friml, Rudolf, 165 + + Frisco, 271 + + Frueh, Alfred, 217, =227–228= + + + Geddes, Norman-Bel, 172, 313 + + George, Yvonne, 144, 145, 197, 198 + + Gershwin, George, 73, 74, 75, 89, 91, =92–93=, 195 + + Gibbs, A. Harrington, =94–95= + + Gilbert and Sullivan, 161, 162, 163, 164 + + Glass, Montague, 119, 120, 121 + + Glyn, Elinor, 324 + + Goldberg, Rube, 224, 227 + + Gourmont, Remy de, 203 + + Granville, Bernard, 181 + + Greenwich Village Follies, =143–145= + + Greenwood, Charlotte, 272 + + Grey, Gilda, 95, 135, 141, 154, 209 + + Griffith, D. W., 4, 6, 13, 23, =27–38=, 323, 325, 327, 329, =331–335= + + Grock, 294, 297 + + Guilbert, Yvette, 197 + + + Ham & Bud, 22, 352 + + Hammond, Percy, 249 + + Handy, 97 + + Harris, Charles K., 58 + + Haviland, Walter, 100–102, 255, 353 + + Hazzard, John, 144, 372 + + Held, Anna, 135 + + held, j., 226 + + Herbert, Victor, 135, =171–172=, 199 + + Herriman, George, 50, 144, 214, 217, 228, =231–245=, 309, 377, 379 + + Hershfield, 218, =224–225= + + Hirsch, Louis, 66, 72, 89–90, 171 + + Hitchcock, Raymond, 178 + + Hoban, Walter, 144, 220, =225= + + Hooker, Brian, 89, 172 + + Houdini, Harry, 256 + + Howard, Eugene and Willie, 208 + + Hughes, Rupert, 324 + + Hyson, Carl, 272 f + + + Ince, Thomas H., 4, 6, 13, 334 + + Irwin, Wallace, 119, 120 + + + Jackson, Joe, =208–209=, 294 f + + James, Henry, 310, 314 + + Janis, Elsie, =185–186= + + Johnston, Justine, 186, 187 + + Jolson, Al, 62, 74, 91, 139, 177, 178, 179, 184, =191–200=, 309, 347 + + Joyce, James, 104, 106, 117 + + + Kalman, Emmerich, 65 + + Katterjohn, Monte, 339 + + Keaton, Buster, 6, 17, 18 + + Keith, B. F., Vaudeville, =249–263=, =294= + + Kelly, Harry, 145, 207 + + Kern, Jerome, 66, 72–73, 92, 161, =165–170=, 273, 348 + + Ketten, M., 221 + + Keystone Comedy, =3–24= + + Knight, Percival, 172 + + Kraus, Werner, 331 + + Krehbiel, H. E., 86–88 + + Kreisler, Fritz, 170 + + + Lardner, Ring, =111–126=, 135, 309 + + Layton, Creamer and, 94, 96, =149–158= + + LeBaron, William, 170 + + Lehar, Franz, 65, 161, 163, 164 + + Leonard, Baird, 279, =282= + + Leonardo da Vinci, 319 + + Levey, Ethel, =254–255=, 258 + + Lewis, Ada, 169, 209 + + Lloyd, Harold, 6, 15, 49 + + Loos, Anita, 20 f, 339 + + Lopez, Vincent, 100, =102–103= + + Lorraine, Lillian, 135, 146 + + Lubitsch, E., 13, 335 + + + MacNamara, Tom, 222 + + McIntyre and Heath, 152 + + McQuinn, Robert, 145, 186 + + Mann, Hank, 12, 15 + + Mansfield, Richard, 249 + + Marceline, 294 + + Marquis, Don, =282–283= + + Marsh, Mae, 329, 330, 331, 333 + + Marx Brothers, The Four, 251, 256 + + Maurice, 169, =273= + + Mencken, H. L., 278 + + Merrill, Blanche, 197 + + Milhaud, Darius, 85, 100, 304 f + + Mills, Florence, 62, 99, =154–155= + + Milton, Robert, 165 + + Mistinguett, 185 + + Moderwell, H. K., 131 f + + Moeller, Helen, 318 + + Molnar, Ferencz, 314, 315, 337 + + Monckton, L., 65, 165 + + Monroe, George, 205 + + Moore, Florence, 142, 209 + + Moran, Polly, 12 + + Moret, Neil, 62 + + Morgan, Marion, 318 + + Morley, Christopher, =283= + + Moss and Frye, 252 + + Mozart, W. A., 161, 163, 164 + + Muck, Karl, 157 + + Music Box Revue, =141–143= + + + Nathan, George Jean, 60, 129 + + Nijinsky, Waslaw, 318, 353 + + Normand, Mabel, 11, 19 + + Norris, Frank, =331= + + + Parker, Sir Gilbert, 324 + + Pater, Walter, Title page, 108, 203, 319 + + Pennington, Ann, 272 + + Phillips, H. I., =277–278= + + Picasso, Pablo, 104, 107, 310, =345–347= + + Pilcer, Harry, 187 + + Piquer, Conchita, 140 + + Porter, Cole, 73, =92–94= + + Powers, T. E., 226 + + Preston, Keith, 284 + + Puccini, Giacomo, 312, 313, 345, 353 + + Purviance, Edna, 12 + + + Randall, Carl, 270, 271 + + Rath Brothers, 140, 251, 257, 351–352 + + Ray, Charles, 16, 21 + + Ring, Blanche, 139, 208 + + Riq, 279 + + Rogers, Will, 129, 135 + + Romains, Jules, =386–390= + + Rubens, Paul, 165 + + Ruth, George H. (Babe), 351 + + + Sale, Chic, 257, 258 + + Sanderson, Julia, 172, 272 + + Santayana, George, 140, 249 + + Savoy, Bert, 134, 144, 145, =205–206= + + Savoy Operetta, =161–173= + + Schaeffer, Sylvester, 258 + + Semon, Larry, 18 + + Sennett, Mack, =4–24=, 42, 309 + + Shaw, Bernard, 314 + + Sissle and Blake, 94, 96, =149–158= + + Sloane, A. Baldwin, 372 + + Smith, Edgar, 372 + + Smith, Syd, 221 + + St. John, Al, 17 + + Stone, Fred, =182–183=, 249 + + Stearns, Harold E., 214, 215 + + Straus, Oscar, 163, 164, 168 + + Strauss, Johann, 64 + + Strawinsky, Igor, 99, 104, 106, 346 + + Sullivan, C. Gardner, 14 + + Swain, Mack, 17 + + Sweet, Blanche, 329, 330 + + Swift, Jonathan, 111, 121, 123 + + Swinnerton, Jimmy, 215 + + Symons, Arthur, 250 + + + Tad, 218, =220=, 227, 367 + + Tanguay, Eva, =374–376= + + Taylor, Bert Leston, =278–279= + + Taylor, Deems, 242, 328 f + + Tempest, Marie, 154 + + Tempest and Sunshine, 186 + + Thomas, Augustus, 314 + + Tiller Girls, 270 + + Tinney, Frank, =180–182=, 196 + + Turpin, Ben, 11–12, 16–17, 44–45 + + Twain, Mark, 111, 112 + + + Urban, Joseph, 130, 151, 170, 313, 334 + + + Van Hoven, Frank, 257, 258, 259 + + Van and Schenck, 251, 256 + + Veidt, Conrad, 204, 331 + + Viennese Operetta, =161–173= + + + Wagner, Richard, 312, 313 + + Walthall, Henry, 329, 333 + + Ward, Artemas, 120 + + Warner, H. B., 331 + + Watson, Harry, Jr., 134, 251, 257 + + Wayburn, Ned, 151 + + Weaver, J. V. A., 124 + + Webster, H. T., 221 + + White, Pearl, 327, 328 + + Whiteman, Paul, 70, 89, 93, 99, 100, =103–104=, 106 + + Williams, Bert, 135, 146, 208 + + Williams, Herbert and Wolfus, 251, 257 + + Williams and Walker, 152 + + Wilson, Edmund, 136 + + Winninger, Charles, 138, 139, 208 + + Winter Garden, =139–141= + + Withers, Charles, 257, 258 + + Wodehouse, P. G., =165–169= + + Woollcott, Alexander, 181 + + Wynn, Ed, 181, =183–185=, 196 + + + Young, Stark, 52, 53, 234 f, 235 + + + Ziegfeld, Florenz, =129–146=, 151, 153, 170, 309 + + + + +Transcriber’s Notes + + +Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a +predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they +were not changed. + +Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation +marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left +unbalanced. + +Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs +and outside quotations. In versions of this eBook that support +hyperlinks, the page references in the List of Illustrations lead to +the corresponding illustrations. + +Halftone patterns in some illustrations could not be entirely obscured. + +Footnotes, originally at the bottoms of pages, have been collected, +renumbered, and placed just before the Index. + +The index was not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page +references. It was not always possible to determine whether or not some +references were in boldface. + +“Strawinsky” is spelled that way throughout this book. + +Page 209: “surexcess” was printed that way. + +Page 219: “gettings” was printed that way. + +Page 379: “Indominatable” was printed that way. + +Page 395: “Cæsar, Irving” was mispelled here, but spelled correctly on +the referenced page. + + + + +VENICE + +[Illustration: + + _By permission of the late Thomas Threlfall, Esq._ + +THE CAMPANILE.] + + + + + VENICE + + BY + BERYL DE SÉLINCOURT + AND + MAY STURGE HENDERSON + + + ILLUSTRATED BY + REGINALD BARRATT + OF THE ROYAL WATER-COLOR + SOCIETY + + + [Illustration] + + + NEW YORK + DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY + 1907 + + + + + _Copyright, 1907_, + BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY + + Published, October, 1907 + + + + +CONTENTS + + + _Page_ + I + + INTRODUCTORY 1 + + + II + + PHANTOMS OF THE LAGOONS 16 + + + III + + THE NUPTIALS OF VENICE 54 + + + IV + + VENICE IN FESTIVAL 74 + + + V + + A MERCHANT OF VENICE 98 + + + VI + + VENICE OF CRUSADE AND PILGRIMAGE 124 + + + VII + + TWO VENETIAN STATUES 160 + + + VIII + + VENETIAN WATERWAYS (PART I) 187 + + + IX + + VENETIAN WATERWAYS (PART II) 253 + + + X + + ARTISTS OF THE VENETIAN RENAISSANCE 275 + + + XI + + THE SOUL THAT ENDURES 317 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + + The Campanile _Frontispiece_ + + PAGE + + View from the Gallery of San Marco 7 + + Santa Maria della Salute 23 + + The Clock Tower 37 + + Riva Degli Schiavoni 57 + + The Doorway of San Marco 71 + + View from Cà d’Oro 81 + + Courtyard of the Palazzo Ducale 91 + + San Giorgio 107 + + The Dogana 119 + + The Shadow of the Campanile 127 + + The Clock Tower from Gallery of San Marco 137 + + The Horses of San Marco, looking South 147 + + The Horses of San Marco, looking North 155 + + In the Piazza 175 + + View on the Grand Canal from San Angelo 189 + + Piazzetta, The Library 195 + + Corner of the Palazzo Dario 201 + + A Venetian Bridge 219 + + Palazzo Sanudo 231 + + A Side Canal 241 + + The Gondoliers’ Shrine 247 + + Entrance of the Grand Canal 257 + + View on the Grand Canal 269 + + Palazzo Rezzonico 281 + + Towards the Rialto San Angelo 291 + + Bronze Well-Head by Alberghetti--The Courtyard of Palazzo Ducale 305 + + Evening in the Piazzetta 313 + + A Palace Door 323 + + Zattere 331 + + + + +VENICE + + + + +Chapter One + +INTRODUCTORY + + +“Venice herself is poetry, and creates a poet out of the dullest clay.” +It was a poet who spoke, and his clay was instinct with the breath +of genius. But it is true that Venice lends wings to duller clay; it +has been her fate to make poets of many who were not so before--a +responsibility that entails loss on her as well as gain. + +She has lived--she has loved and suffered and created; and the echoes +of her creation are with us still; the pulse of the life which once +she knew continues to throb behind the loud and insistent present. The +story of Venice has been often written; the Bride of the Adriatic, +in her decay as in her youthful and her mature beauty, has been the +beloved of many men. “Wo betide the wretch,” cries Landor through +the mouth of Machiavelli, “who desecrates and humiliates her; she +may fall, but she shall rise again.” Venice even then had passed her +zenith; the path she had entered, though blazing with a glory which +had not attended on her dawn of life, was yet a path of decline, +the resplendent, dazzling path of the setting sun. And now a second +Attilla, as Napoleon vaunted himself, has descended upon her. She has +been desecrated, but she has never been dethroned. She could not, +if she would, take the ring off her finger. No hand of man, however +potent, can destroy that once consummated union, however the stranger +and her traitor sons may abase her from within. + +It is to her own domain, embraced by her mutable yet eternally faithful +ocean-lover, that we must still go to see the relics of her pomp. The +old sternness has passed from her face, that compelling sovereignty +which gave her rank among the greatest potentates of the Middle Age; +her features, portrayed by these latter days, are mellowed; a veil of +golden haze softens the bold outlines of that imperious countenance. +We are sometimes tempted to forget that the cup held by the enchanter, +Venice, was filled once with no dream-inducing liquor, but with a +strong potion to fire the nerves of heroes. Viewing Venice in her +greater days, it is impossible to make that separation between the +artist and the man of action so deadly to action and to art. The +portraits of the Venetian masters, supreme among the portraits +of the world, could only have been produced by men who beyond the +divine perception of form and colour were endowed with a profound +understanding and divination of human character. The pictures of +Gentile Bellini, of Carpaccio, of Mansueti, are a gallery of portraits +of stern, strong, capable, self-confident men; and Giovanni Bellini, +who turned from secular themes to concentrate his energy on the +portrayal of the Madonna and Child, endowed her with a strength and +solemn pathos which only Giotto could rival, combined with a luminous +richness of colour in which perhaps he has no rival at all. + +No mystics have sprung from Venice. Her sons have been artists of +life, not dreamers, though the sea, that great weaver of dreams, +has been ever around them. Or rather it is truer to say that the +dreamers of Venice have also been men of action; strong, capable and +intensely practical. They have not turned their back on the practice +of life; they have loved it in all its forms. Even when they speak +through the medium of allegory, of symbols, the art of Carpaccio and +of Tintoretto is a supreme record of the interests of the greatest +Venetians in the actions of everything living in this wonderful world, +and in particular--they are not ashamed to own it--in their supremely +wonderful city of Venice. There are dreamers among those crowds of +Carpaccio, of Gentile Bellini; but their hands can grasp the weapons +and the tools of earth; their heads and hearts can wrestle with the +problems and passions of earth. Compare them with the dreamers of +Perugino’s school: you feel at once that a gulf lies between them; the +fabric of their dream is of another substance. The great Venetians +are giants; like the sea’s, their embrace is vast and powerful, +endowed also with the gentleness of strength. The history of Venetian +greatness in art, in politics, in theology, is the history of men who +have accepted life and strenuously devoted themselves to mastering +its laws. They were not iconoclasts, because they were not idolaters: +the faculties of temperance and restraint are apparent in their very +enthusiasms. Venice did not fall because she loved life too well, but +because she had lost the secret of living. Pride became to her more +beautiful than truth, and finally more worshipful than beauty. + +Much has, with truth, been said about the destruction of Venice. Even +in those who have not known her as she was, who in presence of her +wealth remaining are unconscious of the greatness of her loss, there +constantly stirs indignant sorrow at the childish wantonness of her +inhabitants, which loves to destroy and asks only a newer and brighter +plaything. But much persists that is indestructible; and though Venice +has become a spectacle for strangers, for those who are her lovers the +old spirit lingers still near the form it once so gloriously inhabited, +wakened into being, perchance, by a motion, an echo, a light upon the +waters, and once wakened never again lost or out of mind. Does not +the silent swiftness of the Ten still haunt the sandolo of the water +police, as it steals in the darkness with unlighted lamp under the +shadow of larger craft moored beside the fondamenta, visible only when +it crosses the path of a light from house or garden? It is in her water +that Venice eternally lives; it is thus that we think always of her +image--elusive, unfathomable, though plumbed so often by no novice +hand. It is the wonder of Venice within her waters which justifies the +renewal of the old attempt to reconstruct certain aspects of a career +which has been a challenge to the world, a mystery on which it has +never grown weary of speculating. And as the light falling from a new +angle on familiar features may reveal some grace hidden heretofore +in shadow or unobserved, so, perchance, the vision of Venice may be +renewed or kindled through the medium of a new personality. + +Venice is inexhaustible, and it is from her waters that her mine +of wealth is drawn. They give her wings; without them she would be +fettered like other cities of the land. But Venice with her waters is +never dead. The sun may fall with cruel blankness on calle, piazza +and fondamenta, but nothing can kill the water; it is always mobile, +always alive. Imagine the thoroughfare of an inland city on such a +day as is portrayed in Manet’s _Grand Canal de Venise_; heart and eye +would curse the sunshine. But in the luminous truth of Manet’s picture, +as in Venice herself, the heat quivers and lives. Above ground, blue +sky beating down on blue canal, on the sleepy midday motion of the +gondolas, on the brilliant blue of the striped gondola posts, which +appear to stagger into the water; and under the surface, the secret +of Venice, the region where reflections lurk, where the long wavering +lines are carried on in the deep, cool, liquid life below. When Venice +is weary, what should she do but dive into the water as all her +children do? If we look down, when we can look up no longer, still +she is there; a city more shadowy but not less real, her elements all +dissolved that at our pleasure we may build them again; + + And so not build at all, + And therefore build for ever. + +[Illustration: VIEW FROM THE GALLERY OF SAN MARCO.] + +And if in the middle day we realise this priceless dowry of Venice, it +is in the twilight of morning or evening that her treasury is unlocked +and she invites us to enter. Turner’s _Approach to Venice_ is a vision, +a dream, but not more divinely lovely than the reality of Venice in +these hours, even as she appears to duller eyes. Pass down the Grand +Canal in the twilight of an August evening, the full moon already high +and pouring a lustre from her pale green halo on the broad sweeping +path of the Canal. The noble curves of the houses to west and south +shut out the light; day is past, the reign of night has begun. Then +cross to the Zattere: you pass into another day. A full tide flows +from east to west, blue and swelling like the sea, dyed in the west +a shining orange Where the Euganean hills rise in clear soft outline +against the afterglow, while to the east the moon has laid her silver +bridle upon the dim waters. Cross to the Giudecca and pass along the +narrow, crowded quay into the old palace, which in that deserted +corner shows one dim lamp to the canal. The great hall opens at the +further end on a bowery garden where a fountain drips in the darkness +and the cicalas begin their piping. Mount the winding stair, past the +kitchen and the great key-shaped reception room, and look out over the +city--across the whole sweep of the magnificent Giudecca Canal and the +basin of San Marco. The orange glow is fading and the Euganean hills +are dying into the night, while near at hand one great golden star is +setting behind the Church of the Redentore, and the moon shines with +full brilliance upon the swaying waters, upon the Ducal Palace and the +churches of the Zattere, with the Salute as their chief. The night of +Venice has begun; she has put on her jewels and is blazing with light. +At the back of the house, where the lagoons lie in the shimmering +moonlight, is a silent waste of waters under the stars, broken only +by the lights of the islands. This also is Venice, this mystery of +moonlit water no less than the radiance of the city. And it is possible +to come still nearer to the lagoon. Passing along a dark rio little +changed from the past, we may cross a bridge into one of the wonderful +gardens for which the Giudecca is famous. The families of the Silvi, +Barbolini and Istoili, banished in the ninth century for stirring up +tumult in the Republic, when at last they were recalled by intercession +of Emperor Ludovico, inhabited this island of Spinalunga or Giudecca +and laid out gardens there. This one seems made for the night. The +moonlight streams through the vine pergolas which cross it in every +direction, lights the broad leaves of the banana tree and the dome +of the Salute behind the dark cypress-spire, and stars the grass with +shining petals. The night is full of the scent of haystacks built along +the edge of the lagoon, beside the green terrace which runs the length +of the water-wall. Then, as darkness deepens, we leave to the cicalas +their moonlit paradise, and glide once more into the Grand Canal. It is +at this hour, more than at any other, that, sweeping round the curves +of that marvellous waterway, it possesses us as an idea, a presence +that is not to be put by, so compelling, so vitally creative, is its +beauty. Truly Venice is poetry, and would create a poet out of the +dullest clay. + +Every one will remember that a few years ago an enterprising man of +business attempted with sublime self-confidence to transfer Venice to +London, to enclose her within the walls of a great exhibition. Many +of us delighted in the miniature market of Rialto, in gliding through +the narrow waterways, in the cry of the gondoliers, and the sound of +violin and song across the water. But one gift in the portion of Venice +was forgotten, a gift which she shares indeed with other cities, but +which she alone can put out to interest and increase a thousandfold. +The sky is the roof of all the world, but Venice alone is paved with +sky; and the streets of Venice with no sky above them are like the +wings of the butterfly without the sun. Tintoret and Turner saw Venice +as the offspring of sky and water: that is the spirit in which they +have portrayed her; that is the essence of her life. It has penetrated +everything she has created of enduring beauty. Go into San Marco and +look down at what your feet are treading. Venice, whose streets are +paved with sky, must in her church also have sky beneath her feet. It +is impossible to imagine a more wonderful pavement than the undulating +marbles of San Marco; its rich and varied colours bound together +with the rarest inspiration; orient gems captured and imprisoned and +constantly lit with new and vivid beauty from the domes above. The +floor of San Marco is one of the glories of Venice--of the world; and +it is surely peculiarly expressive of the inspiration which worked in +Venice in the days of her creative life. San Marco, indeed, in its +superb and dazzling harmonies of colour, is almost the only living +representative of the Venice of pomegranate and gold which created +the Cà d’Oro, of the City of Carpaccio and Gentile Bellini, whose +cornice-mouldings were interwoven with glittering golden thread, +while every side canal gave back a glow of colour from richly-tinted +walls. The banners of the Lion in the Piazza no longer wave in solemn +splendour of crimson and gold above a pavement of pale luminous red; in +their place the tricolour of Italy flaunts over colourless uniformity. +The gold is fading from the Palace of the Doges, and only in a few rare +nooks, such as the Scuola of the Shoemakers in the Campo San Tomà, +do we find the original colours of an old relief linger in delicate +gradation over window or door. + +Day after day some intimate treasure is torn from the heart of Venice. +Since Ruskin wrote, one leaf after another has been cut from the Missal +which “once lay open upon the waves, miraculous, like St. Cuthbert’s +book, a golden legend on countless leaves.” Those leaves are numbered +now. Year by year some familiar object disappears from bridge or +doorway, to be labelled and hoarded in a distant museum among aliens +and exiles like itself. And here, in Venice itself, a sentiment of +distress, the _fastidio_ of the Italians, comes over us as we ponder +upon the sculptured relics in the cortile of the Museo Civico. What +meaning have they here? It is atmosphere that they need--the natural +surroundings that would explain and vivify their forms. Many also of +the Venetian churches are despoiled, and their paintings hung side +by side with alien subjects in a light they were never intended to +bear. The Austrian had less power to hurt Venice than she herself +possesses. In those of her sons who understand her malady there flows +an undercurrent of deep sadness, as if day by day they watched the +ebbing of a life in which all their hope and all their love had root. +They cannot sever themselves from Venice: they cannot save her. Venice +pretending to share in the vulgar life of to-day, Venice recklessly +discarding one glory after another for the poor exchange of coin, still +has a power over us not wielded by the inland cities of Italy, happier +in the untroubled beauty of their decay. For, as you are turning with +sorrow from some fresh sign of pitiless destruction, of a sudden she +will flash upon you a new facet of her magic stone, will draw you +spell-bound to her waters and weave once more that diaphanous web of +radiant mystery: + + Za per dirtelo,--o Catina, + La campagna me consola; + Ma Venezia è la sola + Che me possa contentar. + +Each of us, face to face with Venice, has a new question to ask of her, +and, as he alone framed the question, the answer will be given to him +alone. Every stone has not yielded up its secret: in some there may +still be a mark yet unperceived beneath the dust. Here and there in her +manuscript there may lurk between the lines a word for the skilled or +the fortunate. Venice is not yet dumb: every day and every night the +sun and moon and star make music in her that has not yet been heard: +with patience and love we may redeem here and there a chord of those +divine musicians, or at least a tone which shall make her harmony more +full. + + O Venezia benedetta, + No te vogio più lassar. + + + + +Chapter Two + +PHANTOMS OF THE LAGOONS + + +We have called them the phantoms of the lagoons, those islands that +lie like shadows among the silver waters; for it is in this likeness +that they appear to us of the city--strangely mirrored, remote, a group +of clustering spirits, whose common halo is the sea. They are a choir +of spirits, yet each has a mute music of its own, and accosting them +one by one--slowly and in the silence entering into their life--we may +come to know and love the several members of this company of the blest, +till our senses grow alive to their harmony as they sing together, +sometimes in the clear, cold light of the spreading dawn, sometimes in +the evening twilight--when peak after peak is lit with the flame of +sacrifice and, in the Titanic memory of the sunset cloud, the great +fire lit on earth burns up with solemn flames into the sky. + +All the languors, the fierce passions, of Venice, her vitality and +her mysticism, are mirrored in the lagoons; there is no pulse of +Venice that does not beat in them; in swift sequence, as in a lighter +element, they reflect the phases of her being. And the islands of the +lagoons are, as it were, the footsteps of young Venice. As she was +passing into her kingdom, she set her feet here and there among the +waters, and where she trod a life was born. Her roots are far back in +the past, far up upon the mainland, where still remain some fragments +of the giant growth, which, grafted in the lagoons, was to expand there +into a new fulness of beauty and life. It is as if the genius that +conceived Jesolo, Torcello, the Madonna of San Donato, had undergone +a sea-change as it moved towards the Adriatic, as if some vision had +passed before it and shaken it, as if the immutable had felt the first +touch of mutability--had been endowed with a new sense born of the +ebb and flow of ocean tides. In Malamocco she stepped too near the +sea, and left behind the mystery of a city submerged; but no one can +receive into his mind the peerless blue and green of the open water +beyond the Lido, with the foam upon it, or the sound of its incessant +sweep against the shore, without feeling that the spirit that had thus +embraced the sea had received a new pulse into her being--a nerve of +desire, of expansion, of motion, which her mountain infinitudes had +not inspired. And with the new life came new dreams to Venice, dreams +she was not slow to realise, and into them were woven materials for +which we should seek in vain among the islands, except in so far as +the reflex of her later activities fell also upon them. The Madonna of +San Donato is the goddess of the lagoons; and if there are children of +Venice who creep also for blessing and for protection to the borders of +her dusky garment, they are but few. The mystic beauty of that Madonna +was not the beauty that inspired Venice when she built upon the seas. +The robe of her divinity was more akin to the dazzling incomparable +blue of the bay that lies within the curve of the Schiavoni, as we +may see it from the Palazzo Ducale on a morning of sunshine and east +wind; that indomitable intensity of colour, unveiled, resplendent, +filled to the brim with the whole radiance and strength and glory of +the day--that is the girdle of Venice, the cup she drank of in her +strength. But it is clear that she had bowed to a new dominion: with +the ocean she wedded the world. + +The lagoons are full of mysteries of light; they are a veritable +treasure ground of illusion. They are not one expanse of water over +which the light broods with equable influence; they form a region +of various circles, as it were, of various degrees of remoteness or +tangibility. Almost one feels that each circle must be inhabited by +a spirit appropriate to itself, and that a common language could not +be between them, so sharp are the limits set by the play of light. +On an early autumn morning when the sky is clear and the sun streams +full and level upon the clear blue expanse that separates Venice and +Mestre, we seem to have a firm foothold on this dancing water. It is +a substantial glory; but as our eye flits on from jewel to jewel in +the clear blue paving, a sudden line is drawn beyond which it may not +pass. The rich flood of vital colour has its bound, and beyond it +lies a region bathed in light so intense that even colour is refined +into a mystic whiteness--a mirror of crystal, devoid of substance, +infinitely remote; and above it, suspended in that lucent unearthly +atmosphere, hover the towers of Torcello and Burano, like a mirage +of the desert, midway between the water and the sky. They hang there +in completest isolation, yet with a precise definition, a startling +clearness of contour. There is no vestige of other buildings or of the +earth on which they stand, only the dome and campanile of Murano, the +leaning spire of Burano and Mazzorbo’s lightning-blasted tower, their +reflections distinctly mirrored in a luminous medium, half mist, half +water. There is an immense awe in the vision of these phantoms, caught +up into a region where the happy radiant colour dares not play; and +yet not veiled--clearer in what they choose to reveal than the near +city strong and splendid in the unreserve of the young day, but so +unearthly, so magical, that our morning spirits scarcely dare accost +them. What boat shall navigate that shining nothingness that divides +them from our brave and brilliant water? + +Venice, indeed, at times falls under the phantom spell. In those +mornings of late autumn when the duel between the sun and the scirocco +seems as if it could not end till day is done and night calls up +her reinforcements of mist, Venice is herself the ghost, her goblet +brimming with a liquor that seems the drink of death, a perilous, grey, +steely vapour. One only of her islands looms out of the enfolding, +foggy blanket: it is San Michele, the island of the dead. On such a +morning we may visit this abode of shadows, not at this hour more +strange, more ghostly, than the city. To-day a veil is hung upon the +hard, bare outline of its boundary wall, which in sunny weather is a +glaring eye-sore as you travel towards Murano over the lagoon. Here, +in the cloisters where once Fra Mauro dreamed and studied his famous +Mappamondo, there is nothing to terrify the spirit on this morning +of the mist. The black and tinsel drapings, the strange, unprofitable +records of devotion and bereavement, the panoply of death--all these +are veiled, and only the wild grasses glisten with their dewdrops on +the graves of the very poor, or autumn leaves and flowers gleam from +less humble graves, while the cypresses raise their solemn spires +into the faintly dawning blue. But the cemetery island of San Michele +together with the islands of the Giudecca and San Giorgio Maggiore, +of San Pietro di Castello and Sant’ Elena, with many lesser islands +close to Venice, have become absorbed for us in the life of the city +itself. Their bells and hers sound together; we see them as one with +her, and from them look out to the wider lagoon, where the remoter +islands, the true phantoms, wander. Many of those near to Venice have +had their vicissitudes, their sometime glorious past, their pomp and +solemn festival. But, bit by bit, it has been stolen from them, and +the treasures which once they stored have been destroyed or gathered +into the city. Now they serve only as shelters for those whose life +is done--as places of repose for the dead or for the sick in mind and +body. One only has passed from humble service into a fuller and happier +present. San Lazzaro, once the shelter of lepers from the East, has +become under the Armenian Benedictines a haunt of active, cultured +life. It has a living industry, printing the ancient trade of Venice, +and is in daily commerce with the East. + +[Illustration: SANTA MARIA DELLA SALUTE.] + +Torcello is a _città morta_, but scarcely a cemetery or a ruin. Relics +of a past older than even Torcello has known are gathered into the +humble urn of her museum; beside it stands abandoned, but not in ruins, +the group of the cathedral buildings and the vast secular campanile; +beyond this there is nothing but the soil--the golden gardens of vine +and pomegranate, the fields of maize and artichokes between their +narrow canals. The intervening period has entirely vanished; it is like +a dream. The page of populous palatial Torcello has been blotted out as +if it had had no existence. No vestige remains of the churches which in +the old maps flourished along the chief canal, of the names which in +the documents have no unsubstantial sound. None now can remember the +time when the spoiler was busy among the ruined palaces; he too has +passed into the shadows, and the very stones of Torcello are scattered +far and wide. There is something mysterious in this complete wiping out +of a page of history, so that not time only, but even the mourners of +time have disappeared. There is something unique in the isolation of +the cathedral and the campanile, rising thus out of the far past--this +mighty masonry alone among the herbs of the field. Of her great history +Torcello brings only the first page and the last, the duomo, the +peasants’ houses and the thatch shelters of their boats. Wandering +along the grassy paths beside the vineyards, the pomegranates, the +golden thorn bushes of Torcello, we seem in a sleepy pastoral land +where the sun always shines. Torcello seems ripe, rich ground for a new +life rather than the cemetery of an old; and we may feed the fancy as +we will, for she does not refuse her doom; she has no hard contrasts of +the old and new. + +The few natives whom foreign gold supports upon this island of malaria, +have their chief haunts in the cathedral campo, keeping guard over +the treasures of the past. For here upon the campo stands the urn +where Torcello keeps the ashes of her ancestors--strange relics of old +Altinum, pathetic household gods, forks and spoons and safety-pins, +keys and necklaces, lamps and broken plates and vases, chains and +girdles and mighty bracelets, some of delicate and some of coarser +make, with more ambitious works of mosaic and relief, Greek and Roman +and Oriental. There is little in all; yet as we stand here in the +museum, looking out through the sunny window on the hazy autumn +gold of earth and the shimmering water beyond, this little speaks +eloquently to the mind. Even to Torcello, the aged, these things are +ancestral; their life was in the old Altinum when Torcello lay still +undreamed-of in the womb of time. Climb the campanile, and you will +wonder no more at the passing of the city at its feet; it is so mighty, +so self-contained and now so voiceless with any tongue that earth can +hear and understand; almost it seems as if that iron clapper, lying +mute below the bell, were symbol of Torcello’s farewell to the busy +populous world that needs the call to prayer. The great tower is given +up to mighty musings, and we upon its summit speculate no more on the +forgotten Middle Age; we are content in the golden earth beneath our +feet, in the soft dreamy azure of the encircling lagoon, where in the +low tide the deep tracks wind and writhe like glistening water-snakes, +or lie, like the faint transparent veining of a leaf, upon that smooth +expanse of interchanging marsh and water, the uncertain dominion over +which Torcello towers. For the campanile, in its vast simplicity of +structure, its loneliness, its duration, is of kin with those great +sentinels of the desert in which the Egyptians embodied their giant +dreams of power. It is here that the soul of Torcello still abides, to +dream out upon the mystery of day and night to the mountains and the +city and the sea. And even if the sunlight is rich and jubilant in the +yellow fields below, where the autumn has such fitting habitation, it +spreads upon the waters a broad path of silver that gleams mysteriously +like moonlight upon the distant spaces of the ocean shield, waking +points of light out of the immense surrounding dimness. And it is most +of all in the deep night that the gulf of the centuries may be bridged. +The monotonous piping of the cicalas rises even to this height in +the darkness, but no other sound is heard. It is a strangely moving, +melancholy landscape, half hidden, half revealed, still holding in +its patient, silent heart the tragic sorrows, the hopes and shattered +longings, the courageous struggle of the past ages, the fierce cry of +desolation, the flames of cities doomed to destruction in the darkness +of night, and their ruins outspread beneath the unsparing sun. It has +lain now so long deserted, a presence from which the stream of life has +flowed away, carrying with it all the agitations of joy and sorrow, +that among the fluctuating marshes the key for its deciphering has been +lost. + +As we have said, whole pages are torn from the history of Torcello. +Fragments only remain. But here and there is a word or two that may +be gathered into a sentence. If we approach the island from the east, +by the waterway between Sant’ Erasmo and Tre Porti instead of by the +narrow channels of the inner lagoon, we may receive some impression +of the relation it once bore to the mainland. We may see how Torcello +stands as the entrance of the lagoon north of Venice, the last outpost +of the mainland, the first-fruits of a new career--recognise that she +was once through the Portus Torcellus in closest touch with the high +seas. In the ninth century it was one Rustico of Torcello who combined +with Buono of Malamocco to carry the bones of St. Mark from Alexandria +to Venice. In 1268 Torcello is specially mentioned by da Canale among +the “Contrees, que armerent lor navie, et vindrent a lor signor Mesire +Laurens Teuple (Lorenzo Tiepolo) li haut Dus de Venise, et a Madame la +Duchoise” on the occasion of Tiepolo’s election. Torcello contributed +three galleys completely equipped for the Genoese war, and in 1463 sent +one hundred crossbowmen in the service of the Republic against Trieste. + +What is left of this city, which shared the early glory if not the +later pomp of Venice? Where are her palaces, her gardens, her bridges, +her waterways? Where are her piazzas and calles and fondamentas, her +churches and rich convents? We pass their names in the old chronicles: +Piazza del Duomo, Rio Campo di San Giovanni, Fondamenta dei Borgognoni, +Calle Santa Margherita, Fondamenta Bobizo, Ponte di Chà Delfino, Ponte +de Pino, and the rest. Many of these were of very old foundation: their +stones and traces of their construction have been discovered from time +to time under the mud of the canals. In the poor houses of the peasants +traces still remain of original windows, cornices and pillars; the main +canal is still spanned by the beautiful ruined bridge of the Diavolo. +But for the rest the grass piazza with its little group of buildings, +its museum flanked by the cathedral, is the sole echo, itself no more +than an echo of the past. + +When Altinum and her neighbouring cities roused themselves from the +crushing desolation of conquest which had driven them forth to the +remote borders of the mainland, they began to desire to live anew +in the lagoons. There is no reason to question Dandolo’s statement +that Torcello and the group of surrounding islands, Burano, Mazzorbo, +Constanziana, Amoriana and Ammiana, were named from the gates of +Altinum--a pathetic attempt to perpetuate the ruined city. Nuovo Altino +was indeed the name for Torcello, and when the terror of invasion had +momentarily passed, the fugitives ventured back to the mainland, and +brought down to the soft-soiled island the stones of their ancient +city. Torcello was built from the stones of Altinum; her very stones +were veterans, the stamp of old times was upon them, the stamp of +thoughts that were often sealed for those men of a later day who built +them anew into their temples. The steps up to the pulpit in the duomo +are perhaps the most striking instance of this ingrafting of the old +upon the new, the naïve earnestness, perhaps the urgent haste and need +of builders who did not fear to set an old pagan relief to do service +in this temple of their Christian God. There are various theories as +to the meaning of the wonderful relief which forms the base of the +pulpit stair, cut like its companion slabs to meet the requirements +of the stair without regard to its individual existence. We cannot +help pausing before it; for it is unique among the monuments of the +estuary, so unique that it seems incredible it should have been the +work of those late Greek artists who executed the wonderful beasts +and birds of the sanctuary screen. On the right is a woman’s figure, +of Egyptian rather than Greek or Roman mould, standing with averted +face and head resting on her arms, in melancholy thought. Beside her +a man, like her resigned and meditative in attitude, but not yet with +the resignation of despair, raises his left arm as if to ward off a +blow. The blow is dealt left-handed by one who in his right hand holds +a pair of scales and advances swiftly on winged wheels. He, again, +is met in his advance by a fourth figure whom we only see in part, +his right side having been almost completely cut away. He is fronting +us, however--his feet planted firmly on the ground, his right hand +folded on his breast, while with his left he grasps the forelock of +the impetuous figure of the winged wheels and balances. Thanks to the +happy discovery by Professor Cattaneo of part of the fragment missing +to the design, we know that a woman’s figure stood beyond him, holding +in her left hand a palm and in her right a crown which she raises to +the stalwart conqueror’s head. It is a simple but daring and most +spirited composition. It seems to belong to a far remoter past than +that of the earliest building of Torcello. Professor Cattaneo explains +it as an allegory of the passage of Time, who on his winged wheels has +already passed one man by, as he stands stroking his beard, while +tears and sorrow await him in the form of the woman on his right in +mourning guise and posture; the stalwart man on the left is he who +faces Time and takes him by the forelock, and for him the crown and +palm of victory are in waiting. But Professor Cattaneo seems to give a +needlessly limited significance to the idea of Time. It is to him the +Time which God offers to man that he may do what is just and combat his +own evil passions; this seems to him to be expressed by the scales and +the stick he grasps in his hand. Perhaps it is enough to think merely +of the club as that with which a more familiar Time is wont to deal +back-handed blows at those who are so idle or so sluggish as to let him +pass. At any rate the men of Torcello could comprehend this language +of the rough stone. What matter if the oracles were dumb? Which of +them had not wept to see the face of Time averted, which of them had +not felt the weight of his backward blow? And yet this symbol of old +Time must have been mute to them before the great solemn Madonna in +the dusky, golden circle of the apse; she looks beyond all fortunes +and vicissitudes of man. How should they dare to pray to her? Worship +they may, and rise with strength to contend with Time and conquer +him, with a weapon to face the mystery of life; but they meet here no +smile of comfort, no companionable grace. To those men who dreamed this +figure, to us who look upon her and worship, the dominion of Time is a +forgotten thing; we ask no pity for our human woes; they have passed, +they have crumbled: she gives us a better gift than pity, insight into +the hidden things of life and of art; she wings with hope, if with +stern hope, our dream of beauty. The mosaics on the west wall of the +cathedral have the same stern character, with less of beauty than the +Madonna of the apse: the great angels on either side the weird central +Christ in the upper division have a strangely oriental effect. They +might be Indian gods. They hold the Christian symbols, but with how +abstracted, how remote a gaze they look out from their aureoles! They +are at one with the noble simplicity and strength and greatness of the +spirit of the building they adorn. Somehow they seem to us the oldest +thing within it; we begin to be drawn by them into mysteries older +than the caves of Greece whence the pillars of this duomo came; we +begin to share their watch over a vast desert where all the faiths and +imaginings of men may move and mingle, and find a common altar under +the dome of the evening sky. + +Greater than Torcello, and still maintaining, as near neighbour to +Venice, something of its old activities, Murano lives, none the less, +a phantom life. We would choose, as a fitting atmosphere for Murano, a +day of delicate lights and pale, lucent water, with faint fine tints +within the water and the sky: a day of the falling year, not expectant, +only acceptant, pausing in the dim quiet of its decay. Even the hot +sunshine, though it irradiates the features of Murano, cannot penetrate +to that spent heart. The marvellous fascination of its Grand Canal, +with its swift and unaccustomed current of blue waters, cannot draw us +from the sadness, or disperse the spectral melancholy which invades the +spirit and surrounds it as an atmosphere. The sun infects the dirty +children with a desire to shine, and prompts somersaults for a soldino; +but the weary women, the old, crouching men, still creep about the +fondamenta impervious to his rays. Murano is not less disinherited, not +less phantasmal, because the daylight comes to pierce the semblance of +her life. It is strangely invasive and possessing, this sentiment of a +life outlived, a body whose soul is fled. The long vine gardens that +spread to the lagoon, dispossessed, but still apparently doing service +and rich in vegetables and fruit, seem as if they would persuade us +of their reality; but their walls are ruined, their ways are low and +narrow; it was not thus they looked when Bembo and Navagero paced here +in an earthly paradise, a haunt of nymphs and demigods. The living +population of Murano seems to have fallen under the same spell. If +we bestow on them more than a cursory glance as we pass along the +fondamenta, we seem to detect in their faces an indescribable sense of +weariness and sorrow and decay. There seem many old among them, and on +the young toil and privation have already laid their hand. The strange +habitual chant of priest and women and young girls, going up from +tired nerveless throats in the twilight of San Pietro Martire, seemed +a symbol of the voice of Murano, melancholy, mechanical, the phantom +of a voice--an echo struck with the hand or by a breath of wind from +a fallen instrument, an instrument that has lost its virtue and its +ring, an instrument unstrung. We have seen Murano in festa. She can +pay her tribute to free Italy. Ponte Lungo was hung with lamps, and +the desolate campi had their share in the illumination. In the very +piazza of San Donato a hawker was winding elastic strings of golden +treacle, while women and children in gay dresses hurried to and fro. +In another square, under the clock tower, a demagogue addressed the +crowd excitedly: there was plentiful noise, plentiful determination to +enjoy. The campanile looked down and wondered. _O Roma o morte._ Had +it been Rome then and not death? Rome and freedom, freedom to destroy +the historic and the old? It was a grand triumph, a triumph justly +commemorated, and yet the conquerors themselves might grieve over the +Italy of to-day. Mazzini, we know, struck a note of melancholy out of +that proud exultation. Italy, if she lives, lives among ruins, and for +the most part she is careless of her decay. + +[Illustration: THE CLOCK TOWER.] + +Murano, like Torcello, is bound by one glorious link with her Byzantine +past, and this one of the noblest monuments, not of the lagoons only, +but of all Italy; simple, stern, august. San Donato has not, indeed, +gone unscathed by time, nor by modernity. The wonders of its pavement +are becoming blackened and obscured; holes are being worn in it, +missing cubes leave gaps in the design. In winter it is constantly +flooded by high tide, and even in other seasons the damp is ruining +a pavement which rivals, if it does not surpass, that of San Marco. +It is impossible to describe the beauty of the designs, the exquisite +harmonics of its precious marbles, porphyry and verd-antique, Verona, +serpentine and marmo greco, with noble masses of colour among the +smaller fragments, and a most precious gem of chalcedony, which, if we +may believe the poor old sacristan, whose complaints concerning his +precious floor wake no response, an English visitor would have wished +to steal. The sacristan can show to all who will lament with him the +ruin wrought by sacrilegious man. But no profane hand has dared to +raise itself against the Madonna of the apse. This Madonna of San +Donato is even grander, more august, than that other who in Torcello +conquers Time, and surely it is not without reason that we have called +her the goddess of the lagoons. In perfect aloofness and secrecy she +stands, but with luminous revelation in her strangely significant eyes; +her white hands uplifted, her white face shining out of the darkness, +the long, straight folds of her dark robe worked with gold, her feet +resting, it seems, upon a golden fire. The gaze of this marvellous +Madonna seems to comprehend the world. She is a sphinx who holds the +key of every mystery. In her presence we are overcome by the impulse to +kneel and worship. She is not, like many Byzantine Madonnas, grotesque, +forbidding in her immensity, in her aloofness; for even while she +rebukes and subdues our littleness of soul, she draws all our senses as +a being of absolute, inexplicable beauty. She holds us rapt and will +not let us go. The memory of the Duomo of San Donato is concentrated in +the single magical figure of her Madonna, leaning in benediction from +the golden apse. + +Murano is full of corners where Gothic and Byzantine have combined to +beautify portico, pillar and arch. In the Asilo dei Vecchii are two of +the most ancient fireplaces known in Venice, and at Venice fireplaces +were very early in use. One is a deep square hollowed in the wall, and +furnished with doors that shut upon it like a panelling, while two +little windows, as usual, open out behind. The other projects into the +room, with sloping roof and little seats within on either side. Murano, +it is well known, was the pleasure-ground of the Venetians in happier +days; it was here that the men of the Great Republic had their gardens +elect for solace and for beauty. But with the Republic Murano fell; the +patrimonies of the patricians were scattered--gradually their palaces +were snatched away, piece by piece, and fell into irrecoverable ruin. +One only now retains some image of its former splendour, the famous Cà +da Mula, upon the fine sweep of the Grand Canal. The Madonna of San +Donato has looked down on the spoliation of her temple; she still looks +on its slow decay. She has shared the proud sorrows of the campanile; +in colloquy through the night what may he not have told of the passing +of Murano? They have little, these solemn guardians of the past, in +common with the exuberant Renaissance, but perhaps a common fate, the +unifying hand of Time, may have bound their spirits in a confraternity +of grief. The heart of the old campanile would be stirred with pity +for the fate of those deserted palaces, the sublime Madonna would turn +an eye not of scorn but of sorrow on the fading forms of those radiant +women, so splendid on the frescoed palace fronts, so alluring in the +smooth mirror of the canal. The work of the spoiler, so far as it was a +work of violence, of a human spoiler, is done; but the slower work of +nature still proceeds. + +Long before Murano became a Venetian pleasure-ground, she had been +famous for her painters, for her ships, for her furnaces. Like +Torcello, she sent vessels to the triumph of the Doge Lorenzo Tiepolo, +and she was conspicuous among the others, as da Canale says: “For you +must know that those of Murano had on their vessels living cocks, so +that they might be known and whence they came.” Molmenti thinks that +Carpaccio himself belonged to a shipbuilding family of Murano, and +this is the more interesting in view of the frequency and detail of +shipping operations in his pictures. Murano was indeed the birthplace +of Venetian art, and the riches of its furnaces glow in the garments +of those early painters, Vivarini, Andrea and Quirico. From the end +of the eleventh century the glass works had begun to flourish; by the +thirteenth the industry was transferred wholly to Murano. The legend +runs that a certain Cristoforo Briani, hearing from Marco Polo of +the monopoly of agates, chalcedony and other precious stones on the +coast of Guiana, set about imitating them. With Domenico Miotto to +help him he succeeded, and the latter carried the art to still greater +perfection, which resulted at last in the imitation of the pearl. +In 1528 Andrea Vidoare received a special mariegola or charter for +the fame of his wonderful pearls, polished and variegated by him to +a degree unknown before. In the middle of the fifteenth century the +first crystals came from the furnaces, and the following century was +the golden period of the art--a period coinciding with the greatest +patrician glory of the island. Murano still burns with its secular +fire, winning from the old world its secrets, the old, wise world that +worshipped fire, to fuse them once more in its crucible for the wonder +of the new; secrets of crystal, pearl and ruby, and of the blue of the +deepest ocean depths or the impenetrable night sky, imprisoning them +in those transparent cenotaphs in forms of infinite harmony and grace. +And it is not only in the revival of ancient memories and forgotten +mysteries that the furnaces of Murano play their part; they contribute +also to the present renewal of Venice: for it is here that the units of +the mosaicist’s art are made. In Murano is laid the foundation-stone +of its success--the quality of the colour, the depth and richness of +the gold. The period of decadence in the Venetian arts is accurately +reflected in its mosaics; with the decadence of conception we note also +the decadence of colour. Those hard blatant tones that characterise the +late mosaics of San Marco are records, too permanent, alas! of a time +when the furnaces had lost their cunning, or rather when the master +minds were blunted and the secret of the ancient colourists allowed to +lie unquestioned under the dust of time. + +There is a humbler department of the glass works which we must not pass +by. It lies away from the furnaces devoted to rare and subtle texture +and design, behind San Pietro Martire, among the gardens: a manufactory +of common glass for daily use, tumblers and water-bottles and other +humble ware. Here there is the swift operation of machinery, at least +among the coarser glasses, and a noise of the very inferno with +countless sweating fiends--little black-faced grinning boys, grateful +for a package full of grapes or juicy figs; there is little mystery +in the production of this coarser glass, or rather few of the obvious +accessories of mystery, the delicate slow fashioning, the infusion +of colours. Instead, the constant noise of machinery, deafening and +exhausting in its incessant motion, though even here the reign of +machinery is limited: the finer tumblers must go a longer journey to be +filed by a slower, more gradual process, the direct handiwork of man. +There is an upper circle to which we gladly pass from this inferno, +almost a paradise if we contrast it with the turmoil and heat below; +to reach it we pass by the troughs of grey sand which all day men are +trampling with the soles of their bare feet, to mould into fit temper +for the furnace. The floor of the room above is covered and the walls +lined with strange creations of cold, grey earth, fashioned by hand, +roll after roll of clay, ungainly forms to be inhabited by fire. This +upper attic, with its company of mute grey moulds, opens out upon the +vineyards of Murano, with water shimmering through the long golden +alleys, and the city visible beyond. The gardens of the Palazzo da Mula +and of San Cipriano are beside us. The bustle of the new world has +invaded the peaceful seclusion of a spot once sacred to the student +aristocracy of Venice. + +For this island, famed for so glorious an industry, was beloved and +honoured by the noblest of Venetian names, Trifone Gabriele and Pietro +Bembo and Andrea Navagero. Here Navagero founded one of the first +botanic gardens of Europe--“a terrestrial paradise, a place of nymphs +and demigods”; here Gabriele wandered for hours under the thick vine +pergola walled with jessamine against the sun. And it was not only as +a temporary pleasure-ground that they loved Murano: they clung to it +as their resting-place in death. Bernardo Giustiniani desired to be +buried by his palace, at the foot of Ponte Lungo, and Andrea Navagero +in the church of San Martino in the same quarter where his house was +built. Murano was honoured by at least one royal guest. It was here +that Henry III of France, on his passage through Venice from Polonia, +was given his first lodging, and the palace which witnessed the first +transports of this rapturous monarch, the palace of Bartolomeo Capello, +still exists, close beside the church of Santa Maria degli Angeli, at +the extreme western point of the city. It would thus form the most +convenient landing-place, besides commanding a view of extreme beauty; +to the left, the fine torrent-like sweep of the chief canal, with the +noble Cà da Mula a little lower on the opposite bank and its gardens +immediately over the water; Venice filling the horizon clear across +the lagoon, where the south curve of Murano ends to-day in a meadow +of rough grass and fragrant herbs; to the right the Convent of the +Angeli, leading on the eye across the lagoon to the mainland and the +distant mountains beyond. Traces of fresco remain on the outer walls +of the palazzo, and the upper hall still stretches through the whole +breadth of the house. It is on the balcony of this central hall that +Henry must have stood when he appeared before dinner to gratify the +crowds on the fondamenta and in the boats below. The view of Venice in +the evening light is exquisitely lovely, with the lagoon spread like a +mirror to reflect the delicate opaline of the sunset sky. In this hall +hung with cloth of gold and cremosine, and perhaps with the colours of +Veronese, looking over a paradise of gardens and water to the immortal +city, Henry kept his court, received the legates from the Pope and said +a thousand graceful things about His Holiness, rejoiced the natives by +his noble bearing, his perfumed gloves, his frank pleasure in their +tribute, his decision to go on foot to the Angeli to morning Mass. +Thus was he initiated to the magical city and its enchantments by +that wise providence of the Venetians, who made their islands always +stepping-stones, outer courts of the central shrine, where their +pilgrim must pause awhile to shake the dust of the mainland off his +feet, that the spell might permeate his being and fill his senses with +desire. + +The fondamenta below Henry’s palace, leading to the church of the +Angeli, is one of the most desolate in Murano; the wide green campo +of the cemetery which opens from it is deserted and bare, save for a +few fowls that humbly commemorate the proud old shield. The dirt of +the children is indescribable, as they press close begging a soldino. +But their dirt is dearer to them. A bargain for a washed face, even +when the reward rings cheerily on the pavement, brings no response but +laughter and surprise. We are reminded by contrast of the tribute of +Andrea Calmo, a popular poet of the sixteenth century: + + E voio tanto bene a quel Muran, + Che, per diroelo certo in veritæ, + Son in pensier de vender le mie intræ. + E venir la per starmene pì san. + Quei horti a pieni de herbe uliose + E quel canal cusi chiaro e pulio + Con quelle belle casi si aierose, + Con tante creature che par riose + Liogo che l’ha stampao Domenedio. + +(And I wish so well to that Murano, that to tell you the sober truth +I am thinking of selling my takings and coming there to live more +healthily. The gardens there are so full of olive trees, and the +canal so clear and clean, the houses so beautiful and so airy, with +so many fair creatures that it seems a place of joy stamped by the +Lord God.) Beside the Cà da Mula, hidden among some outbuildings, from +which it has in the last years been partially released, is one of +Murano’s finest treasures, the convent front of San Cipriano, which +in the ninth century, when Malamocco was on the point of submersion, +was brought here by order of Ordelafo Faliero. Andrea Dandolo dates +the building from 881; it was rebuilt in 1109 and restored in 1605, +and its exquisite façade, still bearing the stamp of several ages, +freed somewhat from the earth about its base, stands up nobly from the +tangled garden around it. The central arch is outlined with the finest +Byzantine tracery lined with Gothic, surrounded once with coloured +marbles of which only fragments now remain, and above this is a frieze +of the best Roman of the Renaissance: slender columns, some Byzantine, +some Gothic, adorn it on either side, and fantastic Byzantine symbols +are sculptured in the stone discs that are embedded in the walls +between the arches of the cloister. A campanula on the ruined wall +to the left of the arch stands out clear and pale against the brick +building behind, where once the cloister opened out, an exquisite +harmony of lavender and rose. Fragmentary though it is, this façade of +the famous monastery is one of the most precious relics of the islands +of the lagoons. + +There is an island where we cannot think of death, where decay dare +not come; though the water plants smell faint upon its shores, and the +cypresses that clothe it rise black against the sky. It is the island +that sheltered one of the most joyful spirits that has ever walked the +world, the island where the larks once sang in such prolonged impulsive +harmony of joy that the sound of their singing has never passed away; +it may seem to lie silent as a veil upon the water, but the tremor +of the sunshine will waken it to renewed harmonics of delight--San +Francesco del Deserto. We rejoice to think that the Poverello set +foot in the lagoons, that he left here in the lonely waters the +blossom of his love. St. Francis of the Desert can wake no thoughts of +melancholy, and indeed this is no deserted place, nor in the morning +of his coming, after the night of storm, can it have seemed a place +of desolation; for nothing is more wonderful, more prodigally full +of the mysterious rapture of life, than the flowing in of day upon +the lagoons after the tumult of rain and hurricane. They say that St. +Francis, coming from the Holy Land on a Venetian ship, was driven by +the storm to cast anchor near Torcello; that as he prayed, the storm +subsided, and a great calm fell on the lagoon. Then as the Poverello +set foot upon this cypress-covered shore, the sun came out--the sun +of the early summer dawn--and shone through the dripping branches of +the cypresses, covering them with glistening crystals, and shone on +the damp feathered creatures among the branches and on the larks among +the reedy grass, and as he shone a choir of voices woke in the lonely +island and a chorus of welcome burst from ten thousand throats. And +the sun shone in the heart of St. Francis also, and it overflowed with +joy; and St. Francis said to his companion, “The little birds, our +brothers, praise their Creator with joy; and we also as we walk in +the midst of them--let us sing the praises of God.” And then as St. +Bonaventura relates the legend, the birds sang so clamorously on the +branches that St. Francis had to entreat their silence till he had +sung the Lauds; but we may read another story if we will, and say that +the dewy matin song of the birds was not so clamorous as to disturb +the quiet morning gladness of the Poverello, that they sang together +in the dawn. San Francesco del Deserto is not an island of sorrow. In +the little convent inhabited still by a few quiet Franciscans, the +narrow gloomy corner is to be seen which they name St. Francis’s bed: +in the convent garden there rises a stone memorial round the tree that +flowered from the Saint’s planted staff. We know these familiar symbols +of the Franciscan convents: the brothers cling to them as to some +fragmentary testament that their eyes can read and their hand grasp +when the living spirit has fled away; everywhere among the mountain or +the valley solitudes where St. Francis dwelt, the same dark relics of +that luminous spirit are to be found, the story even of birds banished +for ever by the command of that prince of singers, as if his own voice +chanting eternal litanies could be his sole delight. They are strange +stories; we pass them by, and go out to find the Poverello where the +cones of the cypresses gleam silver-grey against the blue. His spirit +has taken happy root among the waters of the lagoons; a new joy and +glory is added to the mountains as they rise in the calm dawn, clear +and luminous from the departing rain cloud; there is joy and peace in +the raised grass walk between the cypress trees; the island is indeed +a place of life and not of death for those who have felt the suffering +and the joy of love, and who worship beauty in their hearts. + + O Beata Solitudo, + O Sola Beatitudo. + +There are still solitudes in the desert of the lagoon where some of us +have dreamed of beginning a new day. In the hour when the last gold has +faded from the sun-path--when those dancing gems he flings to leap and +sport upon the water have been slowly gathered in, when the churches +and palaces of the city are folded under one soft clinging veil, which +softens the outline that it does not obscure, when Torcello and Burano +lean in pallid solitude above the level disc of the marsh, and the Lido +lies like a sea-serpent coiled on itself, its spires reflected in the +motionless mirror far south to Chioggia--they steal out, these island +phantoms, faint, alluring, upon the still mosaic of the lagoon, like +black pearls in that shell-like surface of tenderest azure and rose. +Shall we not dare to wander among those lovely paths, those dimly +burning gems? None visits them, unless it be the golden stars and the +dreaming lover of Endymion: their roof is the broad rainbow spread +above them by the setting sun. They seem sometimes to welcome a spirit +that should come and dwell among them silently; one that should tread +them with loving reverence and quiet hope, seeking to set free the +fantasies with which earth has stored it, but which no power of earth +may help it to disburden. + + + + +Chapter Three + +THE NUPTIALS OF VENICE + + +Until the fall of the Venetian Republic the rite of the _Sporalizio del +Mare_, the wedding of Venice with the sea, continued to be celebrated +annually at the feast of the Ascension. Long after the fruits of the +espousal had been gathered, when its renewal had become no more than +a ceremonious display, there stirred a pulse of present life in the +embrace; and in a sense, the significance of the ceremony never can be +lost while one stone remains upon another in the city of the sea. + +For the earliest celebration of the nuptials there was need of no +golden Bucintoro, no feast of red wine and chestnuts, no damask roses +in a silver cup, not so much as a ring to seal the bond. For it was no +vaunt of sovereignty; it was a humble oblation, a prayer to the Creator +that His creature might be calm and tranquil to all who travelled over +it, an oblation to the creature that it might be pleased to assist +the gracious and pacific work of its Creator. The regal ceremony of +later times was inaugurated by the Doge Pietro Orseolo II who, having +largely increased the sea dominion of Venice and made himself lord of +the Adriatic, welded his achievement into the fabric of the state by +the ceremony of the espousal. The ring was not introduced till the year +1177, when Pope Alexander III, being present at the festival, bestowed +it on the Doge, as token of the papal sanction of the ceremony, with +the words, “Receive it as pledge of the sovereignty that you and your +successors shall maintain over the sea.” But the true importance of the +festival, whether in its primitive form or in its later elaboration, is +the development of Venetian policy which it signified--a development +which, for the purposes of this chapter, will best be considered in +relation to events separated by nearly two centuries, but united in +their acknowledgment of the growing importance of Venice on the waters. +The first is Pietro Orseolo’s Dalmatian campaign, followed in 1001 +by the secret visit of the German Emperor Otho III, and the second +the famous concordat of Pope Alexander III and the Emperor Frederick +Barbarossa, concluded under the auspices of Venetian statecraft in 1177. + +Pietro Orseolo II appears as one of the most potent interpreters of the +Venetian spirit. He combined qualities which enabled him to gather +together the threads which the genius of Venice and the exigencies +of her position were weaving, and to fashion from them a substantial +web on which her industry might operate. He was a soldier, a great +statesman and a patriot. All the subtlety, all the ambition, all the +dreams of glory with which his potent and spacious mind was endowed, +were at his country’s service, and the material in which he had to +work was plastic to his touch. Venice lay midway between the kingdoms +of the East and West, and from the earliest times this fact had +determined her importance: she might rise to greatness or she might +be annihilated; she could not be ignored. The Venice of Orseolo was +instinct with vitality and teeming with energies, but she was divided +against herself. The foundations of her greatness were already laid, +but her general aim and tendency were not determined. She was in need +of a leader of commanding mind and capacious imagination, who could +envisage her future, and who should possess the power of inspiring +others with confidence in his dreams. Such a man was Pietro Orseolo II. +Venice had been threatened with destruction by the division of the two +interests which, interwoven, were the basis of her power. Before the +final settlement at Rialto she had been torn hither and thither by +the factions of the East and West, the party favouring Constantinople +and the party favouring the Frankish King; and at any moment still the +Doge’s policy might be wrecked by the rivalries of the two parties, if +he proved lacking in insight or capacity for uniting in his service the +interests of both. + +[Illustration: RIVA DEGLI SCHIAVONI.] + +For some time Dalmatia had been a thorn in the side of Venice, a +refuge for the disloyal, and, through the agency of the hordes of +pirates infesting the coast, a real menace to her commerce. Venice had +attempted to purchase immunity from the pirates by payment of an annual +indemnity. Orseolo decided at once to put an end to this payment, but +he realised that the price of the decision was a foothold in Dalmatia +that would need to be obtained by force of arms. For this end it was +necessary to secure harmony within the city itself, and, knowing this, +he exercised his powers to obtain approval of his expedition from +the authorities of East and of West, from the Emperors of Germany +and Byzantium. He was successful in this, and circumstances combined +further to aid his designs. The Croatians and Narentines, by wreaking +on Northern Dalmatia their anger at the loss of the Venetian indemnity, +had prepared the minds of the Dalmatians to look on the prospect of +Venetian supremacy as one of release rather than of subjugation. It +is said that they even went so far as to send a message to Orseolo +encouraging his coming. Their province was nominally under the Emperor +of Byzantium, but their overlord had decided to look favourably on a +means of securing peace and safe passage to his province at so small an +expense to himself. Orseolo set sail on Ascension Day, after a service +in the Cathedral of Olivolo (now San Pietro di Castello), fortified by +the good will of East and of West, and the united acclamations of all +parties in Venice. Pride and vigorous hope must have swelled the hearts +of these warriors. It was summer, and their songs must have travelled +across the dazzling blue of the great basin of St. Mark, and echoed +and re-echoed far out on the crystal waters of the lagoon. Triumph was +anticipated, and triumph was their portion. Orseolo’s expedition was +little less than a triumphal progress; the coast towns of Dalmatia from +Zara to Ragusa rendered him their homage. A new and immensely rich +province was acquired by Venice, and the title of Duke of Dalmatia +accorded to himself. + +Soon after Orseolo’s return from this campaign, Venice, unknown to +herself, was to receive the homage of one of the emperors she had made +it her business to propitiate. There is something that stirs the +imagination in this secret visit of Otho III to the Doge. According +to the ingenuous account of John the Deacon, Venetian ambassador at +the Emperor’s court, it was merely one of those visits of princely +compliment which the age knew so well how to contrive, and loved +so well to recount--a visit in disguise for humility or greater +freedom, like that of St. Louis to Brother Giles at Perugia, where +host and guest embrace in fellowship too deep for words. The Emperor, +John the Deacon tells us, was overcome with admiration of Orseolo’s +achievements in Dalmatia, and filled with longing to see so great a +man, and the chronicler was despatched to Venice to arrange a meeting. +The Doge, while acknowledging the compliment of Otho’s message, could +not believe in its reality, and consequently kept his own counsel +about it--“tacitus sibi in corde servabat.” However, when Otho on his +travels had come down to Ravenna for Lent, John the Deacon was again +despatched, and this time from Doge to Emperor. + +It was ultimately arranged that after the Easter celebration Otho with +a handful of followers should repair, under pretext of a “spring-cure,” +to the abbey of Santa Maria in the isle of Pomposa at the mouth of the +Po. He pretended to be taking up his quarters here for several days, +but at nightfall he secretly embarked in a small boat prepared by John +the Deacon, and set sail with him and six followers for Venice. All +that night and all the following day the little boat battled with the +tempest, and the storm was still unabated the next evening, when it put +in at the island of San Servolo and found itself harboured at last in +the waters of St. Mark. Venice knew nothing of this arrival; her royal +guest had taken her unawares, and her waterways had prepared him no +welcome. We may picture the anxiety of Orseolo, alone with the secret +of his expected guest, on the island of San Servolo. The journey may +well have been perilous for so small a boat even within the sheltering +wall of the Lido, and we may imagine his relief when it could at last +be descried beating towards the island through the tempestuous waters +of the lagoon. In impenetrable night, concealed from one another’s eyes +by the thick darkness, Emperor and Doge embraced. Otho was invited to +rest for an hour or two at the convent of San Zaccaria, but he repaired +before dawn to the Ducal Palace and the lodging made ready for him in +the eastern tower. There is a fascination in attempting to imagine the +two sovereigns moving amid the shadows of Venetian night, in thinking +of the Emperor watching from the vantage of his tower for daybreak +over the city. There are wonders to be seen from this eastern aspect, +but after the discomfort of his voyage to Venice the royal captive +may well have felt a longing for a sight of the city from within. It +is all rather like a children’s game--Orseolo’s feigned first meeting +with an embassy from Otho, his inquiry as to the Emperor’s health and +whereabouts, and the public dinner with the ambassadors. Venice is +robbed of a pageant, and one most dear to her, the fêting of a royal +guest; the guest is deprived of all festivities beyond a christening +of the Doge’s daughter; yet the pleasurable excitement of John the +chronicler communicates itself and disarms our criticism; and it is not +till gifts have been offered and refused--“ne quis cupiditatis et non +Sancti Marci tuæque dilectionis causa me hac venisse asserat”--till +tears and kisses have been exchanged, and the Emperor, this time +preceding his companions by a day, has set sail once more for the +island of Pomposa, that we break from the spell of the chronicler and +begin to cavil at the strange conditions of the visit. + +Modern historians have laid a probing hand on the sentimentality of +John the Deacon’s tale; they do not doubt the kisses or the tears, but +the unparalleled eccentricity of secrecy seems to demand an urgent +motive. Why this strange coyness of the Emperor? Might he not have +thought more to honour Venice and her Doge by coming with imperial +pomp than by stealing in and out of the triumphant city like a thief +in the night? And why did the persons concerned make public boast +of the success of their freak immediately after its occurrence? +For John tells us that when three days had passed, the people were +assembled by the Doge at his palace to hear of his achievement, “and +praised no less the faith of the Emperor than the skill of their +leader.” The probable solution of the various enigmas rather rudely +shatters the romance. Gfrörer lays on Orseolo the responsibility of +the _incognito_, attributing it partly to a memory of the fate that +overtook the Candiani’s personal relations with an imperial house, +partly to his desire to treat with the Emperor unobserved. He recalls +point by point the precautions taken by Orseolo to preclude Otho from +contact with other Venetians, and comes to the conclusion that in those +private interviews in the tower the “eternal dreamer” was feasted +on the milk and honey of promises, food of which no third person +could have been allowed to partake. “What lies,” he exclaims, “were +invented, what assurances vouchsafed of the most unbounded devotion +to imperial projects in general and the longed-for reconstitution of +the Roman Empire in particular! Never was prince so shamefully abused +as Otho III at Venice.” It is not necessary to abandon our belief in +Otho’s personal feelings for the Doge, augmented by Orseolo’s recent +campaign, to realise that there must have been another side to the +picture. Gulled the royal guest in all probability was, but there +is little doubt that he had an axe of his own to be ground on this +visit to Venice--that the journey had for its aim something beyond +his delectation in a sight of the Doge and his obeisance to the Lion. +For the furtherance of his schemes of empire Otho needed a fleet. He +had, Gfrörer tells us, “an admiral already in view for it. Nothing was +wanted but cables, anchors, equipments; in short there were not even +ships, nor the necessary money, and above all, there were no sailors. +I believe that Otho III undertook the journey to Venice precisely +to procure for himself these necessary trifles. Who knows how many +times already he had urged the Doge to hasten his sending of the +long-promised fleet; but in place of ships nothing had yet come but +letters or embassies carrying specious excuses.” If the historian’s +motivisation is accurate, Otho must have found, like so many after him, +Venice more capable of exercising persuasion than of submitting to it. +For our uses, however, the original or the revised versions of the +tale serve the same purpose. As an act of spontaneous homage or an act +of practical policy, the visit of Otho, full as it is of speculative +possibilities, was an imperial tribute to the position Orseolo had +given to Venice, an imperial recognition of her progress towards +supremacy in the Adriatic. + +Orseolo’s achievement and the rite which symbolised it were confirmed +two centuries later when, in the spring and summer of 1177, Venice +was the meeting place of Pope Alexander III and the Emperor Frederick +Barbarossa. Tradition has woven a curious romance round the fact of +the Pope’s sojourn in Venice before the coming of the Emperor. By +a manipulation of various episodes, he is brought as a fugitive to +creep among the tortuous by-ways of the city, sleeping on the bare +ground, and going forward as chance might direct till he is received +as a chaplain--or, to enhance the thrill of agony, as a scullion--in +the convent of Santa Maria della Carità, and after some months have +elapsed is brought to the notice of the Doge, when a transformation +scene of the Cinderella type is effected. It is inevitable that +melodramatic touches should have been added to so important an +episode, and the accounts of the manner of Alexander’s arrival and +his bearing in Venice are many and varied. None the less, it is clear +that splendour and not secrecy, ceremony not intimacy, are the general +colouring of the event. Frederick had shown himself disposed to make +peace and to accept the mediation of Venice, and in the early days +of the Pope���s visit the Venetians had acted as counsellors, pending +the agreement as to a meeting place. Significant terms are used by +the chroniclers to account for the ultimate choice, and the note +which they strike is repeated again and again in the chorus of praise +that throughout the centuries was to wait upon Venice. “Pope and +Emperor sent forth their mandates to divers parts of the world, that +Archbishops, Bishops, Abbots, Ecclesiastics and secular Princes should +repair to Venice; for Venice is safe for all, fertile and abounding +in supplies, and the people quiet and peace-loving.” Secure among the +lagoons, Venice is aloof from the disturbances of the mainland cities, +and though her inhabitants are proved warriors they are peaceable +citizens. Many of the glories of Gentile Bellini’s _Procession of +the Cross_ would be present in the procession in which the Doge +and the magnates of Venice formally conducted Alexander III to the +city--patriarch, bishops, clergy, and finally the Pope himself, all in +their festival robes. Ecclesiastical and secular princes of Germany, +France, England, Spain, Hungary and the whole of Italy were crowding +to Venice. The occasion gave scope for her fascinations, and they were +exerted. No opportunity for display was neglected; ceremony was heaped +upon ceremony. + +For over a fortnight Venice was the centre of correspondence daily +renewed between Emperor and Pope, of embassies hastening to and fro, +of endless postponements and uncertainties. The Pope retires for a +few days to Ferrara; then he is back again to be received as before. +But Venice, the indomitable, is secure of her will, and preparations +for the coming of the Emperor are growing apace. In July the Doge’s +son is despatched to meet the royal guest at Ravenna and conduct him +to Venice by way of Chioggia. No tempests disturbed his arrival. He +was conducted in triumph up the lagoon by the galleys of “honest men” +and Cardinals who had gone forth to Chioggia to meet him. Slowly the +islands of the Lido would unfold themselves to his eyes, Pellestrina +in shining curves, Malamocco with its long reaches of bare shore +and reeds. The group clustered round Venice itself--San Servolo, La +Grazia, San Lazzaro, Poveglia--would be green and smiling then, living +islands, not desolated as now for the most part by magazine or asylum. +San Nicolo del Lido welcomed the guest, and he was borne thence on the +ducal boat to the city and landed at the Riva. Through the acclamations +of an “unheard-of multitude” his way was made to San Marco, where the +Pope in all his robes, amid a throng of gorgeous ecclesiastics and +laymen, was waiting on the threshold. As he passed out of the brilliant +and garish day into the solemn mosaiced glory of San Marco and moved to +the high altar between Pope and Doge singing a Te Deum, “while all gave +thanks to God, rejoicing and exulting and weeping,” even an emperor and +a Barbarossa may well have surrendered his pride. Even we, spectators +removed by time, find ourselves exalted on the tide of colour and of +sound, and crying to the Venetians, with the strangers who thronged in +their streets, “Blessed are ye, that so great a peace has been able +to be established in the midst of you! This shall be a memorial to +your name for ever.” Peace was secured and Venice had accomplished +her task. She had devoted the subtleties of her statecraft to its +performance, but perhaps the splendour of this hour in San Marco was +her crowning achievement. She asked the recognition of a Pope, and she +brought the temporal sovereign to his side in a church which is one of +the wonders of Christendom. She polished and gilded every detail of +her worldly magnificence, and poured it as an oblation at the altar. +Her reinforcements to the cause of Alexander III were drawn from far +back in the ages, from the inspiration of the men who had fashioned her +temple; and may there not be some deeper signification than merely that +of Frederick’s stubbornness in the “Not to thee, but to St. Peter,” +traditionally attributed to him as he prostrated himself at his enemy’s +feet? + +[Illustration: THE DOORWAY OF SAN MARCO.] + +To Venice there remained, beside the praise of all Christendom, many +tangible tokens of the events of the summer. Emperor and Pope vied +with each other in evincing their gratitude. Alexander formally +sanctioned and confirmed the title of Venice as sovereign and queen +of the Adriatic, and bestowed on the Doge a consecrated ring for use +at the Nuptials. And henceforth the ceremony at San Nicolo del Lido, +the place of arrival and departure for the high seas and for Dalmatia +and the East, was increased in magnificence. No trace now remains +of the church where the rites were performed; but the grassy squares +of San Nicolo and the wooded slopes of its canal, looking on one side +to the city, on the other to the sea, are beautiful still. The ocean +calls to the lagoon, and the calm waters of the lagoon sway themselves +in answer; while, outside the Lido, line beyond line of snowy-crested +waves, ever advancing, bear in to Venice, Bride of the Adriatic, the +will of the high sea. + + + + +Chapter Four + +VENICE IN FESTIVAL + + +The treaty signed in 1573 between Venice and Constantinople, though +it marked no real rise in her fortunes, gave her a respite from +the petty and fruitless warfare with the Turk, in which she had so +long been engaged. That conflict had drained the resources of the +Republic without affording compensating gains. The loss and horrors of +Famagosta might seem to have been revenged by the battle of Lepanto, +where the triumph of Venice and her allies was complete; but owing +to the dilatoriness and inaction of Don John of Austria, brother of +Philip of Spain, the opportunity of annihilating the Turkish forces +was allowed to escape, and victory was reduced to little more than +the name. So flagrant had been the character of Don John’s disloyalty +that the Venetians no longer could mistake his intentions. Spain was +an ally of Venice; but Tommaso Morosini was but voicing the general +conviction when he exclaimed, “We must face the fact that there will +be no profitable progress, seeing that the victory already gained by +the forces of the League against the Turk was great in the number of +ships captured, rare in the number of slaves set free, famous by reason +of the power it broke, formidable for the numbers killed by the sword, +glorious for the pride it laid low, terrible in the fame acquired +by it. And, none the less, no single foot of ground was gained. Oh, +incomparable ignominy and shame of the allies, that whatever honour +they obtained in consequence of the victory, they lost by not following +it up!” Though nominally in league with her against the Turk, Spain, +owing to her jealousy of Venice, was unwilling that the war should be +ended. The League of Cambray, formed in 1508 by the European powers +unfriendly to Venice, should have made it clear to the Republic that +she had over-reached her own interests by interference in the politics +of Europe. Moreover, a severe blow had been dealt to the commerce of +Venice by the discovery of the Cape route to the East. Yet, though her +decline had begun, she still formed a subject for envy, and there is +justice in Morosini’s conclusion as to the causes of the growing enmity +of Spain. “Ruling,” he says of the Spaniards, “a good part of Europe, +having passed into Africa, having discovered new territory, dominating +most of Italy, and seeing the Republic, the single part, the only +corner of Italy, to be free and without the least burden of slavery, +they envy it, envying it they hate it, and hating it they lay snares +for it.” + +Though the terms of the peace with Constantinople were humiliating +in the extreme (Venice relinquished the whole of Cyprus, a fortress +in Albania, and agreed within three years to pay an indemnity of one +hundred thousand ducats) it set her hands free for awhile and gave +her a breathing space in which to return to her pageants. And for the +next few years she laid herself out more completely than ever before +to impress the world by her splendour. It is not easy to determine the +beginnings of decadent luxury in Venetian history. Venice had always +been a pleasure-house, a place of entertainment for kings and emperors, +a temple of solemn festival. Perhaps the broad difference between the +splendours of the early and late Renaissance is that one achieved that +perfection of taste which robes luxury in apparent simplicity, while +the other was more obvious and expansive--the difference between the +Madonnas of Bellini and of Titian, between the interiors of Carpaccio +and Paul Veronese. There is a real and discernible difference in +aspect between Venice of the fifteenth and Venice of the sixteenth +century, but it is not the difference between asceticism and luxury. +Venice was never ascetic, no prophet ever drew her citizens round a +sacrificial bonfire on the Piazza. On the other hand it is said that +a Venetian merchant was burnt in effigy on Savonarola’s pile because +he had attempted to purchase some of the doomed Florentine treasures. +In the course of the fifteenth century isolated voices were indeed +raised in protest against the luxury of Venice, and the authorities +themselves, as the State coffers grew empty, tried by oratorical appeal +and detailed legislation to curb the extravagance of private citizens. +But their protests were, in the main, quite ineffectual. Venice could +not resist the influences that wove for her each day a magical dress; +she could not refuse the treasures of the East: it was her function to +be beautiful, to accept and love every wonder, to turn her face against +nothing that could glorify. She had always appeared as a miracle to +men, she had always lavished her treasures on her guests; the vital +difference between the period of her decline and that of her greatness +lies in the gradual relaxation of the ties binding her to the sources +of her wealth. With the ebbing of her trade her citizens begin to +barter their landed estates and their treasures. Morosini’s acute and +interesting prophecy as to the private banks into which Venetian money +began to be diverted provides us with a background to some of the +almost fabulous expenditure of the Cinquecento--“The banker,” he says, +“with a chance of obliging many friends in their need, and acquiring +others by such a service, and with power to do so without spending +money, simply by making a brief entry, is easily persuaded to satisfy +many. When the opportunity arises of buying some valuable piece of +furniture or decoration, clothes, jewels and similar things of great +price, he is easily persuaded to please himself, simply ordering a line +or two to be written in his books--reassuring, or rather, deceiving +himself with the thought that one year being passed in this way, he can +carry time forward, and pass many years in the same manner, scheming +that such an affair or such an investment as he has in hand, when it +has come to perfection, ought to prove most useful, and that through +its means he may be able to remedy other disorders; which hope proving +fallacious shows with how little security walks one who places his +thoughts and hopes in the uncertain and inconstant issues of events.” + +The fabric of sixteenth-century Venice was too largely founded on the +“uncertain and inconstant issues of events,” but none the less it was +as radiant a fabric as any that man has yet fashioned. Something +at least of its nature may be learned from the details of the +entertainment of Henry III in Venice, and his lodging and reception +in the then fashionable suburb of Murano. Henry came to Venice in +the early summer of 1574, on his way from Poland to take possession +of the throne of France vacated by the death of his brother Charles +IX. He came at a moment when Venice was rich in artists to do him +honour--Tintoretto, Paolo Veronese, Palladio and Claudio Merulo: he was +crowned with the laurels of war; while the Republic was able to clothe +herself in the glory of Lepanto and the respite of her newly concluded +peace with the Turk and, superficially at least, appeared peculiarly +fitted to welcome him. The young King was gracious, and greedy to drink +his fill of life, and Venice was unique in her celebration. The visit +was one of the most spontaneous, the most joyful to host and guest, of +any that are recorded in her annals. All the territory of Venice was +prepared to honour him, and his journey was a triumphal progress. There +is something joyous still about the little inland cities of his route, +echoes of festival still linger in their streets, romance still dwells +in their hearts. At Treviso, where the young King was welcomed with +peculiar pomp, the Lion of St. Mark, portrayed by three successive +ages, rules still, his majesty sustained by the sturdiness of life that +moves in the city. The winding cobbled streets are full of bustle and +interchange, the arcades are full of people, vital and busily employed. +Treviso is not a museum. Its ancient palace of the Cavallieri is still +in use, though its loggia with traces of rich fresco is filled with +lumber. But we are not critical of small details at Treviso; we thank +it for its winding streets and for its leaping azure river; we thank +it for its countless ancient roofs and painted rafters; for its houses +high and low, harmonious though endless in variation, for the remnants +of fresco, shadows no doubt of what once they were, but companionable +shadows--horses with still distinguishable motions, graceful maidens +both of land and sea. These glories are fading but they have substance +still, and on a day of mid-autumn we are well able to imagine a kingly +procession on the road from Treviso to Mestre. It seems a pageant, +a progress of pomp and colour, as we pass between the vineyards and +maize fields and the great gardens and pastures of the villas, down +the avenue of plane trees set like gold banners on silvery flagstaffs +with carpets of fallen leaves at their feet. Behind them are ranked +dark cypresses, pale groups of willow, or companies of poplar. And +these are often garlanded to their very summits by crimson creepers, +and interspersed with statues, not perhaps great in workmanship, but +tempered and harmonised into beauty by the seasons. Here and there is +a lawn flanked by dark shrubbery, or a terrace ablaze with dahlias and +salvia. And, among them, Baron Franchetti of the Cà d’Oro has a home +even more worthy of the golden title than is his palace on the shores +of the Grand Canal--a place where the sun reveals miraculous hangings +in the shrubberies, sumptuously furnished with scarlet and crimson and +gold. + +[Illustration: VIEW FROM CÀ D’ORO.] + +Some such festival of colour, in banners and trappings, would be +Henry’s preparation for the pageant of the lagoons. For he was met at +Marghera, half way between Mestre and Venice, by a troop of senators +and noblemen and ambassadors, and escorted to the palace of Bartolomeo +Capello at Murano. Of the young King’s lodging at Murano we have spoken +elsewhere--of the hall hung with gold brocade, with golden baldaquin, +green velvet and silk, its entrance guarded by sixty halberdiers armed +for the occasion with gilt spears borrowed from the chambers of the +Council of Ten. Forty noble youths, in glorious attire, had been told +off to wait on the King. But, “although a most sumptuous supper was +prepared, none the less His Majesty, when the senators were gone, +showed himself a short while at the windows dressed in cloth of gold +and silk; after which he went to supper, and the princes arrived, so +that it was most glorious with abundant supply of exquisite viands +and most delicate foods.” The hearts of the Venetians were won by the +King’s beauty and youth, by his delicate person and grave aspect, by +his majestic bearing and his eagerness to please and be pleased. He was +in mourning for his brother, but his mourning did not shadow Venice by +its gloom. “His Majesty appeared in public dressed all in purple (which +is his mourning) with a Flemish cloak, a cap on his head in the Italian +mode, with long veil and mantle reaching to his feet, slashed jerkin, +stockings and leather collar, and a large shirt-frill most becomingly +worn, with perfumed gloves in his hand, and wearing on his feet shoes +with heels _à la mode française_.” + +It would be tedious to relate the details of the splendid +entertainments that each day were provided for his delectation; of +salutes that made the earth and water tremble, of fireworks glowing +all night beneath the windows of the Cà Foscari, of the blaze of light +from the candles set in every window and cornice and angle of the +buildings along the Grand Canal, of the gilded lilies and pyramids and +wheels reflected in the water, “so that the canal seemed like another +starry sky.” It was a veritable gala for Henry; he paid a private +visit to the Doge to the great satisfaction of that prince and his +senate, he went about _incognito_ in a gondola alone with the Duke of +Ferrara, “so that when they thought he was in his room, he was in some +other part of the city, returning home at an exceedingly late hour +accompanied by many torches, and immensely enjoying the liberty of this +town; and on account of his charm and courtesy, the whole place gave +vent to the lasting joy and satisfaction it felt in continually seeing +him.” He spent three hours in the Arsenal, engrossed in viewing the +vast preparation for war and the spoils won from the Turk “in the sea +battle on the day of the great victory”; and then in the chamber of the +Council of Ten, within the Arsenal, he was provided with a Sugar Feast, +with sugar dishes, knives and forks, so admirably counterfeit that His +Majesty only realised their nature when his sugar napkin crumbled and +a piece of it fell to the ground. Is there not something contributive +to our picture of Venice the entertainer, in this feast of sugar given +by the terrible Council of Ten within the walls of the Arsenal itself? +There is naturally much vague repetition in the chronicles of the time, +but here and there are vital touches which bring the young King to life +before our eyes. At the banquet given in his honour in the Sala del +Gran Consiglio, having eaten sufficiently himself, he brought the meal +to an end before half of the courses had appeared, by adroitly causing +the Dukes of Savoy and Ferrara to rise in their places at his side, and +calling for water for his hands during the disturbance caused by the +lords and ambassadors as they followed the example of the dukes. He +told Giovanni Michele that of all the entertainments he had witnessed +in Venice none had pleased him more than the “Guerra dei Ponti,” and +that if he had known of it earlier he would have prayed to have had +the spectacle repeated several times, for he “could have asked nothing +better than this.” The Guerra dei Ponti were wrestling matches that +took place on certain bridges over the canals, and pages of description +might not have told us as much of the nature of the man who lived +behind the scented gloves and purple mantle, as this single expression +of preference. + +Two episodes in the visit of Henry that seem worthy of fuller record +stand out from the rest: his reception at the Lido and the Ball in +the Ducal Palace; and they represent the achievements in his honour +of two departments of Venetian activity, the City Guilds and the +Court. While he was still in his lodging at Murano barges of immense +splendour, vying with each other in symbolism and ingenuity of design, +and each representing one of the trades of Venice, had arrived to +accompany him to the Lido. If we imagine the Lord Mayor’s Procession, +with splendour a thousandfold enhanced and with drapery and design of +artistic excellence, removed from the streets to the glittering surface +of the lagoon, we may have some idea of the spectacle. Among the most +splendid of the barges was that of the Druggists, with an ensign of the +Saviour riding on the world. “The outer coverings themselves were of +cloth of gold, and below them and below the oars were painted canvases. +The poop was hung within with most beautiful carpets, and on the four +sides four pyramids were erected of sky blue with fireworks inside +them, at the feet of which were four stucco figures representing four +nymphs, and there were set two arquebuses and a musket and two flags +white and red and a flag of battle. And on the outside were divers +sorts of arms, spears and shields and six arquebuses. On the prow was +a pyramid with fireworks, on the top of which was an angel--for this +and the Golden Head were the badges of the two honoured druggists who +had decked the said vessel--and in the midst of it was a design of a +pelican with a motto round it in letters of gold, _Respice Domino_, +representing the pelican as wounding its breast to draw blood from it +to nourish its offspring, just as they, the druggists, faithful and +devoted to their prince and master, gave and offered to him, not only +their faculties but their blood itself, which is their own life in his +service; and at the foot of the pyramid was a little boy beating a +drum.” The Looking-Glass Makers also had prepared a magnificent barge +glittering with symbols of their profession. But perhaps the device of +the Glass-Workers of Murano out-rivalled all others in ingenuity and +pomp. “On two great barges, chained together and covered with painted +canvases, they had erected a furnace in the form of a sea-monster; +and following the train of vessels, flames were seen issuing from its +mouths, and, the masters having given their consent, the Glass-Workers +made most beautiful vases of crystal, which were cause of great +pleasure to the King.” + +The Convent of Sant’ Elena was the vantage point chosen for looking on +Venice, and at the moment the army of barges and brigantines reached +it, they spread out in front of His Majesty, and a salute broke from +them all; “to which the galleys in the train of the King replied +in such ordered unity that His Majesty rose to his feet with great +curiosity to see them, praising exceedingly so wonderful a sight, +admiring to his right the fair and famous city marvellously built upon +the salt waters, and on the left a forest of so many ships and vessels +with so great noise of artillery and arquebuses, and of trumpets and +drums, that he remained astounded; while he openly showed himself not +less merry than content, seeing so rare a thing as was never before +seen of him.” Henry’s arrival at the Lido is portrayed in the Sala +delle Quattro Porte in the Ducal Palace. He is seen advancing with +sprightly step, between two dignitaries of the Church, up a temporary +wooden bridge towards the Triumphal Arch and Temple of Palladio. This +arch was decorated with paintings by Paolo and Tintoretto, and in +connexion with it Ridolfi tells a delightful story of the painting of +Henry’s portrait. “Tintoretto,” says Ridolfi, “was longing to paint the +King’s portrait, and in consequence begged Paolo to finish the arch by +himself; and, taking off his toga, Tintoretto dressed himself as one +of the Doge’s equerries, and took his place among them in the Bucintoro +as it moved to meet the King, thus furtively procuring a chalk sketch +of the proposed portrait, which he was afterwards to enlarge to life +size; and having made friends with M. Bellagarda, the King’s treasurer, +he was introduced with much difficulty, owing to the frequent visits +of the Doge, into the royal apartments to retouch the portrait from +life. Now whilst he stood painting, and the King with great courtesy +admiring, there entered presumptuously into the apartments at smith of +the Arsenal, presenting an ill-done portrait by himself, and saying +that, while His Majesty was dining in the Arsenal, he had done the +likeness of him. His presumption was humbled by a courtier who snatched +it from his hand, and ripping it up with his dagger threw it into the +neighbouring Grand Canal: which incident, on account of the whispering +it produced, made it difficult for the painter to carry out his +intention. Tintoretto had also observed on that occasion that from time +to time certain persons were introduced to the King, whom he touched +lightly on the shoulder with his rapier, adding other ceremonies. And +pretending not to understand the meaning, he asked it of Bellagarda, +who said that they were created knights by His Majesty, and that he, +Tintoretto, might prepare himself to receive that degree; for he had +discussed the matter with the King, to whom Tintoretto’s conditions +were known and who had shown himself disposed, in attestation of his +powers, to create him also a knight; but our painter, not being willing +to subject himself to any title, modestly rejected the offer.” When the +portrait was finished and presented to the King, it was acclaimed by +him as a marvellous likeness, and we may safely conclude from this that +it was fair to look on. The King presented it to the Doge. Perhaps the +picture from the first had been intended as a present for Mocenigo, and +this was the explanation of the secrecy observed in regard to it. + +[Illustration: COURTYARD OF PALAZZO DUCALE.] + +The climax of entertainment was reached in the festa at the Ducal +Palace on the second Sunday after Henry’s arrival (his visit lasted +ten days). The glories of Venice were gathered in that marvellous hall +still hung with the paintings of Carpaccio and Gentile Bellini, and +the exquisite Paradise of Guariento; for it was yet a year previous to +the great fire which was to give scope to the contemporary giants. The +later victories of Venice were as yet unchronicled except in the hearts +of living men. There was no thought of sumptuary laws on this day at +least of the great festival. Ladies were there clothed all in ormesine, +adorned with jewels and pearls of great size, not only in strings on +their necks, but covering their head-dresses and the cloaks on their +shoulders. “And in their whiteness, their beauty and magnificence, +they formed a choir not so much of nymphs as of very goddesses. They +were set one behind the other in fair order upon carpeted benches +stretching round the whole hall, leaving an ample space in the centre, +at the head of which was set a royal seat with a covering of gold and +entirely covered with a baldaquin from top to bottom, and round it +yellow and blue satin.” All the splendours of Venetian and Oriental +cloths were lavished on the Hall of the Great Council and the Sala del +Scrutinio adjoining. The King as usual entered whole-heartedly into the +festivity. His seat was raised that he might look over the company, +“but he chose nevertheless to go round and salute all the ladies with +much grace and courtesy, raising his cap as he went along.” After a +time musical instruments were heard, the ladies were carried off by the +gentlemen, and forming into line they began to dance a slow measure, +passing before the King and bowing as they passed. “And he stood the +whole while cap in hand.” The French courtiers were permitted by their +master to lay aside their mourning for the time, and they danced with +great merriment, vying with the most famous dancers of Venice. But the +great feature of the evening was the tragedy by Cornelio Frangipani--a +mythological masque in honour of the most Christian King and of Venice +herself--with Proteus, Iris, Mars, Amazons, Pallas and Mercury as +protagonists. To the first printed edition of his masque Frangipani +prefixed an apology for his title of tragedy, with the usual appeal to +classic precedent. “This tragedy of mine,” he says, “was recited in +such a way as most nearly to approach to the form of the ancients; all +the players sang in sweetest harmony, now accompanied, now alone; and +finally the chorus of Mercury was composed of players who had so many +various instruments as were never heard before. The trumpets introduced +the gods on to the appointed scene with the machinery of tragedy, but +this could not be used to effect on account of the great concourse of +people; and the ancients could not have been initiated into the musical +compositions in which Claudio Merulo had reached a height certainly +never attained by the ancients.” The masque is in reality a mere masque +of occasion, comparable to countless English productions in the +Elizabethan age, though lacking in the lyrical grace they generally +possess. Henry is addressed as the slayer of monsters, the harbinger of +peace, the herald of the age of gold-- + + Pregamo questo domator de’ mostri + Ch’eterno al mondo viva, + Perchè in pregiata oliva + Ha da cangiar d’ alloro + E apportar l’ antica età del’ oro. + +The masque is without literary merit, but we need not regard it in +the cold light of an after day, caged and with clipped wings. To that +glorious assembly, illumined by the great deeds fresh in men’s minds +and the presence of a royal hero, Frangipani’s words may well have been +kindled into flame. For if time and place were ever in conspiracy to +wing pedestrian thoughts and words, it must have been at this fêting of +the most Christian King of France in the City of the Sea. + +Pens were busy in Venice during the days of Henry’s stay. Unsalaried +artists, independent of everything except a means of livelihood, +exacted toll from the royal guest. From the 16,000 scudi of largess +distributed by the King, payments are enumerated “to writers and poets +who presented to His Majesty Latin works and poems made in praise of +his greatness and splendour.” Gifts, as well as compliments were +exchanged on all hands. The Duke of Savoy presented the Doge’s wife +with a girdle studded with thirty gold rosettes each containing four +pearls and a precious jewel in the centre, worth 1,800 scudi. And +Henry’s final token of gratitude to his entertainers was to send after +the Doge, who had accompanied him to Fusina, a magnificent diamond +ring, begging that Mocenigo should wear it continually in token of +their love. Most of these offerings and acknowledgments, without doubt, +would be merely ceremonial. Yet the young King’s delight in his visit +had been genuine, and his frank enjoyment of all Venice offered had won +him her sympathy and even her affection. Memories of the freedom of +his stay went with him to the routine of his kingship, and he looked +backwards with delight to her winged pleasures. She had spread gifts +out before him, as she does before all, but in his own hands he had +carried the key of her inmost treasures; for his spirit was joyful and +joy is the key to the unlocking of her heart. + + + + +Chapter Five + +A MERCHANT OF VENICE + + +“Siamo noi calcolatori” was the confession of a modern Venetian, quoted +lately as expressive of the spirit that governs Venice to-day and has +lain at the root of her policy in the past. The confession is striking; +for most men, however calculating in practice, acknowledge an ideal +of spontaneous generosity which causes them to shun the admission of +self-interested motives. The charge, if charge it can be termed, is an +old one. Again and again it has been brought against Venice by those +to whom her greatness has been a stumbling-block--“sono calcolatori.” +But perhaps if the indictment be rightly understood it will be found +to need, not so much a denial as an extension, a fuller statement of +meaning. And this Professor Molmenti has supplied in his _Venice in the +Middle Ages_.[1] “The Venetians,” he says, in commenting on the support +they lent to the Crusades, “never forgot their commercial and political +interests in their zeal for the faith; they intended to secure for +themselves a market in every corner of the globe. But their so-called +egoism displayed itself in a profound attachment to their country and +their race; and these greedy hucksters, these selfish adventurers, as +they are sometimes unjustly called, had at bottom a genuine belief +in objects high and serious; the merchant not seldom became a hero. +These lords of the sea knew how to wed the passion of Christianity to +commercial enterprise, and welded the aspirations of the faith with the +interests of their country, proving by their action not only how vain +and sterile is an idealism which consumes itself in morbid dreams, but +also that the mere production of riches will lead to ruin unless it be +tempered, legalised, almost, we would say, sanctified, by the serene +and lifegiving breath of the ideal.” But because she was supremely +successful in her undertakings, Venice won for herself much perplexed +and hostile comment from those who were jealous of a mastery sustained +with such apparently effortless self-possession--of an organisation so +complete, so silent, so pervasive. She has been accused of perfidy, of +cruelty, in short, of shameless egoism. A nation, a state, is pledged +to the preservation of its identity, its conceptions must be bounded +and constantly measured by the power of other states. The neighbours of +Venice in the days of her glory were selfish and calculating also; her +prominence was due not so much to special weapons as to her skill in +wielding weapons everywhere in use. + + [1] Translated by Mr. Horatio Browne. + +And what can we say of the ends to which she directed her success, the +scope of her arts, the nature of her pleasures? It must be admitted by +all that the soul of Venice was capacious, unique in its harmony of +imagination and political acumen; unique in its power of commanding +and retaining respect. A great soul was in the men of Venice; it was +present in all their activities, in their commerce as in their art. +The two were most intimately allied. Again and again the chroniclers +of Venice crown their catalogue of her glories with the reminder that +their foundation is in commerce, that the Venetians are a nation of +shopkeepers, and “you have only come to such estate by reason of the +trade done by your shipping in various parts of the world.” Even in +the fifteenth century it was deemed complimentary to say to a newly +elected Doge, “You have been a great trader in your young days.” The +greatness of Venice was coincident with the greatness of her trade. +She was lit, it is true, with the ancient stars of her splendour after +the mortal blow had been struck at her commerce by the discovery of +the Cape route to the East, but the old unity of her strength had been +lost--the firm foundations of the days when the nobles of Venice had +been the directors of her enterprise. And at the end of the fifteenth +century they no longer sat, in their togas, behind the counters in +Rialto, or made the basements of their houses into stores. They had +ceased to apprentice their sons to the merchants on the sea-going +galleys. They still acted as commanders of the ships in times of war, +but in intervals of peace the gulf between noble and merchant was +constantly being enlarged. The commercial traveller was no longer +considered one of the most distinguished of citizens. The corner stone +had been taken from the building of Rialto; it had begun to crumble to +the dissolution lamented by Grevembroch in his strange book on Venetian +costumes. In the great days of Venice her commerce was great, and she +knew how to robe it in glory, how to attract to it the noblest, and not +the meanest, of her sons. Her shops were the objects of her proudest +solicitude, and the well-being of her merchants the first of her cares. +The hostels provided for foreign traders ranked with the most sumptuous +of her palaces, and the rules framed for their guidance were amongst +the most liberal in her legislature. + +The calculations of Venice, growing with her growth, impressed on her +national consciousness the importance of her position midway between +the East and the West--her geographical qualification for becoming the +mart of the world. With steady and concentrated purpose she devoted her +energy to opening up fresh channels of communication. Sometimes by the +marriage of a son or daughter of the Doge with the heir of a kingdom or +a prince of Constantinople, sometimes by the subjugation of a common +foe, Venice wove new threads of intercourse with the East. She always +took payment for benefits she conferred in wider trading advantages. +Her merchant vessels were not private adventures, they represented +state enterprise and were under the control of the central government, +travelling with the fleet and capable of reinforcing it at need. Seven +merchant convoys left Venice annually for Roumania, Azof, Trebizond, +Cyprus, Armenia, France, England, Flanders, Spain, Portugal and Egypt. +By means of these vessels the glories of the Orient found their way to +the lands of the West; Venice was mistress of the treasures of Arabia, +and became their dispenser to Europe. And she was not merely a mart, +a counter of interchange; she tested the goods at their source; she +was not at the mercy of valuers, her citizen travellers came into +touch with the goods on the soil that produced them. The East, to +which the art of Venice owes much of its material--its gold, its gems, +its colours--was not an unfathomed mine but, in a certain sense, a +pleasure-ground for her citizens; they passed to and fro familiarly, +guests of its greatest potentates. They stood face to face with Cublay +Kaan, the monarch of mystery. + +The journeys of the famous Poli are among the most thrilling and +significant records of Venetian history. Through them we are able to +realise something of the Republic’s debt to the lands of the East--a +debt not to be summed up in enumeration of embroidery and jewels and +perfumes and secrets of colour. In part at least it consisted of +legends and traditions that filtered into Venice through the hearing +and speech of her travellers--age-old lessons in wisdom, which must +have invested some of the common things of Venetian life with new +meaning and done something to break down the barriers which ignorance +erects between man and man, knowledge and knowledge. In the beautiful +Persian rendering of the story of _The Three Magi_, as told by Marco +Polo, she came into touch with comparative theology, the familiar +Christian tale drawn from an earlier source. Marco Polo tells how +he first found at Sara the beautiful tombs of Jaspar, Melchior and +Balthasar, with their bodies completely preserved; how the people of +that place knew nothing of their history save that they were the bodies +of kings; but three days’ journey onward he had come to the city of +the fire-worshippers and been informed of the three who had set out +to worship a newly born Prophet, carrying with them gifts to test +the extent of his powers--gold for the earthly King, myrrh for the +physician, incense for the God. “And when they were come there where +the Child was born, the youngest of these three Kings went all alone +to see the Child, and there he found that it was like himself, for +it seemed of his age and form. Then he went out much marvelling, and +after him went in the second of the Kings, who was near in age to the +first, and the Child seemed to him, as to the first, of his own form +and age, and he also went out much perplexed. Then went in the third, +who was of great age, and it happened to him as to the other two, and +he also went out very pensive. And when all the Kings were together, +they told one another what they had seen; and they marvelled much and +said they would go in all three together. Then they went together into +the Child’s presence, and they found Him of the likeness and age that +He really was, for He was only three days old. Then they adored Him +and offered Him their gold and incense and myrrh. The Child took all +their offerings and gave them a closed box, and then the three Kings +departed and returned to their country.” Marco Polo goes on to relate +how the Kings, finding the box heavy to bear, sat down by a well to +open it, and, when they had opened it, they found only stones inside. +These, in their disappointment, they threw into the well and lo! from +the stones fire ascended which they gathered up and took home with +them to worship. With it they burned all their sacrifices, renewing it +from one altar to another. Other tales he told them from the wisdom of +the East--of the idealist who found no joy in earthly existence, and +the chagrin of his father the King, who surrounded him with luxury and +with beautiful maidens, but could not persuade him. One day he rode +out on his horse and saw a dead man by the way. And he was filled with +horror at a sight which he had never seen before, and he asked those +who were with him the meaning of the sight, and they told him it was a +dead man. “What,” said the son of a King, “then do all men die?” Yes, +truly, they say. Then the youth asked no more, but rode on in front +in deep thought. And after he had ridden some way he met a very old +man who could not walk, and who had no teeth, for he had lost them all +by reason of his great age. And when the King’s son saw the old man he +asked what he was and why he could not walk, and his companions told +him that he could not walk from age, and that from age he had lost his +teeth. And when the King’s son understood about the dead man and the +old man, he returned to his palace, and said to himself that he would +live no longer in so evil a world, but that he would go “in search of +Him who never dies, of Him who made him. And so he departed from his +father and from the palace, and went to the mountains, that are very +high and impassable, and there he lived all his life, most purely and +chastely, and made great abstinence, for certainly if he had been a +Christian, he would be a great saint with our Lord Jesus Christ.” Did +he find his answer in the mountains? Perhaps in some dawn or sunset he +learned of the nature of “Him who made him, of Him who never dies”; +perhaps among the wild creatures he learned before he was old to sing +the lauds of our sister Death. But Polo’s comment on the story is +interesting, for the Venetians would have little natural sympathy +with its hero. They would prefer Carpaccio’s fairy prince who forsook +his kingdom to follow Ursula and her virgins. The tale of one who dared +not look on life in company with his kind, would strike a chill across +the full-blooded natures of Venice, so eager to grasp at all that +ministered to enjoyment and vitality. + +[Illustration: SAN GIORGIO.] + +But Marco’s pack held stories of a more tangible kind--tales of the +Palace of Cublay Kaan, with its hall that held six thousand men, the +inside walls covered with gold and silver and pictures of great beasts, +and the outside rainbow-coloured, shining like crystal in the sun, and +a landmark far and wide. And within the circuit of the palace walls +was a green pleasure mound covered with trees from all parts and with +a green palace on its summit. “And I tell you that the mound and the +trees and the palace are so fair to see that all who see them have joy +and gladness, and therefore has the great Sire had them made, to have +that beautiful view and to receive from it joy and solace.” He tells of +the wonderful Zecca where coins of the Great Kaan are stamped--not made +of metal, but of black paper--which may be refused nowhere throughout +the Kaan’s dominions on pain of death. All who are possessed of gold +and treasure are obliged to bring goods several times in the year, and +receive coins of bark in exchange; and therefore, Marco explains, “is +Cublay richer than all else in the world.” He describes the posting +system, the rich palaces built for the housing of messengers, the trees +planted along the merchant routes to act as signposts on the road; +“for,” he says, “you will find these trees along the desert way, and +they are a great comfort to merchant and messenger.” Visitors to the +chapel of San Giorgio dei Schiavoni will recall the use that Carpaccio +has made of these palm-tree signposts in the _Death of St. Jerome_ and +the _Victory of St. George_. Marco tells of magnificent feasts made by +the Great Kaan on his birthday and on New Year’s Day. He delights in +stories of the chase within the domain of Cublay’s palace of Chandu +(perhaps the Xanadu of Coleridge) the walls of which enclosed a +sixteen-mile circuit, with fountains and rivers and lawns and beasts +of every kind. He describes in detail, as of special interest to his +hearers, the size and construction of the rods of which the Palace of +Canes was built and the two hundred silken cords with which it was +secured during the summer months of its existence. He speaks of the +“weather magic” by which rain and fog are warded off from this palace; +and of the Great Kaan’s fancy that the blood of a royal line should +not be spilt upon the ground to be seen of sun and air, and of his +consequent device for the murder of his uncle Nayan, whom he tossed to +death in a carpet. Baudas (Baghdad), he says, is the chief city of the +Saracens. A great river flows through it to the Indian Ocean, which +may be reached in eighteen days. The city is full of merchants and of +traffic; it produces _nasich_ and _nac_ and _cramoisy_, and gold and +silver brocades richly embroidered with design of birds and of beasts; +and the woods of Bastra, between Baudas and the sea, produce the finest +dates in the world. He recounts the taking of this Baudas in the year +1255 by Alaü, the Great Kaan’s brother, who, when he had taken it, +discovered therein a tower belonging to the Caliph full of gold and +silver and other treasure, so that there never was so much seen at +one time in one place. When Alaü beheld the great heap of treasure, +he was amazed and sent for the Caliph into his presence and asked him +why he had amassed so great a treasure and what he had intended to do +with it. “Did you not know that I was your enemy and coming to lay you +waste?” he demanded. “Why, therefore, did you not take your treasure +and give it to knights and soldiers to defend you and your city?” The +caliph replied nothing, for he did not know what to answer. So Alaü +continued, “Caliph, I see you love your treasure so much, I will give +you this treasure of yours to eat.” So he had the Caliph shut up in the +tower and commanded that nothing should be given him to eat or drink, +saying, “Caliph, eat now as much treasure as you will, for you shall +never eat or drink anything else.” And he left the Caliph in the tower, +where, at the end of four days, he died. Marco must have opened up to +his listeners in Venice horizons of lands almost comparable in extent +to the sea-spaces familiar to their thoughts from infancy. He spoke of +deserts of many days’ journey, of the port of Hormos at the edge of +one of the most beautiful of the plains--a city whence precious stones +and spices and cloths of silver and gold brought by the merchants from +India were shipped to all parts of the world. + +But the Poli brought more tangible trophies than the most +circumstantial of tales in their pack. Foolish artists might have held +themselves rich with these, but the honour of their family would demand +better credentials before welcoming fantastically arrayed strangers +into its bosom. The courtyard of the house behind the Malibran, at +which on their return from their travels they demanded admission, +is known still as the Corte del Milione, and its walls are still +enriched with Byzantine cornice and moulding, and with sculptured +beasts as strange as any to be met with in Cublay’s preserves. The +three travellers had the appearance of Tartars, and from long disuse of +their language they spoke in broken Italian. Tradition tells of the way +in which they heaped exploit upon exploit in the attempt to convince +their incredulous relatives of their identity; and at last, according +to Ramusio, they invited a number of their relations to a superb +banquet, at which they themselves appeared in long robes of crimson +satin. When the guests were set down, these robes were torn into strips +and distributed amongst the servants. Through various metamorphoses of +damask and velvet they came at last to the common dresses in which they +had arrived. And when the tables were moved and the servants had gone, +Marco, as being the youngest, began to rip up the seams and welts of +these costumes and take out from them handfuls of rubies and sapphires, +carbuncles, diamonds and emeralds. There was no longer any doubt or +delay; the shaggy tartar beards had lost all their terrors. These men, +who had suddenly displayed “infinite riches in a little room,” must +undoubtedly be what they claimed to be; happy the family to which the +magicians belonged; the Doge’s Palace need not be afraid to welcome +them; they must be set high in the State. + +Yet the accumulation of treasure was by no means the most noteworthy +act of their drama. The Poli had been more than mere traders; from the +first they had been diplomatists of a high order. Their career seems +to give us the key to some of the wonderful faces that appear in the +crowds pictured by Venetian painters, especially those of Carpaccio. +They are the faces of men who have met the crisis of life unalarmed, +by virtue of a combination of daring and wisdom which is no common +possession. They are not cold; if they are severe they are full of +feeling--sensitive to the pathos and humour as well as the sternness +of reality. The Poli had been obliged to furnish themselves with +patience in lands where the transit of a plain is measured in weeks; +three years’ residence in a city of Persia is mentioned as a matter +of detail. We are not told the reason of delay, only that they could +not go before or behind. They had travelled in the true spirit of +adventure. On that first journey, when Marco was not of the company, +the Great Kaan’s messengers, who came to request an interview for +their master, who had never set eyes on a Latin, had found the two +brothers open-minded and trustful. They had acquitted themselves +well in Cublay’s presence, answering all his questions wisely and in +order. He had inquired as to the manners and customs of Europe, and +particularly as to Western methods of government and the Christian +Church and its Head. He had been “glad beyond measure” at what he had +heard of the deeds of the Latins, and decided to send a request to the +Christian Apostle for one hundred men learned in the Christian law and +the Seven Arts and capable of teaching his people that their household +gods were works of the devil and why the faith of the West was better +than theirs. The thought of the lamp burning before the sepulchre of +God in Jerusalem had stirred his imagination, and he craved some of its +oil for the light of his temple, or, maybe, his pleasure dome. So the +two Venetians had set out for Europe on his strange embassy. They were +provided with a golden tablet on which the Kaan had inscribed orders +for the supplying of their needs, food, horses, escorts in all the +countries through which they should pass. At the end of three years, +after long delays on account of the snows, they arrived at the port +of Layas in Armenia, and from Layas they had come to Acre in April of +the year 1269. At Acre they had found that Pope Clement IV was dead, +and no new election had as yet been made. Venetian history teems with +dramatic situations, but it would be difficult to find any stranger +than that in which the Polo brothers now found themselves placed. +Merchants of Venice, they came as ambassadors from the Lord of All +the Tartars to demand missionaries from the Father of Christendom, +who was not able to supply them because he was not in existence. In +their dilemma at Acre they consulted Theobald of Piacenza, Legate +of Egypt, who advised them to await the new Pope’s election and +meanwhile to return to their homes. His advice was accepted, and the +two brothers made their way onwards to Venice, where one of them, +Nicolas, discovered his son, young Marco, a lad of fifteen years old. +They remained in Venice for two years, but when, at the end of that +time, no Pope had yet been elected, the brothers felt their return to +the Kaan could be deferred no longer. There is something touching in +their fidelity to the pledge they had given and the constancy of their +merchant faith. They prepared to set out again. This time little Marco +went with them on an absence that lasted for seventeen years, and was +to gather a greater treasure for the world than any diamonds and rubies +and velvets to be prodigally scattered on the floor of the Corte del +Milione. At Acre they obtained Theobald’s permission to fetch some +of the holy oil desired by the Kaan from Jerusalem. The journey to +Jerusalem performed, they returned once more to Acre, and finally set +forth on their return journey to the Kaan with a letter from Theobald +testifying that they had done all in their power, “but since there was +no Apostle, they could not carry the embassy.” But when they had gone +as far on their journey as Layas, they were followed by letters from +Theobald, who was now Pope Gregory of Piacenza, begging their return. +They complied with great joy and set sail for Acre in a galley provided +for their use by the King of Armenia. This was the hour of their +triumph, for they were received by the Pope with great honour, given +costly presents for the Kaan, and provided with two friars of very +great learning. The names of these two are possibly better withheld, +for they were more learned than courageous. When they had come as far +on their journey as Layas, their incipient fears of the land of the +Tartars were wrought to a pitch by the sight of the Saracen Army which +was being brought against Armenia by the Sultan of Babylon, and they +insisted on handing their credentials over to the Poli and returning +at once to Italy. And the brothers were forced to go on their way +with worse than no preachers of their faith, with tidings of their +defection. + +For three and a half years they journeyed on, detained often by floods +and bad weather. The news of their coming travelled before them to the +Kaan, and he sent his servants forty days’ journey to meet them. The +Kaan received them with joy, was graciously pleased with the letters +and credentials sent by the Pope, and accepted young Marco as his +liegeman and responsible messenger. Marco sped well in learning the +language, customs and writing of the Tartars, but it is clear he must +have acquired other than scholastic accomplishments. He was endowed +with tact and power of observation, and returned from his first embassy +full of news of the men and customs he had encountered; “for he had +seen on several occasions that when the messengers the Great Kaan had +sent into various parts of the world returned and told him the results +of the embassy on which they had gone, and could tell him no other +news of the countries where they had been, the Kaan said they were +ignorant fools.” For seventeen years young Messer Marco was employed in +continual coming and going. He was learned in many strange and hidden +things, and was placed in honour high above the barons--the darling of +Cublay’s heart. Again and again the three Venetians asked for leave of +absence to visit their country, but so great was the love Cublay +bore to them that he could not bear to be parted from them; until at +last an embassy arrived from Argon, King of Levant, asking for a new +wife of the lineage of his dead wife Bolgana, and the Kaan is persuaded +by Argon’s messengers to allow Marco and his two uncles to depart with +them in charge of the lady. They set out by sea, and after some twenty +months’ sailing and many disasters arrived at their destination. King +Argon was dead, and the lady Cocachin was bestowed on his son. Of the +six hundred followers who had set out with them on their journey only +eighteen had survived it. Their mission accomplished, the Poli made +their way to Trebizond, from Trebizond to Constantinople and from +Constantinople to Venice. This was in the year 1295. + +[Illustration: THE DOGANA.] + +And how would Venice, the place of his birth, reveal herself to Marco, +now he had seen so many wonders and glories in distant lands? We may +imagine the sun to have been setting as the travellers turned into the +Lido port, dropping a globe of molten fire vast and mysterious through +the haze, while the last dim rays gleamed golden on the windows of the +Riva degli Schiavoni. Venice lay among her waters, blue and glittering, +interspersed with jewelled marsh. The last gulls of those that so +gallantly had dipped and sailed all day upon the water were flying +home, their breasts and wings radiant in the level sunlight round the +home-coming ship. Many citizens of Venice must have been at the Lido +port, thronging to meet the merchant vessels, to greet their friends +or to have news of them from others. But none came to meet these three +travellers; alone they embarked in a gondola bearing their cargo +with them. Venice had clothed herself in all her beauty to give them +welcome. Which of Cublay’s glories could rival this splendour of the +lagoon with its countless treasures of light? The marsh lay in unequal +patches, each outlined with a luminous silver rim--a magic carpet of +dusky olive, threaded with strands of radiant azure and sprinkled with +ruby and amethyst. As their gondola moved slowly down towards the city, +the boats of the night fishers passed with the silence of shadows +between them and the glow. And when here and there a fisher alighted on +the marsh or moved across it like a spirit stepping on the waters, he +must have seemed to Marco the very memory and renewal of those strange +Eastern stories of which his mind was full. So, under the mystic glow +of the desert, he had seen figures of the caravan rise and move against +the tinted haze of the oasis. Onwards glided the boat towards the +Basin of San Marco--westward the luminous wonder of lagoon and marsh, +and a cold, clear intensity of stirring water to the east. And as they +drew nearer and ever nearer, our travellers’ hearts beat high with the +wonders of the city of their birth. The stars were piercing the night +sky in countless numbers: the yellow lights of the city quivered along +the Riva: the masts of the fishing-fleet swung clear against the pale +western glow in the waterway of the Giudecca: the flowing tide wound +silver coils about the black shadows of their hulls. Past the Dogana, +keystone of Venice to the Eastern traveller, their little boat moved +down the quiet waters of the Grand Canal, deep into the heart of that +great shadowy city, apparent Queen over all the glories of the Cities +of the East. + + + + +Chapter Six + +VENICE OF CRUSADE AND PILGRIMAGE + + +The story of Venice and the Crusades forms one of the most interesting +pages of her history in relation to the East. The gradual awakening of +her consciousness to the fact that the pilgrimages to the Holy Land +might be of close significance to herself culminates in her attitude +towards the great Fourth Crusade at the opening of the thirteenth +century. The Crusades were, in fact, a commercial speculation for +Venice, but a speculation into which she infused all the vitality and +fulness of her nature. And she became, not merely a place of passage +for the East, but a superb depository of relics to detain pilgrims +on their outward way; a hostel so royally fitted with food for their +senses, their religious cravings and their mystic imaginings, that one +and another may well have been beguiled into delaying their departure +for more strenuous sanctities. The narratives of the pilgrims, +with their enthusiasms, their details of relics, their records of +Venetian ceremonies, religious, commercial or domestic, coloured by +their quaintly intimate personal impressions, form one of the most +picturesque pages of Venetian chronicle. + +Pietro Casola, a Milanese pilgrim of the late fifteenth century, gives +us a picture of a city that is sumptuous and rich in all its dealings, +yet pervaded by a harmony and decorum that has stamped itself on the +face of each individual citizen. We feel that Pietro Casola has really +had a vision of the meaning of Venice, when, among the inventory of +wonders of the Mass for the pilgrims on Corpus Christi day, of the +velvets, crimson and damask and scarlet, the cloth of gold and togas +sweeping the ground, each finer than the last, he pauses to add, “There +was great silence, greater than is ever observed at such festivals, +even in the gathering of so many Venetian gentlemen, so that you could +hear everything. And it seemed to me that everything was ruled by one +alone, who was obeyed by each man without resistance. And at this I +wondered greatly, for never had I seen so great obedience at such +spectacles.” In the record of this arresting impression, more even than +in the description of many coloured drapery and white cloths spread +on the piazza, of the groves of oak-trees bordering the route of the +procession and the candles lit among them, we seem to see before us +the rhythmic solemnity of that unique _Procession_ on the Piazza of +Gentile Bellini. We need only Casola’s other observant characterisation +of the Venetian gentleman to complete the picture. “I have considered,” +he says, “the quality of these Venetian gentlemen, who for the most +part are fair men and tall, astute and most subtle in their dealings; +and you must needs, if you would treat with them, keep your eyes and +ears open. They are proud; I think it is on account of their great +rule. And when a son is born to a Venetian, they say among themselves, +‘A Signor is born into the world.’ In their way of living at home +they are sparing and very modest; outside they are very liberal. The +city of Venice retains its old manner of dress, and they never change +it; that is to say, they wear a long garment of whatever colour they +choose. No one ever goes out by day without his toga, and for the most +part a black one, and they have carried this custom to such a point +that all nations of the world who are lodging here in Venice, from +the greatest to the least, observe this style, beginning from the +gentlemen to the mariners and galleymen; a dress certainly full of +confidence and gravity. They look like doctors of law, and if any were +to appear outside his house without his toga he would be thought a +fool.” Without doors the women also belonged to this sober company, +or at least the marriageable maidens and those who were no longer of +the number of the “belle giovani”; so sombrely were they covered when +outside their houses, and especially in church, that Casola says he at +first mistook them all for widows, or nuns of the Benedictine Order. +But for the “belle giovani” it is another matter; they give relief to +the week-day sobriety of these Venetians, so decorous and black when +off duty, though revelling in such richness of velvet and brocade when +the trumpet of a public function stirs their blood. + +[Illustration: THE SHADOW OF THE CAMPANILE.] + +We are indebted to Casola for a picture of a Venetian domestic festival +at the birth of a child to the Delfini family. He realised fully that +he was admitted, together with the orator of the King of France, in +order that he might act as reporter of Venetian magnificence. It was +in a room “whose chimney-piece was all of Carrara marble shining as +gold, so subtly worked with figures and leaves, that Praxiteles and +Pheidias could not have exceeded it. The ceiling of the room was so +finely decorated with gold and ultramarine, and the walls so richly +worked, that I cannot make report of it. One desk alone was valued +at five hundred ducats, and the fixtures of the room were in the +Venetian style, such beautiful and natural figures, so much gold +everywhere, that I know not if in the time of Solomon, who was King of +the Jews, when silver was reputed more vile than carrion, there was +such abundance as was here seen. Of the ornaments of the bed and of the +lady ... I have thought best rather to keep silence than to speak for +fear I should not be believed. Another thing I will speak the truth +about, and perhaps I shall not be believed--a matter in which the ducal +orator would not let me lie. There were in the said room twenty-five +Venetian damsels, each one fairer than the last, who were come to +visit the lady who had borne a child. Their dress was most discreet, +as I said above, _alla veneziana_: they showed no more than four to +six finger breadths of bare neck below their shoulders back and front. +These damsels had so many jewels on their heads and round their necks +and on their hands--namely, gold, precious stones and pearls--that it +was the opinion of those who were there that they were worth a hundred +thousand ducats. Their faces were superbly painted, and so also the +rest of them that was bare.” The account of this sumptuous interior is +peculiarly valuable when we realise the date to which it belongs, the +period of the first greatness of Venetian Art, a period which has been +sometimes regarded as one of almost naïve simplicity. Casola, with his +customary exactitude, dwells on the frugality of Venetian gentlemen in +the matter of food--a frugality that caused the guest to reflect that +the Venetians cared more to feed the eye than the palate. It was not +yet the period of the sumptuous living deplored by Calmo only half a +century later. + +Casola was a more secularly minded pilgrim than the priest of Florence, +Ser Michele, who paid five visits to the bones of the Holy Innocents at +Murano, and only at the fifth visit was counted worthy, as he humbly +deemed, to see the relics: Providence, in the form of the sacristan, +having till then failed him. The more festive Casola--who paid +repeated visits to Rialto, “which seemed to be the source of all the +gardens in the world,” who spent one day in vain attempts to count the +multitudinous boats in and about the city, and who was so frivolous, +for all his long white beard, as to buy a false front on the piazza--in +the midst of his expatiations on the Venetian maidens, pulls himself +suddenly together with a sense of incongruity between his diversions +and his goal, and shakes himself free from the allurements of Venice, +crying: “But I am a priest, in the way of the saints; I did not try +to look into their lives any further. To me it seemed better, as I +have said above, to go in search of the churches and monasteries and +to see the relics of which there are so many. And this seemed to me a +good work for a pilgrim who was awaiting the departure of the vessel +to go to the Holy Sepulchre, bringing the time to an end as well as he +could.” In the Accademia at Venice there is a curious little painting, +attributed to Carpaccio, of the assembly of the martyrs of Mount +Ararat in the Church of Sant’ Antonio di Castello, which stood once on +the site of the Public Gardens. It was a familiar sight for Venice, +the dedication of pilgrims that is represented here; and there is a +strange pathos in the slim, small figures as they move in two lines +half-wavering up the aisle, each wearing a crown of thorns, perhaps +in prophecy of coming martyrdom. They are not marching confidently to +victory like an army; their crosses are held at all angles, forming +errant patterns among themselves. Some are girt for their journey +in short vestments under their long robes. It is curiously unlike a +procession native to the city; there is a dreamlike, mystic quality +about it and a lack of body in its motion which is enhanced, perhaps, +by the extreme detail with which the interior of the church is +transcribed--the models of vessels in the rafters; the votive limbs +and bones hung on the wooden screen, offerings of the diseased cured +by miracle, as they may be seen in San Giovanni e Paolo to-day; the +coiled rope of the lamp-pulley; the board with a church notice printed +on it; and everywhere, winding in and out of the picture, seen through +the portal of entrance, disappearing behind the sanctuary screen, the +interminable procession of the ten thousand little pilgrims. + +In 1198 the lords of France flocked with enthusiasm to a crusade +preached by Foulques de Nuilly under the authority of Innocent III. +After much discussion of practical ways and means, with which they +were less amply provided than with spiritual enthusiasm, they made +choice of six ambassadors who should procure the necessities of the +enterprise, Jofroi de Villeharduin, Mareschal of Champagne, Miles li +Brabant, Coëns de Bethune, Alars Magnarians, Jean de Friaise, and +Gautiers de Gaudonville. Venice was decided on by them as the State +most likely to provide what they stood in need of--ships for the +journey--and they departed to sound the mind of the Republic, arriving +in the first week of Lent in the year 1201. Venice, in the person of +the Doge, Henry Dandolo, opened the negotiations; the messengers were +made to feel it was no light thing they asked. They were received and +lodged with highest honour, but they were made to wait for a Council +to assemble, which should consider the matter of their request. After +some days they were admitted to the Ducal Palace to deliver their +message; and its purport was this: “Sir, we are come to you from the +high barons of France who have taken the sign of the Cross to avenge +the shame of Jesus Christ, and to conquer Jerusalem if God will grant +it them; and because they know that no people have such power as you +and your people, they pray you for God’s sake to have pity on the land +over seas and the avenging of the shame of Jesus Christ, so that they +may have ships and the other things necessary.” The spiritual and +sentimental appeal is left unanswered by the Doge. He asks simply, “In +what way?” “In all ways,” say the messengers, “that you recommend or +advise, which they would be able to fulfil.” Again the Doge expresses +wonder at the magnitude of what they ask, bidding them not marvel +if another eight days’ waiting is required of them before the final +answer can be given. At the date fixed by the Doge they returned to the +Palace. Villeharduin excuses himself from telling all the words that +were said and unsaid, but the gist of the Doge’s offer was this, that +it depended on the consent of the Great Council and the rest of the +Republic. Venice should provide vessels of transport for four thousand +five hundred horses and squires and twenty thousand foot soldiers, and +viands to last the whole company nine months. The agreement was to +hold good for a year from the time of starting, and the sum total of +the provision was to be eighty-five thousand marks. But Venice would +go further, for the love of God, and launch fifty galleys at her own +expense on condition of receiving the half of all the conquests that +were made by land and sea. Nothing remained but to win the consent of +the Great Council and ask a formal ratification from the people. Full +ten thousand persons assemble in “the chapel of San Marco, the fairest +that ever was,” and the Doge recommends them to hear the Mass, and to +pray God’s counsel concerning the request of the envoys. It will be +seen that all is practically accomplished before the question is put +to the people or God’s grace asked on the undertaking, but no item of +the formality is omitted. The envoys are sent for by the Doge that they +may themselves repeat their request humbly before the people, and they +came into the church “much stared at by the crowd who had never seen +them.” Again the appeal is made, Jofroi de Villeharduin taking up the +word by the agreement and desire of the other envoys. We can picture +the strange thrill that ran through the great multitude as that single +voice broke the silence of St. Mark’s with its burden of passionate +tribute to the greatness of Venice: “‘Therefore have they chosen you +because they know that no people accustomed to going on the seas have +such power as you and your people; and they commanded us to throw +ourselves at your feet and not to rise until you had consented to have +pity on the Holy Land beyond the seas.’ Now the six messengers knelt, +weeping bitterly, and the Doge and all the others cried out with one +voice and raised their hands on high and said, ‘We grant it, we grant +it.’ And the noise and tumult and lament of it were so great that never +had any man known a greater.” Then the Doge himself mounted the lectern +and put before the people the meaning of the alliance that had been +sought with them in preference to all other peoples by “the best men of +the world.” “I cannot tell you,” says Villeharduin, “all the good and +fair words that the Doge spoke. At last the matter was ended, and the +following day the charters were drawn up and made and sealed.” + +[Illustration: THE CLOCK TOWER FROM GALLERY OF SAN MARCO.] + +The time of gathering for the pilgrims was fixed for the following +year 1202, at the feast of St. John, and amid many tears of piety and +devotion the Doge and deputies swore to abide by their charters, and +the envoys of both parties set out for Rome to receive the confirmation +of their covenant from Innocent III. But the drama which had begun +amid such moving demonstrations of good will and Christian sentiment +necessarily had its dilemmas and its complications. It was essential +to the fulfilling of the pact that all the crusaders should assemble +at Venice to pay their toll, and embark on the ships; otherwise the +crusaders could not hope to provide the money due to the Venetians. +The Republic, for its part, had amply fulfilled its compact. All who +arrived were received with joy and lodged most honourably at San Nicolo +del Lido. The chronicle can find no parallel for the richness of the +provision made for the would-be crusaders. But there were, alas, three +times as many vessels as there were men and horses to fill them.--“Ha! +it was a great shame,” bursts out Villeharduin, “that the rest who +went to the other ports did not come here.” The dilemma was a serious +one. Even of those who were there, some declared themselves unable to +pay their passage, and the money could in no way be made up. Some were +for sacrificing their whole estate that the Venetians should not lose +by the defection of the others, but the counsel found small support +among those who now wished to be rid of their bargain. But the small +party who felt themselves, in a sense, the conscience of the Crusade +carried the day. “Rather will we give all we possess and go poor among +the host, than that it should disperse and come to naught; for God +will render it to us at His good pleasure.” So the Counts of Flanders, +Loys, Hues de St. Pol and their party began to collect together all +their goods and all they could borrow. “Then you might have seen a +vast quantity of gold and silver borne to the palace of the Doge to +make payment. And when they had paid, there still was lacking from +the covenant thirty-four thousand marks of silver. And those who had +kept back what they possessed and would give nothing were very glad at +this, for by this means they thought the expedition would have failed. +But God who counsels the disconsolate would not so suffer it.” The +Doge put before his people that not only would their just claim remain +unsatisfied though they should exact from the crusaders the utmost +they could collect, but they would bring discredit on themselves by +acting as strict justice would permit. He suggested the combining of +two advantages, a material and moral. Let them, he suggests, demand the +reconquest of Zara as substitute for the debt, that they may not only +have the fame of possessing the city but the praise of generosity. +And Dandolo, the old wise doughty Doge, has yet another suggestion +to propose. There was a great festival one Sunday in San Marco, and +the citizens and barons and pilgrims were assembled before High Mass +began. Then amid the silent expectation of the great gathering the +Doge mounted the lectern and made the famous offer of his own person +as leader of the host. “‘I am an old man,’ he said, ‘and feeble, and +should be feeling need of repose, for I am infirm in body. But I see +there is none who could so well rule and lead you as I who am your +lord. If you will consent that I take the sign of the Cross to preserve +and guide you, and that my son remain in my stead and keep the city, +I would gladly go to live and die with you and with the pilgrims.’ +And when they heard, they cried all with one voice: ‘We pray you for +God’s sake to grant us this, and to do so and to come with us.’ And the +people of the city and the pilgrims, felt deep compassion at this, and +they wept many tears, thinking how that valiant man had so much need +to stay behind, for he was an old man, and though his eyes were still +fair to look on he could not see with them on account of a wound which +he had received in his head. Nevertheless he had a great heart. Ha! how +little they resembled him who had gone to other ports to avoid danger! +So he came from the pulpit and went to the altar and knelt down, +weeping bitterly, and they sewed the cross for him on a great cotton +cap because he desired that the people might see it. And the Venetians +began to take the cross in great numbers, and many on that very day, +and still the number of crusaders was few enough.” It was no wonder +that the pilgrims had great joy in the crusaders for the good will and +valour they felt to be in them. Whatever aim may previously have been +uppermost as an incentive to enthusiasm and self-oblation, there was no +doubt that Venice now was giving of her best. This retiring of the old +Doge from his ducal throne to embark on a more arduous leadership is +one of the most moving episodes in the annals San Marco. + +But at this moment an event occurred that changed, or rather diverted +into a new channel the current of the Crusade, providing in fact, +as our chronicler Villeharduin remarks, the true occasion of his +book. Into the midst of the pilgrims assembled at Verona on their +way to Venice there came Alexius, son of Isaac the deposed Emperor +of Constantinople, in quest of help against his usurping uncle. What +more opportune than the neighbouring host of “the most valiant men +on earth” for aiding in the recovery of his lost kingdom and the +reinstatement of his tortured father. To the crusaders, and especially +we may believe, to the Venetians, this new motive did not come amiss. +It is startlingly like life, this Fourth Crusade, with its original +aim thus gradually becoming but a secondary purpose in a far more +complicated scheme, a middle distance in an increasingly extended +horizon. The relief of the Holy Sepulchre, the avenging of the shame of +Christ, assume in fact a rather shadowy outline in a prospect dominated +by Zara and Constantinople. + +The departure from Venice did not mark the term of the obstructions +to which the Crusade was fated. The disgraceful contest between the +French and the Venetians within the streets of Zara, the defection of +a number of the pilgrims, the death of others at the hands of the wild +inland inhabitants of Dalmatia--all these causes reduced the already +meagre company before it had well started on its way. The Pope was +placed in the dilemma of strongly disapproving the secular turn given +to the Crusade, while realising that the Venetian fleet was the only +means for accomplishing his ends in Palestine. His solution was to +absolve the barons for the siege of Zara, permitting them still to use +the fleet--though the devil’s instrument--while Venice, the provider, +remained under interdict. We here come into contact with an element +of singular interest in the relations of Venice and the East--her +attitude towards the Papacy. The independence of San Marco was one of +the essential articles of the Venetian creed. In spiritual matters +none could more devoutly bow to the Apostle of Christendom; but the +spiritual supremacy was an inland sea to Venice: it must be stable, +fixed, defined; it must not flow with a tide upon the temporal shores +where her heart and treasure lay. The authority of San Marco was a +political principle. All state ceremonies were bound up with San Marco; +the Ducal Palace itself was subsidiary to the Palace of St. Mark. How +should a State that had sheltered, traditionally at least, a Pope +“stando occulto propter timorem” that had acted as mediator between +Pope and Emperor and seen the Emperor’s head bowed to the ground on the +pavement of San Marco--how should such a State be subordinate to any +rule but its own complete self-consciousness? Venice always followed +the eminently practical rule of allowing much freedom in non-essentials +in order to preserve more closely her control over the really material +issues. The attitude always maintained by her with regard to the +Inquisition is so closely parallel to her relations with the East and +the pagans of the East, constantly deprecated by the Pope, that we may +fitly quote here Paolo Sarpi’s admirable reply to the papal protests +against conferring the doctorate in Padua on Protestants; the principle +is the same, though limited in that instance to a particular and +seemingly divergent issue. “If anyone openly declared his intention +of conferring the doctorate on heretics, or admitted anyone to it who +openly and with scandal professed himself to be such, it might be said +that he had failed to persecute heresy; but, it being the opinion of +the most Serene Republic that heretics and those who are known for +such should not be admitted to the doctorate, and it being our duty +to consider Catholic anyone who does not profess the contrary, no +smallest scandal can accrue to the religion even though it should +chance that one not known for such were to receive the doctorate. The +doctorate in philosophy and medicine is a testimonial that the scholar +is a good philosopher and physician and that he may be admitted to the +practise of that art, and to say that a heretic is a good doctor does +not prejudice the Catholic faith; certainly it would prejudice it if +anyone were to say that such a man was a good theologian.” This was the +position of Venice with regard to her pagan allies, the meaning of her +superbly fitted lodges for Turk, infidel and heretic. The Saracen, the +Turk and the Infidel might not be a good theologian, but he was a good +trader, a channel for the glories with which Venice loved to clothe +and crown herself. He was a part of her life more essentially and more +irrevocably than the prelates of holy Church; his ban would have been +more terrible to Venice than papal thunders. It was not primarily as +hot sons of the Church, consumed with fire for the shame of the Holy +Sepulchre that the Venetians with such generous provision prepared +their ships for the Crusade: it was as men of business with no small +strain of fire in their blood and a high sense of the glorious worth +and destiny of their city. + +[Illustration: THE HORSES OF SAN MARCO, LOOKING SOUTH.] + +There were moments of inspiration for the Crusaders amid all their +toils and internal strife, and not least was the first view of +Constantinople which had been for so long the emporium of Venice. The +fleet had harboured at the abbey of St. Etienne, three miles from +Constantinople, and Villeharduin describes the wonder and enthusiasm +of those who saw then for the first time the marvellous city “that +was sovereign over all others,” with its rich towers and palaces and +churches and high encircling walls. “And you must know there was no +heart there so daring but trembled.” We are reminded of this picture +of Constantinople when we stand face to face with Carpaccio’s city in +the _Combat of St. George_. It so successfully combines solidity and +strength with the airy joy of watch-towers and towers of pleasure, that +at first we have only the impression of fantastic play of architecture; +but by degrees we come to feel the seacoast country of Carpaccio, that +at first seemed so wild and unmanned, to be in fact bristling with +defence and preparation. It is immensely strong in fortifications, no +dream or fairy citadel. It is begirt with towers and walls along the +water; strongholds lurk among the loftiest crags; towers of defence and +battlements peer over the steep hillside; and, if we look closer, we +see the towers are thronged with men. We remember Villeharduin’s note, +“There were so many men on the walls and on the towers that it seemed +as if they were made of nothing but people.” It is a sumptuous city, +too, that we see in glimpses through the gateway, the city of a great +oriental potentate. + +We cannot follow Villeharduin through the vicissitudes of the siege +and counter-siege. He himself confesses in the relation of one point +alone that sixty books would not be able to recount all the words +that were spoken, and the counsels that were given and taken. In the +simple, terse and trenchant style that Frenchmen, and especially the +Frenchmen of the old chronicles, know how to wield so perfectly, he +tells us of the Doge’s wise counsel that the city should be approached +by way of the surrounding islands whence they might gather stores; of +the lords’ neglect of this counsel, “just as if no one of them had +ever heard of it”; of their investment of the palace of Alexius in +the place named Chalcedony, that was “furnished with all the delights +of the human body that could be imagined befitting the dwelling of a +prince”; of the capture of the city and the ravishing of its treasures +that were so great “that no man could come to an end of counting the +silver and the gold and plate and precious stones and samite and silken +cloth and dresses _vaire_ and grey, and ermines and all precious +things that were ever found on earth. And Jofroi de Villeharduin, the +Marshall of Champagne, will bear good witness that to his knowledge +since the centuries began there was never so great gain in a single +city.” The division of the booty necessarily occasioned heart-burning +and revealed certain vices of “covetoise” undreamed before. And as time +went on and still the passage to Palestine was delayed the sanctuaries +of the Greek Church were treated with barbarous irreverence and +despoiled of their treasure and sacred vessels. Then with the retaking +of Constantinople from Marzuflo there followed a time of abandonment +of men and leaders to their fiercest passions and the almost total +destruction of the city. Here again Venice stepped in, as the merchant +had stepped in to rescue treasure from the pile of Savonarola, to +enrich herself from the ruins of Constantinople. + +The taking of Constantinople opened another door into the Eastern +garden from which Venice had already begun to gather so rich an +harvest. Picture the freights that Venetian vessels were bearing home +in these years of crusade and conquest, to be gathered finally into +the garner of St. Mark’s! It is strangely thrilling to imagine the +first welcome of the four bronze horses, travel-dimmed no doubt, who +only found their way to their present station on the forefront of St. +Mark’s after standing many times in peril of being melted down in the +Arsenal where they first were stored. But at last, says Sansovino, +their beauty was recognised and they were placed on the church. It +is only by degrees that we come to accost and know the exiles one by +one. The more outstanding spoils, the Pala d’Oro, the great pillars +of Acri, the bronze doors, the horses, the four embracing kings, +these are among the first letters of St. Mark’s oriental alphabet; but +there are many lesser exiles which have found a shelter in the port of +Venice, which as we wander among the glorious precincts of San Marco +impress themselves upon us one by one; such is the grave-browed, noble +head of porphyry that keeps solitary watch towards the waters from +the south corner of the outer gallery of San Marco, as if it had been +set down a moment by its sculptor and forgotten on the white, marble +balustrade. The whole being of San Marco is bound up with the East, +and it is another token of the magic of Venice that she has been able +to embrace and furnish with a life-giving soil those plants that had +been ruthlessly uprooted and had made so long and perilous a journey. +The official records, that tell of the arrival from one expedition and +another of Eastern vestures for the clothing of San Marco, are not mere +inventories to us who have walked upon the variegated pavement between +the solemn pillars and seen the sunlight illumine one by one the +marbles of the walls, with their imbedded sculpture and mosaic, or gild +the depths of the storied cupolas and the luxuriant harmonies of colour +and design on the recesses of the windows. They are significant, these +records, like the entry in a parish register of the birth of some one +whom we love; for the church of San Marco, though in fact a museum of +many treasures, is not a museum of foreign treasures. Her spoils are +not hung up in her as aliens like the spoils that conquerors bore to +ancient temples; they found her a foster-mother of their own blood and +kin. She herself is sprung from a plant whose first flowering was not +among the floating marshes of the lagoon. + +[Illustration: + + _By permission of the Hon. John Collier._ + +THE HORSES OF SAN MARCO, LOOKING NORTH.] + +Turn, on a sunny day, from the Molo towards San Marco, passing below +the portico of the Ducal Palace adjoining the Piazzetta. Framed by the +pointed arch at the end is a portion of the wall which once formed +the west tower of the Ducal Palace. This delicate harmony of coloured +marbles and sculptured stone seems a rare and beautiful creation, not +of stone but of something more plastic, more mobile, so responsive is +it to the light, so luminous, so full of feeling. As we draw nearer and +it becomes more clearly defined, we see great slabs of marble sawn and +spread open like the pages of a book, corresponding in pattern as the +veining of a leaf. They are linked by marble rope-work, and between +them are inserted smaller slabs of delicately sculptured stone and a +wonderful coil of mosaic. It is a veritable patchwork wall, but no +less beautiful in its effect of harmony than in its details--the four +porphyry figures of embracing kings its corner-stone. This wall is +truly a key to the fabric of the church itself; it is like a window +into St. Mark’s, that treasury of Eastern spoil; the East is in every +vein, in every heart-beat of it. The spoil of the temples of ancient +gods furnished forth the Church of San Marco as it furnished the saint +himself. In this one angle we have cipollino and porphyry, serpentine +and verd-antico, marmo greco and eastern mosaic, pillars of granite +profound and glittering, breccia africana and paonazetto. The weight +of centuries is upon it all; ages of lives have gone to its making, +and it came to Venice only when generations had passed over its head. +For the human race it has never been but old; the mind loses itself in +speculation on that stupendous past that lies between us and the time +when stone was not. And yet how strangely through that long, enchanted +silence, when the centuries were endowing it with an immensity of +strength and hardness and endurance for which we have no word of +parallel but in its own nature, it has kept the similitude and mobility +of life, at once withholding and revealing the riches of its beauty. +How can we wonder that da Contarini, the strange and learned dreamer +of the Cinquecento, burst out into a rapture of mystic joy in the +presence of San Marco, “that golden church, built by the eternal gods, +of our protector, Messer San Marco”? He celebrates the pinnacles and +shining columns, the throng of glittering figures that burn like golden +spirits in the sunlight, the sculptured marbles polished with soft +Ethiopian sand. “It might be said that it has been gathered together +from all parts of the world.” He then proceeds to seek among the +marbles of San Marco those mysterious correspondences which the wonder +of men has always felt to exist between human nature and the nature of +the stone; he loses himself in contemplation of one after another of +the precious marbles that in wide surface or minute mosaic form the +priceless garment of St. Mark’s temple: diaspro, which must be seen in +broad extent to realise its strange radiance, like flocks of cloudlets +fleeting before the wind in the full illumination of the setting sun, +dazzling our eyes with light; or that other adamantine marble of +Africa, the breccia adriana di Tegoli, a harmony of greens before which +serpentine and verd-antico must bow; or the most precious porpora of +deep and glowing red; or that queen of all the stones, imperial in its +beauty, a magnetic stone indeed, drawing the spirit into its luminous +depths, weaving round it an enchanted web of secrecy, of divine +inter-relations, till the human soul seems to commune with the very +soul of colour--_diaspro sanguinoso_. What would not Sir Thomas Browne +have read in those eloquent and secret pages where wave follows wave of +colour, deep ocean green, pure carmine, translucent amethyst. Diaspro +sanguinoso! in the setting of a ring, in the mosaic of a pavement, it +is seen a dense green stone spotted with crimson--bloodstone. It is +as if you saw the human eye in one of those weird, symbolic paintings +of old time, isolated in its socket without the illumination of the +human countenance about it. This sanguinary jasper is too subtle, too +delicate, too mystical to belong to that titanic family of the stones +of Africa. The dreaming soil of Egypt might have given it birth; it +might own kinship with the myth of Aurora’s kiss; but to us it seems +fraught with the magic of a more distant East. + +There have been many vindicators of the freedom of Venice; many +assertors that, though in appearance subject some time to Byzantium, +she has always been politically independent. To us it seems a matter +of lesser moment; but whether, in fact or in form, Venice were or +were not ever politically dependent on Byzantium, the fact of her +artistic dependence is one which she cannot deny without perjuring +herself before a thousand witnesses. Document after document more +durable than parchment--though many have already perished and many +perish daily--attests the debt of Venice to the East. Till she perish +altogether at the hands of a relentless, unregarding tyrant--a bastard +child of Time misnamed Progress--she must continue to bear witness to +her debt. So long as she breathes, each breath confesses it and the +East will lay her tribute on the tomb of Venice dead--lamenting as for +one of her own children. + + + + +Chapter Seven + +TWO VENETIAN STATUES + + +In two of the public squares of Venice the statues, in bronze, of two +of her heroes are set up, the one of a man of war, the other of a +comedian: in the Campo di SS. Giovanni e Paolo the statue of Bartolomeo +Colleoni, in the Campo di San Bartolomeo that of Carlo Goldoni. The +first is a warrior on horseback in full armour, uplifted high above +the square, disdaining the companionship of the puny mortals who +saunter without a purpose to and fro under his feet. Horse and rider +stand self-sufficient and alone; one spirit breathes in both: in the +contour of the stern face of the warrior, with its massive chin and +proudly disdainful lip, in his throat with the muscles standing out +like ropes upon it, and in the sweep of his capacious brow, under which +the keenly penetrating eyes hold their object in a grip of iron; and, +for the horse, in every line of his superbly curving neck, in the acute +serenity of his down-looking eye, and in each curling lock of his mane +that seem as if moved together by one controlling impulse. How clear +the outline of his skull, everywhere visible beneath its fine covering +of flesh and muscle! and his body, like the body of his master, how +perfectly responsive an instrument it is! There is nothing here of +that wild disorder of the beast untamed, which is mistaken sometimes +for strength. The hand of Colleoni is light upon the bridle, the horse +glories in a subjection that is itself a triumph: he and his master are +one. Do but compare this for a moment with the prodigious mass, the +plunging man and beast, that overlook the Riva degli Schiavoni--Victor +Emanuel on horseback. It is not altogether an arbitrary contrast; the +two great monuments seem to represent Venice before the fall and Venice +after. What unity of purpose, what hope of conquest is there in those +monstrous figures on the Riva? Beneath this redundancy of flesh and +armour how shall they prevail against the world? They are not only +different in degree, they are of a different species from Verocchio’s +horse and rider. The spirit of the first Renaissance is in every line +of his great statue--its strength, agility and decorative skill. How +studied is the symmetry, the static perfection of the whole! how +strongly and yet how delicately he emphasises the rectangular framework +of the design! The rod of Colleoni, the trappings of his horse, the +tail and legs and body-line--each is made contributive, while the +backward poise of the rider balances the forward motion of the horse, +and all is thus drawn into the scheme. It is all willed, but with that +spontaneity of will which men call inspiration. + +This statue, which so marvellously sums up in sculpture the central aim +of Venice as a state in the fifteenth century, offers an instructive +contrast to that in the Campo di San Bartolomeo, where the comedian +Goldoni, though raised above the level of the square, still seems a +companionable part of the life that passes around him, moving in its +midst as he moved amid the life of the eighteenth century in Venice, +meditating upon it, observing, loving it, faithfully and fearlessly +recording it. Marked by a realistic fidelity and insight worthy of a +greater age, Dal Zotto’s statue of Goldoni is in its own way itself a +masterpiece and one of the noblest works of modern art in Venice, full +of sympathy and understanding and admirable in execution. The sculptor +might seem to have lived as an intimate with Goldoni, and the realism +of his treatment suits the subject singularly well. The comedian is not +aloft upon a pedestal, remote from men, in glorious aloofness; he is +raised but slightly above our heads, not much observed of the crowd, +but observing all. Briskly he steps along, in buckled shoes, frilled +shirt and neckerchief, his coat flying open, and a book or manuscript +bulging from the pocket of it, his waistcoat slackly buttoned, his +cocked hat tipped jauntily upon his forehead over his powdered periwig. +As he goes he crushes his gloves with one hand at his back and with the +other marks progress with his cane. It is a strong, taut little figure, +tending to roundness, with a world of suggestiveness in every motion, +an admirable mingling of thought and humour in the face that laughs +down on this strange, grotesque, conventional, lovable Venice. What +a strange contrast is this, of the slippered sage of the eighteenth +century, who houses the swallows in the loose folds of his slouch hat, +and the armed hero of the fifteenth, whose every muscle is alert, +responsive to the stern controlling will! Goldoni is a sage upon a +different platform, meditating upon a different world. His Venice is +the Venice of Longhi; she has become pedestrian; she has become a +theme for comedy. Comedy might have found plentiful food, no doubt, +in the Venice that employed Colleoni, the Venice of the first great +painters. There is a fund of humour and whimsicality in the strangely +fascinating faces of Carpaccio’s citizens. Yet try to picture them held +up to ridicule by one of themselves upon the stage, and the imagination +faints; the thing is inconceivable. In Goldoni’s age the interest of +life was shifted to another field, and he stands as the central figure, +the leader in a new campaign, representative not of its vices or its +vanities or its follies, but of the solid virtues of which these are +the shady side. He is one of those happy spirits which the reactionary +age of small things produced, not only in Italy but everywhere in +the eighteenth century; a spirit of clear, calm insight and capable +judgment, neither enamoured of the life of his small circle nor +embittered against it, content to live in the midst of it in serenity +and truth. + +Goldoni, Colleoni, each is representative of a period in the history +of the Republic, periods widely separated in temper and in time, and +yet related intimately; so intimately indeed that the period of which +Goldoni is the master-spirit is actually foreshadowed in the very +presence of the superb warrior of the other public square. To study the +process of the growth and the decadence of the Republic is to find that +there is no convenient preconceived theory with which it will fit in; +it rebels against such manipulation, as everything individual rebels +against the ready-made. We need rather to look upon Venice as upon a +plant that springs and comes to its perfection and fades slowly away, +changing and developing in indefinable gradations, showing at every +stage some surprising revival from the past, some strange anticipation +of the future. In the fifteenth century itself, while the earliest +artists were at work for Venice at Murano, and Carpaccio was as yet +unborn, Venice already bore about with her the seeds of her decay. +In fact, the growth of her art coincides with the slow relaxation of +her hold upon the bulwarks of her policy both at home and abroad. +The election of Foscari as Doge in 1423 marks a moment of change in +Venetian life and government, indicated by the substitution of the +title Signoria for that of Commune Venetiarum, and by the abolition of +the _arengo_--yet Carpaccio has still his grave citizens to portray, +and Ursula sleeping the sleep of infancy. Among the exhortations which +tradition has handed down to us as addressed from time to time to the +Venetians by Doge or by ambassador is that supposed to have been spoken +on his death-bed by Foscari’s precursor, the Doge Tommaso Mocenigo. It +might have been spoken for our instruction, instead of as a reminder +to his own subjects of what they knew so well, so vivid an impression +is to be derived from it of the inner life of Venice during the first +thirty years of the fifteenth century. Whether legendary or not, these +exhortations have something significant and individual about them +which really illuminates; it is as if a light were suddenly flashed +into a vast room, pressing our vision upon one point, providing a +nucleus of knowledge about which scattered ideas and impressions may +group themselves intelligibly. Whatever they are, they are not the +fabrication of a later time which has lost understanding of the spirit +that animated the past. If the portrait they give is imaginary, they +have seized upon the salient features and endowed them with a vitality +which the photograph, however literal, too often lacks. Mocenigo’s +farewell address is an impressive portico opening upon a new period +in the career of Venice, a strange trumpet-note of ill omen on the +threshold of her greatest glory. Behold, he says, the fulness of the +life you have achieved, of the riches you have stored; turn now and +preserve it; there is peril in the path beyond; there is twilight and +decay and death. Your eyes, full of the light, have no knowledge of the +shadow; but mine, dim now with age, have known it, and its grip is +upon my limbs. Venice heard but might not heed his warnings. The sun +himself must rise and fulfil his day and set. Decay is in each breath +that the plant draws in; it cannot crystallise the moment; inexorably +it is drawn onwards to maturity and death. It was inevitable for Venice +that as her strength increased her responsibilities should increase +with it; perforce she must turn her face to land as well as sea. She +could not remain alone, intent only on nourishing and developing her +individual life. In proportion to her greatness she must attract others +to her, and the circle of her influence must widen till it passed +beyond her own control. The dying words of Mocenigo came too late. +A temporary delay there might have been; there was no turning back. +Venice had been drawn already into the vortex of European mainland +politics, and she could not stand aside. In our own colonial policy we +are continually confronted with the problem of aggression and defence. +In reality there is no boundary between the two, or the boundary, if +it exists, is so fine that the events of a moment may obliterate it. +St. Theodore carries his shield in his right hand and his spear in the +left; and an old chronicler of Venetian glory interprets the action as +symbolising the predominance of defence in his warrior’s ideal. Doge +Tommaso Mocenigo would have approved the interpretation. But spear and +shield cannot exchange their functions. Until the spear is laid aside, +it will insist on leading; and Venice had not laid aside the spear, she +had furnished herself anew. + +“In my time,” says Mocenigo, after a pathetic preliminary avowal of +his obligations to Venice and of the humble efforts he had made to +discharge them, “in my time, our loan has been reduced by four millions +of ducats, but six millions still are lacking for the debt incurred in +the war with Padua, Vicenza, Verona.... This city of ours sends out at +present ten million ducats every year for its trade in different parts +of the world, with ships and galleys and the necessary appointments to +the value of not less than two million ducats. In this city are three +thousand vessels of from one to two hundred anforas burden, carrying +sixteen thousand mariners: there are three hundred vessels which +alone carry eight thousand mariners more. Every year sail forty-five +galleys, counting small and great craft, and these take eleven thousand +mariners, three thousand captains and three thousand calkers. There +are three thousand weavers of silk garments and sixteen thousand of +fustian.... There are one thousand gentlemen with incomes ranging from +seven hundred to four thousand ducats. If you go on in this way, you +will increase from good to better, you will be lords of riches and of +Christendom. But beware, as of fire, of taking what belongs to others +and making unjust war, for these are errors that God cannot tolerate +in princes. It is known to all that the war with the Turk has made you +brave and valorous by sea, ... and in these years you have so acted +that the world has judged you the leaders of Christendom. You have +many men experienced in embassies and government, men who are perfect +orators. You have many doctors in diverse sciences, lawyers above all, +and for this reason many foreigners come to you for judgement in their +differences and abide by your decisions. Take heed, therefore, how you +govern such a state as this, and be careful to give it your counsel +and your warning, lest ever by negligence it suffer loss of power. And +it behoves you earnestly to advise whoever succeeds me in this place, +because through him the Republic may receive much good and much harm. +Many of you incline to Messer Marino Caravello; he is a worthy man and +for his worthy qualities deserves that rank. Messer Francesco Bembo +is an honest man, and so is Messer Giacomo Trevisan. Messer Antonio +Contarini, Messer Faustin Michiel, Messer Alban Badoer, all these +are wise and merit it. Many incline to Messer Francesco Foscari, not +knowing that he is an ambitious man and a liar, without a basis to his +actions. His intellect is flighty; he embraces much and holds little. +If he is Doge, you will always be at war. The possessor of ten thousand +ducats will be master but of one. You will spend gold and silver. You +will be robbed of your reputation and your honour. You will be vassals +of infantry and captains and men-at-arms. I could not restrain myself +from giving you my opinion. God help you to choose the best, and rule +and keep you in peace.” + +Mocenigo’s warning was disregarded. But although Foscari was made Doge, +Venice did not rush into war. In spite of repeated efforts on the part +of the Florentines to secure an alliance, the traditions of the old +peace policy were tenaciously adhered to during the first years of the +new reign. It was the temptation to secure Carmagnola as leader of +her forces which finally overcame her scruples. Foscari’s discourse +on this occasion, as reported by Romanin, is a curiously specious +mingling of philanthropy and self-interest. Reading between the lines, +we understand from it something of Mocenigo’s fears at the prospect +of his election. The passion of empire is in his heart. Venice, whom +eulogists loved to represent as the bulwark of Europe against the +infidel, is now to be the champion of down-trodden Florence. It is the +sword of justice that she is to wield. We are reminded of Veronese’s +allegory--Venice seated upon the world, robed in ermine and scarlet, +her silver and her gold about her, her breast clasped with a jewelled +buckler, round her neck the rich pearls of her own island fabric, on +her head the royal crown. Her face is in the shadow of her gilded +throne and of the folds of the stiff rose satin curtain, as she looks +out over the world, over the universe, from her lofty seat on the dark +azure globe. The lion, the sword and the olive branch are at her feet. +What is she dreaming of, this Venice of the soft, round, shadowed face? +Is it of peace, or of new empire? Is it to the olive bough or to the +sword of justice that she inclines? In a neighbouring fresco, Neptune, +brooding in profound abstraction beside his trident, deputes to the +lion his watch; but Mars of the mainland is alert, on foot, and his +charger’s head from above him breathes fire upon his brow. + +“You will be the vassals of captains and men-at-arms.” There was a note +of prophecy in Mocenigo’s closing words, and it is indeed a question, +in face of Verocchio’s superb warrior--who was the prince and who +the vassal, who the servant and who the master. Colleoni’s triumph +at his grand reception in Venice can scarcely have been the triumph +of a mere man-at-arms. Studying the magnificent reserve of strength +in his grandly moulded face and neck, we feel Venice must rather +have acknowledged that an Emperor had descended in her midst. Little +wonder that such a man dared ask a place on the Piazza of St. Mark +itself! The period of his command embraced some of the most brilliant +successes of the Venetian arms on land. Difficulties and perils that +seemed insurmountable were yet surmounted by a mind possessed of +supreme qualities of judgment, daring and nobility. Singularly akin, +indeed, to Venice herself was this man who had a key to the minds of +his antagonists, who read their secrets and forestalled their actions: +it is not strange that he was dear to her. Though a professional +soldier and no Venetian born, he could act as a worthy representative +of Venice, and there might seem small fear of ruin for a Republic that +could so choose her servants. But Colleoni had fought against the Lion +and set his foot upon its neck, and the Lion had been constrained to +turn and ask his service of him, the highest tribute it could offer, +the completest confession of its defeat. And Colleoni could respect +and be faithful to such a paymaster: for twenty years he led the +Republic on land, and was never called to render an account before her +judgment-seat. Magnanimously at his death he absolves her of all her +debts to him, makes her two grand donations, then, by his own wish, +towers over Venice, a paid alien, her virtual master, yet such a master +as she was proud to serve. We wonder if this thought came ever to the +mind of Verocchio, the Florentine, as he moulded the great figure of +the hero: did the imagination please him of Venice the vassal, Venice +subjected beneath the horse and his rider? + +There was a fête given in honour of Colleoni at Venice in 1455, on +the occasion of the bestowing on him the staff of supreme command. +To Spino, Colleoni’s enthusiastic biographer and fellow citizen, the +episode was portentous, as to one unfamiliar with Venetian traditions +in this respect. It had, indeed, a significance he did not dream of; +it was the reception not of a victorious fleet, not of an admiring +monarch or fugitive pope, but of an army of mercenaries and their +leader. Spino tells how Colleoni was accompanied by an escort of the +chief citizens of Bergamo, Brescia and other cities of the kingdom that +had been committed to his charge; how barges over a thousand were sent +from Venice to fetch him and his party from Marghera; how the Venetians +came out in flocks to meet him in gondolas and sandolos to the sound +of trumpets and other instruments of music, preceded by _three_ ships +called _bucintori_, “of marvellous workmanship and grandeur,” in which +were the Doge and Signoria, the senate and other magistrates; and +how ambassadors of kings and princes and subject states came to do +homage to the new Serenissimo Pasqual Malipiero. He tells, as all the +chroniclers of festivals at Venice tell, of the throngs, not only on +windows and upon the fondamentas, but upon the house roofs along the +Grand Canal; of Colleoni’s reception at San Marco and the display of +the sacred treasures at the high altar; and how, as he knelt before +the Doge, the staff of his office was bestowed upon him with these +words, “By the authority and decree of the most excellent city of +Venice, of us the Doge and of the Senate, ruler and captain-general of +all our men and arms on land shalt thou be. Take from our hands this +military staff, with good presage and fortune, as emblem of thy power, +to maintain and defend the majesty, the faith and the judgments of +this State with dignity and with decorum by thy care and charge.” For +ten days the festivals continued with jousts and tournaments and feats +of arms. But all was not fêting and merriment. Colleoni held grave +discourses also with the Padri, and “their spirits were confirmed by +him,” says Spino, “in safety and great confidence.” + +[Illustration: IN THE PIAZZA.] + +The Venice who could thus do honour to Colleoni her general was a +superb Venice, superb as Colleoni himself who in his castle of Malpaga +received not only embassies from kings but kings themselves; who, at +the visit of Cristierino, King of Dacia, came out to meet him “on +a great courser, caparisoned and equipped for war, and he, all but +his head, imperially clad in complete armour, attended only by two +standard-bearers carrying his helm and lance, while a little further +behind followed his whole company of six hundred horse in battle array, +with his condottieri and his squadrons, all gloriously and most nobly +armed and mounted, with flags flying and the sound of trumpets”; who, +besides making rich provision for all his children, built churches, +endowed monasteries and left to the Venetians, after cancelling all +their debts to him, one hundred thousand ducats of gold. The Venice +that employed Colleoni was superb--we have a record of her living +features in Gentile Bellini’s marvellous presentment of the procession +in St. Mark’s square--the brain as flexible, the jaws as rigid as +those of the mighty warrior Verocchio conceived. Yet Spino’s comment +on the last tribute paid by the Venetians to their general gives us +pause--“confessing to have lost the defender of their liberty.” It was +a confession which could still clothe itself triumphantly in the great +bronze statue, but there is an omen in the words. In this confession of +1496 is foreshadowed the fall of 1796. + +Much has been written of the social life of this Venice of the Fall; +there are countless sources for its history in the letters, diaries +and memoirs of its citizens and of its visitors, reputable and +disreputable; richest sources of all, there are the pictures of Longhi, +the comedies of Goldoni. But of the Venice that lay behind this small +round of conventions and refinements, laxity and tyranny, perhaps +less has been said. Of many avenues by which it might be approached +we shall choose one, and since the praise of Colleoni has drawn our +attention to the foundations of Venetian power on land, nothing will +better serve our purpose than the foundation of her power by sea, that +Arsenal which Sansovino described as “the basis and groundwork of the +greatness of this Republic, as well as the honour of all Italy.” The +Arsenal was, next to San Marco, perhaps the sanctuary of Venetian +faith. It was far more than a mere manufactory of arms and battleships. +In the celebration of the Sensa its workmen held the post of honour, +the rowing of the Bucintoro. Its officers were among the most reputed +in the State. The Council of Ten had a room within its precincts. It +was entered by a superb triumphal arch, a sight which none who visited +Venice must miss. The condition of the Arsenal may well be taken as an +index to the condition of Venice herself. + +We may set side by side two pictures of the Arsenal, one drawn from +a curious little work of early seventeenth century, a time at which, +though Venice was moving down the path of her decay, the glorious +traditions of the past still found renewal in her present life, and the +Venetian fleet was still a triumphant symbol of Venetian greatness; the +other from the reports of her officials in the last years before her +death. Luca Assarino was one of many guests who had to say to Venice, +or to the Doge her representative, “My intellect staggers under the +weight of a memory laden with surpassing favours. You received me into +your house, did me honour, assisted me, protected me. You clothed +yourself in my desires, and promoted them on every occasion; and this +not only without having had of me any cause to honour me so highly, +but even without having ever seen me.” He feels he cannot better +discharge the burden of his gratitude than by shaping some of the +emotions inspired in him by his visit to the Arsenal. There is a touch +of sympathy and sometimes even a touch of truth and insight under the +extravagantly symbolic garb of his appreciation. “Admiring first of all +an immense number of porticoes, where as in vast maternal wombs I saw +in embryo the galleys whose bodies were being framed, I realised that +I was in the country of vessels, the fatherland of galleons, and that +those masses were so formidable as to show themselves warriors even in +their birth, fortifying themselves with countless nails and arming thus +their very vitals with iron. I considered them as wandering islands, +which, united, compose the continent of Venetian glory, the mainland +of the rule of Christendom. I admired with joy the height of their +masts and the size of their sailyards, and I called them forests under +whose shade the Empire of the sea reposed and the hopes of the Catholic +religion were fortified. And who, I said to myself, can deny that this +Republic has subjugated the element of water, when none of her citizens +can walk abroad, but that the water, as if vanquished, kisses his feet +at every step?” Like all recorders of the glories of Venice, he is +struck dumb at certain points by fear of the charge of fabling, but, +collecting himself, he proceeds to speak of the trophies and relics, +the rows of cuirasses, helmets and swords that remained as “iron +memorials to arm the years against oblivion of Venetian greatness. What +revolutions of the world, what accidents, what mutations of state, what +lakes of tears and blood did not the dim lightnings of those fierce +habiliments present to the eye of the observer?... I saw the remains of +the Venetian fleet, vessels, that, as old men, weighted no less with +years than glory, reposed under the magnificence of the arches which +might well be called triumphal arches. I saw part of those galleons to +which Christianity confesses the debt of her preservation.... And last, +I saw below the water so great a quantity of the planks from which +vessels afterwards are made, that one might truly call it a treasury +hidden in the entrails of a lake. I perceived that these, as novices +in swimming, remained first a century below the surface, to float +after for an eternity of centuries; and I remarked that they began +by acquiring citizenship in that lake, to end by showing themselves +patricians throughout the seas, and that there was good reason they +should plant their roots well under water, for they were the trees +on which the liberty of Venice was to flower.” In his peroration the +eulogist strikes a deeper note. “May it please Almighty God to preserve +you to a longest eternity; and as of old the nations surrounding you +had so high an opinion of your integrity and justice that they came to +you for judgment of their weightiest and most important cases, so may +heaven grant that the whole of Christendom may resort always to your +threshold to learn the laws of good government.” + +We think sadly of his prayer among the records of abuse and corruption +in the Arsenal of two centuries later; the Venetian lawyers were still +renowned among the lawyers of the world, but the State was no longer +capable of teaching the laws of good government to Christendom. The +theatre, the coffee-house, the _ridotto_, the gay _villeggiatura_ were +now the main channels of her activity; the tide of life had flowed +back from the Arsenal and left it a sluggish marsh. In the arts of +shipbuilding no advance had been made, and the cause lay chiefly in +an extraordinary slackness of discipline by which workmen were first +allowed to serve in alternation and in the end were asked for only +one day’s service in the month. Many youths who had not even seen the +Arsenal were in receipt of a stipend as apprentices, in virtue of +hereditary right. Martinelli tells of porters, valets, novices and even +of a pantaloon in a troop of comic actors who were thus pleasantly +provided for. There was a scarcity of tools, and even the men in daily +attendance at the Arsenal spent their time in idle lounging and often +in still more mischievous occupations for lack of anything better to +do; disobedience and disloyalty were rife. The Arsenal was used by many +as a place of winter resort, as workhouses by the tramps of to-day, +and the wood stored for shipbuilding was consumed in fires for warming +these unbidden guests, or made up into articles of furniture for sale +in the open market. The report of the Inquisitors of the Arsenal, +dated March 1, 1874, which Martinelli quotes, is indeed a terrible +confession: “One sad experience clearly shows that the smallest +concession ... becomes rapidly transformed into unbridled licence. +Not to mention the immense piles of shavings, from sixty to seventy +thousand vast bundles of wood disappear annually. The wastage of so +great a mass of wood, more than the equivalent of the complete outfit +of ten or twelve entire ships of the line, is not to be accounted for +under legitimate refuse of normal work, but points plainly to the +voluntary destruction of undamaged and precious material.” It is +scarcely surprising that with so little care for the preservation of +discipline in the Arsenal and for the efficiency of its workmen Venice +fell behind. The Arsenal had indeed become, as Martinelli says, “a +monument of the generous conceptions of the past--a monument, like the +church and campanile of San Marco, beautiful, admirable, glorious, but +as completely incapable as they of offering any service to the State.” +Similar abuses existed also in the manning of the ships. The officers +were for the most part idle and incompetent, and the despatches of the +Provveditori are a tissue of lamentable statements as to the depression +of that which had been, and while Venice was to retain her supremacy, +must ever be, the mainstay of her power. There is desertion among the +crews and operatives; the outfit provided for them is unsuitable and +inadequate. Nicolò Erizzo, Provveditor Extraordinary to the Islands of +the Levant, concludes a despatch, dated October 30, 1764, as follows: +“Thus it comes about that your Excellencies have no efficient and +capable officers of marine, and if an occasion were ever to arise +when it were necessary to send them to some distant part, let me not +be deemed presumptuous if I venture frankly to assure you that they +would be in great straits. I had a proof of the truth of this when I +launched the galley recently built; for the officers themselves begged +me to put a ship’s captain on board, since at a little distance from +land they did not trust themselves, nor did they blush to confess it in +making this request.” + +It was ten years earlier, in 1744, that the Ridotto, or great public +gaming-house, was closed in Venice by order of the Great Council, and +the Venetians, their chief occupation gone, were reduced to melancholy +peregrination of the Piazza. “They have all become hypochondriacs,” +writes Madame Sara Gondar. “The Jews are as yellow as melons; the +mask-sellers are dying of starvation; and wrinkles are growing on the +hands of many a poor old nobleman who has been in the habit of dealing +cards ten hours a day. Vice is absolutely necessary to the activity of +a state.” This then is the Venice against which Goldoni stands out; +and after all, the essential difference between the world reflected +in his comedies and that world of Gentile Bellini and Carpaccio, +which was Colleoni’s world, is a difference of horizon. There is an +epic grandeur about Carpaccio’s world: heroes stride across it, with +lesser men and lesser interests in their train. The small affairs of +life are not neglected. There is the Company of the Stocking, who +discuss their peculiar device and the articles of their order with the +grave elaboration of State councillors. Venice was always interested +in matters of detail. But in Colleoni’s day the same seriousness of +purpose was available when larger issues were discerned: in Goldoni’s +the power to discern larger issues has disappeared. The Venetians, +lords once of the sea, can still take interest in their stockings, +but they can take interest in nothing else. The Lilliputians are +in possession. Goldoni does not quarrel with his age for not being +monumental, and we shall do well to follow his example and make our +peace with it. He looks upon the clubs of freemasons, the pedantic +literary reformers, the false romanticists, the bourgeois tyrants and +masquerading ladies, with a serene and indulgent smile. In his famous +literary dispute with Gozzi he maintains before his fiery opponent the +calm and level countenance of truth. The battles rage around him, but +he stands firm and unassailable, as Colleoni himself may once have +stood in the midst of battles how different, waged in how different a +world! + + + + +Chapter Eight + + “Why?” + + “Because you look a good deal like the pictures of Rupert + Brooke.” + + To some extent Amory tried to play Rupert Brooke as long as he + knew Eleanor. What he said, his attitude toward life, toward her, + toward himself, were all reflexes of the dead Englishman’s + literary moods. Often she sat in the grass, a lazy wind playing + with her short hair, her voice husky as she ran up and down the + scale from Grantchester to Waikiki. There was something most + passionate in Eleanor’s reading aloud. They seemed nearer, not + only mentally, but physically, when they read, than when she was + in his arms, and this was often, for they fell half into love + almost from the first. Yet was Amory capable of love now? He + could, as always, run through the emotions in a half hour, but + even while they revelled in their imaginations, he knew that + neither of them could care as he had cared once before—I suppose + that was why they turned to Brooke, and Swinburne, and Shelley. + Their chance was to make everything fine and finished and rich + and imaginative; they must bend tiny golden tentacles from his + imagination to hers, that would take the place of the great, deep + love that was never so near, yet never so much of a dream. + + One poem they read over and over; Swinburne’s “Triumph of Time,” + and four lines of it rang in his memory afterward on warm nights + when he saw the fireflies among dusky tree trunks and heard the + low drone of many frogs. Then Eleanor seemed to come out of the + night and stand by him, and he heard her throaty voice, with its + tone of a fleecy-headed drum, repeating: + + “Is it worth a tear, is it worth an hour, To think of things that + are well outworn; Of fruitless husk and fugitive flower, The dream + foregone and the deed foreborne?” + + They were formally introduced two days later, and his aunt told + him her history. The Ramillys were two: old Mr. Ramilly and his + granddaughter, Eleanor. She had lived in France with a restless + mother whom Amory imagined to have been very like his own, on + whose death she had come to America, to live in Maryland. She had + gone to Baltimore first to stay with a bachelor uncle, and there + she insisted on being a debutante at the age of seventeen. She + had a wild winter and arrived in the country in March, having + quarrelled frantically with all her Baltimore relatives, and + shocked them into fiery protest. A rather fast crowd had come + out, who drank cocktails in limousines and were promiscuously + condescending and patronizing toward older people, and Eleanor + with an esprit that hinted strongly of the boulevards, led many + innocents still redolent of St. Timothy’s and Farmington, into + paths of Bohemian naughtiness. When the story came to her uncle, + a forgetful cavalier of a more hypocritical era, there was a + scene, from which Eleanor emerged, subdued but rebellious and + indignant, to seek haven with her grandfather who hovered in the + country on the near side of senility. That’s as far as her story + went; she told him the rest herself, but that was later. + + Often they swam and as Amory floated lazily in the water he shut + his mind to all thoughts except those of hazy soap-bubble lands + where the sun splattered through wind-drunk trees. How could any + one possibly think or worry, or do anything except splash and + dive and loll there on the edge of time while the flower months + failed. Let the days move over—sadness and memory and pain + recurred outside, and here, once more, before he went on to meet + them he wanted to drift and be young. + + There were days when Amory resented that life had changed from an + even progress along a road stretching ever in sight, with the + scenery merging and blending, into a succession of quick, + unrelated scenes—two years of sweat and blood, that sudden absurd + instinct for paternity that Rosalind had stirred; the + half-sensual, half-neurotic quality of this autumn with Eleanor. + He felt that it would take all time, more than he could ever + spare, to glue these strange cumbersome pictures into the + scrap-book of his life. It was all like a banquet where he sat + for this half-hour of his youth and tried to enjoy brilliant + epicurean courses. + + Dimly he promised himself a time where all should be welded + together. For months it seemed that he had alternated between + being borne along a stream of love or fascination, or left in an + eddy, and in the eddies he had not desired to think, rather to be + picked up on a wave’s top and swept along again. + + “The despairing, dying autumn and our love—how well they + harmonize!” said Eleanor sadly one day as they lay dripping by + the water. + + “The Indian summer of our hearts—” he ceased. + + “Tell me,” she said finally, “was she light or dark?” + + “Light.” + + “Was she more beautiful than I am?” + + “I don’t know,” said Amory shortly. + + One night they walked while the moon rose and poured a great + burden of glory over the garden until it seemed fairyland with + Amory and Eleanor, dim phantasmal shapes, expressing eternal + beauty in curious elfin love moods. Then they turned out of the + moonlight into the trellised darkness of a vine-hung pagoda, + where there were scents so plaintive as to be nearly musical. + + “Light a match,” she whispered. “I want to see you.” + + Scratch! Flare! + + The night and the scarred trees were like scenery in a play, and + to be there with Eleanor, shadowy and unreal, seemed somehow + oddly familiar. Amory thought how it was only the past that ever + seemed strange and unbelievable. The match went out. + + “It’s black as pitch.” + + “We’re just voices now,” murmured Eleanor, “little lonesome + voices. Light another.” + + “That was my last match.” + + Suddenly he caught her in his arms. + + “You _are_ mine—you know you’re mine!” he cried wildly... the + moonlight twisted in through the vines and listened... the + fireflies hung upon their whispers as if to win his glance from + the glory of their eyes. + + + THE END OF SUMMER + + “No wind is stirring in the grass; not one wind stirs... the + water in the hidden pools, as glass, fronts the full moon and so + inters the golden token in its icy mass,” chanted Eleanor to the + trees that skeletoned the body of the night. “Isn’t it ghostly + here? If you can hold your horse’s feet up, let’s cut through the + woods and find the hidden pools.” + + “It’s after one, and you’ll get the devil,” he objected, “and I + don’t know enough about horses to put one away in the pitch + dark.” + + “Shut up, you old fool,” she whispered irrelevantly, and, leaning + over, she patted him lazily with her riding-crop. “You can leave + your old plug in our stable and I’ll send him over to-morrow.” + + “But my uncle has got to drive me to the station with this old + plug at seven o’clock.” + + “Don’t be a spoil-sport—remember, you have a tendency toward + wavering that prevents you from being the entire light of my + life.” + + Amory drew his horse up close beside, and, leaning toward her, + grasped her hand. + + “Say I am—_quick_, or I’ll pull you over and make you ride behind + me.” + + She looked up and smiled and shook her head excitedly. + + “Oh, do!—or rather, don’t! Why are all the exciting things so + uncomfortable, like fighting and exploring and ski-ing in Canada? + By the way, we’re going to ride up Harper’s Hill. I think that + comes in our programme about five o’clock.” + + “You little devil,” Amory growled. “You’re going to make me stay + up all night and sleep in the train like an immigrant all day + to-morrow, going back to New York.” + + “Hush! some one’s coming along the road—let’s go! Whoo-ee-oop!” + And with a shout that probably gave the belated traveller a + series of shivers, she turned her horse into the woods and Amory + followed slowly, as he had followed her all day for three weeks. + + The summer was over, but he had spent the days in watching + Eleanor, a graceful, facile Manfred, build herself intellectual + and imaginative pyramids while she revelled in the + artificialities of the temperamental teens and they wrote poetry + at the dinner-table. + + When Vanity kissed Vanity, a hundred happy Junes ago, he pondered + o’er her breathlessly, and, that all men might ever know, he rhymed + her eyes with life and death: + “Thru Time I’ll save my love!” he said... yet Beauty vanished with + his breath, and, with her lovers, she was dead... + —Ever his wit and not her eyes, ever his art and not her hair: + “Who’d learn a trick in rhyme, be wise and pause before his sonnet + there”... So all my words, however true, might sing you to a + thousandth June, and no one ever _know_ that you were Beauty for an + afternoon. + + So he wrote one day, when he pondered how coldly we thought of + the “Dark Lady of the Sonnets,” and how little we remembered her + as the great man wanted her remembered. For what Shakespeare + _must_ have desired, to have been able to write with such divine + despair, was that the lady should live... and now we have no real + interest in her.... The irony of it is that if he had cared + _more_ for the poem than for the lady the sonnet would be only + obvious, imitative rhetoric and no one would ever have read it + after twenty years.... + + This was the last night Amory ever saw Eleanor. He was leaving in + the morning and they had agreed to take a long farewell trot by + the cold moonlight. She wanted to talk, she said—perhaps the last + time in her life that she could be rational (she meant pose with + comfort). So they had turned into the woods and rode for half an + hour with scarcely a word, except when she whispered “Damn!” at a + bothersome branch—whispered it as no other girl was ever able to + whisper it. Then they started up Harper’s Hill, walking their + tired horses. + + “Good Lord! It’s quiet here!” whispered Eleanor; “much more + lonesome than the woods.” + + “I hate woods,” Amory said, shuddering. “Any kind of foliage or + underbrush at night. Out here it’s so broad and easy on the + spirit.” + + “The long slope of a long hill.” + + “And the cold moon rolling moonlight down it.” + + “And thee and me, last and most important.” + + It was quiet that night—the straight road they followed up to the + edge of the cliff knew few footsteps at any time. Only an + occasional negro cabin, silver-gray in the rock-ribbed moonlight, + broke the long line of bare ground; behind lay the black edge of + the woods like a dark frosting on white cake, and ahead the + sharp, high horizon. It was much colder—so cold that it settled + on them and drove all the warm nights from their minds. + + “The end of summer,” said Eleanor softly. “Listen to the beat of + our horses’ hoofs—‘tump-tump-tump-a-tump.’ Have you ever been + feverish and had all noises divide into ‘tump-tump-tump’ until + you could swear eternity was divisible into so many tumps? That’s + the way I feel—old horses go tump-tump.... I guess that’s the + only thing that separates horses and clocks from us. Human beings + can’t go ‘tump-tump-tump’ without going crazy.” + + The breeze freshened and Eleanor pulled her cape around her and + shivered. + + “Are you very cold?” asked Amory. + + “No, I’m thinking about myself—my black old inside self, the real + one, with the fundamental honesty that keeps me from being + absolutely wicked by making me realize my own sins.” + + They were riding up close by the cliff and Amory gazed over. + Where the fall met the ground a hundred feet below, a black + stream made a sharp line, broken by tiny glints in the swift + water. + + “Rotten, rotten old world,” broke out Eleanor suddenly, “and the + wretchedest thing of all is me—oh, _why_ am I a girl? Why am I + not a stupid—? Look at you; you’re stupider than I am, not much, + but some, and you can lope about and get bored and then lope + somewhere else, and you can play around with girls without being + involved in meshes of sentiment, and you can do anything and be + justified—and here am I with the brains to do everything, yet + tied to the sinking ship of future matrimony. If I were born a + hundred years from now, well and good, but now what’s in store + for me—I have to marry, that goes without saying. Who? I’m too + bright for most men, and yet I have to descend to their level and + let them patronize my intellect in order to get their attention. + Every year that I don’t marry I’ve got less chance for a + first-class man. At the best I can have my choice from one or two + cities and, of course, I have to marry into a dinner-coat. + + “Listen,” she leaned close again, “I like clever men and + good-looking men, and, of course, no one cares more for + personality than I do. Oh, just one person in fifty has any + glimmer of what sex is. I’m hipped on Freud and all that, but + it’s rotten that every bit of _real_ love in the world is + ninety-nine per cent passion and one little soupcon of jealousy.” + She finished as suddenly as she began. + + “Of course, you’re right,” Amory agreed. “It’s a rather + unpleasant overpowering force that’s part of the machinery under + everything. It’s like an actor that lets you see his mechanics! + Wait a minute till I think this out....” + + He paused and tried to get a metaphor. They had turned the cliff + and were riding along the road about fifty feet to the left. + + “You see every one’s got to have some cloak to throw around it. + The mediocre intellects, Plato’s second class, use the remnants + of romantic chivalry diluted with Victorian sentiment—and we who + consider ourselves the intellectuals cover it up by pretending + that it’s another side of us, has nothing to do with our shining + brains; we pretend that the fact that we realize it is really + absolving us from being a prey to it. But the truth is that sex + is right in the middle of our purest abstractions, so close that + it obscures vision.... I can kiss you now and will. ...” He + leaned toward her in his saddle, but she drew away. + + “I can’t—I can’t kiss you now—I’m more sensitive.” + + “You’re more stupid then,” he declared rather impatiently. + “Intellect is no protection from sex any more than convention + is...” + + “What is?” she fired up. “The Catholic Church or the maxims of + Confucius?” + + Amory looked up, rather taken aback. + + “That’s your panacea, isn’t it?” she cried. “Oh, you’re just an + old hypocrite, too. Thousands of scowling priests keeping the + degenerate Italians and illiterate Irish repentant with + gabble-gabble about the sixth and ninth commandments. It’s just + all cloaks, sentiment and spiritual rouge and panaceas. I’ll tell + you there is no God, not even a definite abstract goodness; so + it’s all got to be worked out for the individual by the + individual here in high white foreheads like mine, and you’re too + much the prig to admit it.” She let go her reins and shook her + little fists at the stars. + + “If there’s a God let him strike me—strike me!” + + “Talking about God again after the manner of atheists,” Amory + said sharply. His materialism, always a thin cloak, was torn to + shreds by Eleanor’s blasphemy.... She knew it and it angered him + that she knew it. + + “And like most intellectuals who don’t find faith convenient,” he + continued coldly, “like Napoleon and Oscar Wilde and the rest of + your type, you’ll yell loudly for a priest on your death-bed.” + + Eleanor drew her horse up sharply and he reined in beside her. + + “Will I?” she said in a queer voice that scared him. “Will I? + Watch! _I’m going over the cliff!_” And before he could interfere + she had turned and was riding breakneck for the end of the + plateau. + + He wheeled and started after her, his body like ice, his nerves + in a vast clangor. There was no chance of stopping her. The moon + was under a cloud and her horse would step blindly over. Then + some ten feet from the edge of the cliff she gave a sudden shriek + and flung herself sideways—plunged from her horse and, rolling + over twice, landed in a pile of brush five feet from the edge. + The horse went over with a frantic whinny. In a minute he was by + Eleanor’s side and saw that her eyes were open. + + “Eleanor!” he cried. + + She did not answer, but her lips moved and her eyes filled with + sudden tears. + + “Eleanor, are you hurt?” + + “No; I don’t think so,” she said faintly, and then began weeping. + + “My horse dead?” + + “Good God—Yes!” + + “Oh!” she wailed. “I thought I was going over. I didn’t know—” + + He helped her gently to her feet and boosted her onto his saddle. + So they started homeward; Amory walking and she bent forward on + the pommel, sobbing bitterly. + + “I’ve got a crazy streak,” she faltered, “twice before I’ve done + things like that. When I was eleven mother went—went mad—stark + raving crazy. We were in Vienna—” + + All the way back she talked haltingly about herself, and Amory’s + love waned slowly with the moon. At her door they started from + habit to kiss good night, but she could not run into his arms, + nor were they stretched to meet her as in the week before. For a + minute they stood there, hating each other with a bitter sadness. + But as Amory had loved himself in Eleanor, so now what he hated + was only a mirror. Their poses were strewn about the pale dawn + like broken glass. The stars were long gone and there were left + only the little sighing gusts of wind and the silences between... + but naked souls are poor things ever, and soon he turned homeward + and let new lights come in with the sun. + + + A POEM THAT ELEANOR SENT AMORY SEVERAL YEARS LATER + + “Here, Earth-born, over the lilt of the water, Lisping its music and + bearing a burden of light, Bosoming day as a laughing and radiant + daughter... Here we may whisper unheard, unafraid of the night. + Walking alone... was it splendor, or what, we were bound with, Deep in + the time when summer lets down her hair? Shadows we loved and the + patterns they covered the ground with Tapestries, mystical, faint in + the breathless air. + That was the day... and the night for another story, Pale as a dream + and shadowed with pencilled trees— Ghosts of the stars came by who + had sought for glory, Whispered to us of peace in the plaintive + breeze, Whispered of old dead faiths that the day had shattered, + Youth the penny that bought delight of the moon; That was the urge + that we knew and the language that mattered That was the debt that we + paid to the usurer June. + Here, deepest of dreams, by the waters that bring not Anything back + of the past that we need not know, What if the light is but sun and + the little streams sing not, We are together, it seems... I have + loved you so... What did the last night hold, with the summer over, + Drawing us back to the home in the changing glade? _What leered out + of the dark in the ghostly clover?_ God!... till you stirred in your + sleep... and were wild afraid... + Well... we have passed... we are chronicle now to the eerie. Curious + metal from meteors that failed in the sky; Earth-born the tireless is + stretched by the water, quite weary, Close to this ununderstandable + changeling that’s I... Fear is an echo we traced to Security’s + daughter; Now we are faces and voices... and less, too soon, + Whispering half-love over the lilt of the water... Youth the penny + that bought delight of the moon.” + + + A POEM AMORY SENT TO ELEANOR AND WHICH HE CALLED “SUMMER STORM” + + “Faint winds, and a song fading and leaves falling, Faint winds, and + far away a fading laughter... And the rain and over the fields a + voice calling... + Our gray blown cloud scurries and lifts above, Slides on the sun + and flutters there to waft her Sisters on. The shadow of a dove + Falls on the cote, the trees are filled with wings; And down the + valley through the crying trees The body of the darker storm flies; + brings With its new air the breath of sunken seas And slender + tenuous thunder... But I wait... Wait for the mists and for the + blacker rain— Heavier winds that stir the veil of fate, Happier + winds that pile her hair; Again They tear me, teach me, strew the + heavy air Upon me, winds that I know, and storm. + There was a summer every rain was rare; There was a season every + wind was warm.... And now you pass me in the mist... your hair + Rain-blown about you, damp lips curved once more In that wild + irony, that gay despair That made you old when we have met before; + Wraith-like you drift on out before the rain, Across the fields, + blown with the stemless flowers, With your old hopes, dead leaves + and loves again— Dim as a dream and wan with all old hours + (Whispers will creep into the growing dark... Tumult will die over + the trees) Now night Tears from her wetted breast the splattered + blouse Of day, glides down the dreaming hills, tear-bright, To + cover with her hair the eerie green... Love for the dusk... Love + for the glistening after; Quiet the trees to their last tops... + serene... + Faint winds, and far away a fading laughter...” + + + + + CHAPTER 4. The Supercilious Sacrifice + + + Atlantic City. Amory paced the board walk at day’s end, lulled by + the everlasting surge of changing waves, smelling the + half-mournful odor of the salt breeze. The sea, he thought, had + treasured its memories deeper than the faithless land. It seemed + still to whisper of Norse galleys ploughing the water world under + raven-figured flags, of the British dreadnoughts, gray bulwarks + of civilization steaming up through the fog of one dark July into + the North Sea. + + “Well—Amory Blaine!” + + Amory looked down into the street below. A low racing car had + drawn to a stop and a familiar cheerful face protruded from the + driver’s seat. + + “Come on down, goopher!” cried Alec. + + Amory called a greeting and descending a flight of wooden steps + approached the car. He and Alec had been meeting intermittently, + but the barrier of Rosalind lay always between them. He was sorry + for this; he hated to lose Alec. + + “Mr. Blaine, this is Miss Waterson, Miss Wayne, and Mr. Tully.” + + “How d’y do?” + + “Amory,” said Alec exuberantly, “if you’ll jump in we’ll take you + to some secluded nook and give you a wee jolt of Bourbon.” + + Amory considered. + + “That’s an idea.” + + “Step in—move over, Jill, and Amory will smile very handsomely at + you.” + + Amory squeezed into the back seat beside a gaudy, + vermilion-lipped blonde. + + “Hello, Doug Fairbanks,” she said flippantly. “Walking for + exercise or hunting for company?” + + “I was counting the waves,” replied Amory gravely. “I’m going in + for statistics.” + + “Don’t kid me, Doug.” + + When they reached an unfrequented side street Alec stopped the + car among deep shadows. + + “What you doing down here these cold days, Amory?” he demanded, + as he produced a quart of Bourbon from under the fur rug. + + Amory avoided the question. Indeed, he had had no definite reason + for coming to the coast. + + “Do you remember that party of ours, sophomore year?” he asked + instead. + + “Do I? When we slept in the pavilions up in Asbury Park—” + + “Lord, Alec! It’s hard to think that Jesse and Dick and Kerry are + all three dead.” + + Alec shivered. + + “Don’t talk about it. These dreary fall days depress me enough.” + + Jill seemed to agree. + + “Doug here is sorta gloomy anyways,” she commented. “Tell him to + drink deep—it’s good and scarce these days.” + + “What I really want to ask you, Amory, is where you are—” + + “Why, New York, I suppose—” + + “I mean to-night, because if you haven’t got a room yet you’d + better help me out.” + + “Glad to.” + + “You see, Tully and I have two rooms with bath between at the + Ranier, and he’s got to go back to New York. I don’t want to have + to move. Question is, will you occupy one of the rooms?” + + Amory was willing, if he could get in right away. + + “You’ll find the key in the office; the rooms are in my name.” + + Declining further locomotion or further stimulation, Amory left + the car and sauntered back along the board walk to the hotel. + + He was in an eddy again, a deep, lethargic gulf, without desire + to work or write, love or dissipate. For the first time in his + life he rather longed for death to roll over his generation, + obliterating their petty fevers and struggles and exultations. + His youth seemed never so vanished as now in the contrast between + the utter loneliness of this visit and that riotous, joyful party + of four years before. Things that had been the merest + commonplaces of his life then, deep sleep, the sense of beauty + around him, all desire, had flown away and the gaps they left + were filled only with the great listlessness of his disillusion. + + “To hold a man a woman has to appeal to the worst in him.” This + sentence was the thesis of most of his bad nights, of which he + felt this was to be one. His mind had already started to play + variations on the subject. Tireless passion, fierce jealousy, + longing to possess and crush—these alone were left of all his + love for Rosalind; these remained to him as payment for the loss + of his youth—bitter calomel under the thin sugar of love’s + exaltation. + + In his room he undressed and wrapping himself in blankets to keep + out the chill October air drowsed in an armchair by the open + window. + + He remembered a poem he had read months before: + + “Oh staunch old heart who toiled so long for me, I waste my years + sailing along the sea—” + + Yet he had no sense of waste, no sense of the present hope that + waste implied. He felt that life had rejected him. + + “Rosalind! Rosalind!” He poured the words softly into the + half-darkness until she seemed to permeate the room; the wet salt + breeze filled his hair with moisture, the rim of a moon seared + the sky and made the curtains dim and ghostly. He fell asleep. + + When he awoke it was very late and quiet. The blanket had slipped + partly off his shoulders and he touched his skin to find it damp + and cold. + + Then he became aware of a tense whispering not ten feet away. + + He became rigid. + + “Don’t make a sound!” It was Alec’s voice. “Jill—do you hear me?” + + “Yes—” breathed very low, very frightened. They were in the + bathroom. + + Then his ears caught a louder sound from somewhere along the + corridor outside. It was a mumbling of men’s voices and a + repeated muffled rapping. Amory threw off the blankets and moved + close to the bathroom door. + + “My God!” came the girl’s voice again. “You’ll have to let them + in.” + + “Sh!” + + Suddenly a steady, insistent knocking began at Amory’s hall door + and simultaneously out of the bathroom came Alec, followed by the + vermilion-lipped girl. They were both clad in pajamas. + + “Amory!” an anxious whisper. + + “What’s the trouble?” + + “It’s house detectives. My God, Amory—they’re just looking for a + test-case—” + + “Well, better let them in.” + + “You don’t understand. They can get me under the Mann Act.” + + The girl followed him slowly, a rather miserable, pathetic figure + in the darkness. + + Amory tried to plan quickly. + + “You make a racket and let them in your room,” he suggested + anxiously, “and I’ll get her out by this door.” + + “They’re here too, though. They’ll watch this door.” + + “Can’t you give a wrong name?” + + “No chance. I registered under my own name; besides, they’d trail + the auto license number.” + + “Say you’re married.” + + “Jill says one of the house detectives knows her.” + + The girl had stolen to the bed and tumbled upon it; lay there + listening wretchedly to the knocking which had grown gradually to + a pounding. Then came a man’s voice, angry and imperative: + + “Open up or we’ll break the door in!” + + In the silence when this voice ceased Amory realized that there + were other things in the room besides people... over and around + the figure crouched on the bed there hung an aura, gossamer as a + moonbeam, tainted as stale, weak wine, yet a horror, diffusively + brooding already over the three of them... and over by the window + among the stirring curtains stood something else, featureless and + indistinguishable, yet strangely familiar.... Simultaneously two + great cases presented themselves side by side to Amory; all that + took place in his mind, then, occupied in actual time less than + ten seconds. + + The first fact that flashed radiantly on his comprehension was + the great impersonality of sacrifice—he perceived that what we + call love and hate, reward and punishment, had no more to do with + it than the date of the month. He quickly recapitulated the story + of a sacrifice he had heard of in college: a man had cheated in + an examination; his roommate in a gust of sentiment had taken the + entire blame—due to the shame of it the innocent one’s entire + future seemed shrouded in regret and failure, capped by the + ingratitude of the real culprit. He had finally taken his own + life—years afterward the facts had come out. At the time the + story had both puzzled and worried Amory. Now he realized the + truth; that sacrifice was no purchase of freedom. It was like a + great elective office, it was like an inheritance of power—to + certain people at certain times an essential luxury, carrying + with it not a guarantee but a responsibility, not a security but + an infinite risk. Its very momentum might drag him down to + ruin—the passing of the emotional wave that made it possible + might leave the one who made it high and dry forever on an island + of despair. + + ... Amory knew that afterward Alec would secretly hate him for + having done so much for him.... + + ... All this was flung before Amory like an opened scroll, while + ulterior to him and speculating upon him were those two + breathless, listening forces: the gossamer aura that hung over + and about the girl and that familiar thing by the window. + + Sacrifice by its very nature was arrogant and impersonal; + sacrifice should be eternally supercilious. + + _Weep not for me but for thy children._ + + That—thought Amory—would be somehow the way God would talk to me. + + Amory felt a sudden surge of joy and then like a face in a + motion-picture the aura over the bed faded out; the dynamic + shadow by the window, that was as near as he could name it, + remained for the fraction of a moment and then the breeze seemed + to lift it swiftly out of the room. He clinched his hands in + quick ecstatic excitement... the ten seconds were up.... + + “Do what I say, Alec—do what I say. Do you understand?” + + Alec looked at him dumbly—his face a tableau of anguish. + + “You have a family,” continued Amory slowly. “You have a family + and it’s important that you should get out of this. Do you hear + me?” He repeated clearly what he had said. “Do you hear me?” + + “I hear you.” The voice was curiously strained, the eyes never + for a second left Amory’s. + + “Alec, you’re going to lie down here. If any one comes in you act + drunk. You do what I say—if you don’t I’ll probably kill you.” + + There was another moment while they stared at each other. Then + Amory went briskly to the bureau and, taking his pocket-book, + beckoned peremptorily to the girl. He heard one word from Alec + that sounded like “penitentiary,” then he and Jill were in the + bathroom with the door bolted behind them. + + “You’re here with me,” he said sternly. “You’ve been with me all + evening.” + + She nodded, gave a little half cry. + + In a second he had the door of the other room open and three men + entered. There was an immediate flood of electric light and he + stood there blinking. + + “You’ve been playing a little too dangerous a game, young man!” + + Amory laughed. + + “Well?” + + The leader of the trio nodded authoritatively at a burly man in a + check suit. + + “All right, Olson.” + + “I got you, Mr. O’May,” said Olson, nodding. The other two took a + curious glance at their quarry and then withdrew, closing the + door angrily behind them. + + The burly man regarded Amory contemptuously. + + “Didn’t you ever hear of the Mann Act? Coming down here with + her,” he indicated the girl with his thumb, “with a New York + license on your car—to a hotel like _this_.” He shook his head + implying that he had struggled over Amory but now gave him up. + + “Well,” said Amory rather impatiently, “what do you want us to + do?” + + “Get dressed, quick—and tell your friend not to make such a + racket.” Jill was sobbing noisily on the bed, but at these words + she subsided sulkily and, gathering up her clothes, retired to + the bathroom. As Amory slipped into Alec’s B. V. D.’s he found + that his attitude toward the situation was agreeably humorous. + The aggrieved virtue of the burly man made him want to laugh. + + “Anybody else here?” demanded Olson, trying to look keen and + ferret-like. + + “Fellow who had the rooms,” said Amory carelessly. “He’s drunk as + an owl, though. Been in there asleep since six o’clock.” + + “I’ll take a look at him presently.” + + “How did you find out?” asked Amory curiously. + + “Night clerk saw you go up-stairs with this woman.” + + Amory nodded; Jill reappeared from the bathroom, completely if + rather untidily arrayed. + + “Now then,” began Olson, producing a note-book, “I want your real + names—no damn John Smith or Mary Brown.” + + “Wait a minute,” said Amory quietly. “Just drop that big-bully + stuff. We merely got caught, that’s all.” + + Olson glared at him. + + “Name?” he snapped. + + Amory gave his name and New York address. + + “And the lady?” + + “Miss Jill—” + + “Say,” cried Olson indignantly, “just ease up on the nursery + rhymes. What’s your name? Sarah Murphy? Minnie Jackson?” + + “Oh, my God!” cried the girl cupping her tear-stained face in her + hands. “I don’t want my mother to know. I don’t want my mother to + know.” + + “Come on now!” + + “Shut up!” cried Amory at Olson. + + An instant’s pause. + + “Stella Robbins,” she faltered finally. “General Delivery, + Rugway, New Hampshire.” + + Olson snapped his note-book shut and looked at them very + ponderously. + + “By rights the hotel could turn the evidence over to the police + and you’d go to penitentiary, you would, for bringin’ a girl from + one State to ’nother f’r immoral purp’ses—” He paused to let the + majesty of his words sink in. “But—the hotel is going to let you + off.” + + “It doesn’t want to get in the papers,” cried Jill fiercely. “Let + us off! Huh!” + + A great lightness surrounded Amory. He realized that he was safe + and only then did he appreciate the full enormity of what he + might have incurred. + + “However,” continued Olson, “there’s a protective association + among the hotels. There’s been too much of this stuff, and we got + a ’rangement with the newspapers so that you get a little free + publicity. Not the name of the hotel, but just a line sayin’ that + you had a little trouble in ’lantic City. See?” + + “I see.” + + “You’re gettin’ off light—damn light—but—” + + “Come on,” said Amory briskly. “Let’s get out of here. We don’t + need a valedictory.” + + Olson walked through the bathroom and took a cursory glance at + Alec’s still form. Then he extinguished the lights and motioned + them to follow him. As they walked into the elevator Amory + considered a piece of bravado—yielded finally. He reached out and + tapped Olson on the arm. + + “Would you mind taking off your hat? There’s a lady in the + elevator.” + + Olson’s hat came off slowly. There was a rather embarrassing two + minutes under the lights of the lobby while the night clerk and a + few belated guests stared at them curiously; the loudly dressed + girl with bent head, the handsome young man with his chin several + points aloft; the inference was quite obvious. Then the chill + outdoors—where the salt air was fresher and keener still with the + first hints of morning. + + “You can get one of those taxis and beat it,” said Olson, + pointing to the blurred outline of two machines whose drivers + were presumably asleep inside. + + “Good-by,” said Olson. He reached in his pocket suggestively, but + Amory snorted, and, taking the girl’s arm, turned away. + + “Where did you tell the driver to go?” she asked as they whirled + along the dim street. + + “The station.” + + “If that guy writes my mother—” + + “He won’t. Nobody’ll ever know about this—except our friends and + enemies.” + + Dawn was breaking over the sea. + + “It’s getting blue,” she said. + + “It does very well,” agreed Amory critically, and then as an + after-thought: “It’s almost breakfast-time—do you want something + to eat?” + + “Food—” she said with a cheerful laugh. “Food is what queered the + party. We ordered a big supper to be sent up to the room about + two o’clock. Alec didn’t give the waiter a tip, so I guess the + little bastard snitched.” + + Jill’s low spirits seemed to have gone faster than the scattering + night. “Let me tell you,” she said emphatically, “when you want + to stage that sorta party stay away from liquor, and when you + want to get tight stay away from bedrooms.” + + “I’ll remember.” + + He tapped suddenly at the glass and they drew up at the door of + an all-night restaurant. + + “Is Alec a great friend of yours?” asked Jill as they perched + themselves on high stools inside, and set their elbows on the + dingy counter. + + “He used to be. He probably won’t want to be any more—and never + understand why.” + + “It was sorta crazy you takin’ all that blame. Is he pretty + important? Kinda more important than you are?” + + Amory laughed. + + “That remains to be seen,” he answered. “That’s the question.” + + + THE COLLAPSE OF SEVERAL PILLARS + + Two days later back in New York Amory found in a newspaper what + he had been searching for—a dozen lines which announced to whom + it might concern that Mr. Amory Blaine, who “gave his address” + as, etc., had been requested to leave his hotel in Atlantic City + because of entertaining in his room a lady _not_ his wife. + + Then he started, and his fingers trembled, for directly above was + a longer paragraph of which the first words were: + + “Mr. and Mrs. Leland R. Connage are announcing the engagement of + their daughter, Rosalind, to Mr. J. Dawson Ryder, of Hartford, + Connecticut—” + + He dropped the paper and lay down on his bed with a frightened, + sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. She was gone, + definitely, finally gone. Until now he had half unconsciously + cherished the hope deep in his heart that some day she would need + him and send for him, cry that it had been a mistake, that her + heart ached only for the pain she had caused him. Never again + could he find even the sombre luxury of wanting her—not this + Rosalind, harder, older—nor any beaten, broken woman that his + imagination brought to the door of his forties—Amory had wanted + her youth, the fresh radiance of her mind and body, the stuff + that she was selling now once and for all. So far as he was + concerned, young Rosalind was dead. + + A day later came a crisp, terse letter from Mr. Barton in + Chicago, which informed him that as three more street-car + companies had gone into the hands of receivers he could expect + for the present no further remittances. Last of all, on a dazed + Sunday night, a telegram told him of Monsignor Darcy’s sudden + death in Philadelphia five days before. + + He knew then what it was that he had perceived among the curtains + of the room in Atlantic City. + + + + + CHAPTER 5. The Egotist Becomes a Personage + + + “A fathom deep in sleep I lie With old desires, restrained before, + To clamor lifeward with a cry, As dark flies out the greying door; + And so in quest of creeds to share I seek assertive day again... But + old monotony is there: Endless avenues of rain. + Oh, might I rise again! Might I Throw off the heat of that old + wine, See the new morning mass the sky With fairy towers, line on + line; Find each mirage in the high air A symbol, not a dream + again... But old monotony is there: Endless avenues of rain.” + + Under the glass portcullis of a theatre Amory stood, watching the + first great drops of rain splatter down and flatten to dark + stains on the sidewalk. The air became gray and opalescent; a + solitary light suddenly outlined a window over the way; then + another light; then a hundred more danced and glimmered into + vision. Under his feet a thick, iron-studded skylight turned + yellow; in the street the lamps of the taxi-cabs sent out + glistening sheens along the already black pavement. The unwelcome + November rain had perversely stolen the day’s last hour and + pawned it with that ancient fence, the night. + + The silence of the theatre behind him ended with a curious + snapping sound, followed by the heavy roaring of a rising crowd + and the interlaced clatter of many voices. The matinee was over. + + He stood aside, edged a little into the rain to let the throng + pass. A small boy rushed out, sniffed in the damp, fresh air and + turned up the collar of his coat; came three or four couples in a + great hurry; came a further scattering of people whose eyes as + they emerged glanced invariably, first at the wet street, then at + the rain-filled air, finally at the dismal sky; last a dense, + strolling mass that depressed him with its heavy odor compounded + of the tobacco smell of the men and the fetid sensuousness of + stale powder on women. After the thick crowd came another + scattering; a stray half-dozen; a man on crutches; finally the + rattling bang of folding seats inside announced that the ushers + were at work. + + New York seemed not so much awakening as turning over in its bed. + Pallid men rushed by, pinching together their coat-collars; a + great swarm of tired, magpie girls from a department-store + crowded along with shrieks of strident laughter, three to an + umbrella; a squad of marching policemen passed, already + miraculously protected by oilskin capes. + + The rain gave Amory a feeling of detachment, and the numerous + unpleasant aspects of city life without money occurred to him in + threatening procession. There was the ghastly, stinking crush of + the subway—the car cards thrusting themselves at one, leering out + like dull bores who grab your arm with another story; the + querulous worry as to whether some one isn’t leaning on you; a + man deciding not to give his seat to a woman, hating her for it; + the woman hating him for not doing it; at worst a squalid + phantasmagoria of breath, and old cloth on human bodies and the + smells of the food men ate—at best just people—too hot or too + cold, tired, worried. + + He pictured the rooms where these people lived—where the patterns + of the blistered wall-papers were heavy reiterated sunflowers on + green and yellow backgrounds, where there were tin bathtubs and + gloomy hallways and verdureless, unnamable spaces in back of the + buildings; where even love dressed as seduction—a sordid murder + around the corner, illicit motherhood in the flat above. And + always there was the economical stuffiness of indoor winter, and + the long summers, nightmares of perspiration between sticky + enveloping walls... dirty restaurants where careless, tired + people helped themselves to sugar with their own used + coffee-spoons, leaving hard brown deposits in the bowl. + + It was not so bad where there were only men or else only women; + it was when they were vilely herded that it all seemed so rotten. + It was some shame that women gave off at having men see them + tired and poor—it was some disgust that men had for women who + were tired and poor. It was dirtier than any battle-field he had + seen, harder to contemplate than any actual hardship moulded of + mire and sweat and danger, it was an atmosphere wherein birth and + marriage and death were loathsome, secret things. + + He remembered one day in the subway when a delivery boy had + brought in a great funeral wreath of fresh flowers, how the smell + of it had suddenly cleared the air and given every one in the car + a momentary glow. + + “I detest poor people,” thought Amory suddenly. “I hate them for + being poor. Poverty may have been beautiful once, but it’s rotten + now. It’s the ugliest thing in the world. It’s essentially + cleaner to be corrupt and rich than it is to be innocent and + poor.” He seemed to see again a figure whose significance had + once impressed him—a well-dressed young man gazing from a club + window on Fifth Avenue and saying something to his companion with + a look of utter disgust. Probably, thought Amory, what he said + was: “My God! Aren’t people horrible!” + + Never before in his life had Amory considered poor people. He + thought cynically how completely he was lacking in all human + sympathy. O. Henry had found in these people romance, pathos, + love, hate—Amory saw only coarseness, physical filth, and + stupidity. He made no self-accusations: never any more did he + reproach himself for feelings that were natural and sincere. He + accepted all his reactions as a part of him, unchangeable, + unmoral. This problem of poverty transformed, magnified, attached + to some grander, more dignified attitude might some day even be + his problem; at present it roused only his profound distaste. + + He walked over to Fifth Avenue, dodging the blind, black menace + of umbrellas, and standing in front of Delmonico’s hailed an + auto-bus. Buttoning his coat closely around him he climbed to the + roof, where he rode in solitary state through the thin, + persistent rain, stung into alertness by the cool moisture + perpetually reborn on his cheek. Somewhere in his mind a + conversation began, rather resumed its place in his attention. It + was composed not of two voices, but of one, which acted alike as + questioner and answerer: + + Question.—Well—what’s the situation? + + Answer.—That I have about twenty-four dollars to my name. + + Q.—You have the Lake Geneva estate. + + A.—But I intend to keep it. + + Q.—Can you live? + + A.—I can’t imagine not being able to. People make money in books + and I’ve found that I can always do the things that people do in + books. Really they are the only things I can do. + + Q.—Be definite. + + A.—I don’t know what I’ll do—nor have I much curiosity. To-morrow + I’m going to leave New York for good. It’s a bad town unless + you’re on top of it. + + Q.—Do you want a lot of money? + + A.—No. I am merely afraid of being poor. + + Q.—Very afraid? + + A.—Just passively afraid. + + Q.—Where are you drifting? + + A.—Don’t ask _me!_ + + Q.—Don’t you care? + + A.—Rather. I don’t want to commit moral suicide. + + Q.—Have you no interests left? + + A.—None. I’ve no more virtue to lose. Just as a cooling pot gives + off heat, so all through youth and adolescence we give off + calories of virtue. That’s what’s called ingenuousness. + + Q.—An interesting idea. + + A.—That’s why a “good man going wrong” attracts people. They + stand around and literally _warm themselves_ at the calories of + virtue he gives off. Sarah makes an unsophisticated remark and + the faces simper in delight—“How _innocent_ the poor child is!” + They’re warming themselves at her virtue. But Sarah sees the + simper and never makes that remark again. Only she feels a little + colder after that. + + Q.—All your calories gone? + + A.—All of them. I’m beginning to warm myself at other people’s + virtue. + + Q.—Are you corrupt? + + A.—I think so. I’m not sure. I’m not sure about good and evil at + all any more. + + Q.—Is that a bad sign in itself? + + A.—Not necessarily. + + Q.—What would be the test of corruption? + + A.—Becoming really insincere—calling myself “not such a bad + fellow,” thinking I regretted my lost youth when I only envy the + delights of losing it. Youth is like having a big plate of candy. + Sentimentalists think they want to be in the pure, simple state + they were in before they ate the candy. They don’t. They just + want the fun of eating it all over again. The matron doesn’t want + to repeat her girlhood—she wants to repeat her honeymoon. I don’t + want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it + again. + + Q.—Where are you drifting? + + This dialogue merged grotesquely into his mind’s most familiar + state—a grotesque blending of desires, worries, exterior + impressions and physical reactions. + + One Hundred and Twenty-seventh Street—or One Hundred and + Thirty-seventh Street.... Two and three look alike—no, not much. + Seat damp... are clothes absorbing wetness from seat, or seat + absorbing dryness from clothes?... Sitting on wet substance gave + appendicitis, so Froggy Parker’s mother said. Well, he’d had + it—I’ll sue the steamboat company, Beatrice said, and my uncle + has a quarter interest—did Beatrice go to heaven?... probably + not—He represented Beatrice’s immortality, also love-affairs of + numerous dead men who surely had never thought of him... if it + wasn’t appendicitis, influenza maybe. What? One Hundred and + Twentieth Street? That must have been One Hundred and Twelfth + back there. One O Two instead of One Two Seven. Rosalind not like + Beatrice, Eleanor like Beatrice, only wilder and brainier. + Apartments along here expensive—probably hundred and fifty a + month—maybe two hundred. Uncle had only paid hundred a month for + whole great big house in Minneapolis. Question—were the stairs on + the left or right as you came in? Anyway, in 12 Univee they were + straight back and to the left. What a dirty river—want to go down + there and see if it’s dirty—French rivers all brown or black, so + were Southern rivers. Twenty-four dollars meant four hundred and + eighty doughnuts. He could live on it three months and sleep in + the park. Wonder where Jill was—Jill Bayne, Fayne, Sayne—what the + devil—neck hurts, darned uncomfortable seat. No desire to sleep + with Jill, what could Alec see in her? Alec had a coarse taste in + women. Own taste the best; Isabelle, Clara, Rosalind, Eleanor, + were all-American. Eleanor would pitch, probably southpaw. + Rosalind was outfield, wonderful hitter, Clara first base, maybe. + Wonder what Humbird’s body looked like now. If he himself hadn’t + been bayonet instructor he’d have gone up to line three months + sooner, probably been killed. Where’s the darned bell— + + The street numbers of Riverside Drive were obscured by the mist + and dripping trees from anything but the swiftest scrutiny, but + Amory had finally caught sight of one—One Hundred and + Twenty-seventh Street. He got off and with no distinct + destination followed a winding, descending sidewalk and came out + facing the river, in particular a long pier and a partitioned + litter of shipyards for miniature craft: small launches, canoes, + rowboats, and catboats. He turned northward and followed the + shore, jumped a small wire fence and found himself in a great + disorderly yard adjoining a dock. The hulls of many boats in + various stages of repair were around him; he smelled sawdust and + paint and the scarcely distinguishable fiat odor of the Hudson. A + man approached through the heavy gloom. + + “Hello,” said Amory. + + “Got a pass?” + + “No. Is this private?” + + “This is the Hudson River Sporting and Yacht Club.” + + “Oh! I didn’t know. I’m just resting.” + + “Well—” began the man dubiously. + + “I’ll go if you want me to.” + + The man made non-committal noises in his throat and passed on. + Amory seated himself on an overturned boat and leaned forward + thoughtfully until his chin rested in his hand. + + “Misfortune is liable to make me a damn bad man,” he said slowly. + + + IN THE DROOPING HOURS + + While the rain drizzled on Amory looked futilely back at the + stream of his life, all its glitterings and dirty shallows. To + begin with, he was still afraid—not physically afraid any more, + but afraid of people and prejudice and misery and monotony. Yet, + deep in his bitter heart, he wondered if he was after all worse + than this man or the next. He knew that he could sophisticate + himself finally into saying that his own weakness was just the + result of circumstances and environment; that often when he raged + at himself as an egotist something would whisper ingratiatingly: + “No. Genius!” That was one manifestation of fear, that voice + which whispered that he could not be both great and good, that + genius was the exact combination of those inexplicable grooves + and twists in his mind, that any discipline would curb it to + mediocrity. Probably more than any concrete vice or failing Amory + despised his own personality—he loathed knowing that to-morrow + and the thousand days after he would swell pompously at a + compliment and sulk at an ill word like a third-rate musician or + a first-class actor. He was ashamed of the fact that very simple + and honest people usually distrusted him; that he had been cruel, + often, to those who had sunk their personalities in him—several + girls, and a man here and there through college, that he had been + an evil influence on; people who had followed him here and there + into mental adventures from which he alone rebounded unscathed. + + Usually, on nights like this, for there had been many lately, he + could escape from this consuming introspection by thinking of + children and the infinite possibilities of children—he leaned and + listened and he heard a startled baby awake in a house across the + street and lend a tiny whimper to the still night. Quick as a + flash he turned away, wondering with a touch of panic whether + something in the brooding despair of his mood had made a darkness + in its tiny soul. He shivered. What if some day the balance was + overturned, and he became a thing that frightened children and + crept into rooms in the dark, approached dim communion with those + phantoms who whispered shadowy secrets to the mad of that dark + continent upon the moon.... + + + Amory smiled a bit. + + “You’re too much wrapped up in yourself,” he heard some one say. + And again— + + “Get out and do some real work—” + + “Stop worrying—” + + He fancied a possible future comment of his own. + + “Yes—I was perhaps an egotist in youth, but I soon found it made + me morbid to think too much about myself.” + + + Suddenly he felt an overwhelming desire to let himself go to the + devil—not to go violently as a gentleman should, but to sink + safely and sensuously out of sight. He pictured himself in an + adobe house in Mexico, half-reclining on a rug-covered couch, his + slender, artistic fingers closed on a cigarette while he listened + to guitars strumming melancholy undertones to an age-old dirge of + Castile and an olive-skinned, carmine-lipped girl caressed his + hair. Here he might live a strange litany, delivered from right + and wrong and from the hound of heaven and from every God (except + the exotic Mexican one who was pretty slack himself and rather + addicted to Oriental scents)—delivered from success and hope and + poverty into that long chute of indulgence which led, after all, + only to the artificial lake of death. + + There were so many places where one might deteriorate pleasantly: + Port Said, Shanghai, parts of Turkestan, Constantinople, the + South Seas—all lands of sad, haunting music and many odors, where + lust could be a mode and expression of life, where the shades of + night skies and sunsets would seem to reflect only moods of + passion: the colors of lips and poppies. + + + STILL WEEDING + + Once he had been miraculously able to scent evil as a horse + detects a broken bridge at night, but the man with the queer feet + in Phoebe’s room had diminished to the aura over Jill. His + instinct perceived the fetidness of poverty, but no longer + ferreted out the deeper evils in pride and sensuality. + + There were no more wise men; there were no more heroes; Burne + Holiday was sunk from sight as though he had never lived; + Monsignor was dead. Amory had grown up to a thousand books, a + thousand lies; he had listened eagerly to people who pretended to + know, who knew nothing. The mystical reveries of saints that had + once filled him with awe in the still hours of night, now vaguely + repelled him. The Byrons and Brookes who had defied life from + mountain tops were in the end but flaneurs and poseurs, at best + mistaking the shadow of courage for the substance of wisdom. The + pageantry of his disillusion took shape in a world-old procession + of Prophets, Athenians, Martyrs, Saints, Scientists, Don Juans, + Jesuits, Puritans, Fausts, Poets, Pacifists; like costumed alumni + at a college reunion they streamed before him as their dreams, + personalities, and creeds had in turn thrown colored lights on + his soul; each had tried to express the glory of life and the + tremendous significance of man; each had boasted of synchronizing + what had gone before into his own rickety generalities; each had + depended after all on the set stage and the convention of the + theatre, which is that man in his hunger for faith will feed his + mind with the nearest and most convenient food. + + Women—of whom he had expected so much; whose beauty he had hoped + to transmute into modes of art; whose unfathomable instincts, + marvellously incoherent and inarticulate, he had thought to + perpetuate in terms of experience—had become merely consecrations + to their own posterity. Isabelle, Clara, Rosalind, Eleanor, were + all removed by their very beauty, around which men had swarmed, + from the possibility of contributing anything but a sick heart + and a page of puzzled words to write. + + Amory based his loss of faith in help from others on several + sweeping syllogisms. Granted that his generation, however bruised + and decimated from this Victorian war, were the heirs of + progress. Waving aside petty differences of conclusions which, + although they might occasionally cause the deaths of several + millions of young men, might be explained away—supposing that + after all Bernard Shaw and Bernhardi, Bonar Law and + Bethmann-Hollweg were mutual heirs of progress if only in + agreeing against the ducking of witches—waiving the antitheses + and approaching individually these men who seemed to be the + leaders, he was repelled by the discrepancies and contradictions + in the men themselves. + + There was, for example, Thornton Hancock, respected by half the + intellectual world as an authority on life, a man who had + verified and believed the code he lived by, an educator of + educators, an adviser to Presidents—yet Amory knew that this man + had, in his heart, leaned on the priest of another religion. + + And Monsignor, upon whom a cardinal rested, had moments of + strange and horrible insecurity—inexplicable in a religion that + explained even disbelief in terms of its own faith: if you + doubted the devil it was the devil that made you doubt him. Amory + had seen Monsignor go to the houses of stolid philistines, read + popular novels furiously, saturate himself in routine, to escape + from that horror. + + And this priest, a little wiser, somewhat purer, had been, Amory + knew, not essentially older than he. + + Amory was alone—he had escaped from a small enclosure into a + great labyrinth. He was where Goethe was when he began “Faust”; + he was where Conrad was when he wrote “Almayer’s Folly.” + + Amory said to himself that there were essentially two sorts of + people who through natural clarity or disillusion left the + enclosure and sought the labyrinth. There were men like Wells and + Plato, who had, half unconsciously, a strange, hidden orthodoxy, + who would accept for themselves only what could be accepted for + all men—incurable romanticists who never, for all their efforts, + could enter the labyrinth as stark souls; there were on the other + hand sword-like pioneering personalities, Samuel Butler, Renan, + Voltaire, who progressed much slower, yet eventually much + further, not in the direct pessimistic line of speculative + philosophy but concerned in the eternal attempt to attach a + positive value to life.... + + Amory stopped. He began for the first time in his life to have a + strong distrust of all generalities and epigrams. They were too + easy, too dangerous to the public mind. Yet all thought usually + reached the public after thirty years in some such form: Benson + and Chesterton had popularized Huysmans and Newman; Shaw had + sugar-coated Nietzsche and Ibsen and Schopenhauer. The man in the + street heard the conclusions of dead genius through some one + else’s clever paradoxes and didactic epigrams. + + Life was a damned muddle... a football game with every one + off-side and the referee gotten rid of—every one claiming the + referee would have been on his side.... + + Progress was a labyrinth... people plunging blindly in and then + rushing wildly back, shouting that they had found it... the + invisible king—the elan vital—the principle of evolution... + writing a book, starting a war, founding a school.... + + Amory, even had he not been a selfish man, would have started all + inquiries with himself. He was his own best example—sitting in + the rain, a human creature of sex and pride, foiled by chance and + his own temperament of the balm of love and children, preserved + to help in building up the living consciousness of the race. + + In self-reproach and loneliness and disillusion he came to the + entrance of the labyrinth. + + + Another dawn flung itself across the river, a belated taxi + hurried along the street, its lamps still shining like burning + eyes in a face white from a night’s carouse. A melancholy siren + sounded far down the river. + + + MONSIGNOR + + Amory kept thinking how Monsignor would have enjoyed his own + funeral. It was magnificently Catholic and liturgical. Bishop + O’Neill sang solemn high mass and the cardinal gave the final + absolutions. Thornton Hancock, Mrs. Lawrence, the British and + Italian ambassadors, the papal delegate, and a host of friends + and priests were there—yet the inexorable shears had cut through + all these threads that Monsignor had gathered into his hands. To + Amory it was a haunting grief to see him lying in his coffin, + with closed hands upon his purple vestments. His face had not + changed, and, as he never knew he was dying, it showed no pain or + fear. It was Amory’s dear old friend, his and the others’—for the + church was full of people with daft, staring faces, the most + exalted seeming the most stricken. + + The cardinal, like an archangel in cope and mitre, sprinkled the + holy water; the organ broke into sound; the choir began to sing + the Requiem Eternam. + + All these people grieved because they had to some extent depended + upon Monsignor. Their grief was more than sentiment for the + “crack in his voice or a certain break in his walk,” as Wells put + it. These people had leaned on Monsignor’s faith, his way of + finding cheer, of making religion a thing of lights and shadows, + making all light and shadow merely aspects of God. People felt + safe when he was near. + + Of Amory’s attempted sacrifice had been born merely the full + realization of his disillusion, but of Monsignor’s funeral was + born the romantic elf who was to enter the labyrinth with him. He + found something that he wanted, had always wanted and always + would want—not to be admired, as he had feared; not to be loved, + as he had made himself believe; but to be necessary to people, to + be indispensable; he remembered the sense of security he had + found in Burne. + + Life opened up in one of its amazing bursts of radiance and Amory + suddenly and permanently rejected an old epigram that had been + playing listlessly in his mind: “Very few things matter and + nothing matters very much.” + + On the contrary, Amory felt an immense desire to give people a + sense of security. + + + THE BIG MAN WITH GOGGLES + + On the day that Amory started on his walk to Princeton the sky + was a colorless vault, cool, high and barren of the threat of + rain. It was a gray day, that least fleshly of all weathers; a + day of dreams and far hopes and clear visions. It was a day + easily associated with those abstract truths and purities that + dissolve in the sunshine or fade out in mocking laughter by the + light of the moon. The trees and clouds were carved in classical + severity; the sounds of the countryside had harmonized to a + monotone, metallic as a trumpet, breathless as the Grecian urn. + + The day had put Amory in such a contemplative mood that he caused + much annoyance to several motorists who were forced to slow up + considerably or else run him down. So engrossed in his thoughts + was he that he was scarcely surprised at that strange + phenomenon—cordiality manifested within fifty miles of + Manhattan—when a passing car slowed down beside him and a voice + hailed him. He looked up and saw a magnificent Locomobile in + which sat two middle-aged men, one of them small and anxious + looking, apparently an artificial growth on the other who was + large and begoggled and imposing. + + “Do you want a lift?” asked the apparently artificial growth, + glancing from the corner of his eye at the imposing man as if for + some habitual, silent corroboration. + + “You bet I do. Thanks.” + + The chauffeur swung open the door, and, climbing in, Amory + settled himself in the middle of the back seat. He took in his + companions curiously. The chief characteristic of the big man + seemed to be a great confidence in himself set off against a + tremendous boredom with everything around him. That part of his + face which protruded under the goggles was what is generally + termed “strong”; rolls of not undignified fat had collected near + his chin; somewhere above was a wide thin mouth and the rough + model for a Roman nose, and, below, his shoulders collapsed + without a struggle into the powerful bulk of his chest and belly. + He was excellently and quietly dressed. Amory noticed that he was + inclined to stare straight at the back of the chauffeur’s head as + if speculating steadily but hopelessly some baffling hirsute + problem. + + The smaller man was remarkable only for his complete submersion + in the personality of the other. He was of that lower secretarial + type who at forty have engraved upon their business cards: + “Assistant to the President,” and without a sigh consecrate the + rest of their lives to second-hand mannerisms. + + “Going far?” asked the smaller man in a pleasant disinterested + way. + + “Quite a stretch.” + + “Hiking for exercise?” + + “No,” responded Amory succinctly, “I’m walking because I can’t + afford to ride.” + + “Oh.” + + Then again: + + “Are you looking for work? Because there’s lots of work,” he + continued rather testily. “All this talk of lack of work. The + West is especially short of labor.” He expressed the West with a + sweeping, lateral gesture. Amory nodded politely. + + “Have you a trade?” + + No—Amory had no trade. + + “Clerk, eh?” + + No—Amory was not a clerk. + + “Whatever your line is,” said the little man, seeming to agree + wisely with something Amory had said, “now is the time of + opportunity and business openings.” He glanced again toward the + big man, as a lawyer grilling a witness glances involuntarily at + the jury. + + Amory decided that he must say something and for the life of him + could think of only one thing to say. + + “Of course I want a great lot of money—” + + The little man laughed mirthlessly but conscientiously. + + “That’s what every one wants nowadays, but they don’t want to + work for it.” + + “A very natural, healthy desire. Almost all normal people want to + be rich without great effort—except the financiers in problem + plays, who want to ‘crash their way through.’ Don’t you want easy + money?” + + “Of course not,” said the secretary indignantly. + + “But,” continued Amory disregarding him, “being very poor at + present I am contemplating socialism as possibly my forte.” + + Both men glanced at him curiously. + + “These bomb throwers—” The little man ceased as words lurched + ponderously from the big man’s chest. + + “If I thought you were a bomb thrower I’d run you over to the + Newark jail. That’s what I think of Socialists.” + + Amory laughed. + + “What are you,” asked the big man, “one of these parlor + Bolsheviks, one of these idealists? I must say I fail to see the + difference. The idealists loaf around and write the stuff that + stirs up the poor immigrants.” + + “Well,” said Amory, “if being an idealist is both safe and + lucrative, I might try it.” + + “What’s your difficulty? Lost your job?” + + “Not exactly, but—well, call it that.” + + “What was it?” + + “Writing copy for an advertising agency.” + + “Lots of money in advertising.” + + Amory smiled discreetly. + + “Oh, I’ll admit there’s money in it eventually. Talent doesn’t + starve any more. Even art gets enough to eat these days. Artists + draw your magazine covers, write your advertisements, hash out + rag-time for your theatres. By the great commercializing of + printing you’ve found a harmless, polite occupation for every + genius who might have carved his own niche. But beware the artist + who’s an intellectual also. The artist who doesn’t fit—the + Rousseau, the Tolstoi, the Samuel Butler, the Amory Blaine—” + + “Who’s he?” demanded the little man suspiciously. + + “Well,” said Amory, “he’s a—he’s an intellectual personage not + very well known at present.” + + The little man laughed his conscientious laugh, and stopped + rather suddenly as Amory’s burning eyes turned on him. + + “What are you laughing at?” + + “These _intellectual_ people—” + + “Do you know what it means?” + + The little man’s eyes twitched nervously. + + “Why, it _usually_ means—” + + “It _always_ means brainy and well-educated,” interrupted Amory. + “It means having an active knowledge of the race’s experience.” + Amory decided to be very rude. He turned to the big man. “The + young man,” he indicated the secretary with his thumb, and said + young man as one says bell-boy, with no implication of youth, + “has the usual muddled connotation of all popular words.” + + “You object to the fact that capital controls printing?” said the + big man, fixing him with his goggles. + + “Yes—and I object to doing their mental work for them. It seemed + to me that the root of all the business I saw around me consisted + in overworking and underpaying a bunch of dubs who submitted to + it.” + + “Here now,” said the big man, “you’ll have to admit that the + laboring man is certainly highly paid—five and six hour days—it’s + ridiculous. You can’t buy an honest day’s work from a man in the + trades-unions.” + + “You’ve brought it on yourselves,” insisted Amory. “You people + never make concessions until they’re wrung out of you.” + + “What people?” + + “Your class; the class I belonged to until recently; those who by + inheritance or industry or brains or dishonesty have become the + moneyed class.” + + “Do you imagine that if that road-mender over there had the money + he’d be any more willing to give it up?” + + “No, but what’s that got to do with it?” + + The older man considered. + + “No, I’ll admit it hasn’t. It rather sounds as if it had though.” + + “In fact,” continued Amory, “he’d be worse. The lower classes are + narrower, less pleasant and personally more selfish—certainly + more stupid. But all that has nothing to do with the question.” + + “Just exactly what is the question?” + + Here Amory had to pause to consider exactly what the question + was. + + + AMORY COINS A PHRASE + + “When life gets hold of a brainy man of fair education,” began + Amory slowly, “that is, when he marries he becomes, nine times + out of ten, a conservative as far as existing social conditions + are concerned. He may be unselfish, kind-hearted, even just in + his own way, but his first job is to provide and to hold fast. + His wife shoos him on, from ten thousand a year to twenty + thousand a year, on and on, in an enclosed treadmill that hasn’t + any windows. He’s done! Life’s got him! He’s no help! He’s a + spiritually married man.” + + Amory paused and decided that it wasn’t such a bad phrase. + + “Some men,” he continued, “escape the grip. Maybe their wives + have no social ambitions; maybe they’ve hit a sentence or two in + a ‘dangerous book’ that pleased them; maybe they started on the + treadmill as I did and were knocked off. Anyway, they’re the + congressmen you can’t bribe, the Presidents who aren’t + politicians, the writers, speakers, scientists, statesmen who + aren’t just popular grab-bags for a half-dozen women and + children.” + + “He’s the natural radical?” + + “Yes,” said Amory. “He may vary from the disillusioned critic + like old Thornton Hancock, all the way to Trotsky. Now this + spiritually unmarried man hasn’t direct power, for unfortunately + the spiritually married man, as a by-product of his money chase, + has garnered in the great newspaper, the popular magazine, the + influential weekly—so that Mrs. Newspaper, Mrs. Magazine, Mrs. + Weekly can have a better limousine than those oil people across + the street or those cement people ’round the corner.” + + “Why not?” + + “It makes wealthy men the keepers of the world’s intellectual + conscience and, of course, a man who has money under one set of + social institutions quite naturally can’t risk his family’s + happiness by letting the clamor for another appear in his + newspaper.” + + “But it appears,” said the big man. + + “Where?—in the discredited mediums. Rotten cheap-papered + weeklies.” + + “All right—go on.” + + “Well, my first point is that through a mixture of conditions of + which the family is the first, there are these two sorts of + brains. One sort takes human nature as it finds it, uses its + timidity, its weakness, and its strength for its own ends. + Opposed is the man who, being spiritually unmarried, continually + seeks for new systems that will control or counteract human + nature. His problem is harder. It is not life that’s complicated, + it’s the struggle to guide and control life. That is his + struggle. He is a part of progress—the spiritually married man is + not.” + + The big man produced three big cigars, and proffered them on his + huge palm. The little man took one, Amory shook his head and + reached for a cigarette. + + “Go on talking,” said the big man. “I’ve been wanting to hear one + of you fellows.” + + + GOING FASTER + + “Modern life,” began Amory again, “changes no longer century by + century, but year by year, ten times faster than it ever has + before—populations doubling, civilizations unified more closely + with other civilizations, economic interdependence, racial + questions, and—we’re _dawdling_ along. My idea is that we’ve got + to go very much faster.” He slightly emphasized the last words + and the chauffeur unconsciously increased the speed of the car. + Amory and the big man laughed; the little man laughed, too, after + a pause. + + “Every child,” said Amory, “should have an equal start. If his + father can endow him with a good physique and his mother with + some common sense in his early education, that should be his + heritage. If the father can’t give him a good physique, if the + mother has spent in chasing men the years in which she should + have been preparing herself to educate her children, so much the + worse for the child. He shouldn’t be artificially bolstered up + with money, sent to these horrible tutoring schools, dragged + through college... Every boy ought to have an equal start.” + + “All right,” said the big man, his goggles indicating neither + approval nor objection. + + “Next I’d have a fair trial of government ownership of all + industries.” + + “That’s been proven a failure.” + + “No—it merely failed. If we had government ownership we’d have + the best analytical business minds in the government working for + something besides themselves. We’d have Mackays instead of + Burlesons; we’d have Morgans in the Treasury Department; we’d + have Hills running interstate commerce. We’d have the best + lawyers in the Senate.” + + “They wouldn’t give their best efforts for nothing. McAdoo—” + + “No,” said Amory, shaking his head. “Money isn’t the only + stimulus that brings out the best that’s in a man, even in + America.” + + “You said a while ago that it was.” + + “It is, right now. But if it were made illegal to have more than + a certain amount the best men would all flock for the one other + reward which attracts humanity—honor.” + + The big man made a sound that was very like _boo_. + + “That’s the silliest thing you’ve said yet.” + + “No, it isn’t silly. It’s quite plausible. If you’d gone to + college you’d have been struck by the fact that the men there + would work twice as hard for any one of a hundred petty honors as + those other men did who were earning their way through.” + + “Kids—child’s play!” scoffed his antagonist. + + “Not by a darned sight—unless we’re all children. Did you ever + see a grown man when he’s trying for a secret society—or a rising + family whose name is up at some club? They’ll jump when they hear + the sound of the word. The idea that to make a man work you’ve + got to hold gold in front of his eyes is a growth, not an axiom. + We’ve done that for so long that we’ve forgotten there’s any + other way. We’ve made a world where that’s necessary. Let me tell + you”—Amory became emphatic—“if there were ten men insured against + either wealth or starvation, and offered a green ribbon for five + hours’ work a day and a blue ribbon for ten hours’ work a day, + nine out of ten of them would be trying for the blue ribbon. That + competitive instinct only wants a badge. If the size of their + house is the badge they’ll sweat their heads off for that. If + it’s only a blue ribbon, I damn near believe they’ll work just as + hard. They have in other ages.” + + “I don’t agree with you.” + + “I know it,” said Amory nodding sadly. “It doesn’t matter any + more though. I think these people are going to come and take what + they want pretty soon.” + + A fierce hiss came from the little man. + + “_Machine-guns!_” + + “Ah, but you’ve taught them their use.” + + The big man shook his head. + + “In this country there are enough property owners not to permit + that sort of thing.” + + Amory wished he knew the statistics of property owners and + non-property owners; he decided to change the subject. + + But the big man was aroused. + + “When you talk of ‘taking things away,’ you’re on dangerous + ground.” + + “How can they get it without taking it? For years people have + been stalled off with promises. Socialism may not be progress, + but the threat of the red flag is certainly the inspiring force + of all reform. You’ve got to be sensational to get attention.” + + “Russia is your example of a beneficent violence, I suppose?” + + “Quite possibly,” admitted Amory. “Of course, it’s overflowing + just as the French Revolution did, but I’ve no doubt that it’s + really a great experiment and well worth while.” + + “Don’t you believe in moderation?” + + “You won’t listen to the moderates, and it’s almost too late. The + truth is that the public has done one of those startling and + amazing things that they do about once in a hundred years. + They’ve seized an idea.” + + “What is it?” + + “That however the brains and abilities of men may differ, their + stomachs are essentially the same.” + + + THE LITTLE MAN GETS HIS + + “If you took all the money in the world,” said the little man + with much profundity, “and divided it up in equ—” + + “Oh, shut up!” said Amory briskly and, paying no attention to the + little man’s enraged stare, he went on with his argument. + + “The human stomach—” he began; but the big man interrupted rather + impatiently. + + “I’m letting you talk, you know,” he said, “but please avoid + stomachs. I’ve been feeling mine all day. Anyway, I don’t agree + with one-half you’ve said. Government ownership is the basis of + your whole argument, and it’s invariably a beehive of corruption. + Men won’t work for blue ribbons, that’s all rot.” + + When he ceased the little man spoke up with a determined nod, as + if resolved this time to have his say out. + + “There are certain things which are human nature,” he asserted + with an owl-like look, “which always have been and always will + be, which can’t be changed.” + + Amory looked from the small man to the big man helplessly. + + “Listen to that! _That’s_ what makes me discouraged with + progress. _Listen_ to that! I can name offhand over one hundred + natural phenomena that have been changed by the will of man—a + hundred instincts in man that have been wiped out or are now held + in check by civilization. What this man here just said has been + for thousands of years the last refuge of the associated + mutton-heads of the world. It negates the efforts of every + scientist, statesman, moralist, reformer, doctor, and philosopher + that ever gave his life to humanity’s service. It’s a flat + impeachment of all that’s worth while in human nature. Every + person over twenty-five years old who makes that statement in + cold blood ought to be deprived of the franchise.” + + The little man leaned back against the seat, his face purple with + rage. Amory continued, addressing his remarks to the big man. + + “These quarter-educated, stale-minded men such as your friend + here, who _think_ they think, every question that comes up, + you’ll find his type in the usual ghastly muddle. One minute it’s + ‘the brutality and inhumanity of these Prussians’—the next it’s + ‘we ought to exterminate the whole German people.’ They always + believe that ‘things are in a bad way now,’ but they ‘haven’t any + faith in these idealists.’ One minute they call Wilson ‘just a + dreamer, not practical’—a year later they rail at him for making + his dreams realities. They haven’t clear logical ideas on one + single subject except a sturdy, stolid opposition to all change. + They don’t think uneducated people should be highly paid, but + they won’t see that if they don’t pay the uneducated people their + children are going to be uneducated too, and we’re going round + and round in a circle. That—is the great middle class!” + + The big man with a broad grin on his face leaned over and smiled + at the little man. + + “You’re catching it pretty heavy, Garvin; how do you feel?” + + The little man made an attempt to smile and act as if the whole + matter were so ridiculous as to be beneath notice. But Amory was + not through. + + “The theory that people are fit to govern themselves rests on + this man. If he can be educated to think clearly, concisely, and + logically, freed of his habit of taking refuge in platitudes and + prejudices and sentimentalisms, then I’m a militant Socialist. If + he can’t, then I don’t think it matters much what happens to man + or his systems, now or hereafter.” + + “I am both interested and amused,” said the big man. “You are + very young.” + + “Which may only mean that I have neither been corrupted nor made + timid by contemporary experience. I possess the most valuable + experience, the experience of the race, for in spite of going to + college I’ve managed to pick up a good education.” + + “You talk glibly.” + + “It’s not all rubbish,” cried Amory passionately. “This is the + first time in my life I’ve argued Socialism. It’s the only + panacea I know. I’m restless. My whole generation is restless. + I’m sick of a system where the richest man gets the most + beautiful girl if he wants her, where the artist without an + income has to sell his talents to a button manufacturer. Even if + I had no talents I’d not be content to work ten years, condemned + either to celibacy or a furtive indulgence, to give some man’s + son an automobile.” + + “But, if you’re not sure—” + + “That doesn’t matter,” exclaimed Amory. “My position couldn’t be + worse. A social revolution might land me on top. Of course I’m + selfish. It seems to me I’ve been a fish out of water in too many + outworn systems. I was probably one of the two dozen men in my + class at college who got a decent education; still they’d let any + well-tutored flathead play football and _I_ was ineligible, + because some silly old men thought we should _all_ profit by + conic sections. I loathed the army. I loathed business. I’m in + love with change and I’ve killed my conscience—” + + “So you’ll go along crying that we must go faster.” + + “That, at least, is true,” Amory insisted. “Reform won’t catch up + to the needs of civilization unless it’s made to. A laissez-faire + policy is like spoiling a child by saying he’ll turn out all + right in the end. He will—if he’s made to.” + + “But you don’t believe all this Socialist patter you talk.” + + “I don’t know. Until I talked to you I hadn’t thought seriously + about it. I wasn’t sure of half of what I said.” + + “You puzzle me,” said the big man, “but you’re all alike. They + say Bernard Shaw, in spite of his doctrines, is the most exacting + of all dramatists about his royalties. To the last farthing.” + + “Well,” said Amory, “I simply state that I’m a product of a + versatile mind in a restless generation—with every reason to + throw my mind and pen in with the radicals. Even if, deep in my + heart, I thought we were all blind atoms in a world as limited as + a stroke of a pendulum, I and my sort would struggle against + tradition; try, at least, to displace old cants with new ones. + I’ve thought I was right about life at various times, but faith + is difficult. One thing I know. If living isn’t a seeking for the + grail it may be a damned amusing game.” + + For a minute neither spoke and then the big man asked: + + “What was your university?” + + “Princeton.” + + The big man became suddenly interested; the expression of his + goggles altered slightly. + + “I sent my son to Princeton.” + + “Did you?” + + “Perhaps you knew him. His name was Jesse Ferrenby. He was killed + last year in France.” + + “I knew him very well. In fact, he was one of my particular + friends.” + + “He was—a—quite a fine boy. We were very close.” + + Amory began to perceive a resemblance between the father and the + dead son and he told himself that there had been all along a + sense of familiarity. Jesse Ferrenby, the man who in college had + borne off the crown that he had aspired to. It was all so far + away. What little boys they had been, working for blue ribbons— + + The car slowed up at the entrance to a great estate, ringed + around by a huge hedge and a tall iron fence. + + “Won’t you come in for lunch?” + + Amory shook his head. + + “Thank you, Mr. Ferrenby, but I’ve got to get on.” + + The big man held out his hand. Amory saw that the fact that he + had known Jesse more than outweighed any disfavor he had created + by his opinions. What ghosts were people with which to work! Even + the little man insisted on shaking hands. + + “Good-by!” shouted Mr. Ferrenby, as the car turned the corner and + started up the drive. “Good luck to you and bad luck to your + theories.” + + “Same to you, sir,” cried Amory, smiling and waving his hand. + + + “OUT OF THE FIRE, OUT OF THE LITTLE ROOM” + + Eight hours from Princeton Amory sat down by the Jersey roadside + and looked at the frost-bitten country. Nature as a rather coarse + phenomenon composed largely of flowers that, when closely + inspected, appeared moth-eaten, and of ants that endlessly + traversed blades of grass, was always disillusioning; nature + represented by skies and waters and far horizons was more + likable. Frost and the promise of winter thrilled him now, made + him think of a wild battle between St. Regis and Groton, ages + ago, seven years ago—and of an autumn day in France twelve months + before when he had lain in tall grass, his platoon flattened down + close around him, waiting to tap the shoulders of a Lewis gunner. + He saw the two pictures together with somewhat the same primitive + exaltation—two games he had played, differing in quality of + acerbity, linked in a way that differed them from Rosalind or the + subject of labyrinths which were, after all, the business of + life. + + “I am selfish,” he thought. + + “This is not a quality that will change when I ‘see human + suffering’ or ‘lose my parents’ or ‘help others.’ + + “This selfishness is not only part of me. It is the most living + part. + + “It is by somehow transcending rather than by avoiding that + selfishness that I can bring poise and balance into my life. + + “There is no virtue of unselfishness that I cannot use. I can + make sacrifices, be charitable, give to a friend, endure for a + friend, lay down my life for a friend—all because these things + may be the best possible expression of myself; yet I have not one + drop of the milk of human kindness.” + + The problem of evil had solidified for Amory into the problem of + sex. He was beginning to identify evil with the strong phallic + worship in Brooke and the early Wells. Inseparably linked with + evil was beauty—beauty, still a constant rising tumult; soft in + Eleanor’s voice, in an old song at night, rioting deliriously + through life like superimposed waterfalls, half rhythm, half + darkness. Amory knew that every time he had reached toward it + longingly it had leered out at him with the grotesque face of + evil. Beauty of great art, beauty of all joy, most of all the + beauty of women. + + After all, it had too many associations with license and + indulgence. Weak things were often beautiful, weak things were + never good. And in this new loneness of his that had been + selected for what greatness he might achieve, beauty must be + relative or, itself a harmony, it would make only a discord. + + In a sense this gradual renunciation of beauty was the second + step after his disillusion had been made complete. He felt that + he was leaving behind him his chance of being a certain type of + artist. It seemed so much more important to be a certain sort of + man. + + His mind turned a corner suddenly and he found himself thinking + of the Catholic Church. The idea was strong in him that there was + a certain intrinsic lack in those to whom orthodox religion was + necessary, and religion to Amory meant the Church of Rome. Quite + conceivably it was an empty ritual but it was seemingly the only + assimilative, traditionary bulwark against the decay of morals. + Until the great mobs could be educated into a moral sense some + one must cry: “Thou shalt not!” Yet any acceptance was, for the + present, impossible. He wanted time and the absence of ulterior + pressure. He wanted to keep the tree without ornaments, realize + fully the direction and momentum of this new start. + + + The afternoon waned from the purging good of three o’clock to the + golden beauty of four. Afterward he walked through the dull ache + of a setting sun when even the clouds seemed bleeding and at + twilight he came to a graveyard. There was a dusky, dreamy smell + of flowers and the ghost of a new moon in the sky and shadows + everywhere. On an impulse he considered trying to open the door + of a rusty iron vault built into the side of a hill; a vault + washed clean and covered with late-blooming, weepy watery-blue + flowers that might have grown from dead eyes, sticky to the touch + with a sickening odor. + + Amory wanted to feel “William Dayfield, 1864.” + + He wondered that graves ever made people consider life in vain. + Somehow he could find nothing hopeless in having lived. All the + broken columns and clasped hands and doves and angels meant + romances. He fancied that in a hundred years he would like having + young people speculate as to whether his eyes were brown or blue, + and he hoped quite passionately that his grave would have about + it an air of many, many years ago. It seemed strange that out of + a row of Union soldiers two or three made him think of dead loves + and dead lovers, when they were exactly like the rest, even to + the yellowish moss. + + + Long after midnight the towers and spires of Princeton were + visible, with here and there a late-burning light—and suddenly + out of the clear darkness the sound of bells. As an endless dream + it went on; the spirit of the past brooding over a new + generation, the chosen youth from the muddled, unchastened world, + still fed romantically on the mistakes and half-forgotten dreams + of dead statesmen and poets. Here was a new generation, shouting + the old cries, learning the old creeds, through a revery of long + days and nights; destined finally to go out into that dirty gray + turmoil to follow love and pride; a new generation dedicated more + than the last to the fear of poverty and the worship of success; + grown up to find all Gods dead, all wars fought, all faiths in + man shaken.... + + Amory, sorry for them, was still not sorry for himself—art, + politics, religion, whatever his medium should be, he knew he was + safe now, free from all hysteria—he could accept what was + acceptable, roam, grow, rebel, sleep deep through many nights.... + + There was no God in his heart, he knew; his ideas were still in + riot; there was ever the pain of memory; the regret for his lost + youth—yet the waters of disillusion had left a deposit on his + soul, responsibility and a love of life, the faint stirring of + old ambitions and unrealized dreams. But—oh, Rosalind! + Rosalind!... + + “It’s all a poor substitute at best,” he said sadly. + + And he could not tell why the struggle was worth while, why he + had determined to use to the utmost himself and his heritage from + the personalities he had passed.... + + He stretched out his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky. + + “I know myself,” he cried, “but that is all.” + + + + + + + + Appendix: Production notes for eBook edition 11 + + The primary feature of edition 11 is restoration of em-dashes + which are missing from edition 10. (My favorite instance is “I + won’t belong” rather than “I won’t be—long”.) + + Characters which are 8-bit in the printed text were + misrepresented in edition 10. Edition 10 had some + end-of-paragraph problems. A handful of other minor errors are + corrected. + + Two volumes served as reference for edition 11: a 1960 reprint, + and an undated reprint produced sometime after 1948. There are + a number of differences between the volumes. Evidence suggests + that the 1960 reprint has been somewhat “modernized”, and that + the undated reprint is a better match for the original 1920 + printing. Therefore, when the volumes differ, edition 11 more + closely follows the undated reprint. + + In edition 11, underscores are used to denote words and phrases + italicized for emphasis. + + There is a section of text in book 2, chapter 3, beginning with + “When Vanity kissed Vanity,” which is referred to as “poetry” + but is formatted as prose. + + I considered, but decided against introducing an 8-bit version + of edition 11, in large part because the bulk of the 8-bit + usage (as found in the 1960 reprint) consists of words commonly + used in their 7-bit form: + + Aeschylus blase cafe debut debutante elan elite Encyclopaedia + matinee minutiae paean regime soupcon unaesthetic + + Less-commonly-used 8-bit word forms in this book include: + + anaemic bleme coeur manoeuvered mediaevalist tete-a-tete and the + name “Borge”. + + + +Distributed Proofing Team + + + + + + + + +NATIONAL EPICS + +By Kate Milner Rabb + +1896 + + + +TO MY MOTHER. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +This volume is intended for an introduction to the study of the epics. +While the simplicity and directness of the epic style seem to make such a +book unnecessary, the fact that to many persons of literary tastes some of +these great poems are inaccessible, and that to many more the pleasure of +exploring for themselves "the realms of gold" is rendered impossible by +the cares of business, has seemed sufficient excuse for its being. Though +the beauty of the original is of necessity lost in a condensation of this +kind, an endeavor has been made to preserve the characteristic epithets, +and to retain what Mr. Arnold called "the simple truth about the matter of +the poem." It is believed that the sketch prefacing each story, giving +briefly the length, versification, and history of the poem, will have its +value to those readers who have not access to the epics, and that the +selections following the story, each recounting a complete incident, will +give a better idea of the epic than could be formed from passages +scattered through the text. + +The epic originated among tribes of barbarians, who deified departed +heroes and recited legends in praise of their deeds. As the hymn +developed, the chorus and strophe were dropped, and the narrative only was +preserved. The word "epic" was used simply to distinguish the narrative +poem, which was recited, from the lyric, which was sung, and from the +dramatic, which was acted. + +As the nation passed from childhood to youth, the legends of the hero that +each wandering minstrel had changed to suit his fancy, were collected and +fused into one by some great poet, who by his power of unification made +this written epic his own. + +This is the origin of the Hindu epics, the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey," the +"Kalevala," the "Shah-Nameh," "Beowulf," the "Nibelungen Lied," the "Cid," +and the "Song of Roland." + +The conditions for the production of the primitive epic exist but once in +a nation's growth. Its later epics must be written on subjects of national +importance, chosen by the poet, who arranges and embellishes his material +according to the rules of the primitive epic. To this class belong the +"Aeneid," the "Jerusalem Delivered," and the "Lusiad." Dante's poem is +broader, for it is the epic of mediaeval Christianity. Milton likewise +sought "higher argument" than + + "Wars, hitherto the only argument + Heroic deemed," + +and crystallized the religious beliefs of his time in "Paradise Lost." + +The characteristics both of the primitive and the modern epic are their +uniform metre, simplicity of construction, concentration of action into a +short time, and the use of episode and dialogue. The main difference lies +in the impersonality of the primitive epic, whose author has so skillfully +hidden himself behind his work that, as some one has said of Homer, "his +heroes are immortal, but his own existence is doubtful." + +Although the historical events chronicled in the epics have in every case +been so distorted by the fancy of the poets that they cannot be accepted +as history, the epics are storehouses of information concerning ancient +manners and customs, religious beliefs, forms of government, treatment of +women, and habits of feeling. + +Constructed upon the noblest principles of art, and pervaded by the +eternal calm of the immortals, these poems have an especial value to us, +who have scarcely yet realized that poetry is an art, and are feverish +from the unrest of our time. If by the help of this volume any reader be +enabled to find a portion of the wisdom that is hidden in these mines, its +purpose will have been accomplished. + +My thanks are due to Mr. John A. Wilstach for the use of selections from +his translation of the "Divine Comedy;" to Prof. J. M. Crawford, for the +use of selections from his translation of the "Kalevala;" to Henry Holt & +Co., for the use of selections from Rabillon's translation of "La Chanson +de Roland;" to Roberts Brothers, for the use of selections from Edwin +Arnold's "Indian Idylls;" to Prof. J. C. Hall, for the use of selections +from his translation of "Beowulf;" and to A. C. Armstrong & Son, for the +use of selections from Conington's Translation of the "Aeneid." The +selections from the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey" are used with the permission +of and by special arrangement with Houghton, Mifflin & Co., publishers of +Bryant's translations of the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey." Special thanks are +due to Miss Eliza G. Browning of the Public Library of Indianapolis, to +Miss Florence Hughes of the Library of Indiana University, and to Miss +Charity Dye, of Indianapolis. + +K. M. R. + +INDIANAPOLIS, IND., September, 1896. + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +THE HINDU EPIC: THE RAMÂYÂNA + +THE HINDU EPIC: THE MAHÂ-BHÂRATA + +THE GREEK EPIC: THE ILIAD + +THE GREEK EPIC: THE ODYSSEY + +THE FINNISH EPIC: THE KALEVALA + +THE ROMAN EPIC: THE AENEID + +THE SAXON EPIC: BEOWULF + +THE GERMAN EPIC: THE NIBELUNGEN LIED + +THE FRENCH EPIC: THE SONG OF ROLAND + +THE PERSIAN EPIC: THE SHAH-NAMEH + +THE SPANISH EPIC: THE POEM OF THE CID + +THE ITALIAN EPIC: THE DIVINE COMEDY + +THE ITALIAN EPIC: THE ORLANDO FURIOSO + +THE PORTUGUESE EPIC: THE LUSIAD + +THE ITALIAN EPIC: THE JERUSALEM DELIVERED + +THE ENGLISH EPIC: PARADISE LOST + +THE ENGLISH EPIC: PARADISE REGAINED + + + + +SELECTIONS. + + +FROM THE RÂMÂYANA: TRANSLATOR + The Descent of the Ganges ... _Milman_ + The Death of Yajnadatta ... " + +FROM THE MAHÂ-BHÂRATA: + Sâvitrî; or, Love and Death ... _Arnold_ + The Great Journey ... " + +FROM THE ILIAD: + Helen at the Scaean Gates ... _Bryant_ + The Parting of Hector and Andromache ... " + +FROM THE ODYSSEY: + The Palace of Alcinoüs ... _Bryant_ + The Bending of the Bow ... " + +FROM THE KALEVALA: + Ilmarinen's Wedding Feast ... _Crawford_ + The Birth of the Harp ... " + +FROM THE AENEID: + Nisus and Euryalus ... _Conington_ + +FROM BEOWULF: + Grendel's Mother ... _Hall_ + +FROM THE NIBELUNGEN LIED: + How Brunhild was received at Worms ... _Lettsom_ + How Margrave Rüdeger was slain ... " + +FROM THE SONG OF ROLAND: + The Horn ... _Rabillon_ + Roland's Death ... " + +FROM THE SHAH-NAMEH: + The Rajah of India sends a Chessboard + to Nushirvan _Robinson_ + Zal and Rudabeh " + +FROM THE POEM OF THE CID: + Count Raymond and My Cid _Ormsby_ + My Cid's Triumph " + +FROM THE DIVINE COMEDY: + Count Ugolino _Wilstach_ + Buonconte di Montefeltro " + Beatrice descending from Heaven " + The Exquisite Beauty of Beatrice " + +FROM THE ORLANDO FURIOSO: + The Death of Zerbino _Rose_ + +FROM THE LUSIAD: + Inez de Castro _Mickle_ + The Spirit of the Cape " + +FROM THE JERUSALEM DELIVERED: + Sophronia and Olindo _Wiffen_ + +FROM PARADISE LOST: + Satan + Apostrophe to Light + +FROM PARADISE REGAINED: + The Temptation of the Vision of the Kingdoms of the Earth + + + + +NATIONAL EPICS. + + + +THE RÂMÂYANA. + + + "He who sings and hears this poem continually has attained to the + highest state of enjoyment, and will finally be equal to the gods." + + +The Râmâyana, the Hindu Iliad, is variously ascribed to the fifth, third, +and first centuries B.C., its many interpolations making it almost +impossible to determine its age by internal evidence. Its authorship is +unknown, but according to legend it was sung by Kuça and Lava, the sons of +Rama, to whom it was taught by Valmiki. Of the three versions now extant, +one is attributed to Valmiki, another to Tuli Das, and a third to Vyasa. + +Its historical basis, almost lost in the innumerable episodes and +grotesque imaginings of the Hindu, is probably the conquest of southern +India and Ceylon by the Aryans. + +The Râmâyana is written in the Sanskrit language, is divided into seven +books, or sections, and contains fifty thousand lines, the English +translation of which, by Griffith, occupies five volumes. + +The hero, Rama, is still an object of worship in India, the route of his +wanderings being, each year, trodden by devout pilgrims. The poem is not a +mere literary monument,--it is a part of the actual religion of the Hindu, +and is held in such reverence that the mere reading or hearing of it, or +certain passages of it, is believed to free from sin and grant his every +desire to the reader or hearer. + + + + +BIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE RÂMÂYANA. + + +G. W. Cox's Mythology and Folklore, 1881, p. 313; + +John Dowson's Classical Dictionary of Hindu Mythology, Religion, +Geography, History, and Literature, 1879; + +Sir William Jones on the Literature of the Hindus (in his Works, vol. iv.); + +Maj.-Gen. Vans Kennedy's Researches into Hindu Mythology, 1831; + +James Mill's History of British India, 1840, vol. ii., pp. 47-123; + +F. Max Müller's Ancient Sanskrit Literature, 1859; + +E. A. Reed's Hindu Literature, 1891, pp. 153-271; + +Albrecht Weber's History of Indian Literature, 1878, pp. 191-195; + +J. T. Wheeler's History of India, 4 vols., 1876, vol. ii.; + +Sir Monier Williams's Indian Wisdom, 1863, Indian Epic Poetry, 1863; + +Article on Sanskrit Literature in Encyclopædia Britannica; + +R. M. Gust's The Râmâyana: a Sanskrit Epic (in his Linguistic and Oriental +Essays, 1880, p. 56); + +T. Goldstuecker's Râmâyana (in his Literary Remains, 1879, vol. i., +p. 155); + +C. J. Stone's Cradleland of Arts and Creeds, 1880, pp. 11-21; + +Albrecht Weber's On the Râmâyana, 1870; Westminster Review, +1849, vol. 1., p. 34; + +J. C. Oman's Great Indian Epics, 1874, pp. 13-81. + + + + +STANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE RÂMÂYANA. + + +The Râmâyana, Tr. by R. T. H. Griffith, 5 vols., 1870-1874 (Follows Bombay +ed., Translated into metre of "Lady of the Lake"); + +Extracts from the Râmâyana, Tr. by Sir William Jones (in his Works, +vol. 13); + +Iliad of the East, F. Richardson, 1873 (Popular translations of a set of +legends from the Râmâyana); + +The Râmâyana translated into English Prose, edited and published by +Naumatha Nath Dutt, 7 vols., Calcutta, 1890-1894. + + + + +THE STORY OF THE RÂMÂYANA. + + +Brahma, creator of the universe, though all powerful, could not revoke a +promise once made. For this reason, Ravana, the demon god of Ceylon, stood +on his head in the midst of five fires for ten thousand years, and at the +end of that time boldly demanded of Brahma as a reward that he should not +be slain by gods, demons, or genii. He also requested the gift of nine +other heads and eighteen additional arms and hands. + +These having been granted, he began by the aid of his evil spirits, the +Rakshasas, to lay waste the earth and to do violence to the good, +especially to the priests. + +At the time when Ravana's outrages were spreading terror throughout the +land, and Brahma, looking down from his throne, shuddered to see the +monster he had gifted with such fell power, there reigned in Ayodhya, now +the city of Oude, a good and wise raja, Dasaratha, who had reigned over +the splendid city for nine thousand years without once growing weary. He +had but one grief,--that he was childless,--and at the opening of the +story he was preparing to make the great sacrifice, Asva-medha, to +propitiate the gods, that they might give him a son. + +The gods, well pleased, bore his request to Brahma in person, and +incidentally preferred a request that he provide some means of destroying +the monster Ravana that was working such woe among their priests, and +disturbing their sacrifices. + +Brahma granted the first request, and, cudgeling his brains for a device +to destroy Ravana, bethought himself that while he had promised that +neither gods, genii, nor demons should slay him, he had said nothing of +man. He accordingly led the appealing gods to Vishnu, who proclaimed that +the monster should be slain by men and monkeys, and that he would himself +be re-incarnated as the eldest son of Dasaratha and in this form compass +the death of Ravana. + +In course of time, as a reward for his performance of the great sacrifice, +four sons were born to Dasaratha, Rama by Kausalya, his oldest wife, +Bharata, whose mother was Kaikeyi, and twin sons, Lakshmana and Satrughna, +whose mother was Sumitra. + +Rama, the incarnation of Vishnu, destined to destroy Ravana, grew daily in +grace, beauty, and strength. When he was but sixteen years old, having +been sent for by a sage to destroy the demons who were disturbing the +forest hermits in their religious rites, he departed unattended, save by +his brother Lakshmana and a guide, into the pathless forests, where he +successfully overcame the terrible Rakshasa, Tarika, and conveyed her body +to the grateful sage. + +While he was journeying through the forests, destroying countless +Rakshasas, he chanced to pass near the kingdom of Mithila and heard that +its king, Janaka, had offered his peerless daughter, Sita, in marriage to +the man who could bend the mighty bow of Siva the destroyer, which, since +its owner's death, had been kept at Janaka's court. + +Rama at once determined to accomplish the feat, which had been essayed in +vain by so many suitors. When he presented himself at court Janaka was at +once won by his youth and beauty; and when the mighty bow, resting upon an +eight-wheeled car, was drawn in by five thousand men, and Rama without +apparent effort bent it until it broke, he gladly gave him his beautiful +daughter, and after the splendid wedding ceremonies were over, loaded the +happy pair with presents to carry back to Ayodhya. + +When Dasaratha, who had attended the marriage of his son at Mithila, +returned home, he began to feel weary of reigning, and bethought himself +of the ancient Hindu custom of making the eldest son and heir apparent a +Yuva-Raja,--that is appointing him assistant king. Rama deserved this +honor, and would, moreover, be of great assistance to him. + +His happy people received the announcement of his intention with delight; +the priests approved of it as well, and the whole city was in the midst of +the most splendid preparations for the ceremony, when it occurred to +Dasaratha that all he lacked was the congratulations of his youngest and +favorite wife, Kaikeyi, on this great event. The well-watered streets and +the garlanded houses had already aroused the suspicions of +Kaikeyi,--suspicions speedily confirmed by the report of her maid. Angered +and jealous because the son of Kausalya and not her darling Bharata, at +that time absent from the city, was to be made Yuva-Raja, she fled to the +"Chamber of Sorrows," and was there found by the old Raja. + +Though Kaikeyi was his youngest and most beautiful wife, her tears, +threats, and entreaties would have been of no avail had she not recalled +that, months before, the old Raja, in gratitude for her devoted nursing +during his illness, had granted her two promises. She now demanded the +fulfilment of these before she would consent to smile upon him, and the +consent won, she required him, first, to appoint Bharata Yuva-Raja; and, +second, to exile Rama for fourteen years to the terrible forest of +Dandaka. + +The promise of a Hindu, once given, cannot be revoked. In spite of the +grief of the old Raja, of Kausalya, his old wife, and of all the people, +who were at the point of revolt at the sudden disgrace of their favorite +prince, the terrible news was announced to Rama, and he declared himself +ready to go, to save his father from dishonor. + +He purposed to go alone, but Sita would not suffer herself to be thus +deserted. Life without him, she pleaded, was worse than death; and so +eloquent was her grief at the thought of parting that she was at last +permitted to don the rough garment of bark provided by the malicious +Kaikeyi. + +The people of Ayodhya, determined to share the fate of their favorites, +accompanied them from the city, their tears laying the dust raised by +Rama's chariot wheels. But when sleep overcame them, Rama, Sita, and +Lakshmana escaped from them, dismissed their charioteer, and, crossing the +Ganges, made their way to the mountain of Citra-kuta, where they took up +their abode. + +No more beautiful place could be imagined. Flowers of every kind, +delicious fruits, and on every side the most pleasing prospects, together +with perfect love, made their hermitage a paradise on earth. Here the +exiles led an idyllic existence until sought out by Bharata, who, learning +from his mother on his return home the ruin she had wrought in the Raj, +had indignantly spurned her, and hastened to Dandaka. The old Raja had +died from grief soon after the departure of the exiles, and Bharata now +demanded that Rama should return to Ayodhya and become Raja, as was his +right, as eldest son. + +When Rama refused to do this until the end of his fourteen years of exile, +Bharata vowed that for fourteen years he would wear the garb of a devotee +and live outside the city, committing the management of the Raj to a pair +of golden sandals which he took from Rama's feet. All the affairs of state +would be transacted under the authority of the sandals, and Bharata, while +ruling the Raj, would pay homage to them. + +Soon after the departure of Bharata the exiles were warned to depart from +their home on Citra-kuta and seek a safer hermitage, for terrible +rakshasas filled this part of the forest. They accordingly sought the +abode of Atri the hermit, whose wife Anasuya was so pleased with Sita's +piety and devotion to her husband that she bestowed upon her the crown of +immortal youth and beauty. They soon found a new abode in the forest of +Pancarati, on the banks of the river Godavari, where Lakshmana erected a +spacious bamboo house. + +Their happiness in this elysian spot was destined to be short-lived. Near +them dwelt a horrible rakshasa, Surpanakha by name, who fell in love with +Rama. When she found that he did not admire the beautiful form she assumed +to win him, and that both he and Lakshmana laughed at her advances, she +attempted to destroy Sita, only to receive in the attempt a disfiguring +wound from the watchful Lakshmana. Desiring revenge for her disfigured +countenance and her scorned love, she hastened to the court of her brother +Ravana, in Ceylon, and in order to induce him to avenge her wrongs, dwelt +upon the charms of the beautiful wife of Rama. + +Some days after, Sita espied a golden fawn, flecked with silver, among the +trees near their home. Its shining body, its jewel-like horns, so +captivated her fancy that she implored Rama, if possible, to take it alive +for her; if not, at least to bring her its skin for a couch. As Rama +departed, he warned Lakshmana not to leave Sita for one moment; he would +surely return, since no weapon could harm him. In the depths of the forest +the fawn fell by his arrow, crying as it fell, "O Sita! O Lakshmana!" in +Rama's very tones. + +When Sita heard the cry she reproached Lakshmana for not going to his +brother's aid, until he left her to escape her bitter words. He had no +sooner disappeared in the direction of the cry than a hermit appeared and +asked her to minister unto his wants. + +Sita carried him food, bathed his feet, and conversed with him until, able +no longer to conceal his admiration for her, he revealed himself in his +true form as the demon god of Ceylon. + +When she indignantly repulsed him he seized her, and mounting his chariot +drove rapidly towards Ceylon. + +When Rama and Lakshmana returned home, soon after, they found the house +empty. As they searched through the forest for traces of her they found a +giant vulture dying from wounds received while endeavoring to rescue the +shrieking Sita. Going farther, they encountered the monkey king Sugriva +and his chiefs, among whom Sita had dropped from the chariot her scarf and +ornaments. + +Sugriva had been deposed from his kingdom by his brother Bali, who had +also taken his wife from him. Rama agreed to conquer Bali if Sugriva would +assist in the search for Sita; and, the agreement made, they at once +marched upon Kishkindha, together slew Bali, and gained possession of the +wealthy city and the queen Tara. They were now ready to search for the +lost Sita. + +In his quest through every land, Hanuman, the monkey general, learned from +the king of the vultures that she had been carried to Ceylon. He +immediately set out for the coast with his army, only to find a bridgeless +ocean stretching between them and the island. Commanding his soldiers to +remain where they were, Hanuman expanded his body to enormous proportions, +leaped the vast expanse of water, and alighted upon a mountain, from which +he could look down upon Lanka, the capital city of Ceylon. Perceiving the +city to be closely guarded, he assumed the form of a cat, and thus, +unsuspected, crept through the barriers and examined the city. He found +the demon god in his apartments, surrounded by beautiful women, but Sita +was not among them. Continuing his search, he at last discovered her, her +beauty dimmed by grief, seated under a tree in a beautiful asoka grove, +guarded by hideous rakshasas with the faces of buffaloes, dogs, and swine. + +Assuming the form of a tiny monkey, Hanuman crept down the tree, and +giving her the ring of Rama, took one from her. He offered to carry her +away with him, but Sita declared that Rama must himself come to her +rescue. While they were talking together, the demon god appeared, and, +after fruitless wooing, announced that if Sita did not yield herself to +him in two months he would have her guards "mince her limbs with steel" +for his morning repast. + +In his rage, Hanuman destroyed a mango grove and was captured by the +demon's guards, who were ordered to set his tail on fire. As soon as this +was done, Hanuman made himself so small that he slipped from his bonds, +and, jumping upon the roofs, spread a conflagration through the city of +Lanka. + +He leaped back to the mainland, conveyed the news of Sita's captivity to +Rama and Sugriva, and was soon engaged in active preparations for the +campaign. + +As long as the ocean was unbridged it was impossible for any one save +Hanuman to cross it. In his anger at being so thwarted, Rama turned his +weapons against it, until from the terrified waves rose the god of the +ocean, who promised him that if Nala built a bridge, the waves should +support the materials as firmly as though it were built on land. + +Terror reigned in Lanka at the news of the approach of Rama. Vibishana, +Ravana's brother, deserted to Rama, because of the demon's rage when he +advised him to make peace with Rama. Fiercely fought battles ensued, in +which even the gods took part, Vishnu and Indra taking sides with Rama, +and the evil spirits fighting with Ravana. + +After the war had been carried on for some time, with varying results, it +was decided to determine it by single combat between Ravana and Rama. Then +even the gods were terrified at the fierceness of the conflict. At each +shot Rama's mighty bow cut off a head of the demon, which at once grew +back, and the hero was in despair until he remembered the all-powerful +arrow given him by Brahma. + +As the demon fell by this weapon, flowers rained from heaven upon the +happy victor, and his ears were ravished with celestial music. + +Touched by the grief of Ravana's widows, Rama ordered his foe a splendid +funeral, and then sought the conquered city. + +Sita was led forth, beaming with happiness at finding herself re-united to +her husband; but her happiness was destined to be of short duration. Rama +received her with coldness and with downcast eyes, saying that she could +no longer be his wife, after having dwelt in the zenana of the demon. Sita +assured him of her innocence; but on his continuing to revile her, she +ordered her funeral pyre to be built, since she would rather die by fire +than live despised by Rama. The sympathy of all the bystanders was with +Sita, but Rama saw her enter the flames without a tremor. Soon Agni, the +god of fire, appeared, bearing the uninjured Sita in his arms. Her +innocence thus publicly proved by the trial by fire, she was welcomed by +Rama, whose treatment she tenderly forgave. + +The conquest made, the demon destroyed, and Sita restored, Rama returned +in triumph to Ayodhya, and assumed the government. The city was +prosperous, the people were happy, and for a time all went well. It was +not long, however, before whispers concerning Sita's long abode in Ceylon +spread abroad, and some one whispered to Rama that a famine in the country +was due to the guilt of Sita, who had suffered the caresses of the demon +while in captivity in Ceylon. Forgetful of the trial by fire, forgetful of +Sita's devotion to him through weal and woe, the ungrateful Rama +immediately ordered her to the forest in which they had spent together the +happy years of their exile. + +Without a murmur the unhappy Sita, alone and unbefriended, dragged herself +to the forest, and, torn with grief of body and spirit, found the +hermitage of Valmiki, where she gave birth to twin sons, Lava and Kuça. +Here she reared them, with the assistance of the hermit, who was their +teacher, and under whose care they grew to manhood, handsome and strong. + +It chanced about the time the youths were twenty years old, that Rama, who +had grown peevish and disagreeable with age, began to think the gods were +angered with him because he had killed Ravana, who was the son of a +Brahman. Determined to propitiate them by means of the great sacrifice, he +caused a horse to be turned loose in the forest. When his men went to +retake it, at the end of the year, it was caught by two strong and +beautiful youths who resisted all efforts to capture them. In his rage +Rama went to the forest in person, only to learn that the youths were his +twin sons, Lava and Kuça. Struck with remorse, Rama recalled the +sufferings of his wife Sita, and on learning that she was at the hermitage +of Valmiki, ordered her to come to him, that he might take her to him +again, having first caused her to endure the trial by fire to prove her +innocence to all his court. + +Sita had had time to recover from the love of her youth, and the prospect +of life with Rama, without the _couleur de rose_ of youthful love, was +not altogether pleasant. At first, she even refused to see him; but +finally, moved by the appeals of Valmiki and his wife, she clad herself in +her richest robes, and, young and beautiful as when first won by Rama, she +stood before him. Not deigning to look in his face, she appealed to the +earth. If she had never loved any man but Rama, if her truth and purity +were known to the earth, let it open its bosom and take her to it. While +the armies stood trembling with horror, the earth opened, a gorgeous +throne appeared, and the goddess of earth, seated upon it, took Sita +beside her and conveyed her to the realms of eternal happiness, leaving +the too late repentant Rama to wear out his remaining years in shame and +penitence. + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM THE RÂMÂYANA. + +THE DESCENT OF THE GANGES. + + +Sagara, an early king of Ayodhya, had sixty thousand sons, whom he sent +out one day to recover a horse that had been designed for the great +sacrifice, but had been stolen by a rakshasa. Having searched the earth +unsuccessfully, they proceeded to dig into the lower regions. + + Cloven with shovel and with hoe, pierced by axes and by spades, + Shrieked the earth in frantic woe; rose from out the yawning shades + Yells of anguish, hideous roars from the expiring brood of hell,-- + Serpents, giants, and asoors, in the deep abyss that dwell. + Sixty thousand leagues in length, all unweary, full of wrath, + Through the centre, in their strength, clove they down their hellward + path. + And downward dug they many a rood, and downward till they saw aghast, + Where the earth-bearing elephant stood, ev'n like a mountain tall and + vast. + 'T is he whose head aloft sustains the broad earth's forest-clothed + round, + With all its vast and spreading plains, and many a stately city crowned. + If underneath the o'erbearing load bows down his weary head, 't is then + The mighty earthquakes are abroad, and shaking down the abodes of men. + Around earth's pillar moved they slowly, and thus in humble accents + blest + Him the lofty and the holy, that bears the region of the East. + And southward dug they many a rood, until before their shuddering sight + The next earth-bearing elephant stood, huge Mahapadmas' mountain height. + Upon his head earth's southern bound, all full of wonder, saw they rest. + Slow and awe-struck paced they round, and him, earth's southern + pillar, blest. + Westward then their work they urge, king Sagara's six myriad race, + Unto the vast earth's western verge, and there in his appointed place + The next earth-bearing elephant stood, huge Saumanasa's mountain crest; + Around they paced in humble mood, and in like courteous phrase addrest, + And still their weary toil endure, and onward dig until they see + Last earth-bearing Himapandure, glorying in his majesty. + +_At last they reach the place where Vishnu appears with the horse. A flame +issues from the mouth of the indignant deity and destroys the six myriad +sons of Sagara, The adventure devolves on their brother Ansuman, who +achieves it with perfect success. He is permitted to lead away the horse, +but the ashes of his brothers cannot be purified by earthly water; the +goddess Ganga must first be brought to earth, and having undergone +lustration from that holy flood, the race of Sagara are to ascend to +heaven. Brahma at last gives his permission to Ganga to descend. King +Bhagiratha takes his stand on the top of Gokarna, the sacred peak of +Himavan (the Himalaya), and here_-- + + Stands with arms outstretch'd on high, amid five blazing fires, the one + Towards each quarter of the sky, the fifth the full meridian sun. + Mid fiercest frosts on snow he slept, the dry and withered leaves his + food, + Mid rains his roofless vigil kept, the soul and sense alike subdued. + High on the top of Himavan the mighty Mashawara stood; + And "Descend," he gave the word to the heaven-meandering water-- + Full of wrath the mandate heard Himavan's majestic daughter. + To a giant's stature soaring and intolerable speed, + From heaven's height down rushed she, pouring upon Siva's sacred head, + Him the goddess thought in scorn with her resistless might to sweep + By her fierce waves overborne, down to hell's remotest deep. + + Down on Sankara's holy head, down the holy fell, and there, + Amid the entangling meshes spread, of his loose and flowing hair, + Vast and boundless as the woods upon the Himalaya's brow, + Nor ever may the struggling floods rush headlong to the earth below. + Opening, egress was not there, amid those winding, long meanders. + Within that labyrinthine hair, for many an age, the goddess wanders. + +_By the penances of the king, Siva is propitiated, and the stream, by +seven channels, finds its way to the plains of India_. + + Up the Raja at the sign upon his glittering chariot leaps, + Instant Ganga the divine follows his majestic steps. + From the high heaven burst she forth first on Siva's lofty crown, + Headlong then, and prone to earth thundering rushed the cataract down, + Swarms of bright-hued fish came dashing; turtles, dolphins in their + mirth, + Fallen or falling, glancing, flashing, to the many-gleaming earth. + And all the host of heaven came down, spirits and genii, in amaze, + And each forsook his heavenly throne, upon that glorious scene to gaze. + On cars, like high-towered cities, seen, with elephants and coursers + rode, + Or on soft swinging palanquin, lay wondering each observant god. + As met in bright divan each god, and flashed their jewell'd vestures' + rays, + The coruscating aether glow'd, as with a hundred suns ablaze. + And with the fish and dolphins gleaming, and scaly crocodiles and + snakes, + Glanc'd the air, as when fast streaming the blue lightning shoots and + breaks: + And in ten thousand sparkles bright went flashing up the cloudy spray, + The snowy flocking swans less white, within its glittering mists at + play. + And headlong now poured down the flood, and now in silver circlets + wound, + Then lake-like spread all bright and broad, then gently, gently flowed + around, + Then 'neath the caverned earth descending, then spouted up the boiling + tide, + Then stream with stream harmonious blending, swell bubbling up and + smooth subside. + By that heaven-welling water's breast, the genii and the sages stood, + Its sanctifying dews they blest, and plung'd within the lustral flood. + Whoe'er beneath the curse of heaven from that immaculate world had fled, + To th' impure earth in exile driven, to that all-holy baptism sped; + And purified from every sin, to the bright spirit's bliss restor'd, + Th' ethereal sphere they entered in, and through th' empyreal mansions + soar'd. + The world in solemn jubilee beheld those heavenly waves draw near, + From sin and dark pollution free, bathed in the blameless waters clear. + Swift king Bhagiratha drave upon his lofty glittering car, + And swift with her obeisant wave bright Ganga followed him afar. + _Milman's Translation._ + + + + +THE DEATH OF YAJNADATTA. + + +The Raja Dasaratha was compelled to banish his favorite son Rama, +immediately after his marriage to Sita, because his banishment was +demanded by the Raja's wife Kaikeyi, to whom he had once promised to grant +any request she might make. His grief at the loss of his son is described +in this selection. + + Scarce Rama to the wilderness had with his younger brother gone, + Abandoned to his deep distress, king Dasaratha sate alone. + Upon his sons to exile driven when thought that king, as Indra bright, + Darkness came o'er him, as in heaven when pales th' eclipsed sun his + light. + Six days he sate, and mourned and pined for Rama all that weary time. + At midnight on his wandering mind rose up his old forgotten crime. + His queen, Kausalya, the divine, addressed he, as she rested near: + "Kausalya, if thou wakest, incline to thy lord's speech thy ready ear. + Whatever deed, or good or ill, by man, O blessed queen, is wrought. + Its proper fruit he gathers still, by time to slow perfection brought. + He who the opposing counsel's weight compares not in his judgment cool, + Or misery or bliss his fate, among the sage is deemed a fool. + As one that quits the Amra bower, the bright Palasa's pride to gain + Mocked by the promise of its flower, seeks its unripening fruit in vain, + So I the lovely Amra left for the Palasa's barren bloom, + Through mine own fatal error 'reft of banished Rama, mourn in gloom. + Kausalya! in my early youth by my keen arrow, at his mark + Aimed with too sure and deadly truth, was wrought a deed most fell and + dark. + At length, the evil that I did, hath fallen upon my fated head, + As when on subtle poison hid an unsuspecting child hath fed; + Even as that child unwittingly hath made the poisonous fare his food, + Even so, in ignorance by me was wrought that deed of guilt and blood. + Unwed wert thou in virgin bloom, and I in youth's delicious prime, + The season of the rains had come,--that soft and love enkindling time. + Earth's moisture all absorbed, the sun through all the world its warmth + had spread, + Turned from the north, its course begun, where haunt the spirits of the + dead: + Gathering o'er all the horizon's bound on high the welcome clouds + appeared, + Exulting, all the birds flew round,--cranes, cuckoos, peacocks, flew and + veered. + And all down each wide-watered shore the troubled, yet still limpid + floods, + Over their banks began to pour, as o'er them hung the bursting clouds. + And, saturate with cloud-born dew, the glittering verdant-mantled earth, + The cuckoos and the peacocks flew, disputing as in drunken mirth.-- + + "In such a time, so soft, so bland, oh beautiful! I chanced to go. + With quiver and with bow in hand, where clear Sarayu's waters flow, + If haply to the river's brink at night the buffalo might stray, + Or elephant, the stream to drink,--intent my savage game to slay. + Then of a water cruse, as slow it filled, the gurgling sound I heard, + Nought saw I, but the sullen low of elephant that sound appeared. + The swift well-feathered arrow I upon the bowstring fitting straight, + Towards the sound the shaft let fly, ah, cruelly deceived by fate! + The winged arrow scarce had flown, and scarce had reached its destined + aim, + 'Ah me, I'm slain,' a feeble moan in trembling human accents came. + 'Ah, whence hath come this fatal shaft against a poor recluse like me, + Who shot that bolt with deadly craft,--alas! what cruel man is he? + At the lone midnight had I come to draw the river's limpid flood, + And here am struck to death, by whom? ah whose this wrongful deed of + blood? + Alas! and in my parents' heart, the old, the blind, and hardly fed, + In the wild wood, hath pierced the dart, that here hath struck their + offspring dead. + Ah, deed most profitless as worst, a deed of wanton useless guilt: + As though a pupil's hand accurs'd his holy master's blood had spilt. + But not mine own untimely fate,--it is not that which I deplore. + My blind, my aged parents' state--'tis their distress afflicts me more. + That sightless pair, for many a day, from me their scanty food have + earned; + What lot is theirs when I'm away, to the five elements returned? + Alike, all wretched they, as I--ah, whose this triple deed of blood? + For who the herbs will now supply,--the roots, the fruit, their + blameless food?' + My troubled soul, that plaintive moan no sooner heard, so faint and low, + Trembled to look on what I'd done, fell from my shuddering hand my bow. + Swift I rushed up, I saw him there, heart-pierced, and fallen the stream + beside, + The hermit boy with knotted hair,--his clothing was the black deer's + hide. + On me most piteous turned his look, his wounded breast could scarce + respire, + And these the words, O queen, he spoke, as to consume me in his ire: + 'What wrong, O Kshatriya, have I done, to be thy deathful arrow's aim, + The forest's solitary son, to draw the limpid stream I came. + Both wretched and both blind they lie, in the wildwood all destitute, + My parents, listening anxiously to hear my home-returning foot. + By this, thy fatal shaft, this one, three miserable victims fall, + The sire, the mother, and the son--ah why? and unoffending all. + How vain my father's life austere, the Veda's studied page how vain, + He knew not with prophetic fear his son would fall untimely slain. + But had he known, to one as he, so weak, so blind, 't were bootless all, + No tree can save another tree by the sharp hatchet marked to fall. + But to my father's dwelling haste, O Raghu's son, lest in his ire + Thy head with burning curse he blast, as the dry forest tree the fire. + Thee to my father's lone retreat will quickly lead yon onward path, + Oh, haste his pardon to entreat, or ere he curse thee in his wrath. + Yet first that gently I may die, draw forth the barbed steel from hence, + Allay thy fears, no Brahmin I, not thine of Brahmin blood the offence. + My sire, a Brahmin hermit he, my mother was of Sudra race.' + So spake the wounded boy, on me while turned his unreproaching face. + As from his palpitating breast I gently drew the mortal dart, + He saw me trembling stand, and blest that boy's pure spirit seemed to + part. + As died that holy hermit's son, from me my glory seemed to go, + With troubled mind I stood, cast down t' inevitable endless woe. + That shaft that seemed his life to burn like serpent venom, thus drawn + out, + I, taking up his fallen urn, t' his father's dwelling took my route. + There miserable, blind, and old, of their sole helpmate thus forlorn, + His parents did these eyes behold, like two sad birds with pinions + shorn. + Of him in fond discourse they sate, lone, thinking only of their son, + For his return so long, so late, impatient, oh by me undone. + My footsteps' sound he seemed to know, and thus the aged hermit said, + 'O Yajnadatta, why so slow?--haste, let the cooling draught be shed. + Long on the river's cooling brink hast thou been sporting in thy joy. + Thy mother's fainting spirits sink in fear for thee; but thou, my boy, + If aught to grieve thy gentle heart thy mother or thy sire do wrong, + Bear with us, nor, when next we part, on the slow way thus linger long, + The feet of those that cannot move, of those that cannot see the eye, + Our spirits live but in thy love,--oh wherefore, dearest, no reply?' + + "My throat thick swollen with bursting tears, my power of speech that + seemed to choke, + With hands above my head, my fears breaking my quivering voice, I spoke: + The Kshatriya Dasaratha I, O hermit sage, 't is not thy son! + Most holy ones, unknowingly a deed of awful guilt I've done. + With bow in hand I took my way along Sarayu's pleasant brink, + The savage buffalo to slay, or elephant come down to drink. + + "A sound came murmuring to my ear,--'twas of the urn that slowly filled, + I deemed some savage wild-beast near,--my erring shaft thy son had + killed. + A feeble groan I heard, his breast was pierced by that dire arrow keen: + All trembling to the spot I pressed, lo there thy hermit boy was seen. + Flew to the sound my arrow, meant the wandering elephant to slay, + Toward the river brink it went,--and there thy son expiring lay. + The fatal shaft when forth I drew, to heaven his parting spirit soared, + Dying he only thought of you, long, long, your lonely lot deplored. + Thus ignorantly did I slay your child beloved, O hermit sage! + Turn thou on me, whose fated day is come, thy all-consuming rage!' + He heard my dreadful tale at length, he stood all lifeless, motionless; + Then deep he groaned, and gathering strength, me the meek suppliant did + address. + 'Kshatriya, 't is well that thou hast turned, thy deed of murder to + rehearse, + Else over all thy land had burned the fire of my wide-wasting curse. + If with premeditated crime the unoffending blood thou 'dst spilt, + The Thunderer on his throne sublime had shaken at such tremendous guilt. + Against the anchorite's sacred head, hadst, knowing, aimed thy shaft + accursed, + In th' holy Vedas deeply read, thy skull in seven wide rents had burst. + But since, unwitting, thou hast wrought that deed of death, thou livest + still, + O son of Taghu, from thy thought dismiss all dread of instant ill. + Oh lead me to that doleful spot where my poor boy expiring lay, + Beneath the shaft thy fell hand shot, of my blind age the staff, the + stay. + On the cold earth 'twere yet a joy to touch my perished child again, + (So long if I may live) my boy in one last fond embrace to strain + His body all bedewed with gore, his locks in loose disorder thrown, + Let me, let her but touch once more, to the dread realm of Yama gone.' + Then to that fatal place I brought alone that miserable pair; + His sightless hands and hers I taught to touch their boy that slumbered + there. + Nor sooner did they feel him lie, on the moist herbage coldly thrown, + But with a shrill and feeble cry upon the body cast them down. + The mother as she lay and groaned, addressed her boy with quivering + tongue, + And like a heifer sadly moaned, just plundered of her new-dropped young: + + "'Was not thy mother once, my son, than life itself more dear to thee? + Why the long way thou hast begun, without one gentle word to me? + One last embrace, and then, beloved, upon thy lonely journey go! + Alas! with anger art thou moved, that not a word thou wilt bestow?' + + "The miserable father now with gentle touch each cold limb pressed, + And to the dead his words of woe, as to his living son addressed: + 'I too, my son, am I not here?--thy sire with thy sad mother stands; + Awake, arise, my child, draw near, and clasp each neck with loving + hands. + Who now, 'neath the dark wood by night, a pious reader shall be heard? + Whose honeyed voice my ear delight with th' holy Veda's living word? + The evening prayer, th' ablution done, the fire adored with worship + meet, + Who now shall soothe like thee, my son, with fondling hand, my aged + feet? + And who the herb, the wholesome root, or wild fruit from the wood shall + bring? + To us the blind, the destitute, with helpless hunger perishing? + Thy blind old mother, heaven-resigned, within our hermit-dwelling lone, + How shall I tend, myself as blind, now all my strength of life is gone? + Oh, stay, my child, oh. Part not yet, to Yama's dwelling go not now, + To-morrow forth we all will set,--thy mother and myself and thou: + For both, in grief for thee, and both so helpless, ere another day, + From this dark world, but little loath, shall we depart, death's easy + prey! + And I myself, by Yama's seat, companion of thy darksome way, + The guerdon to thy virtues meet from that great Judge of men will pray. + Because, my boy, in innocence, by wicked deed thou hast been slain, + Rise, where the heroes dwell, who thence ne'er stoop to this dark world + again. + Those that to earth return no more, the sense-subdued, the hermits wise, + Priests their sage masters that adore, to their eternal seats arise. + Those that have studied to the last the Veda's, the Vedanga's page, + Where saintly kings of earth have passed, Nahusa and Yayati sage; + The sires of holy families, the true to wedlock's sacred vow; + And those that cattle, gold, or rice, or lands, with liberal hands + bestow; + That ope th' asylum to th' oppressed, that ever love, and speak the + truth; + Up to the dwellings of the blest, th' eternal, soar thou, best-loved + youth. + For none of such a holy race within the lowest seat may dwell; + But that will be his fatal place by whom my only offspring fell.' + + "So groaning deep, that wretched pair, the hermit and his wife, essayed + The meet ablution to prepare, their hands their last faint effort made. + Divine, with glorious body bright, in splendid car of heaven elate, + Before them stood their son in light, and thus consoled their helpless + state: + 'Meed of my duteous filial care, I've reached the wished for realms of + joy; + And ye, in those glad realms, prepare to meet full soon your dear-loved + boy. + My parents, weep no more for me, yon warrior monarch slew me not, + My death was thus ordained to be, predestined was the shaft he shot.' + Thus as he spoke, the anchorite's son soared up the glowing heaven afar, + In air his heavenly body shone, while stood he in his gorgeous car. + But they, of that lost boy so dear the last ablution meetly made, + Thus spoke to me that holy seer, with folded hands above his head. + 'Albeit by thy unknowing dart my blameless boy untimely fell, + A curse I lay upon thy heart, whose fearful pain I know too well. + As sorrowing for my son I bow, and yield up my unwilling breath, + So, sorrowing for thy son shalt thou at life's last close repose in + death.' + That curse dread sounding in mine ear, to mine own city forth I set, + Nor long survived that hermit seer, to mourn his child in lone regret. + This day that Brahmin curse fulfilled hath fallen on my devoted head, + In anguish for my parted child have all my sinking spirits fled. + No more my darkened eyes can see, my clouded memory is o'ercast, + Dark Yama's heralds summon me to his deep, dreary realm to haste. + Mine eye no more my Rama sees, and grief-o'erborne, my spirits sink, + As the swoln stream sweeps down the trees that grow upon the crumbling + brink. + Oh, felt I Rama's touch, or spake one word his home-returning voice, + Again to life I should awake, as quaffing nectar draughts, rejoice, + But what so sad could e'er have been, celestial partner of my heart, + As Rama's beauteous face unseen, from life untimely to depart? + His exile in the forest o'er, him home returned to Oude's high town, + Oh happy those, that see once more, like Indra from the sky come down. + No mortal men, but gods I deem,--moonlike, before whose wondering sight + My Rama's glorious face shall beam, from the dark forest bursting + bright. + Happy that gaze on Rama's face with beauteous teeth and smile of love, + Like the blue lotus in its grace, and like the starry king above. + Like to the full autumnal moon, and like the lotus in its bloom, + That youth who sees returning soon,--how blest shall be that mortal's + doom." + Dwelling in that sweet memory, on his last bed the monarch lay, + And slowly, softly seemed to die, as fades the moon at dawn away. + "Ah, Rama! ah, my son!" thus said, or scarcely said, the king of men, + His gentle hapless spirit fled in sorrow for his Rama then, + The shepherd of his people old at midnight on his bed of death, + The tale of his son's exile told, and breathed away his dying breath. + _Milman's Translation._ + + + + + +THE MAHÂ-BHÂRATA. + + +"It is a deep and noble forest, abounding in delicious fruits and fragrant +flowers, shaded and watered by perennial springs." + +Though parts of the Mahâ-Bhârata, or story of the great war, are of great +antiquity, the entire poem was undoubtedly collected and re-written in the +first or second century A. D. Tradition ascribes the Mahâ-Bhârata to the +Brahman Krishna Dwaipayana Vyasa. + +The Mahâ-Bhârata, unlike the Râmâyana, is not the story of some great +event, but consists of countless episodes, legends, and philosophical +treatises, strung upon the thread of a single story. These episodes are +called Upakhyanani, and the five most beautiful are called, in India, the +five precious stones. + +Its historical basis is the strife between the Aryan invaders of India and +the original inhabitants, illustrated in the strife between the sons of +the Raja Pandu and the blind Raja, Dhrita-rashtra, which forms the main +story of the poem. + +Though marred by the exaggerations peculiar to the Hindu, the poem is a +great treasure house of Indian history, and from it the Indian poets, +historical writers, and philosophers have drawn much of their material. + +The Mahâ-Bhârata is written in the Sanskrit language; it is the longest +poem ever written, its eighteen cantos containing two hundred thousand +lines. + +It is held in even higher regard than the Râmâyana, and the reading of it +is supposed to confer upon the happy reader every good and perfect gift. + + + + +BIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE MAHÂ-BHÂRATA. + + +G.W. Cox's Mythology and Folklore, 1881, p. 313; + +John Dowson's Classical Dictionary of Hindu Mythology, Religion, +Geography, History, and Literature, 1879; + +F. Max Müller's Ancient Sanskrit Literature, 1859 (Introduction); + +E. A. Reed's Hindu Literature, 1891, pp. 272-352; + +Albrecht Weber's History of Indian Literature, 1878, pp. 184-191; + +J. T. Wheeler's History of India, 4 vols., 1876, vol. ii.; + +J. C. Oman's Great Indian Epics, 1874, pp. 87-231; + +T. Goldstuecker's Hindu Epic Poetry; the Mahâ-Bhârata Literary Remains, +1879, (vol. ii., pp. 86-145); + +M. Macmillan's Globe-trotter in India, 1815, p. 193; + +J. Peile's Notes on the Tales of Nala, 1882; + +C. J. Stone's Cradle-land of Arts and Creeds, 1880, pp. 36-49; + +H. H. Wilson's Introduction to the Mahâ-Bhârata and a Translation of three +Extracts (in his Works, vol. iii., p. 277); Westminster Review, 1868, vol. +xxxiii., p. 380. + + + + +STANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE MAHÂ-BHÂRATA. + + +The Mahâ-Bhârata, Selections from the Tr. by Sir Edwin Arnold, in his +Indian Poetry, 1886; in his Indian Idylls, 1883; + +Nala and Damayanti and other Poems, Tr. from the Mahâ-Bhârata by +H. H. Milman, (his translation of the Story of Nala is edited with notes by +Monier Williams, 1879); + +Metrical translations from Sanskrit writers by John Muir, 1879, pp. 13-37; + +Last Days of Krishna, Tr. from the Mahâ-Bhârata Price (Oriental +Translation Fund: Miscellaneous Translations); + +The Mahâ-Bhârata, an English Prose Translation with notes, by Protap +Chandra Roy, Published in one hundred parts, 1883-1890; + +Asiatic Researches, Tr. by H. H. Wilson, from the Mahâ-Bhârata vol. xv., +p. 101; + +Translations of episodes from the Mahâ-Bhârata, in Scribner's Monthly, +1874, vol. vii., p. 385; + +International Review, vol. x., pp. 36, 297; Oriental Magazine, Dec., 1824, +March, Sept., 1825, Sept., 1826. + + + + +THE STORY OF THE MAHÂ-BHÂRATA. + + +Long ago there dwelt in India two great Rajas who were brothers, the Raja +Pandu and the blind Raja, Dhritarashtra. The former had five noble sons +called the Pandavas, the eldest of whom was Yudhi-sthira, the second +Bhima, the third Arjuna, and the youngest, twin sons, Nakalu and Sahadeva. +All were girted in every way, but Arjuna was especially noble in form and +feature. + +The blind Raja had a family of one hundred sons, called the Kauravas from +their ancestor, Kura. The oldest of these was Duryodhana, and the bravest, +Dhusasana. + +Before the birth of Pandu's sons, he had left his kingdom in charge of +Dhrita-rashtra, that he might spend his time in hunting in the forests on +the slopes of the Himalayas. After his death Dhrita-rashtra continued to +rule the kingdom; but on account of their claim to the throne, he invited +the Pandavas and their mother to his court, where they were trained, +together with his sons, in every knightly exercise. + +There was probably jealousy between the cousins from the beginning, and +when their teacher, Drona, openly expressed his pride in the wonderful +archery of Arjuna, the hatred of the Kauravas was made manifest. No +disturbance occurred, however, until the day when Drona made a public +tournament to display the prowess of his pupils. + +The contests were in archery and the use of the noose and of clubs. Bhima, +who had been endowed by the serpent king with the strength of ten thousand +elephants, especially excelled in the use of the club, Nakalu was most +skillful in taming and driving the horse, and the others in the use of the +sword and spear. When Arjuna made use of the bow and the noose the +plaudits with which the spectators greeted his skill so enraged the +Kauravas that they turned the contest of clubs, which was to have been a +friendly one, into a degrading and blood-shedding battle. The spectators +left the splendid lists in sorrow, and the blind Raja determined to +separate the unfriendly cousins before further harm could come from their +rivalry. + +Before this could be done, another event increased their hostility. Drona +had agreed to impart to the Kauravas and the Pandavas his skill in +warfare, on condition that they would conquer for him his old enemy, the +Raja of Panchala. On account of their quarrel the cousins would not fight +together, and the Kauravas, marching against the Raja, were defeated. On +their return, the Pandavas went to Panchala, and took the Raja prisoner. + +After Yudhi-sthira had been appointed Yuva-Raja, a step Dhrita-rashtra was +compelled by the people of Hastinapur to take, the Kauravas declared that +they could no longer remain in the same city with their cousins. + +A plot was laid to destroy the Pandavas, the Raja's conscience having been +quieted by the assurances of his Brahman counsellor that it was entirely +proper to slay one's foe, be he father, brother, or friend, openly or by +secret means. The Raja accordingly pretended to send his nephews on a +pleasure-trip to a distant province, where he had prepared for their +reception a "house of lac," rendered more combustible by soaking in +clarified butter, in which he had arranged to have them burned as if by +accident, as soon as possible after their arrival. + +All Hastinapur mourned at the departure of the Pandavas, and the princes +themselves were sad, for they had been warned by a friend that +Dhrita-rashtra had plotted for their destruction. They took up their abode +in the house of lac, to which they prudently constructed a subterranean +outlet, and one evening, when a woman with five sons attended a feast of +their mother's, uninvited, and fell into a drunken sleep, they made fast +the doors, set fire to the house, and escaped to the forest. The bodies of +the five men and their mother were found next day, and the assurance was +borne to Hastinapur that the Pandavas and their mother Kunti had perished +by fire. + +The five princes, with their mother, disguised as Brahmans, spent several +years wandering through the forests, having many strange adventures and +slaying many demons. While visiting Ekachakra, which city they freed from +a frightful rakshasa, they were informed by the sage Vyasa that Draupadi, +the lovely daughter of the Raja Draupada of Panchala, was going to hold a +Svayamvara in order to select a husband. The suitors of a princess +frequently attended a meeting of this sort and took part in various +athletic contests, at the end of which the princess signified who was most +pleasing to her, usually the victor in the games, by hanging around his +neck a garland of flowers. + +Vyasa's description of the lovely princess, whose black eyes were large as +lotus leaves, whose skin was dusky, and her locks dark and curling, so +excited the curiosity of the Pandavas that they determined to attend the +Svayamvara. They found the city full of princes and kings who had come to +take part in the contest for the most beautiful woman in the world. The +great amphitheatre in which the games were to take place was surrounded by +gold and jewelled palaces for the accommodation of the princes, and with +platforms for the convenience of the spectators. + +After music, dancing, and various entertainments, which occupied sixteen +days, the contest of skill began. On the top of a tall pole, erected in +the plain, was placed a golden fish, below which revolved a large wheel. +He who sent his arrow through the spokes of the wheel and pierced the eye +of the golden fish was to be the accepted suitor of Draupadi. + +When the princes saw the difficulty of the contest, many of them refused +to enter it; as many tried it only to fail, among them, the Kaurava +Duryodhana. At last Arjuna, still in his disguise, stepped forward, drew +his bow, and sent his arrow through the wheel into the eye of the golden +fish. + +Immediately a great uproar arose among the spectators because a Brahman +had entered a contest limited to members of the Kshatriya, or warrior +class. In the struggle which ensued, however, Arjuna, assisted by his +brothers, especially Bhima, succeeded in carrying off the princess, whose +father did not demur. + +When the princes returned to their hut they went into the inner room and +informed their mother that they had brought home a prize. Supposing that +it was some game, she told them it would be well to share it equally. The +mother's word was law, but would the gods permit them to share Draupadi? +Their troubled minds were set at rest by Vyasa, who assured them that +Draupadi had five different times in former existences besought Siva for a +good husband. He had refused her requests then, but would now allow her +five husbands at once. The princes were well satisfied, and when the Raja +Draupada learned that the Brahmans were great princes in disguise, he +caused the five weddings to be celebrated in great state. + +Not satisfied with this, the Raja at once endeavored to make peace between +the Pandavas and their hostile cousins, and succeeded far enough to induce +Dhrita-rashtra to cede to his nephews a tract of land in the farthest part +of his kingdom, on the river Jumna, where they set about founding a most +splendid city, Indra-prastha. + +Here they lived happily with Draupadi, conquering so many kingdoms and +accumulating so much wealth that they once more aroused the jealousy of +their old enemies, the Kauravas. The latter, knowing that it would be +impossible to gain the advantage of them by fair means, determined to +conquer them by artifice, and accordingly erected a large and magnificent +hall and invited their cousins thither, with a great show of friendliness, +to a gambling match. + +The Pandavas knew they would not be treated fairly, but as such an +invitation could not be honorably declined by a Kshatriya, they went to +Hastinapur. Yudhi-sthira's opponent was Shakuni, the queen's brother, an +unprincipled man, by whom he was defeated in every game. + +Yudhi-sthira staked successively his money, his jewels, and his slaves; +and when these were exhausted, he continued to play, staking his kingdom, +his brothers, and last of all his peerless wife, Draupadi. + +At this point, when the excitement was intense, the brutal Dhusasana +commanded Draupadi to be brought into the hall, and insulted her in every +way, to the great rage of the helpless Pandavas, until Dhrita-rashtra, +affrighted by the evil omens by which the gods signified their +disapproval, rebuked Dhusasana for his conduct, and giving Draupadi her +wish, released her husbands and herself and sent them back to their +kingdom. + +To prevent the Pandavas from gaining time to avenge their insult, the +Kauravas induced their father to invite their cousins to court to play a +final game, this time the conditions being that the losing party should go +into exile for thirteen years, spending twelve years in the forest and the +thirteenth in some city. If their disguise was penetrated by their enemies +during the thirteenth year, the exile was to be extended for another +thirteen years. + +Though they knew the outcome, the Pandavas accepted the second invitation, +and in consequence again sought the forest, not departing without the most +terrible threats against their cousins. + +In the forest of Kamyaka, Yudhi-sthira studied the science of dice that he +might not again be defeated so disastrously, and journeyed pleasantly from +one point of interest to another with Draupadi and his brothers, with the +exception of Arjuna, who had sought the Himalayas to gain favor with the +god Siva, that he might procure from him a terrible weapon for the +destruction of his cousins. + +After he had obtained the weapon he was lifted into the heaven of the god +Indra, where he spent five happy years. When he rejoined his wife and +brothers, they were visited by the god Krishna and by the sage Markandeya, +who told them the story of the creation and destruction of the universe, +of the flood, and of the doctrine of Karma, which instructs one that man's +sufferings here below are due to his actions in former and forgotten +existences. He also related to them the beautiful story of how the +Princess Sâvitrî had wedded the Prince Satyavan, knowing that the gods had +decreed that he should die within a year; how on the day set for his death +she had accompanied him to the forest, had there followed Yama, the awful +god of death, entreating him until, for very pity of her sorrow and +admiration of her courage and devotion, he yielded to her her husband's +soul. + +Near the close of the twelfth year of their exile, the princes, fatigued +from a hunt, sent Nakalu to get some water from a lake which one had +discovered from a tree-top. As the prince approached the lake he was +warned by a voice not to touch it, but thirst overcoming fear, he drank +and fell dead. The same penalty was paid by Sahadeva, Arjuna, and Bhima, +who in turn followed him. Yudhi-sthira, who went last, obeyed the voice, +which, assuming a terrible form, asked the king questions on many subjects +concerning the universe. These being answered satisfactorily, the being +declared himself to be Dharma, the god of justice, Yudhi-sthira's father, +and in token of his affection for his son, restored the princes to life, +and granted them the boon of being unrecognizable during the remaining +year of their exile. + +The thirteenth year of their exile they spent in the city of Virata, where +they entered the service of the Raja,--Yudhi-sthira as teacher of +dice-playing, Bhima as superintendent of the cooks, Arjuna as a teacher of +music and dancing to the ladies, Nakalu as master of horse, and Sahadeva +as superintendent of the cattle. Draupadi, who entered the service of the +queen, was so attractive, even in disguise, that Bhima was forced to kill +the queen's brother, Kechaka, for insulting her. This would have caused +the Pandavas' exile from Virata had not their services been needed in a +battle between Virata and the king of the Trigartas. + +The Kauravas assisted the Trigartas in this battle, and the recognition, +among the victors, of their cousins, whose thirteenth year of exile was +now ended, added to the bitterness of their defeat. + +Their exile over, the Pandavas were free to make preparations for the +great war which they had determined to wage against the Kauravas. Both +parties, anxious to enlist the services of Krishna, sent envoys to him at +the same time. When Krishna gave them the choice of himself or his armies, +Arjuna was shrewd enough to choose the god, leaving his hundreds of +millions of soldiers to swell the forces of the Kauravas. + +When their preparations were completed, and the time had come to wreak +vengeance on their cousins, the Pandavas were loath to begin the conflict. +They seemed to understand that, war once declared, there could be no +compromise, but that it must be a war for extinction. But the Kauravas +received their proposals of peace with taunts, and heaped insults upon +their emissary. + +When the Pandavas found that there was no hope of peace, they endeavored +to win to their side Karna, who was really a son of Kunti, and hence their +half-brother, though this fact had not been made known to him until he had +long been allied with the Kauravas. In anticipation of this war, the gods, +by a bit of trickery, had robbed Karna of his god-given armor and weapons. +However, neither celestial artifice, the arguments of Krishna, nor the +entreaties of Kunti were able to move Karna from what he considered the +path of duty, though he promised that while he would fight with all his +strength, he would not slay Yudhi-sthira, Bhima, and the twins. + +The forces of the two armies were drawn up on the plain of Kuruk-shetra. +The army of the Kauravas was under the command of the terrible Bhishma, +the uncle of Pandu and Dhrita-rashtra, who had governed the country during +the minority of Pandu. + +Each side was provided with billions and billions of infantry, cavalry, +and elephants; the warriors were supplied with weapons of the most +dangerous sort. The army of the Kauravas was surrounded by a deep trench +fortified by towers, and further protected by fireballs and jars full of +scorpions to be thrown at the assailants. + +As night fell, before the battle, the moon's face was stained with blood, +earthquakes shook the land, and the images of the gods fell from their +places. + +The next morning, when Arjuna, from his chariot, beheld the immense army, +he was appalled at the thought of the bloodshed to follow, and hesitated +to advance. Krishna insisted that it was unnecessary for him to lament, +setting forth his reasons in what is known as the Bhagavat-gita, the +divine song, in which he said it was no sin to slay a foe, since death is +but a transmigration from one form to another. The soul can never cease to +be; who then can destroy it? Therefore, when Arjuna slew his cousins he +would merely remove their offensive bodies; their souls, unable to be +destroyed, would seek other habitations. To further impress Arjuna, +Krishna boasted of himself as embodying everything, and as having passed +through many forms. Faith in Krishna was indispensable, for the god placed +faith above either works or contemplation. He next exhibited himself in +his divine form to Arjuna, and the warrior was horror-stricken at the +terrible divinity with countless arms, hands, and heads, touching the +skies. Having been thus instructed by Krishna, Arjuna went forth, and the +eighteen days' battle began. + +The slaughter was wholesale; no quarter was asked or given, since each +side was determined to exterminate the other. Flights of arrows were +stopped in mid-air by flights of arrows from the other side. Great maces +were cut in pieces by well-directed darts. Bhima, wielding his great club +with his prodigious strength, wiped out thousands of the enemy at one +stroke, and Arjuna did the same with his swift arrows. Nor were the +Kauravas to be despised. Hundreds of thousands of the Pandavas' followers +fell, and the heroic brothers were themselves struck by many arrows. + +Early in the battle the old Bhishma was pierced by so many arrows that, +falling from his chariot, he rested upon their points as on a couch, and +lay there living by his own desire, until long after the battle. + +After eighteen days of slaughter, during which the field reeked with blood +and night was made horrible by the cries of the jackals and other beasts +of prey that devoured the bodies of the dead, the Kauravas were all slain, +and the five Pandavas, reconciled to the blind Raja, accompanied him back +to Hastinapur, where Yudhi-sthira was crowned Raja, although the Raj was +still nominally under the rule of his old uncle. + +Yudhi-sthira celebrated his accession to the throne by the performance of +the great sacrifice, which was celebrated with the utmost splendor. After +several years the unhappy Dhrita-rashtra retired with his wife to a jungle +on the banks of the Ganges, leaving Yudhi-sthira in possession of the +kingdom. There the Pandavas visited him, and talked over the friends who +had fallen in the great war. One evening the sage Vyasa instructed them to +bathe in the Ganges and then stand on the banks of the river. He then went +into the water and prayed, and coming out stood by Yudhi-sthira and called +the names of all those persons who had been slain at Kuruk-shetra. +Immediately the water began to foam and boil, and to the great surprise +and terror of all, the warriors lost in the great battle appeared in their +chariots, at perfect peace with one another, and cleansed of all earthly +stain. Then the living were happy with the dead; long separated families +were once more united, and the hearts that had been desolate for fifteen +long years were again filled with joy. The night sped quickly by in tender +conversation, and when morning came, all the dead mounted into their +chariots and disappeared. Those who had come to meet them prepared to +leave the river, but with the permission of Vyasa, the widows drowned +themselves that they might rejoin their husbands. + +Not long after his return to Hastinapur, Yudhi-sthira heard that the old +Raja and his wife had lost their lives in a jungle-fire; and soon after +this, tidings came to him of the destruction of the city of the Yadavas, +the capital of Krishna, in punishment for the dissipation of its +inhabitants. + +Yudhi-sthira's reign of thirty-six years had been a succession of gloomy +events, and he began to grow weary of earth and to long for the blessings +promised above. He therefore determined to make the long and weary +pilgrimage to Heaven without waiting for death. According to the +Mahâ-Bhârata, the earth was divided into seven concentric rings, each of +which was surrounded by an ocean or belt separating it from the next +annular continent. The first ocean was of salt water; the second, of the +juice of the sugar-cane; the third, of wine; the fourth, of clarified +butter; the fifth, of curdled milk; the sixth, of sweet milk; the seventh, +of fresh water. In the centre of this vast annular system Mount Meru rose +to the height of sixty-four thousand miles. + +Upon this mountain was supposed to rest the heaven of the Hindus, and +thither Yudhi-sthira proposed to make his pilgrimage. His brothers and +their wife Draupadi insisted on going with him, for all were equally weary +of the world. Their people would fain have accompanied them, but the +princes sent them back and went unaccompanied save by their faithful dog. +They kept on, fired by their high resolves, until they reached the long +and dreary waste of sand that stretched before Mount Meru. There Draupadi +fell and yielded up her life, and Yudhi-sthira, never turning to look +back, told the questioning Bhima that she died because she loved her +husbands better than all else, better than heaven. Next Sahadeva fell, +then Nakalu, and afterwards Arjuna and Bhima. Yudhi-sthira, still striding +on, informed Bhima that pride had slain the first, self-love the second, +the sin of Arjuna was a lie, and Bhima had loved too well the good things +of earth. + +Followed by the dog, Yudhi-sthira pushed across the barren sand until he +reached the mount and stood in the presence of the god. Well pleased with +his perseverance, the god promised him the reward of entering into heaven +in his own form, but he refused to go unless the dog could accompany him. +After vainly attempting to dissuade him, the god allowed the dog to assume +its proper form, and lo! it was Dharma, the god of justice, and the two +entered heaven together. + +But where were Draupadi and the gallant princes, her husbands? +Yudhi-sthira could see them nowhere, and he questioned only to learn that +they were in hell. His determination was quickly taken. There could be no +heaven for him unless his brothers and their wife could share it with him. +He demanded to be shown the path to hell, to enter which he walked over +razors, and trod under foot mangled human forms. But joy of joys! The +lotus-eyed Draupadi called to him, and his brothers cried that his +presence in hell brought a soothing breeze that gave relief to all the +tortured souls. + +Yudhi-sthira's self-sacrifice sufficiently tested, the gods proclaimed +that it was all but an illusion shown to make him enjoy the more, by +contrast, the blisses of heaven. The king Yudhi-sthira then bathed in the +great river flowing through three worlds, and, washed from all sins and +soils, went up, hand in hand with the gods, to his brothers, the Pandavas, +and + + "Lotus-eyed and loveliest Draupadi, + Waiting to greet him, gladdening and glad." + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM THE MAHÂ-BHÂRATA. + +SÂVITRI, OR LOVE AND DEATH. + + +The beautiful princess Sâvitri of her own choice wedded the prince +Satyavan, son of a blind and exiled king, although she knew that he was +doomed by the gods to die within a year. When the year was almost gone, +she sat for several days beneath a great tree, abstaining from food and +drink, and imploring the gods to save him from death. On the fateful day +she accompanied him to the forest to gather the sacred wood for the +evening sacrifice. As he struck the tree with the axe he reeled in pain, +and exclaiming, "I cannot work!" fell fainting. + + Thereon that noble lady, hastening near. + Stayed him that would have fallen, with quick arms; + And, sitting on the earth, laid her lord's head + Tenderly in her lap. So bent she, mute, + Fanning his face, and thinking 't was the day-- + The hour--which Narad named--the sure fixed date + Of dreadful end--when, lo! before her rose + A shade majestic. Red his garments were, + His body vast and dark; like fiery suns + The eyes which burned beneath his forehead-cloth; + Armed was he with a noose, awful of mien. + This Form tremendous stood by Satyavan, + Fixing its gaze upon him. At the sight + The fearful Princess started to her feet. + Heedfully laying on the grass his head, + + Up started she, with beating heart, and joined + Her palms for supplication, and spake thus + In accents tremulous: "Thou seem'st some God; + Thy mien is more than mortal; make me know + What god thou art, and what thy purpose here." + + And Yama said (the dreadful god of death): + "Thou art a faithful wife, O S��vitrî, + True to thy vows, pious, and dutiful; + Therefore I answer thee. Yama I am! + This Prince thy lord lieth at point to die; + Him will I straightway bind and bear from life; + This is my office, and for this I come." + + Then Sâvitrî spake sadly: "It is taught + Thy messengers are sent to fetch the dying; + Why is it, Mightiest, thou art come thyself?" + + In pity of her love, the Pityless + Answered--the King of all the Dead replied: + "This was a Prince unparalleled, thy lord; + Virtuous as fair, a sea of goodly gifts, + Not to be summoned by a meaner voice + Than Yama's own: therefore is Yama come." + + With that the gloomy God fitted his noose + And forced forth from the Prince the soul of him-- + Subtile, a thumb in length--which being reft, + Breath stayed, blood stopped, the body's grace was gone, + And all life's warmth to stony coldness turned. + Then, binding it, the Silent Presence bore + Satyavan's soul away toward the South. + + But Sâvitrî the Princess followed him; + Being so bold in wifely purity, + So holy by her love; and so upheld, + She followed him. + + Presently Yama turned. + "Go back," quoth he. "Pay for him funeral dues. + Enough, O Sâvitrî, is wrought for love; + Go back! Too far already hast thou come." + + Then Sâvitrî made answer: "I must go + Where my lord goes, or where my lord is borne; + Naught other is my duty. Nay, I think, + By reason of my vows, my services, + Done to the Gurus, and my faultless love, + Grant but thy grace, I shall unhindered go. + The sages teach that to walk seven steps + One with another, maketh good men friends; + Beseech thee, let me say a verse to thee:-- + + _"Be master of thyself, if thou wilt be + Servant of Duty. Such as thou shall see + Not self-subduing, do no deeds of good + In youth or age, in household or in wood. + But wise men know that virtue is best bliss, + And all by some one way may reach to this. + It needs not men should pass through orders four + To come to knowledge: doing right is more + Than any learning; therefore sages say + Best and most excellent is Virtue's way."_ + + Spake Yama then: "Return! yet I am moved + By those soft words; justly their accents fell, + And sweet and reasonable was their sense. + See now, thou faultless one. Except this life + I bear away, ask any boon from me; + It shall not be denied." + + Sâvitrî said: + "Let, then, the King, my husband's father, have + His eyesight back, and be his strength restored, + And let him live anew, strong as the sun." + + "I give this gift," Yama replied. "Thy wish, + Blameless, shall be fulfilled. But now go back; + Already art thou wearied, and our road + Is hard and long. Turn back, lest thou, too, die." + + The Princess answered: "Weary am I not, + So I walk near my lord. Where he is borne, + Thither wend I. Most mighty of the Gods, + I follow wheresoe'er thou takest him. + A verse is writ on this, if thou wouldst hear:-- + + _"There is naught better than to be + With noble souls in company: + There is naught better than to wend + With good friends faithful to the end. + This is the love whose fruit is sweet, + Therefore to bide within is meet."_ + + Spake Yama, smiling: "Beautiful! thy words + Delight me; they are excellent, and teach + Wisdom unto the wise, singing soft truth. + Look, now! Except the life of Satyavan, + Ask yet another--any--boon from me." + + Sâvitrî said: "Let, then, the pious King, + My husband's father, who hath lost his throne, + Have back the Raj; and let him rule his realm + In happy righteousness. This boon I ask." + + "He shall have back the throne," Yama replied, + "And he shall reign in righteousness: these things + Will surely fall. But thou, gaining thy wish, + Return anon; so shalt thou 'scape sore ill." + + "Ah, awful God! who hold'st the world in leash," + The Princess said, "restraining evil men, + And leading good men--even unconscious--there, + Where they attain, hear yet those famous words:-- + + _"The constant virtues of the good are tenderness and love + To all that lives--in earth, air, sea--great, small--below, above; + Compassionate of heart, they keep a gentle thought for each, + Kind in their actions, mild in will, and pitiful of speech; + Who pitieth not, he hath not faith; full many an one so lives, + But when an enemy seeks help, a good man gladly gives."_ + + "As water to the thirsty," Yama said, + "Princess, thy words melodious are to me. + Except the life of Satyavan, thy lord, + Ask one boon yet again, for I will grant." + + Answer made Sâvitrî: "The King, my sire, + Hath no male child. Let him see many sons + Begotten of his body, who may keep + The royal line long regnant. This I ask." + + "So shall it be," the Lord of Death replied; + "A hundred fair preservers of his race + Thy sire shall boast. But this wish being won, + Return, dear Princess; thou hast come too far." + + "It is not far for me," quoth Sâvitrî, + "Since I am near my husband; nay, my heart + Is set to go as far as to the end; + But hear these other verses, if thou wilt:-- + + _"By that sunlit name thou bearest, + Thou, Vaivaswata! art dearest; + Those that as their Lord proclaim thee, + King of Righteousness do name thee: + Better than themselves the wise + Trust the righteous. Each relies + Most upon the good, and makes + Friendship with them. Friendship takes + Fear from hearts; yet friends betray, + In good men we may trust alway."_ + + "Sweet lady," Yama said, "never were words + Spoke better; never truer heard by ear; + Lo! I am pleased with thee. Except this soul, + Ask one gift yet again, and get thee home." + + "I ask thee then," quickly the Princess cried, + "Sons, many sons, born of my body; boys; + Satyavan's children; lovely, valiant, strong; + Continuers of their line. Grant this, kind God." + + "I grant it," Yama answered; "thou shalt bear + These sons thy heart desireth, valiant, strong. + Therefore go back, that years be given thee. + Too long a path thou treadest, dark and rough." + + But sweeter than before, the Princess sang:-- + + _"In paths of peace and virtue + Always the good remain; + And sorrow shall not stay with them, + Nor long access of pain; + At meeting or at parting + Joys to their bosom strike; + For good to good is friendly, + And virtue loves her like. + The great sun goes his journey + By their strong truth impelled; + By their pure lives and penances + Is earth itself upheld; + Of all which live and shall live + Upon its hills and fields, + Pure hearts are the protectors, + For virtue saves and shields. + + "Never are noble spirits + Poor while their like survive; + True love has gems to render, + And virtue wealth to give. + Never is lost or wasted + The goodness of the good; + Never against a mercy, + Against a right, it stood; + And seeing this, that virtue + Is always friend to all, + The virtuous and true-hearted, + Men their protectors call."_ + + "Line for line, Princess, as thou sangest so," + Quoth Yama, "all that lovely praise of good, + Grateful to hallowed minds, lofty in sound, + And couched in dulcet numbers--word by word-- + Dearer thou grew'st to me. O thou great heart, + Perfect and firm! ask any boon from me,-- + Ask an incomparable boon!" + + She cried + Swiftly, no longer stayed: "Not Heaven I crave, + Nor heavenly joys, nor bliss incomparable, + Hard to be granted, even by thee; but him, + My sweet lord's life, without which I am dead; + Give me that gift of gifts! I will not take + Aught less without him,--not one boon--no praise, + No splendors, no rewards,--not even those sons + Whom thou didst promise. Ah, thou wilt not now + Bear hence the father of them and my hope! + Make thy free word good; give me Satyavan + Alive once more." + + And thereupon the God-- + The Lord of Justice, high Vaivaswata-- + Loosened the noose and freed the Prince's soul, + And gave it to the lady, saying this, + With eyes grown tender: "See, thou sweetest queen + Of women, brightest jewel of thy kind! + Here is thy husband. He shall live and reign + Side by side with thee, saved by thee,--in peace + And fame and wealth, and health, many long years, + For pious sacrifices world-renowned. + Boys shalt thou bear to him, as I did grant,-- + Kshatriya kings, fathers of kings to be, + Sustainers of thy line. Also thy sire + Shall see his name upheld by sons of sons, + Like the immortals, valiant, Mâlavas." + + ARNOLD: _Indian Idylls._ + + + + +FROM "THE GREAT JOURNEY." + + +The shadow of the Great War hung over King Yudhi-sthira, whose reign was +one long succession of gloomy events, culminating in the death of the +blind Raja and his wife in a jungle fire, and the destruction of the +capital city of Krishna because of the dissipation of its inhabitants. + + On tidings of the wreck of Vrishni's race, + King Yudhi-sthira of the Pandavas + Was minded to be done with earthly things, + And to Arjuna spake: "O noble prince, + Time endeth all; we linger, noose on neck, + Till the last day tightens the line, and kills. + Let us go forth to die, being yet alive." + And Kunti's son, the great Arjuna, said: + "Let us go forth! Time slayeth all. + We will find Death, who seeketh other men." + And Bhimasena, hearing, answered: "Yea, + We will find Death!" and Sahadev cried: "Yea!" + And his twin brother Nakalu; whereat + The princes set their faces for the Mount. + + * * * * * + + So ordering ere he went, the righteous King + Made offering of white water, heedfully, + To Vasudev, to Rama, and the rest,-- + All funeral rites performing; next he spread + A funeral feast.... + + And all the people cried, "Stay with us, Lord!" + But Yudhi-sthira knew his time was come, + Knew that life passes and that virtue lasts, + And put aside their love.... + + So, with farewells + Tenderly took of lieges and of lords, + Girt he for travel with his princely kin, + Great Yudhi-sthira, Dharma's royal son. + Crest-gem and belt and ornaments he stripped + From off his body, and for broidered robe + A rough dress donned, woven of jungle bark; + And what he did--O Lord of men!--so did + Arjuna, Bhima, and the twin-born pair, + Nakalu with Sahadev, and she,--in grace + The peerless,--Draupadi. Lastly those six,-- + Thou son of Bharata!--in solemn form + Made the high sacrifice of Naishtiki, + Quenching their flames in water at the close; + And so set forth, midst wailing of all folk + And tears of women, weeping most to see + The Princess Draupadi--that lovely prize + Of the great gaming, Draupadi the Bright-- + Journeying afoot; but she and all the five + Rejoiced because their way lay heavenward. + + Seven were they, setting forth,--Princess and King, + The King's four brothers and a faithful dog. + Those left Hastinapur; but many a man, + And all the palace household, followed them + The first sad stage: and ofttimes prayed to part, + + Put parting off for love and pity, still + Sighing, "A little farther!" till day waned; + Then one by one they turned. + + * * * * * + + Thus wended they, + Pandu's five sons and loveliest Draupadi, + Taking no meat and journeying due east, + On righteousness their high hearts fed, to heaven + Their souls assigned; and steadfast trod their feet-- + By faith upborne--past nullah ran, and wood, + River and jheel and plain. King Yudhi-sthir + Walked foremost, Bhima followed, after him + Arjuna, and the twin-born brethren next, + Nakalu with Sahadev; in whose still steps-- + O Best of Bharat's offspring!--Draupadi, + That gem of women paced, with soft dark face,-- + Clear-edged like lotus petals; last the dog + Following the Pandavas. + + * * * * * + + While yet those heroes walked, + Now to the northward banding, where long coasts + Shut in the sea of salt, now to the north, + Accomplishing all quarters, journeyed they; + The earth their altar of high sacrifice, + Which these most patient feet did pace around + Till Meru rose. + + At last it rose! These Six, + Their senses subjugate, their spirits pure, + Wending along, came into sight--far off + In the eastern sky--of awful Himavat; + And midway in the peaks of Himavat, + Meru, the mountain of all mountains, rose, + Whose head is heaven; and under Himavat + Glared a wide waste of sand, dreadful as death. + + Then, as they hastened o'er the deathly waste, + Aiming for Meru, having thoughts at soul + Infinite, eager,--lo! Draupadi reeled, + With faltering heart and feet; and Bhima turned, + Gazing upon her; and that hero spake + To Yudhi-sthira: "Master, Brother, King! + Why doth she fail? For never all her life + Wrought our sweet lady one thing wrong, I think. + Thou knowest; make us know, why hath she failed?" + + Then Yudhi-sthira answered: "Yea, one thing. + She loved our brothers better than all else,-- + Better than Heaven: that was her tender sin, + Fault of a faultless soul: she pays for that." + + So spake the monarch, turning not his eyes, + Though Draupadi lay dead,--striding straight on + For Meru, heart-full of the things of Heaven, + Perfect and firm. But yet a little space + And Sahadev fell down; which Bhima seeing, + Cried once again: "O King, great Madri's son + Stumbles and sinks. Why hath he sunk?--so true, + So brave and steadfast, and so free from pride!" + + "He was not free," with countenance still fixed, + Quoth Yudhi-sthira; "he was true and fast + And wise; yet wisdom made him proud; he hid + One little hurt of soul, but now it kills." + + So saying, he strode on, Kunti's strong son, + And Bhima; and Arjuna followed him, + And Nakalu and the hound; leaving behind + Sahadev in the sands. But Nakalu, + Weakened and grieved to see Sahadev fall-- + His dear-loved brother--lagged and stayed; and then + Prone on his face he fell, that noble face + Which had no match for beauty in the land,-- + Glorious and godlike Nakalu! Then sighed + Bhima anew: "Brother and Lord! the man + Who never erred from virtue, never broke + Our fellowship, and never in the world + Was matched for goodly perfectness of form + Or gracious feature,--Nakalu has fallen!" + + But Yudhi-sthira, holding fixed his eyes,-- + That changeless, faithful, all-wise king,--replied: + "Yea, but he erred! The god-like form he wore + Beguiled him to believe none like to him, + And he alone desirable, and things + Unlovely, to be slighted. Self-love slays + Our noble brother. Bhima, follow! Each + Pays what his debt was." + + Which Arjuna heard, + Weeping to see them fall; and that stout son + Of Pandu, that destroyer of his foes, + That Prince, who drove through crimson waves of war, + In old days, with his milk-white chariot-steeds, + Him, the arch hero, sank! Beholding this,-- + The yielding of that soul unconquerable, + + Fearless, divine, from Sakra's self derived, + Arjuna's--Bhima cried aloud: "O King! + This man was surely perfect. Never once, + Not even in slumber, when the lips are loosed, + Spake he one word that was not true as truth. + Ah, heart of gold! why art thou broke? O King! + Whence falleth he?" + + And Yudhi-sthira said, + Not pausing: "Once he lied, a lordly lie! + He bragged--our brother--that a single day + Should see him utterly consume, alone, + All those his enemies,--which could not be. + Yet from a great heart sprang the unmeasured speech, + Howbeit a finished hero should not shame + Himself in such a wise, nor his enemy, + If he will faultless fight and blameless die: + This was Arjuna's sin. Follow thou me!" + + So the King still went on. But Bhima next + Fainted, and stayed upon the way, and sank; + But, sinking, cried behind the steadfast Prince: + "Ah, Brother, see! I die! Look upon me, + Thy well beloved! Wherefore falter I, + Who strove to stand?" + + And Yudhi-sthira said: + "More than was well the goodly things of earth + Pleased thee, my pleasant brother! Light the offence + And large thy spirit; but the o'erfed soul + Plumed itself over others. Pritha's son, + For this thou fallest, who so near didst gain." + + Thenceforth alone the long-armed monarch strode, + Not looking back,--nay, not for Bhima's sake,-- + But walking with his face set for the Mount; + And the hound followed him,--only the hound. + + After the deathly sands, the Mount! and lo! + Sakra shone forth,--the God,--filling the earth + And Heavens with the thunders of his chariot wheels. + "Ascend," he said, "with me, Pritha's great son!" + But Yudhi-sthira answered, sore at heart + For those his kinsfolk, fallen on the way: + "O Thousand-eyed, O Lord of all the gods, + Give that my brothers come with me, who fell! + Not without them is Swarga sweet to me. + She too, the dear and kind and queenly,--she + Whose perfect virtue Paradise must crown,-- + Grant her to come with us! Dost thou grant this?" + + The God replied: "In Heaven thou shalt see + Thy kinsmen and the Queen--these will attain-- + And Krishna. Grieve no longer for thy dead, + Thou chief of men! their mortal coverings stripped, + These have their places; but to thee, the gods + Allow an unknown grace: thou shalt go up, + Living and in thy form, to the immortal homes." + + But the King answered: "O thou wisest One, + Who know'st what was, and is, and is to be, + Still one more grace! This hound hath ate with me, + Followed me, loved me; must I leave him now?" + + "Monarch," spake Indra, "thou art now as we,-- + Deathless, divine; thou art become a god; + Glory and power and gifts celestial, + And all the joys of heaven are thine for aye: + What hath a beast with these? Leave here thy hound." + + Yet Yudhi-sthira answered: "O Most High, + O Thousand-Eyed and Wisest! can it be + That one exalted should seem pitiless? + Nay, let me lose such glory: for its sake + I cannot leave one living thing I loved." + + Then sternly Indra spake: "He is unclean, + And into Swarga such shall enter not. + The Krodhavasha's wrath destroys the fruits + Of sacrifice, if dog defile the fire. + Bethink thee, Dharmaraj; quit now this beast! + That which is seemly is not hard of heart." + + Still he replied: "'Tis written that to spurn + A suppliant equals in offence to slay + A twice-born; wherefore, not for Swarga's bliss + Quit I, Mahendra, this poor clinging dog,-- + So without any hope or friend save me. + So wistful, fawning for my faithfulness; + So agonized to die, unless I help + Who among men was called steadfast and just." + + Quoth Indra: "Nay, the altar flame is foul + Where a dog passeth; angry angels sweep + The ascending smoke aside, and all the fruits + Of offering, and the merit of the prayer + Of him whom a hound toucheth. Leave it here! + He that will enter Heaven must enter pure. + Why didst thou quit thy brethren on the way, + And Krishna, and the dear-loved Draupadi, + Attaining firm and glorious to this Mount + Through perfect deeds, to linger for a brute? + Hath Yudhi-sthira vanquished self, to melt + With one pure passion at the door of bliss? + Stay'st thou for this, who did not stay for them,-- + Draupadi, Bhima?" + + But the King yet spake: + "'T is known that none can hurt or help the dead. + They, the delightful ones, who sank and died. + Following my footsteps, could not live again + Though I had turned--therefore I did not turn; + But could help profit, I had stayed to help. + There be four sins, O Sakra, grievous sins: + The first is making suppliants despair, + The second is to slay a nursing wife, + The third is spoiling Brahmans' goods by force, + The fourth is injuring an ancient friend. + These four I deem not direr than the crime, + If one, in coming forth from woe to weal, + Abandon any meanest comrade then." + + Straight as he spake, brightly great Indra smiled; + Vanished the hound, and in its stead stood there + The Lord of Death and Justice, Dharma's self! + Sweet were the words which fell from those dread lips, + Precious the lovely praise: "O thou true King, + Thou that dost bring to harvest the good seed + Of Pandu's righteousness; thou that hast ruth + As he before, on all which lives!--O Son! + + "Hear thou my word! Because thou didst not mount + This car divine, lest the poor hound be shent + Who looked to thee, lo! there is none in heaven + Shall sit above thee, King! Bharata's son! + Enter thou now to the eternal joys, + Living and in thy form. Justice and Love + Welcome thee, Monarch! thou shalt throne with us!" + ARNOLD: _Indian Idylls_. + + + + + +THE ILIAD. + + +The Iliad, or story of the fall of Ilium (Troy), is supposed to have been +written by Homer, about the tenth century B. C. The legendary history of +Homer represents him as a schoolmaster and poet of Smyrna, who while +visiting in Ithaca became blind, and afterwards spent his life travelling +from place to place reciting his poems, until he died in Ios. Seven +cities, Smyrna, Chios, Colophon, Ithaca, Pylos, Argos, and Athens, claimed +to be his birthplace. + +In 1795, Wolf, a German scholar, published his "Prolegomena," which set +forth his theory that Homer was a fictitious character, and that the Iliad +was made up of originally unconnected poems, collected and combined by +Pisistratus. + +Though for a time the Wolfian theory had many advocates, it is now +generally conceded that although the stories of the fall of Troy were +current long before Homer, they were collected and recast into one poem by +some great poet. That the Iliad is the work of one man is clearly shown by +its unity, its sustained simplicity of style, and the centralization of +interest in the character of Achilles. + +The destruction of Troy, for a time regarded as a poetic fiction, is now +believed by many scholars to be an actual historical event which took +place about the time of the Æolian migration. + +The whole story of the fall of Troy is not related in the Iliad, the poem +opening nine years after the beginning of the war, and closing with the +death of Hector. + +The Iliad is divided into twenty-four books, and contains nineteen +thousand four hundred and sixty-five lines. + +As a work of art the Iliad has never been excelled; moreover, it possesses +what all works of art do not,--"the touches of things human" that make it +ours, although the centuries lie between us and its unknown author, who +told his stirring story in such swift-moving verses, with such touches of +pathos and humor, and with such evident joy of living. Another evidence of +the perfection of Homer's art is that while his heroes are perfect types +of Greeks and Trojans, they are also typical men, and for that reason, +still keep their hold upon us. It is this human interest, simplicity of +style, and grandeur of treatment that have rendered Homer immortal and his +work imperishable. + + + + +BIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE ILIAD. + +M. Arnold's Essay on Homer, 1876, pp. 284-425; + +H. Bonitz's Origin of the Homeric Poems, tr. 1880; + +R. C. Jebb's Introduction to Homer, 1887; + +F. B. Jevons's History of Greek Literature, 1886, pp. 7-17; + +A. Lang's Homer and the Epic, 1893; + +W. Leaf's Companion to the Iliad for English Readers, 1892; + +J. A. Symonds's Studies in Greek Poets, ed. 3, 1893. + + + + +STANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE ILIAD. + +The Iliad, Tr. into English blank verse by W. C. Bryant, 2 vols., 1871 +(Primitive in spirit, like Homer. Union of literalness with simplicity); + +The Iliad, Tr. according to the Greek with introduction and notes by +George Chapman [1615], Ed. 2, 2 vols., 1874 (Written in verse. Pope says a +daring and fiery spirit animates this translation, something like that in +which one might imagine Homer would have written before he came to years +of discretion); + +The Iliad, Tr. by William Cowper (Very literal and inattentive to melody, +but has more of simple majesty and manner of Homer than Pope); + +The Iliad, rendered into English blank verse by the Earl of Derby, 2 +vols., 1864; + +The Iliad, Tr. by Alexander Pope, with notes by the Rev. T. W. A. Buckley, +n. d. (Written in couplets. Highly ornamented paraphrase). + + + + +THE STORY OF THE ILIAD. + + +For nine years a fleet of one thousand one hundred and eighty-six ships +and an army of more than one hundred thousand Greeks, under the command of +Agamemnon, lay before King Priam's city of Troy to avenge the wrongs of +Menelaus, King of Sparta, and to reclaim Helen, his wife, who had been +carried away by Priam's son Paris, at the instigation of Venus. + +Though they had not succeeded in taking Troy, the Greeks had conquered +many of the surrounding cities. From one of these, Agamemnon had taken as +his share of the booty Chryseis, the beautiful daughter of the priest +Chryses; and when her father had come to ransom her, he had been insulted +and driven away by the king. Chryses had prayed to Apollo for revenge, and +the god had sent upon the Greeks a pestilence which was slaying so many +thousands that a meeting was called to consult upon what to do to check +the plague and conciliate the god. + +Calchas the seer had declared that the plague was sent because of the +detention of Chryseis, and Agamemnon, though indignant with the priest, +announced that he would send her back to save his army from destruction. +"Note, however," said he, "that I have now given up my booty. See that I +am recompensed for what I lose." + +Then rose the leader of the Myrmidons, swift-footed Achilles, in his +wrath, and denounced Agamemnon for his greediness. + +"Thou hast ever had thy share and more of all the booty, and thou knowest +well that there is now no common store from which to give thee spoil. But +wait until Troy town is sacked, and we will gladly give thee three and +fourfold thy recompense." + +The angry Agamemnon declared that if he were not given the worth of what +he had lost he would seize the maidens of Ajax and Ulysses, or Achilles' +maid, Briseis. + +Achilles was beside himself with rage. He had not come to Troy to +contribute to Agamemnon's glory. He and his followers had long borne the +brunt of battle only to see the largest share of booty given to Agamemnon, +who lay idle in his ships. Sooner than endure longer such indignity he +would return home to Phthia. + +"Go!" replied Agamemnon. "I detest thee and thy ways. Go back over the sea +and rule over thy Myrmidons. But since Phoebus has taken away my maid, I +will carry off thy prize, thy rosy-cheeked Briseis, that thou may'st learn +that I am indeed king." + +Warned by Pallas Athene, Achilles took his hand from his sword hilt, and +contented himself with telling Agamemnon that he would see the day when he +would fret to think he had driven Achilles from the Grecian ranks. + +Though the persuasive orator, Nestor, endeavored to make peace between the +chiefs, Agamemnon could not be softened. As soon as the black ship bearing +Chryseis set sail, he sent his unwilling men to where Achilles sat by his +tent, beside the barren deep, to take the fair Briseis, whom Achilles +ordered to be led forth to them. Then the long days dragged by in the tent +where the chief sat eating his heart out in idleness, while his men +engaged in athletic sports, and the rest of the Greeks fought before Troy. + +Both armies, worn out with indecisive battles, gladly hailed Hector's +proposal that a combat between Paris and Menelaus should decide the war. + +As the armies stood in silence, watching the preparations for the combat, +Helen, summoned by Iris, left her room in Priam's palace, where she was +weaving among her maidens, and, robed and veiled in white, and shedding +tears at the recollection of her former home and husband, went down to the +Scaean gates, where sat Priam and the men too old for war. When they saw +bright-haired Helen they whispered among themselves that it was little +wonder that men warred for her sake, so fair was she, so like unto the +deathless goddesses. + +In response to Priam's tender greeting she seated herself beside him and +pointed out the Greek heroes,--Agamemnon, ruler over wide lands, crafty +Ulysses, and the mighty Ajax; but she strained her eyes in vain for a +sight of her dearly loved brothers, Castor and Pollux, not knowing that +they already lay dead in pleasant Lacedaemon. + +In the single combat between Paris and Menelaus, the spear of the Greek +was fixed in Paris's buckler, and his sword was shivered on his helmet +without injury to the Trojan. But, determined to overcome his hateful foe, +Menelaus seized Paris by the helm and dragged him towards the Grecian +ranks. Great glory would have been his had not the watchful Venus loosed +the helm and snatched away the god-like Paris in a cloud. While the Greeks +demanded Helen and her wealth as the price of Menelaus's victory, +Pandarus, prompted by Pallas, broke the truce by a shot aimed at Menelaus, +and the battle soon raged with greater fury than before. + +Diomed, having received new strength and courage from Pallas, rushed madly +over the field, falling upon the affrighted Trojans like a lion in the +sheepfold; then, made more presumptuous by his success, and forgetful of +the few years promised the man who dares to meet the gods in battle, the +arrogant warrior struck at Venus and wounded her in the wrist, so that, +shrieking with pain, she yielded Æneas to Apollo, and fled to Olympus. + +Perceiving that the Trojans were unable to withstand the fury of Diomed, +assisted as he was by Pallas and Juno, Hector hastened homeward to order a +sacrifice to Pallas that she might look with more favor upon their cause. + +Having instructed his mother to lay her richest robe on Pallas's shrine, +Hector sought his wife, the white-armed Andromache, and their babe, +Astyanax. Andromache entreated Hector to go forth no more to battle, to +lose his life and leave their babe fatherless; but Hector, upon whom the +cares of war sat heavily, bade her a tender farewell, and kissing the +babe, returned with Paris to the field. + +Incited by Pallas and Apollo, Helenus suggested to his brother Hector that +he should challenge the bravest of the Greeks to single combat. The lot +fell to Ajax the Greater, and the two mighty heroes contested with spears +and stones until twilight fell, and they were parted by a herald. + +That night the Greeks feasted, and when, the next morning, a Trojan +messenger offered them the treasures of Helen if they would withdraw from +Troy, and proposed a truce, they indignantly rejected the offer, declaring +that they would not even accept Helen herself, but agreed upon a truce in +which to bury the dead. + +When the battle was renewed, Jupiter forbade the gods to take part. +Opposed by no celestial foes, the Trojans were this day successful, and +having pursued the Greeks to the ships, sat all night, full of hope, +around their thousand watch fires, waiting for the morn. + +In the Grecian camp, however, a different scene was being enacted. +Disheartened by their defeat, Agamemnon proposed that the armies give up +the siege and return to Greece. + +Angry at his weakness, Diomed thus reproached him:-- + +"The gods have granted thee high rank and rule, but thou hast no +fortitude. Return if thou desirest. Still enough long-haired Achaians will +remain to take the city. If they desire to go as well, at least Sthenelus +and I will remain until Troy is ours. We have the gods with us." + +At the suggestion of Nestor a banquet was spread, and after the hunger of +all was appeased, the peril of the Greeks was discussed in the Council of +the Elders. Here Nestor showed Agamemnon that the trouble began at the +hour when he drove Achilles from their ranks by appropriating Briseis. + +Ill fortune had humbled the haughty Agamemnon, and he confessed that he +had done wrong. "For this wrong, however," said he, "I am ready to make +ample amends. Priceless gifts I will send to Achilles: seven tripods, six +talents of pure gold, twenty shining caldrons, twelve steeds, seven +damsels, among them Briseis; not only this, when Priam's citadel falls, he +shall be the first to load his galley down with gold and silver and with +Trojan maidens. Better yet, I will unite him to me by the ties of +marriage. I will give him my daughter for a wife, and with her for a dower +will go seven cities near the sea, rich in flocks and herds. Then let him +yield, and join us in taking Troy." + +Joyfully the messengers--Ajax, Ulysses, and the aged Phoenix, carefully +instructed by Nestor--set forth on their embassy. As they neared the tents +of the Myrmidons their ears were struck by the notes of a silver harp +touched by Achilles to solace him in his loneliness. His friend Patroclus +sat beside him in silence. Achilles and Patroclus greeted the messengers +warmly, mingled the pure wine, and spread a feast for them. This over, +Ulysses, at a nod from Ajax, drank to Achilles' health, and then told him +of the sore need of the Greeks, pressed by the Trojans. If he did not come +to their aid, he whose very name frightened the enemy, the time would +surely come when he would greatly lament his idleness. + +Achilles' passion, the greater for its fifteen days' repression, burst +forth in his reply: "I will say what I have in my heart," he cried, "since +concealment is hateful to me. What thanks does the victor in countless +battles gain? He and the idler are equally honored, and die the same +death. Many nights' slumber have I lost on the battle field; many cities +have I conquered, abroad and here upon the Trojan coast, and of the spoil, +the greater part has gone to Agamemnon, who sat idle in his fleet; yet +from me, who suffered much in fighting, he took my prize, my dearly loved +Briseis; now let him keep her. Let him learn for himself how to conquer +Hector,--this Hector, who, when I went out against him, was afraid to +leave the shelter of the Scaean gates. To-morrow, if you but watch, you +will see my galleys sailing upon the Hellespont on our return to Phthia. +Evil was the hour in which I left its fertile coasts for this barren +shore, where my mother Thetis foretold I should win deathless renown but +bitter death. + +"Tell Agamemnon that I will never wed a child of his. On my return to +Phthia my father will select a bride for me with whom, on his broad +fields, I can live the life I have dreamed of." + +The entreaties of the aged Phoenix, who had helped to rear Achilles, and +his arguments against his mercilessness, were of no avail; neither were +the words of Ajax. However, he at last sent the message that he would +remain by the sea watching the course of the war, and that he would +encounter Hector whenever he approached to set fire to the galleys of the +Myrmidons. + +That night sleep did not visit the eyes of Agamemnon. Long he reflected on +the reply of Achilles, and wondered at the watch fires on the plain before +Troy. The other chiefs were likewise full of anxiety, and when Nestor +offered a reward to any one who would go as a spy to the Trojan camp, +Diomed quickly volunteered. Selecting the wary Ulysses as his companion, +he stole forth to where the Trojans sat around their camp fires. The pair +intercepted and slew Dolon the spy, and finding Rhesus and his Thracian +band wrapped in slumber, slew the king with twelve of his chiefs, and +carried away his chariot and horses. + +Encouraged by this bold deed, the Greeks went forth to battle the next +morning. Fortune still favored the Trojans, however, and many Greeks fell +by the hand of Hector, until he was checked by Ulysses and Diomed. In the +fight, Agamemnon was wounded, and Diomed, Ulysses, and Machaon. And when +Achilles from his tent saw the physician borne back from battle wounded, +in the chariot of Nestor, he sent Patroclus to inquire of his injury. +Nestor sent word that Ulysses, Agamemnon, Diomed, Machaon, and Eurypylus +were wounded; perhaps these tidings would induce Achilles to forget his +grievances, and once more go forth to battle. If not, he urged Patroclus +to beseech Achilles to permit him, Patroclus, to go forth with the +Myrmidons, clad in Achilles' armor, and strike terror to the hearts of the +Trojans. + +The Trojans, encouraged by their success, pushed forward to the trench +which the Greeks had dug around the wall thrown up before the ships, and, +leaving their chariots on the brink, went on foot to the gates. After a +long struggle,--because the Trojans could not break down the wall and the +Greeks could not drive back the Trojans,--Hector seized a mighty stone, so +large that two men could scarcely lift it, and bearing it in one hand, +battered the bolted gates until they gave way with a crash; and the +Trojans sprang within, pursuing the affrighted Greeks to the ships. + +From the heights of Olympus the gods kept a strict watch on the battle; +and as soon as Neptune discovered that Jove, secure in the belief that no +deity would interfere with the successful Trojans, had turned away his +eyes, he went to the aid of the Greeks. Juno, also, furious at the sight +of the Greeks who had fallen before the mighty Hector, determined to turn +the attention of Jove until Neptune had had an opportunity to assist the +Greeks. Jove sat upon the peaks of Mount Ida, and thither went Juno, after +rendering herself irresistible by borrowing the cestus of Venus. Jove, +delighted with the appearance of his wife, and still further won by her +tender words and caresses, thought no longer of the armies fighting at the +Grecian wall. + +Great was his anger when, after a time, he again looked towards Troy and +saw that Neptune had employed his time in aiding the Greeks, and that +Hector had been wounded by Ajax. By his orders Neptune was quickly +recalled, Hector was healed by Apollo, and the Trojans, strengthened again +by Jupiter, drove back the Greeks to the ships, and attempted to set fire +to the fleet. + +Seeing the Greeks in such desperate straits, Achilles at last gave his +consent that Patroclus should put on his armor, take his Myrmidons, and +drive the Trojans from the ships, stipulating, however, that he should +return when this was done, and not follow the Trojans in their flight to +Troy. + +The appearance of the supposed Achilles struck fear to the hearts of the +Trojans, and Patroclus succeeded in driving them from the fleet and in +slaying Sarpedon. Intoxicated by his success, he forgot Achilles' warning, +and pursued the fleeing Trojans to the walls of Troy. The strength of the +Trojans was not sufficient to cope with that of Patroclus; and Troy would +have been taken had not Apollo stood upon a tower to thrust him down each +time he attempted to scale the walls. At last Hector and Patroclus +encountered each other, and fought furiously. Seeing the peril of Hector, +Apollo smote Patroclus's helmet off, broke his spear, and loosed his +buckler. Still undaunted, the hero fought until he fell, and died with the +boasting words of Hector in his ears. + +Speedily the swift-footed Antilochus conveyed to Achilles the tidings of +his friend's death. Enveloped in "a black cloud of sorrow," Achilles +rolled in the dust and lamented for his friend until warned by Iris that +the enemy were about to secure Patroclus's body. Then, without armor,--for +Hector had secured that of Patroclus and put it on,--he hastened to the +trench, apart from the other Greeks, and shouted thrice, until the men of +Troy, panic-stricken, fell back in disorder, and the body of his friend +was carried away by the triumphant Greeks. + +Through the long night the Achaians wept over Patroclus; but deeper than +their grief was the sorrow of Achilles, for he had promised Menoetius to +bring back his son in honor, laden with spoils, and now the barren coast +of Troy would hold the ashes of both. Then Achilles made a solemn vow not +to celebrate the funeral rites of Patroclus until he brought to him the +head and arms of Hector, and had captured on the field twelve Trojan +youths to slaughter on his funeral pile. The hated Hector slain and +Patroclus's funeral rites celebrated, he cared not for the future. The +fate his mother had foretold did not daunt him. Since, by his own folly, +his dearest friend had been taken from him, the sooner their ashes rested +together the better. If he was not to see the rich fields of Phthia, his +was to be, at least, a deathless renown. + +To take the place of the arms which Hector had taken from Patroclus, +Vulcan, at Thetis's request, had fashioned for Achilles the most beautiful +armor ever worn by man. Brass, tin, silver, and gold composed the bright +corselet, the solid helm, and the wondrous shield, adorned with such +pictures as no mortal artist ever wrought. + +After having feasted his eyes on this beautiful armor, whose clanking +struck terror even to the hearts of the Myrmidons, Achilles sought out the +Greeks and Agamemnon, and in the assembly acknowledged his fault. "Let +these things belong to the dead past," said he. "My wrath is done. Let us +now stir the long-haired Greeks to war." + +"Fate, not I, was the cause of our trouble," replied Agamemnon. "The +goddess of discord created the dissension, that Até who troubled even the +gods on Olympus until expelled by Jupiter. But I will make amends with +liberal gifts." + +Peace having been made between the chiefs, Achilles returned to his tent +without partaking of the banquet spread by Agamemnon, as he had vowed not +to break his fast until he had avenged his friend. Agamemnon's gifts were +carried to the tents of Achilles by the Myrmidons, and with them went +Briseis, who, when she saw the body of Patroclus, threw herself upon it +and wept long for the one whose kindness to her--whose lot had been sorrow +upon sorrow--she could never forget. All the women mourned, seemingly for +Patroclus, really for their own griefs. Achilles likewise wept, until, +strengthened by Pallas, he hastened to put his armor on and urge the +Greeks to battle. + +As he mounted his chariot he spoke thus to his fleet steeds, Xanthus and +Balius: "Bring me back when the battle is over, I charge you, my noble +steeds. Leave me not on the field, as you left Patroclus." + +Then Xanthus, with the long-flowing mane, endowed with power of speech by +Juno, thus spake: "This day, at least, we will bring thee home, Achilles; +but the hour of thy death is nigh, and, since the fates have decreed it, +we could not save thee, were we swift as the winged winds. Nor was it +through fault of ours that Patroclus fell." + +Angry at the reminder of his doom, Achilles drove hurriedly to the field, +determined to fight until he had made the Trojans sick of war. + +Knowing that the war was drawing rapidly to a close, Jupiter gave +permission to the gods to take part in it, and a terrible combat ensued. +Juno, Pallas, Neptune, Hermes, and Vulcan went to the fleet of the Greeks, +while Mars, Apollo, Diana, Latona, Venus, and Xanthus arrayed themselves +with the Trojans. When the gods joined in the combat and Neptune shook the +earth and Jupiter thundered from above, there was such tumult in the air +that even the dark god of the underworld was terrified. In the battle of +the gods, Apollo encountered Neptune, Pallas fought against Mars, Diana +and Juno opposed each other, Hermes was pitted against Latona, and Xanthus +or Scamander, the river god, strove against Vulcan. It was not long before +Jupiter's fear was realized, and the mortals needed the aid of the gods. +Æneas, encouraged by Apollo to confront Achilles, was rescued only by the +intervention of Neptune, who, remembering that it was the will of fate +that Æneas should be spared to perpetuate the Dardan race, snatched him +away in a cloud, although he was himself aiding the Greeks. + +Mad with rage and spattered with blood, Achilles pursued the flying +Trojans about the plain, sparing none except the twelve youths who were to +be butchered on the funeral pile of Patroclus. He stood in the river, +filling it with slaughtered bodies until, indignant at the insults offered +him, the river god Scamander caused his waters to rush after Achilles so +that he fled for his life. Far across the plain it chased him, and was +only stopped by the fires of Vulcan, summoned by Juno. + +By an artifice of Apollo, Achilles was decoyed away from the gates of Troy +long enough to allow the Trojans to enter. Hector, however, stayed +without, unmoved by the prayers of Priam and Hecuba. Too late he saw his +error in not heeding the advice of Polydamas to keep within the walls +after the re-appearance of Achilles; he feared the reproaches of the +Trojan warriors and dames, and determined to meet his fate, whatever it +might be. Even death at the hands of Achilles would be preferable to the +insults and reproaches that might await him within the walls. + +When he saw Achilles approach in his god-given armor, fear seized the +noble Hector, and he fled from his enemy. Thrice around the walls he fled, +Achilles pursuing, and the gods looked down from heaven in sorrow, for, +according to the decrees of fate, Hector must fall this day by the hand of +Achilles. To hasten the combat, Pallas assumed the form of Hector's +brother Deiphobus, and stood by his side, encouraging him to turn and meet +his foe. + +Hector soon perceived the deception, but boldly faced Achilles, who sprang +at him, brandishing his awful spear. Quickly stooping, Hector avoided the +weapon and hurled his spear at Achilles. It was an unequal conflict. The +armor of Achilles was weapon proof, and Pallas stood at his elbow to +return to him his weapons. Achilles knew well the weak spots in his old +armor worn by Hector, and selecting a seam unguarded by the shield, he +gave Hector a mortal wound, and insulted him as he lay dying at his feet. + +Tears and wailing filled the city as the Trojans watched the combat; and +despair fell upon them when they saw the body of Hector fastened to the +chariot of Achilles and dragged thrice around the Trojan walls. From her +chamber where she sat weaving, unaware of the mortal combat waged before +the walls, Andromache came forth to see great Hector fallen and his corpse +insulted by his enemy. + +While Priam sat in his palace with dust strewn on his head, and the +wailings of the women filled the streets of Troy, the Greeks were +hastening to their camps to celebrate the funeral rites of Patroclus, +whose body had been saved from corruption by Thetis. A massive funeral +pile was constructed of wood brought from the forests on Mount Ida. The +chiefs in their chariots and thousands of men on foot followed the body of +Patroclus. The comrades of the dead warrior cut off their long hair and +strewed it on the dead, and Achilles sheared his yellow hair and placed +the locks in Patroclus's hands. He had suffered the flowing curls to grow +long because of a vow made by his father to the river Sperchius that he +would sacrifice these locks to him on his son's return home, a useless +vow, since now he was to lose his life by this dark blue sea. + +Next the sacrifice was offered, many fatlings of the flock, and countless +oxen, noble steeds, dogs, jars of honey, and lastly the bodies of the +twelve Trojan youths were heaped upon the fire. + +After the flames had consumed the pile, Achilles and his friends quenched +the ashes with red wine, and gathered the bones of Patroclus in a golden +vase which Achilles commanded his friends not to bury until he, too, fell +before Troy, that their ashes might be mingled and buried under one mound +by the remaining Greeks. + +After the funeral rites were celebrated, the funeral games were held, in +which the warriors vied with each other in chariot racing, boxing, +wrestling, foot racing, throwing the spear, and archery. + +So ended the funeral of Patroclus, and the gods, looking down from heaven, +sorrowed for Hector, whose corpse Achilles was treating with such +indignity, intending that the dogs should destroy it. The gods had kept +the body unstained, and now they determined to soften Achilles' heart, +that he might restore it to Priam. + +Iris descended from heaven, and standing at the side of Priam as he sat +with dust-strewn head, in his palace halls, gave him Jove's command that +he should take gifts and visit Achilles, to ransom Hector's body. Heeding +not the prayers of Hecuba, Priam gathered together whatever was most +choice, talents of pure gold, beautiful goblets, handsome robes and +tunics, and seating himself in his polished car, drawn by strong-hoofed +mules, set forth unaccompanied save by an aged herald. Above him soared +Jove's eagle, in token of the god's protection. + +Priam had not gone far when he met Mercury in the guise of a Greek youth, +who guided him unseen through the slumbering Greek lines to the tent of +Achilles. + +The hero was just finishing his repast when the old king entered, fell on +his knees, kissed the cruel hands that had slain so many of his sons, and +prayed him to give up the body of his loved Hector in return for the +ransom he had brought with him. Achilles, recognizing the fact that Priam +had made his way there uninjured only by the assistance and protection of +some god, and touched by the thought of his own aged father, whom he +should never again gladden by his return to Phthia, granted the request, +and bade Priam seat himself at the table and banquet with him. He also +granted a twelve days' truce for the celebration of the funeral rites of +Hector, and then invited Priam to pass the night in his tent. Warned by +Mercury, Priam rose early in the morning, and, unseen by the Greeks, +conveyed Hector's body back to Troy. + +When the polished car of Priam entered the city of Troy, great were the +lamentations and wailings over the body of Hector. Hecuba and Andromache +vied with each other in the bitterness of their grief, and Helen lamented +because the only friend she had in Troy had departed, and no one who +remained would be kind to her. + +During the twelve days granted as a truce, wood was brought from Ida, and +the funeral rites of Hector were celebrated as befitted the son of a great +king. + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM THE ILIAD. + +HELEN AT THE SCAEAN GATES. + + +Paris, moved by the reproaches of Hector, proposed that the nine years' +indecisive war be settled by single combat between himself and Menelaus, +the victor to take Helen and the treasure. Greeks and Trojans agreed to +this proposition, and the tidings of the approaching combat were borne to +Helen by Iris. + + In the heart of Helen woke + Dear recollections of her former spouse + And of her home and kindred. Instantly + She left her chamber, robed and veiled in white, + And shedding tender tears; yet not alone, + For with her went two maidens,--Aethra, child + Of Pitheus, and the large-eyed Clymene. + Straight to the Scaean gates they walked, by which + Panthoüs, Priam, and Thymoetes sat, + Lampus and Clytius, Hicetaon sprung + From Mars, Antenor and Ucalegon, + Two sages,--elders of the people all. + Beside the gates they sat, unapt, through age, + For tasks of war, but men of fluent speech, + Like the cicadas that within the wood + Sit on the trees and utter delicate sounds. + Such were the nobles of the Trojan race + Who sat upon the tower. But when they marked + The approach of Helen, to each other thus + With winged words, but in low tones, they said:-- + + "Small blame is theirs, if both the Trojan knights + And brazen-mailed Achaians have endured + So long so many evils for the sake + Of that one woman. She is wholly like + In feature to the deathless goddesses. + So be it: let her, peerless as she is, + Return on board the fleet, nor stay to bring + Disaster upon us and all our race." + + So spake the elders. Priam meantime called + To Helen: "Come, dear daughter, sit by me. + Thou canst behold thy former husband hence, + Thy kindred and thy friends. I blame thee not; + The blame is with the immortals who have sent + These pestilent Greeks against me. Sit and name + For me this mighty man, the Grecian chief, + Gallant and tall. True, there are taller men; + But of such noble form and dignity + I never saw: in truth, a kingly man." + + And Helen, fairest among women, thus + Answered: "Dear second father, whom at once + I fear and honor, would that cruel death + Had overtaken me before I left, + To wander with thy son, my marriage bed, + And my dear daughter, and the company + Of friends I loved. But that was not to be; + And now I pine and weep. Yet will I tell + What thou dost ask. The hero whom thou seest + Is the wide-ruling Agamemnon, son + Of Atreus, and is both a gracious king + And a most dreaded warrior. He was once + Brother-in-law to me, if I may speak-- + Lost as I am to shame--of such a tie." + + She said, the aged man admired, and then + He spake again: "O son of Atreus, born + Under a happy fate, and fortunate + Among the sons of men! A mighty host + Of Grecian youths obey thy rule. I went + To Phrygia once,--that land of vines,--and there + Saw many Phrygians, heroes on fleet steeds, + The troops of Otreus, and of Mygdon, shaped + Like one of the immortals. They encamped + By the Sangarius. I was an ally; + My troops were ranked with theirs upon the day + When came the unsexed Amazons to war. + Yet even there I saw not such a host + As this of black-eyed Greeks who muster here." + Then Priam saw Ulysses, and inquired:-- + "Dear daughter, tell me also who is that, + Less tall than Agamemnon, yet more broad + In chest and shoulders. On the teeming earth + His armor lies, but he, from place to place, + Walks round among the ranks of soldiery, + As when the thick-fleeced father of the flocks + Moves through the multitude of his white sheep." + And Jove-descended Helen answered thus:-- + "That is Ulysses, man of many arts, + Son of Laertes, reared in Ithaca, + That rugged isle, and skilled in every form + Of shrewd device and action wisely planned." + Then spake the sage Antenor: "Thou hast said + The truth, O lady. This Ulysses once + Came on an embassy, concerning thee, + To Troy with Menelaus, great in war; + And I received them as my guests, and they + Were lodged within my palace, and I learned + The temper and the qualities of both. + When both were standing 'mid the men of Troy, + I marked that Menelaus's broad chest + Made him the more conspicuous, but when both + Were seated, greater was the dignity + Seen in Ulysses. When they both addressed + The council, Menelaus briefly spake + In pleasing tones, though with few words,--as one + Not given to loose and wandering speech,--although + The younger. When the wise Ulysses rose, + He stood with eyes cast down, and fixed on earth, + And neither swayed his sceptre to the right + Nor to the left, but held it motionless, + Like one unused to public speech. He seemed + An idiot out of humor. But when forth + He sent from his full lungs his mighty voice, + And words came like a fall of winter snow, + No mortal then would dare to strive with him + For mastery in speech. We less admired + The aspect of Ulysses than his words." + Beholding Ajax then, the aged king + Asked yet again: "Who is that other chief + Of the Achaians, tall, and large of limb,-- + Taller and broader-chested than the rest?" + Helen, the beautiful and richly-robed, + Answered: "Thou seest the might Ajax there, + The bulwark of the Greeks. On the other side, + Among his Cretans, stands Idomeneus, + Of godlike aspect, near to whom are grouped + The leaders of the Cretans. Oftentimes + The warlike Menelaus welcomed him + Within our palace, when he came from Crete. + I could point out and name the other chiefs + Of the dark-eyed Achaians. Two alone, + Princes among their people, are not seen,-- + Castor the fearless horseman, and the skilled + In boxing, Pollux,--twins; one mother bore + Both them and me. Came they not with the rest + From pleasant Lacedaemon to the war? + Or, having crossed the deep in their goodships, + Shun they to fight among the valiant ones + Of Greece, because of my reproach and shame?" + She spake; but they already lay in earth + In Lacedaemon, their dear native land. + + _Bryants Translation, Book III._ + + + + +THE PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. + + +The single combat between Paris and Menelaus broke up in a general battle +unfavorable to the Trojans, and Hector returned to Troy to order the +Trojan matrons to sacrifice to Pallas. He then sought his dwelling to +greet his wife and child, but learned from one of the maids that +Andromache, on hearing that the Greeks were victorious, had hastened to +the city walls with the child and its nurse, + + Hector left in haste + The mansion, and retraced his way between + The rows of stately dwellings, traversing + The mighty city. When at length he reached + The Scaean gates, that issue on the field, + His spouse, the nobly-dowered Andromache, + Came forth to meet him,--daughter of the prince + Eëtion, who among the woody slopes + Of Placos, in the Hypoplacian town + Of Thebè, ruled Cilicia and her sons, + And gave his child to Hector great in arms. + She came attended by a maid, who bore + A tender child--a babe too young to speak-- + Upon her bosom,--Hector's only son, + Beautiful as a star, whom Hector called + Scamandrius, but all else Astyanax,-- + The city's lord,--since Hector stood the sole + Defence of Troy. The father on his child + Looked with a silent smile. Andromache + Pressed to his side meanwhile, and, all in tears, + Clung to his hand, and, thus beginning, said:-- + + "Too brave! thy valor yet will cause thy death. + Thou hast no pity on thy tender child + Nor me, unhappy one, who soon must be + Thy widow. All the Greeks will rush on thee + To take thy life. A happier lot were mine, + +A class of warriors known as _bagam_[101] dress in red and wear turbans +of the same hue, while women mediums, _ballyan_,[102] may also make use +of red cloth. + +[101] See p. 180. [Transcriber's note: This is page 167.] + +[102] See p. 174. + +Other women wear blue cotton jackets, in the fronts and back of which +are many artistic embroidered designs. Their hemp cloth skirts, like +those of the Bagobo, are made tube-like and are held at the waist by +means of belts. They are very careless about the hang of these garments +and one side may be above the calf of the leg while the other drags on +the ground (Plate LXVII). No head coverings are worn, but quite +elaborate combs (Fig. 48) are thrust into the knots of hair at the back +of the head. Wooden ear plugs (Fig. 49) ornamented with incised silver +plates and with bead and silver pendants fit into openings in the lobes +of the ears. Like the men they wear necklaces of beads, sweet smelling +herbs, and seeds. Many of the latter are considered to have medicinal +value and are eaten to cure pains in the stomach. One or more silver +disks are worn on the chest or over the breasts, while anklets, such as +are used by the women of the other tribes, are frequently seen. Both +sexes are fond of bracelets of brass, shell, or vines, as well as of +finger rings of tortoise shell and silver (Plate LXXI). + +FIG. 48. WOMAN'S COMB. + +FIG. 49. FAR PLUGS WITH BELL PENDANTS. + +None of the garments contain pockets, and in order to make up for this +deficiency the men carry bags (Plate LXX) suspended on their backs by +means of bands which pass over the shoulders. In these they carry their +betel-nut outfits, tobacco, and the like. Small covered waterproof +baskets (Plate LXVIII) serve the same purpose for the women and are +carried at the back or at the side. + +HISTORY. + +Probably no wild tribe in Mindanao has received so much mention in +histories, reports, and books of travel as have the Mandaya, but these +references have been, in the main, so vague and often so misleading that +they are of little value for our purposes. Quite in contrast with this +mass of material are the excellent reports of the late Governor Bolton, +and Mr. Melbourne A. Maxey,[103] who for a number of years has been +closely associated with the members of the tribe residing in the +vicinity of Cateel. In the preparation of this paper frequent use has +been made of the notes gathered by these two gentlemen. + +[103] Published in the Mindanao Herald. + +When the first white men visited the tribe they found that the +neighboring Moro were making frequent raids on their villages and were +carrying away women and children whom they sold to the Bagobo and other +tribes of the Gulf.[104] At the same time it was learned that they, in +turn, were slave holders and were eager to purchase captives from the +Mohammedan raiders. The great distances traveled by the Moro in their +raids make it possible that slaves from distant islands may thus have +been introduced into the tribe. Later we shall see that it was difficult +for a slave or a descendant of a slave to become a freeman, yet it was +by no means impossible, and it is likely that a considerable part of the +tribe are descendants of people brought to the district through purchase +and capture. Another possible source of outside blood is suggested by +well verified stories of castaways on the east coast of Mindanao and +adjacent islands.[105] While working with the Mandaya in the region of +Mayo bay the writer was frequently told that three times, in the memory +of the present inhabitants, strange boats filled with strange people had +been driven to their coasts by storms. The informants insisted that +these newcomers were not put to death but that such of them as survived +were taken into the tribe. These stories are given strong substantiation +by the fact that only a few months prior to my visit a boat load of +people from the Carolines was driven to the shores of Mayo bay and that +their boat, as well as one survivor, was then at the village of Mali. +(Plate LXXII). I am indebted to Mr. Henry Hubbel for the following +explicit account of these castaways: "One native banca of castaways +arrived at Lucatan, N. E. corner of Mayo Bay, Mindanao, on January 2nd, +1909. The banca left the Island of Uluthi for the Island of Yap, two +days' journey, on December 10th, 1908. They were blown out of their +course and never sighted land until January 2nd, twenty-two days after +setting sail. There were nine persons aboard, six men, two boys, and one +woman, all natives of Yap except one man who was a Visayan from Capiz, +Panay, P. I., who settled on the Island of Yap in 1889. These people +were nineteen days without food or water except what water could be +caught during rain storms. The Visayan, Victor Valenamo, died soon after +his arrival, as a result of starvation. The natives recovered at once +and all traces of their starvation disappeared within two weeks. The men +were powerfully built, nearly six feet high. Their bodies were all +covered with tattoo work. The woman was decorated even more than the +men. Fever soon took hold of these castaways and in a year's time all +died except one small boy who seems to have become acclimated and will +become identified with the natives in Mati. I took care of these people +until they died. + +[104] BLAIR and ROBERTSON. The Philippine Islands, Vol. XLIII, p. 203. + +[105] FOREMAN. The Philippine Islands, pp. 257-9. JAGOR. Travels in the +Philippines, Ch. XX. + +"The clothing worn by the men and woman was nothing but the 'lavalava,' +a scarf of sea-grass fiber about 18 inches wide and five feet long. This +was worn around the loins. + +"The banca, which was of very curious construction, was taken to +Zamboanga last year by General Pershing, to be placed in Moro Province +Museum." + +After the advent of the Spaniards into their territory a considerable +number of this people were converted to the Christian faith and were +induced to settle in villages. There they met and intermarried with +Visayan and other emigrants who had followed the Spaniards to the South. +During the time of the Spanish rule these settlements were partially +destroyed by Moro raiders, and following the Spanish-American war these +attacks became so frequent that many of the inhabitants deserted their +homes and returning to their mountain kinsmen again took up the old +life. The effect of this return is especially noticeable in the vicinity +of Caraga where as late as 1885 there were 596 Mandaya converts. + +Several attempts were also made to colonize the Mandaya near the mouths +of the Tagum and Hijo rivers, but the restlessness of the natives or the +hostility of the Moro was always sufficient to cause the early break up +of the new settlements. + +The last great influence on this tribe has come through American +planters who have prevailed upon the more venturesome members to come +down to the coast plantations and there adopt the life of the +Christianized natives. Many of these adventurers have returned to their +mountain homes, carrying with them new ideas and artifacts and, in some +cases, wives from other tribes. With all these influences at work there +has been considerable modification of the life in many districts, +particularly along the Pacific coast. This description will attempt to +give the old life of the tribe as it still exists in the more isolated +districts, or as it was related by older people of the coast +settlements. + +MYTHOLOGY AND RELIGION. + +In order to enter into a full understanding of the social, economic, and +aesthetic life we must have some knowledge of the mythology and +religious beliefs, for these pervade every activity. + +Several stories accounting for natural phenomena and the origin of the +tribe were heard. One of these relates that the sun and moon were +married and lived happily together until many children had been born to +them. At last they quarreled and the moon ran away from her husband who +has since been pursuing her through the heavens. After the separation of +their parents the children died, and the moon gathering up their bodies +cut them into small pieces and threw them into space. Those fragments +which fell into water became fish, those which fell on land were +converted into snakes and animals, while "those which fell upward" +remained in the sky as stars. + +A somewhat different version of this tale agrees that the quarrel and +subsequent chase occurred, but denies that the children died and were +cut up. It states that it is true that the offspring were animals, but +they were so from the time of their birth. One of these children is a +giant crab named _tambanokaua_ who lives in the sea. When he moves about +he causes the tides and high waves; when he opens his eyes lightning +appears. For some unknown reason this animal frequently seeks to devour +his mother, the moon, and when he nearly succeeds an eclipse occurs. At +such a time the people shout, beat on gongs, and in other ways try to +frighten the monster so that he can not accomplish his purpose.[106] The +phases of the moon are caused by her putting on or taking off her +garments. When the moon is full she is thought to be entirely naked. + +[106] The writer found almost identical beliefs and practices among the +Batak and Tagbanua of Palawan. + +According to this tale the stars had quite a different origin than that +just related, "In the beginning of things there was only one great star, +who was like a man in appearance. He sought to usurp the place of of the +sun and the result was a conflict in which the latter was victorious. He +cut his rival into small bits and scattered him over the whole sky as a +woman sows rice." + +The earth was once entirely flat but was pressed up into mountains by a +mythical woman, Agusanan. It has always rested on the back of a great +eel whose movements cause earthquakes. Sometimes crabs or other small +animals annoy him until, in his rage, he attempts to reach them, then +the earth is shaken so violently that whole mountains are thrown into +the sea. + +A great lake exists in the sky and it is the spray from its waves which +fall to the earth as rain. When angered the spirits sometimes break the +banks of this lake and allow torrents of water to fall on the earth +below. + +According to Mr. Maxey, the Mandaya of Cateel believe that many +generations ago a great flood occurred which caused the death of all the +inhabitants of the world except one pregnant woman. She prayed that her +child might be a boy. Her prayer was answered and she gave birth to a +son whose name was Uacatan. He, when he had grown up, took his mother +for his wife and from this union have sprung all the Mandaya. + +Quite a different account is current among the people of Mayo. From them +we learn that formerly the _limokon_,[107] although a bird, could talk +like a man. At one time it laid two eggs, one at the mouth and one at +the source of the Mayo river. These hatched and from the one at the +headwaters of the river came a woman named Mag,[108] while a man named +BEgenday[109] emerged from the one near the sea. For many years the man +dwelt alone on the bank of the river, but one day, being lonely and +dissatisfied with his location, he started to cross the stream. While he +was in deep water a long hair was swept against his legs and held him so +tightly that he narrowly escaped drowning. When he succeeded in reaching +the shore he examined the hair and at once determined to find its owner. +After wandering many days he met the woman and induced her to be his +wife. From this union came all the Mandaya. + +[107] See p. 63 note. + +[108] Also known as Manway. + +[109] Also known as Samay. + +A variant of this tale says that both eggs were laid up stream and that +one hatched a woman, the other a snake. The snake went down the current +until it arrived at the place where the sea and the river meet. There it +blew up and a man emerged from its carcass. The balance of the tale is +as just related. This close relationship of the _limokon_ to the Mandaya +is given as the reason why its calls are given such heed. A traveler on +the trail hearing the cooing of this bird at once doubles his fist and +points it in the direction from whence the sound came. If this causes +the hand to point to the right side it is a sign that success will +attend the journey.[110] If, however, it points to the left, in front, +or in back, the Mandaya knows that the omen bird is warning him of +danger or failure, and he delays or gives up his mission. The writer was +once watching some Mandaya as they were clearing a piece of land, +preparatory to the planting. They had labored about two hours when the +call of the _limokon_ was heard to the left of the owner. Without +hesitation the men gathered up their tools and left the plot, explaining +that it was useless for them to plant there for the _limokon_ had warned +them that rats would eat any crop they might try to grow in that spot. + +[110] Maxey states exactly the opposite, for the Mandaya of Cateel, _i. +e._, the right side is bad, the left good. + +The people do not make offerings to this bird, neither do they regard it +as a spirit, but rather as a messenger from the spirit world. The old +men were certain that anyone who molested one of these birds would die. + +Another bird known as _wak-wak_ "which looks like a crow but is larger +and only calls at night" foretells ill-fortune. Sneezing is also a bad +omen, particularly if it occurs at the beginning of an undertaking. +Certain words, accompanied by small offerings, may be sufficient to +overcome the dangers foretold by these warnings. It is also possible to +thwart the designs of ill-disposed spirits or human enemies by wearing a +sash or charm which contains bits of fungus growth, peculiarly shaped +stones, or the root of a plant called _gam_. These charms not only ward +off ill-fortune and sickness, but give positive aid in battle and keep +the dogs on the trail of the game.[111] + +[111] The use of these magic sashes, known as _anting-anting_, is +widespread throughout the southern Philippines both with the pagan and +Mohammedan tribes. + +There is in each community one or more persons, generally women, who are +known as _ballyan_. These priestesses, or mediums, are versed in all the +ceremonies and dances which the ancestors have found effectual in +overcoming evil influences, and in retaining the favor of the spirits. +They, better than all others, understand the omens, and often through +them the higher beings make known their desires. So far as could be +learned the _ballyan_ is not at any time possessed, but when in a trance +sees and converses with the most powerful spirits as well as with the +shades of the departed. This power to communicate with supernatural +beings and to control the forces of nature, is not voluntarily sought by +the future _ballyan_, but comes to the candidate either through one +already occupying such a position or by her being unexpectedly seized +with a fainting or trembling fit, in which condition she finds that she +is able to communicate with the inhabitants of the spirit world. Having +been thus chosen she at once becomes the pupil of some experienced +_ballyan_ from whom she learns all the secrets of the profession and the +details of ceremonies to be made. + +At the time of planting or reaping, at a birth or death, when a great +celebration is held, or when the spirits are to be invoked for the cure +of the sick, one or more of these women take charge of the ceremonies +and for the time being are the religious heads of the community. At such +a time the _ballyan_ wears a blood-red waist,[112] but on other +occasions her dress is the same as that of the other women, and her life +does not differ from their's in any respect. + +[112] PEDRO ROSELL, writing in 1885, says that the _ballyan_ then +dressed entirely in red. BLAIR and ROBERTSON, Vol. XLIII, p. 217. + +When about to converse with the spirits the _ballyan_ places an offering +before her and begins to chant and wail. A distant stare comes into her +eyes, her body begins to twitch convulsively until she is shivering and +trembling as if seized with the ague. In this condition she receives the +messages of the spirits and under their direction conducts the ceremony. + +Rosell gives the following description of the possession of a +_ballyan_.[113] Nothing of this nature was seen by the writer. + +[113] BLAIR and ROBERTSON, Vol. XLIII, p. 218. + +"They erect a sort of small altar on which they place the _manaugs_ or +images of the said gods which are made of the special wood of the +_bayog_ tree, which they destine exclusively for this use. When the +unfortunate hog which is to serve as a sacrifice is placed above the +said altar, the chief _bailana_ approaches with _balarao_ or dagger in +hand which she brandishes and drives into the poor animal, which will +surely be grunting in spite of the gods and the religious solemnity, as +it is fearful of what is going to happen to it; and leaves the victim +weltering in its blood. Then immediately all the _bailanas_ drink of the +blood in order to attract the prophetic spirit to themselves and to give +their auguries or the supposed inspirations of their gods. Scarcely have +they drunk the blood, when they become as though possessed by an +infernal spirit which agitates them and makes them tremble as does the +body of a person with the ague or like one who shivers with the cold." + +SPIRITS. + +The following spirits are known to the _ballyan_ of the Mayo district: + +I. DIWATA. A good spirit who is besought for aid against the +machinations of evil beings. The people of Mayo claim that they do not +now, nor have they at any time made images of their gods, but in the +vicinity of Cateel Maxey has seen wooden images called _manaog_, which +were said to represent Diwata on earth. According to his account "the +_ballyan_ dances for three consecutive nights before the _manaog_, +invoking his aid and also holding conversation with the spirits. This is +invariably done while the others are asleep." He further states that +with the aid of Diwata the _ballyan_ is able to foretell the future by +the reading of palms. "If she should fail to read the future the first +time, she dances for one night before the _manaog_ and the following day +is able to read it clearly, the Diwata having revealed the hidden +meaning to her during the night conference."[114] + +[114] In the Mayo district palmistry is practiced by several old people +who make no claim of having the aid of the spirits. Bagani Paglambayon +read the palms of the writer and one of his assistants, but all his +predictions were of an exceedingly general nature and on the safe side. + +Spanish writers make frequent mention of these idols,[115] and in his +reports[116] Governor Bolton describes the image of a crocodile seen by +him in the Mandaya country "which was carved of wood and painted black, +was five feet long, and life-like. The people said it was the likeness +of their god." Lieutenant J. R. Youngblood, when near the headwaters of +the Agusan River, saw in front of a chief's house "a rude wooden image +of a man which seemed to be treated with some religious awe and +respect." Mr. Robert F. Black, a missionary residing in Davao, writes +that "the Mandaya have in their homes wooden dolls which may be idols." + +[115] BLAIR and ROBERTSON, Vol. XII, 269, XLIII, p. 217, etc. + +[116] Filed in the office of the Governor of Davao. + +From this testimony it appears that in a part of the Mandaya territory +the spirit Diwata, at least, is represented by images. + +2. Asuang. This name is applied to a class of malevolent spirits who +inhabit certain trees, cliffs and streams. They delight to trouble or +injure the living, and sickness is usually caused by them. For this +reason, when a person falls ill, a _ballyan_ offers a live chicken to +these spirits bidding them "to take and kill this chicken in place of +this man, so that he need not die." If the patient recovers it is +understood that the _asuang_ have agreed to the exchange and the bird is +released in the jungle. + +There are many spirits who are known as _asuang_ but the five most +powerful are here given according to their rank, (a) Tagbanua, (b) +Tagamaling, (c) Sigbinan, (d) Lumaman, (e) Bigwa. The first two are of +equal importance and are only a little less powerful than Diwata. They +sometimes inhabit caves but generally reside in the _bud-bud_ (baliti) +trees. The ground beneath these trees is generally free from undergrowth +and thus it is known that "a spirit who keeps his yard clean resides +there." In clearing ground for a new field it sometimes becomes +necessary to cut down one of these trees, but before it is disturbed an +offering of betel-nut, food, and a white chicken is carried to the plot. +The throat of the fowl is cut and its blood is allowed to fall in the +roots of the tree. Meanwhile one of the older men calls the attention of +the spirits to the offerings and begs that they be accepted in payment +for the dwelling which they are about to destroy. This food is never +eaten, as is customary with offerings made to other spirits. After a +lapse of two or three days it is thought that the occupant of the tree +has had time to move and the plot is cleared. + +In former times it was the custom for a victorious war party to place +the corpses of their dead, together with their weapons, at the roots of +a _baliti_ tree. The reason for this custom seems now to be lost. + +3. Busau. Among the Mandaya at the north end of Davao Gulf this spirit +is also known as Tuglinsau, Tagbusau, or Mandangum. He looks after the +welfare of the _bagani_, or warriors, and is in many respects similar to +Mandarangan of the Bagobo.[117] He is described as a gigantic man who +always shows his teeth and is otherwise of ferocious aspect. A warrior +seeing him is at once filled with a desire to kill. By making occasional +offerings of pigs and rice it is usually possible to keep him from doing +injury to a settlement, but at times these gifts fail of their purpose +and many people are slain by those who serve him. + +[117] p. 106. + +4. OMAYAN, OR KALALOA NANG OMAY, is the spirit of the rice. He resides +in the rice fields, and there offerings are made to him before the time +of planting and reaping. + +5. MUNTIANAK is the spirit of a child whose mother died while pregnant, +and who for this reason was born in the ground. It wanders through the +forest frightening people but seldom assailing them.[118] + +[118] The belief in a similar spirit known as Mantianak is widespread +throughout the southern Philippines. + +6. Magbabaya. Some informants stated that this is the name given to the +first man and woman, who emerged from the _limokon_ eggs. They are now +true spirits who exercise considerable influence over worldly affairs. +Other informants, including two _ballyan_ denied any knowledge of such +spirits, while still others said _magbabaya_ is a single spirit who was +made known to them at the time of the _Tungud_ movement.[119] Among the +Bukidnon who inhabit the central portion of the island the _magbabaya_ +are the most powerful of all spirits. + +[119] p. 179. + +7. Kalaloa. Each person has one spirit which is known by this name. If +this _kalaloa_ leaves the body it decays, but the spirit goes to +Dagkotanan--"a good place, probably in the sky." Such a spirit can return +to its former haunts for a time and may aid or injure the living, but it +never returns to dwell in any other form. + +In addition to those just mentioned Governor Bolton gives the following +list of spirits known to the Mandaya of the Tagum river valley. None of +these were accepted by the people of Mayo district. According to rank +they are Mangkokiman, Mongungyahn, Mibucha Andepit, Mibuohn, and Ebu--who +made all people from the hairs of his head. + +For the neighboring Mangwanga he gives, Likedanum as the creator and +chief spirit, Dagpudanum and Macguliput as gods of agriculture, and +Manamoan--a female spirit who works the soil and presides over +childbirth. All of these are unknown to the Mandaya of the Pacific +coast. + +While in the Salug river valley Governor Bolton witnessed a most +interesting ceremony which, so far as the writer is aware, is quite +unknown to the balance of the tribe. His quotation follows: "One +religious dance contained a sleight of hand performance, considered by +the people as a miracle, but the chiefs were evidently initiated. A man +dressed himself as a woman, and with the gongs and drums beaten rapidly +he danced, whirling round and round upon a mat until weak and dizzy, so +that he had to lean on a post. For a time he appeared to be in a trance. +After resting a few minutes he stalked majestically around the edge of +the mat, exaggerating the lifting and placing of his feet and putting on +an arrogant manner. After walking a minute or two he picked up a red +handkerchief, doubled it in his hand so that the middle of the kerchief +projected in a bunch above his thumb and forefinger; then he thrust this +into the flame of an _almaciga_ torch. The music started anew and he +resumed his frantic dance until the flame reached his hand when he +slapped it out with his left hand, and stopped dancing; then catching +the kerchief by two corners he shook it out showing it untouched by +fire. The daughter of Bankiaoan next went into a trance lying down and +singing the message of Tagbusau and other gods to the assemblage. The +singing was done in a small inclosed room, the singer slipping in and +out without my seeing her." + +The letters of Pedro Rosell written at Caraga in 1885 contain many +references to the duties of the _ballyan_. In one account he records the +following song which he says is sung by the priestesses when they invoke +their gods Mansilatan and Badla.[120] + +[120] BLAIR and ROBERTSON, Vol. XLIII, pp. 217-21, and Vol. XII, p. 270. + +"Miminsad, miminsad si Mansilatan + +Opod si Badla nga magadayao nang dumia + +Bailan, managunsayao, + +Bailan, managunliguit." + +This means: + +"Mansilatan has come down, has come down. + +Later (will come) Badla, who will preserve the earth. + +Bailanas, dance; bailanas, turn ye round about." + +This Rosell takes as "a confirmation of the most transcendental +questions of our true religion," for in Mansilatan he finds the +principal god and father of Balda, "who descended from the heavens where +he dwells, in order to create the world. Afterwards his only son Badla +came down also to preserve and protect the world--that is men and +things--against the power and trickery of the evil spirits Pudaugnon and +Malimbung." The writer made persistent inquiry among the Mandaya to the +south of Caraga, but could not find a trace of a belief in any one of +the four spirits named; neither are these spirits mentioned in the notes +of Governor Bolton, nor in the excellent description of the people about +Cateel, furnished by such a careful observer as Mr. Maxey. It seems that +this account, together with the song and its translation, must have been +gathered from other than Mandayan sources. Long before 1885 the town of +Caraga had become one of the strongholds of the church on the east coast +of Mindanao, and Christianized settlers from all the southern islands +had come to the vicinity.[121] It is probable that Rosell's information +was secured from Christianized or Moro emigrants, and the first spirits +named refer to Badhala--Bathala, or Batala--"the all powerful," and Dian +Mansalanta--"the patron of lovers and generation."[122] + +[121] They are often referred to as _Caragas_ in the early writings. + +[122] Further information regarding these spirits will be found in the +Relations of Loarca, 1582 (BLAIR and ROBERTSON, Vol. V, p. 171), and the +Relation of Juan de Plasencia, 1589 (_ibid_, Vol. VII, pp. 189-96, Vol. +XII, p. 265). It is worthy of note that the Bagobo spirit Toglat, who is +one of the pair responsible for marriages and births, is sometimes +addressed as Maniladan. + +THE TUNGUD MOVEMENT + +In 1908 a religious movement known as _tungud_ started among the +Manobo[123] at the source of the Rio Libaganon. Soon it had spread over +practically the whole southeastern portion of Mindanao, and finally +reached the Mandaya of the Pacific Coast. According to Mr. J. M. Garvan, +of the Philippine Bureau of Science, the movement was instigated by a +Manobo named Mapakla. This man was taken ill, probably with cholera, and +was left for dead by his kinsmen. Three days later he appeared among the +terrified people and explained, that a powerful spirit named Magbabaya +had entered his body and cured him. He further stated that the world was +about to be destroyed and that only those persons who gave heed to his +instructions would survive. These instructions bade all to cease +planting and to kill their animals for, he said, "if they survive to the +end they will eat you." A religious house or shrine was to be built in +every settlement, and was to be looked after by divinely appointed +ministers. Those persons who were at first inclined to be skeptical as +to the truth of the message, were soon convinced by seeing the Magbabaya +enter the bodies of the ministers, causing them to perform new, frantic +dances, interrupted only by trembling fits during which their eyes +protruded and gave them the semblance of dead men. + +[123] Not the Kulaman. + +By the time the _tungud_ had reached the Mayo district it had lost most +of its striking features, but was still powerful enough to cause many of +the Mandaya to kill their animals and hold religious dances. The coast +Moro, who at that time were restless, took advantage of the movement to +further a plan to drive American planters and Christianized natives from +the district. The leading Mandaya were invited to the house of the Moro +_pandita_[124] "to see the spirit Diwata." During several nights the son +of the _pandita_ impersonated the spirit and appeared in the darkened +room. Over his chest and forehead he had stretched thin gauze and +beneath this had placed many fire-flies, which to the imaginative people +made him appear superhuman. His entrance into the room was attended by a +vigorous shaking of the house, caused by a younger brother stationed +below. A weird dance followed and then the spirit advised the people to +rise and wipe out the whole Christianized population. The Mandaya had +become so impressed by the nightly appearance of Diwata that it is more +than probable they would have joined the Moro in their project had not +an American planter at Mayo learned of the plot. He imprisoned the +leaders, thus ending a scheme which, if successful, would have given new +attributes to at least one of the spirits. + +[124] The religious head of the settlement. + +SOCIAL ORGANIZATION + +The before-mentioned _ballyan_ direct the religious observances of the +tribe. Their mysterious powers give them great influence among their +fellows but, nevertheless, they are subservient to the local ruler. + +The tribe is divided into many small groups, each of which is governed +by a _bagani_. To reach this coveted position a man must have +distinguished himself as a warrior and have killed at least ten persons +with his own hand.[125] The victims need not be killed in warfare and +may be of any sex or age so long as they come from a hostile village. +When the required number of lives has been taken, the aspirant appeals +to the neighboring _bagani_ for the right to be numbered in their select +company. They will assemble to partake of a feast prepared by the +candidate and then solemnly discuss the merits of his case. The petition +may be disregarded entirely, or it may be decided that the exploits +related are sufficient only to allow the warrior to be known as a half +_bagani_. In this case he may wear trousers of red cloth, but if he is +granted the full title he is permitted to don a blood-red suit and to +wear a turban of the same hue. This distinction is eagerly sought by the +more vigorous men of the tribe and, as a result, many lives are taken +each year. + +[125] At Mayo it was said that it is necessary to kill only six, but the +two _bagani_ living there had each killed more than twice that number. +Among the Mansaka the number required is often as high as thirty. + +A short time ago a candidate entered the district of Bungalung on the +east coast of Davao and killed thirty-two persons. In that same section +are now living five _bagani_ who have gained this title by similar +exploits.[126] Whole communities become involved in feuds as a result of +these individual raids, for it is the duty of a murdered man's family to +seek revenge for his death. It is not necessary that they kill the +offender, as any member of his family or settlement will suffice. In +some districts the unmarried relatives of a murdered person are not +allowed to wed until the death is avenged. + +[126] These are Maclingtong at Pandisan; Pankard at Tagauanan; +Kasicknan, Lewanan, and Malangit, in the mountains between Taguanan and +Piso. + +Instances are known where the old men have conferred the title of +_bagani_ upon the son of some deceased warrior. In such a case the +recipient of the honor starts at once to fulfil the requirements of +election, for otherwise he brings disgrace to himself and family. In his +own settlement the oldest of the _bagani_ becomes supreme ruler, and if +powerful enough he may extend his influence to a considerable distance. +In a few cases on the East coast the holders of the title have so +instilled fear of themselves into the neighboring districts that they +have been able to levy blackmail, even on the Christianized natives. War +parties are led by these wearers of the red garments, and they also +enforce the laws handed down from their forefathers. + +The day a warrior is elevated to this order he is in a large measure cut +away from his fellows. He no longer associates with them as equals but +eats his meals alone, unless it happens that other _bagani_ are present. + +Below the _bagani_ in rank come the warriors, a class which includes +practically all the able-bodied free men; and still below them are the +slaves. Slavery was an ancient institution with this people when the +Spaniards first visited their country, and it has continued to flourish +up to the present, in all districts a little removed from the influence +of the white man. The great majority of slaves are secured by capture, +but until recent years the Moro of the coast have carried on a lucrative +slave trade with this tribe. Girls and women become members of their +master's household, but their children are treated as slaves. Captive +boys and men aid their masters in the chase and in the fields, and in +most cases it would be hard indeed for a stranger to pick servant from +master. Sometimes the people of a neighboring village ransom one of +their fellows and in such a case the freed slave may return to his old +home or he may become a free member of the community in which he has +been serving. + +DWELLINGS + +The insecurity of life resulting from the conditions described has +caused the people to build their homes high in the branches of trees, +often so situated on the edge of cliffs that they can be approached only +from one direction (Plates LXXIII-LXXIV). + +Two sorts of dwellings are commonly seen. Of these, the rudest rest on +the limbs of trees, and conform in size and shape to the nature of the +supporting branches. Some few houses of this kind have horizontal sides +and sloping roofs, but more frequently a roof which slopes directly from +a central ridge pole to the edges of the platform does away with the +necessity of side walls. + +The second and more common type of house is shown in Plate LXXIV. Here +the top of the tree has been cut off some fifteen or twenty feet above +the ground leaving a stump to serve as a part of the foundation. Many +smaller poles help support the floor and then extend upward to form the +wall and roof stays. The upper flooring of beaten bark rests on +cross-beams which have been lashed to the uprights. Above it are +occasional horizontal poles, forming a skeleton to which the walls of +_nipa_ palm are fastened. In some houses two or three of the foundation +poles extend above the floor to such a height that they are used as the +supports for the ridge pole. In others true king posts rest on the +beams, which in turn are supported by the corner poles. From the ridge a +number of smaller rods extend to or project out over the side walls, and +on them rests the roofing of _nipa_ palm. A space of several inches +often intervenes between the roof and the side walls. The whole +structure is so firmly lashed together with rattan that it is capable of +withstanding severe storms, despite the fact that it gives and creaks +with every wind. During violent storms the house is further secured by +anchoring it with rattan lines to nearby trees. + +Entrance to the dwelling is gained by means of bamboo or rattan ladders. +These are drawn up at night, and with all means of access thus removed +the inhabitants need have little fear of a surprise attack. If enemies +do attempt to dislodge them the defenders have the advantage of their +elevated position in the use of their weapons. + +Generally, each house contains only one room which varies in size +according to the number of inhabitants. Frequently two or three families +are found living in one house, for it is the custom for the suitors, and +often for the husbands of the married daughters, to live with the girls' +people. + +Near the door, or in one comer of the room, is a small box of earth in +which several stones are imbedded. This constitutes the hearth, about +which is found a miscellany of pots, jars, and other kitchen vessels. +The smoke finds its way out through a small opening at each end of the +roof, or through the narrow space under the eaves. There is no +recognized arrangement of the room. Utensils[127] are scattered +promiscuously about and when the inhabitants are ready to sleep they +occupy such parts of the floor as are free or can be most easily +cleared. + +[127] These consist of baskets, rice mortars, and winnowers, weaving +outfits, bark dye vats, as well as traps and weapons, nearly all of +which are so similar to those already described for the Bagobo that they +do not call for special notice here. + +The people of a community build their houses within a short distance of +one another, yet seldom so close together as to form a village. However, +village life is not entirely unknown, for in the vicinity of Cateel +Governor Bolton found six houses, partially surrounded by palisades, +perched on the top of a conical hill. + +Lieutenant Youngblood gives the following description of the people and +dwellings seen by him near the upper waters of the Agusan river: + +"The people seemed to be living in an atmosphere of fear as far as +intercourse with the world outside their crater-like valley was +concerned. They believed it was death to look upon the sea, of which +they had heard disjointed tales, but which none of them had ever seen. +They feared the coast people with a mortal fear, justified perhaps by +the experiences of occasional meetings in times gone by. They fear each +other to a certain extent, especially men who live further north of the +headwaters of the Agusan. This ever-present state of fear gives coloring +to their whole life. They take to the brush at the least unwonted sound. +They make their clearings on the steep mountainsides and in these build +two or three of their houses in strategic positions. In the very +construction of their dwellings the idea of security in case of attack +is predominant. + +"The houses in this section are generally built in clearings on the +sawn-off trunk of some giant tree and placed from the ground some forty +or fifty feet. Numerous posts help support the structure, entrance to +which is gained by a notched pole firmly set in the ground and held in +place by tightly wound bejuca. Oftentimes this stair pole is bowed +outwards slightly, which gives it a peculiar appearance and requires a +considerable amount of skill in climbing. The front and only door to +these houses consists of a section of the floor composed of hewn plank, +hinged at one end. One end of this is raised by a bejuca rope during the +day, while at night it is let down forming a solid floor throughout the +house. + +"The roof is of shingles made from mountain cane; the floor and sides of +hand-hewn logs and planks; the roof is at no place more than seven feet +from the floor and is blackened on the inside from smoke. The largest +house visited in this locality was that of Chief Leuanan, and this was +some twenty feet square. These houses consist of one room and are +inhabited by two or more families." + +AGRICULTURE + +About the settlements are the fields in which rice, corn, camotes, +sugar-cane, and a small amount of tobacco, cotton and hemp are raised. +However, the crops are usually so small that even with the addition of +game and forest products there is, each year, a period closely bordering +on starvation. New clearings are frequently made near to the old, for +the primitive tools[128] with which the people work are ill-fitted to +combat the incursion into the open land of the rank cogon grass. Only +the exhaustion of suitable timber land for a new clearing, the +prevalence of an epidemic, or the near approach of a powerful enemy will +cause the people to move their homes from one district to another. + +[128] These consist of a mall axe, working knife, and planting stick. + +We have already referred to the important part the _limokon_ plays in +the selection and clearing of a new plot of ground,[129] and to the +offerings made to the spirits when it becomes necessary to cut down +certain trees.[130] The crops, aside from the rice, are planted and +harvested without further reference to the spirit world, but the +cultivation and care of this cereal can only be carried on according to +certain fixed conditions. + +[129] See pages 173 and 177. + +[130] Near Cateel the wishes of the spirits are learned by means of +cords. A number of strings are tied together in the center and the knot +is buried. The loose ends are then joined and if it happens that the two +ends of a cord have been tied together it is taken as a sign that the +spirits give their consent to the proposed clearing. + +About November first, when a group of seven stars called _poyo poyo_ +appears in the west, it is a signal for all who expect to clear new land +to begin their labors. By December first this constellation rises +straight above and it is then time to plant. This is further confirmed +by the appearance of a star known as _sabak_. If any have delayed their +planting until the middle of December they are given a last warning when +the stars forming _Bayatik_[131] appear. + +[131] This is the same as _balatik_, page 62. + +As soon as the land has been cleared a pole is placed in the center of +the field and is surrounded by a fence. This is known as _tagbinian_ and +seems to be erected in honor of the spirit Omayan, although by some it +is insisted that it is intended for his residence. The seed rice is +deposited inside the enclosure[132] and the men begin to prepare the +soil about it. This they do by thrusting sharpened sticks into the +ground, thus making holes an inch or two in depth. Taking rice from the +_tagbinian_ the women follow, dropping seeds into the holes. + +[132] Maxey relates that at planting and harvest tune the Mandaya of +Cateel carry offerings to the _baliti_ trees and there offer it to +Diwata, in supplication or thanks for an abundant crop. + +When the harvest time is near at hand the men repair the old granaries +or build new and then, when all is ready for the crop, an old man or +woman goes alone, in the middle of the night, to the fields and there +cuts a few stalks of the rice. Should this be neglected the crop is sure +to be small and will vanish quickly. This grain is not used as an +offering, nor are any gifts made to the spirits until the crop has been +harvested and the people are ready to eat of the new rice. At that time +a little of the recently harvested grain is placed on a dish, together +with other food and betel-nut, and is carried to the granary, where it +is presented to the spirit "in order that the granary may always be +full." When the grain is needed for use it is removed from the straw by +pounding it with wooden pestles, it is then placed in a wooden mortar +and is again pounded until the husks are loosened. This accomplished, +the grain is freed from chaff by tossing it in a winnower. If a greater +amount has been cleared than is needed it is stored in gourds or +water-proof baskets (Fig. 50). A month or two after the harvest a great +celebration is held, the principal features of which are a feast and +dance but no offerings are then made to the spirits. + +FIG. 50. GOURD RICE HOLDER. + +The small crop of sugar-cane is made into an alcoholic drink, which is +sometimes indulged in at meal time but is generally reserved for festive +occasions. The juice is boiled with a plant called _palba_, similar to +ginger, and is stored away in bamboo tubes until it has reached a +suitable stage of fermentation. Another drink is made by boiling +strained honey with the _palba_ and allowing it to ferment. + +HUNTING AND FISHING + +A considerable portion of the food supply is secured by hunting and +fishing. Small birds are captured by placing a sticky substance on bare +limbs of fruit-bearing trees, or by fastening gummed sticks in places +frequented by birds. When a victim alights on this it is held securely +until captured by the hunter. Fig. 51 shows another method of securing +such small game. A cord with a noose at one end is attached to a bent +limb. In the center of this cord is tied a short stick which acts as a +trigger. This trigger is placed with the top end pressing against an +arched twig _a_, while the other end draws _b_ against the sides of the +arch. Other sticks rest on _b_ and on them is a covering of leaves on +which is placed bait and the open noose. The weight of a bird or small +animal on the cross-piece is sufficient to release the trigger and then +the bent limb draws the noose taut. + +FIG. 51. BIRD SNARE. + +The series of slip nooses attached to a central cord which surrounds a +tame decoy is also found in use here, and boys frequently secure birds +by means of blow-guns. The latter do not differ from those already +described on p. 73, but with this tribe they are regarded only as a +boy's plaything. + +Deer and pig are sometimes hunted by large parties with the aid of dogs. +In such cases an attempt is made to drive the animals past concealed +hunters, or to dispatch them with spears when brought to bay by the +dogs. The more successful method, however, is by means of traps several +types of which were seen by the writer. The first and most common is a +dead fall consisting of a heavy log so arranged in the runway of the +game that a passing animal will cause it to fall. Next in favor with the +hunters is the _bayatik_. One end of a sapling is tied horizontally to a +tree and is then bent back like a spring. It is held in place by means +of a trigger which is released when an animal disturbs a vine stretched +across the runway. Against the free end of the spring a long bamboo +spear or arrow is placed in such a manner that it is thrown with great +force against the animal which has released the trigger. This trap is +frequently used in warfare to protect the retreat of a war party, or to +surprise an enemy. + +Sharpened bamboo sticks, two or three feet long, planted at points where +animals are accustomed to jump or run down steep inclines, are +wonderfully efficient in securing game. Sticks and leaves cover pits in +which sharpened poles are planted and into these unsuspecting animals or +members of a hostile party often fall. All these last named devices are +exceedingly dangerous and it is unadvisable for a traveler in the jungle +to try to penetrate a strange region unless accompanied by a native who +knows the position of the traps and pits. + +Fish are secured by means of bamboo traps through which a part of the +water of a stream is diverted. These traps do not differ in any respect +from those shown in Fig. 19. Along the coast metal fishhooks and dip and +throw nets are in common use, but these are at present largely obtained +from the Moro. The easiest and hence the most popular method of securing +fish is to mash together the poisonous roots of the _tobli_ tree and the +fruit of the _oliskEb_. The pulp is then sunk into still pools of water +and in a short time, the stupified[sic] fish begin to float to the +surface, where they are quickly seized by the fishermen. + +WARFARE + +Mention has already been made of the use of pits and traps in warfare. +In addition to these it is customary for a returning war party to +conceal in the trail many _saoñag_, small stiletto-shaped bamboo sticks, +which pierce the feet of those in pursuit. A night camp is effectively +protected in the same manner against barefooted enemies. + +The arms used are spears, fighting knives with wide bellied blades, +daggers, narrow shields with which weapons are defected (Fig. 52), and +in some sections bows and arrows. The fighting knives and daggers +(Plates LXXV-LXXVI) deserve more than casual notice. The heavy bellied +blades of the knives are highly tempered, and not infrequently are bored +through and inlaid with silver, in which instances they are known as +_binuta_,--blind (Plate LXXVa). The sheaths, with their sharply upturned +ends, are made of light wood on which are carved decorations, attached +or inlaid bands of silver, or stained designs. The handles of the +weapons are also decorated with incised silver bands. + +FIG. 52. WOODEN SHIELDS. + +Much as the fighting knives are prized, the dagger, _bayadau_ or +_badau_, is in even greater favor. It is worn on the front left-hand +part of the body in ready reach of the right hand, and is never removed +unless the owner is in the company of trusted relatives. A light thread, +easily broken, holds the dagger in its sheath and the slightest +disturbance is enough to cause the owner to draw his weapon. + +The older warriors claim that it formerly was their custom to protect +themselves with strips of hemp cloth, _limbotung_, which they wound many +times around their bodies in order to ward off knife thrusts, but this +method of protection seems to have fallen into disuse.[133] + +[133] This type of protective armor is still used by the Bukidnon of +Central Mindanao. + +Individual warriors lie in ambush for their foes, but when a great raid +is planned the party is under the command of a _bagani_. These attacks +are arranged to take place during the full moon and the warriors usually +assault a settlement which they think can be taken by surprise, and +hence unprepared. It is very seldom that these people fight in the open, +and invaders do not attempt a combat unless they feel sure of the +outcome. If they find a house well protected they may attempt to fire it +by attaching a torch to an arrow and shooting it into the grass roof, +the occupants being slaughtered as they rush out. If one of the enemy +puts up an especially good fight his body is opened and the warriors eat +a portion of his heart and liver, thinking thus to gain in valor. + +Mr. Maxey mentions the use of poisoned weapons in the neighborhood of +Cateel, but the Mandaya of the south seem to be entirely ignorant of +this custom, Maxey's account of the preparation of the poison is as +follows: + +"The poison is, according to the writer's informant, prepared as +follows: A long bamboo is cut and carried to a tree called +_camandag_.[134] The bamboo must be long enough to reach to the limit of +the shadow cast by the tree to the trunk of the same, as the tree is so +poisonous that it even affects those who stand beneath it. The bamboo +has a sharp point which is stuck into the tree and receives the milk +which exudes from the cut. After several days the bamboo is removed and +the contents emptied into another bamboo which serves for a sheath or +quiver for the arrows, these being placed in it point down. The +slightest scratch will cause death. A peculiar thing about the tree from +which the poison is extracted, is that the person extracting must not +only not get under the tree, but must approach it from the windward, as +the effects of even the odor are unpleasant and dangerous." + +[134] _Croton tiglium L_. + +INDUSTRIES + +In the description of the tribe up to this point we have touched upon +those pursuits which engross the greater part of the time. In addition +to these, it falls to the lot of the women to manufacture and decorate +all the clothing worn by members of the tribe. Some cotton is grown and +is used in the manufacture of jackets, but the bulk of the garments are +of hemp. In the description of the Decorative Art we shall deal with the +decoration of the hemp cloth skirts worn by the women. Here it is only +necessary for us to observe that this cloth is produced and colored by +exactly the same process as is employed by the Bagobo women.[135] + +[135] See p. 79. + +A very little brass casting is done by the Mandaya of one district, but +it is evidently a crude copy of Moro work. By far the greater part of +the brass betel boxes, and ornaments of that metal, as well as spear +heads, are purchased from the coast Mohammedans. + +Iron working is an ancient art with this people and the beauty and +temper of their knives and daggers is not excelled by the output of any +other Philippine tribe. In the manufacture of these weapons they employ +the same methods as their neighbors to the south and west. + +No wild tribe in the archipelago has made so much use of silver in the +production of ornaments as has the Mandaya. Thin silver plates are +rolled into small tubes and are attached to the woman's ear plugs (Fig. +49), finger rings of the same metal are produced in great numbers, but +the finest work appears in the large silver ornaments worn on the +breasts by both sexes (Fig. 53). Silver coins are beaten into thin +disks, in the center of which a hole is cut. About this opening appear +beautiful intricate designs, some engraved, others stamped with metal +dies. + +FIG. 53. SILVER BREAST ORNAMENTS. + +All work in metal is limited to a few skilled men, but many lesser +industries, such as shaping tortoise shell rings and shell bracelets, +carving of spoons, and making baskets, are carried on by other members +of the tribe during their leisure hours. + +BIRTH + +In each district there are one or two mid wives, known as _managamon_. +They are women past middle life who are versed in the medicines and +rites which should be employed at the time of birth. They are not +considered as _ballyan_, yet they talk to the spirits upon certain +occasions. + +When a pregnant woman is about to be delivered the midwife crushes the +bark of the _dap-dap_ tree and makes a medicine called _tagaumo_, which +she gives to the patient. It is claimed that this causes the muscles to +relax so that they allow an easy delivery. The umbilical cord is cut +with a bamboo knife and as soon as the child has been bathed it is given +to the mother. The afterbirth is placed in a specially prepared basket +and is either hung against the side of the house or in a nearby tree. +For a few days the midwife assists about the house and then, if all is +well with the child, she takes her payment of rice, chicken, and fish, +and returns to her home. Should the child be ailing she will return, and +having placed rice and betel-nut on banana leaves she carries these to +the top of the house and there offers them to the _asuang_,[136] +meanwhile asking those spirits to accept the offering and to cease +troubling the child. No ceremony takes place at the time of naming or at +the age of puberty, but at the latter period the teeth are filed and +blackened so that the young person may be more beautiful and, therefore, +able to contract a suitable marriage. + +[136] See p. 176. [Transcriber's note: This is page 192.] + +MARRIAGE + +Frequently parents arrange matches for their children while they are +still very young, but in the majority of cases the matter is left until +after the age of puberty when the wishes of the young people are taken +into consideration. The youth or his father having chosen a suitable +girl takes or sends a spear, knife, or other acceptable present to her +father. If this offering is accepted it indicates approval of the match, +and soon thereafter a feast is prepared to which friends of both +families are invited. At this feast the price to be paid for the girl +and the time of marriage are agreed upon, and at least partial payment +is made. As is the case with the neighboring tribes, a part of the value +of this gift is returned. Following the agreement the boy enters the +service of his fiancee's father and for a year or more lives as a member +of the family. Even after the marriage a considerable amount of service +is expected from him at the time of planting, harvesting, or building. + +The marriage ceremony proper follows a feast, and consists of the young +couple feeding each other with rice and drinking from a common cup. + +Should anything occur to prevent the marriage, after the payment for the +girl has been made, the gifts must be returned or service equal to their +value must be rendered. + +Unfaithfulness on the part of the woman seems to be the one cause for a +separation and this is uncommon, for unless her admirer purchases her +for a sum equal to the amount her husband spent in obtaining her, the +divorced woman remains as a slave in the home of her former husband. + +Polygamy is permitted and is quite common, but a man may not take a +second wife until a child has been born to the first. In addition to his +wives a man may have as many concubines as he can afford to purchase. + +It is said to be a grave offense for a man to embrace a married woman, +or even to touch the breasts, elbows, or heels of any woman he does not +intend to marry. An unmarried woman who permits such familiarities is +considered as good as married. Despite this assertion, the writer knows +of several cases where young people openly lived together without being +considered married, and later the parents arranged marriages between +these girls and other suitors. + +According to several informants, incest is punished by the sacrifice of +the guilty parties. They are tied to a tree with their hands drawn +backward around the trunks and are then speared to death. This seems to +be the one and only occasion when human sacrifice is practiced by +members of this tribe. + +SICKNESS AND DEATH. + +When a person is seriously ill a _ballyan_ is summoned and she, after +securing prepared rice, betel-nuts, and a live chicken, enters into +communication with the spirits. First she converses with the dead father +or other deceased relative of the sick person and requests his aid in +effecting a cure, next she presents food to Diwata and implores his aid, +and finally calls upon the _asuang_ to whom she offers the live fowl on +the condition that they will cease trying to injure the patient. Having +thus done all in her power to influence the spirits she may administer +some simple remedy, after which she begins to dance contra-clockwise, +around a bamboo pole on which leaves and betel-nut have been hung.[137] + +[137] This ceremony usually takes place in the house, but if the man was +taken ill in the forest or in his field it may be conducted there. + +If this treatment proves to be of no avail and the patient dies his body +is placed in the center of the house and for two days and nights is +guarded by relatives and friends. During the time that the body remains +in the dwelling the family is required to fast and all the people of the +settlement are prohibited from playing on agongs, from singing or +indulging in other signs of merriment. Finally, the body is wrapped in a +mat and is buried in the forest.[138] + +[138] Maxey gives the following account of burial near Cateel: "The dead +person is dressed in his best clothes, wrapped in a piece of _abaca_ +cloth, and placed in a coffin of bamboo poles, or one hewn from a solid +log, if the person was one of means, and buried. If of the poorer class +he is merely wrapped in a piece of matting-, and either buried or +covered over with stones, sticks, and the like. If of high rank, the +body is not buried, but after preparation is taken into the forest and +placed in a small hut under a _balete_ tree. Food, spears, bolos, hats, +shields, and some articles of furniture are placed on the graves to +placate the spirits who might otherwise bring harm to the surviving +members of the clan or family. There is no fixed period of mourning, but +the members of the family must wear black for some time after the death. +The sick are never abandoned prior to death, but slaves nearing death +are sometimes killed to stop their sufferings. The owner, however, must +first consult with others of the clan." + +Returning from the burial all the people partake of a feast and then set +fire to the dwelling "because we do not like the _asuang_ which killed +the man in that house." During the ensuing nine days the spouse of the +dead dresses in black and for a month following, or until they can +purchase a slave, the whole family is barred from merry-making. Two +reasons for the purchase of this slave were advanced by members of the +tribe. One was that the family could be happy if they were still rich +enough to purchase a slave. The second, that they thus replaced the dead +man with another, "for the slaves are like members of our own family." + +DECORATIVE ART. + +The decorative art of the Mandaya is similar in many respects to that of +the Bagobo and Bila-an, yet in part it differs greatly from both. As is +true with the other tribes, the weavers make use of many figures which +they do not associate with any living forms, but which, nevertheless, +strongly suggest that they may have been derived from realistic designs. +In addition to such patterns they frequently employ figures which are +intentional copies of human or animal forms. Of these the most common +are those representing a man and a crocodile; these sometimes appear +together, sometimes alone. The requirements of the space to be filled, +as well as readiness of the worker to alter any part in order to give a +more pleasing effect to the design have resulted in many distorted and +conventionalized figures which can only be explained by the artist. The +accompanying drawings are taken from articles collected by the writer +and now in the Field Museum of Natural History. + +Patterns _A_ to _H_ in Fig. 54 appear in hemp cloth skirts. These show +the steps in the conventionalization of the human figure,[139] as +explained by the weavers. In the first four the forms are so realistic +that they need no explanation, but _E_ is more complicated. Here two +greatly conventionalized figures have been used, one erect, the other +with head down. The size of the head has been increased while the body +is represented by a small diamond-shaped pattern with outstretched arms +attached. The legs and feet of both figures help to form a pattern +similar to a head, except that it lacks the "hair" shown in the end +designs. _F_ resembles the preceding quite closely. In it the central +head-like pattern does not appear and the legs and feet of one figure +help to form the head of the other. This design has been doubled, thus +necessitating some alteration of the figures at the points of union. In +_G_ and _H_ nearly all the realistic elements have vanished, yet certain +resemblance to _D_ and _E_ can be discerned. + +[139] One weaver insisted that this figure represents a frog, because of +its webbed feet, but none of the others agreed with her. + +FIG. 54A TO H. DESIGNS REPRESENTING THE HUMAN FORM. + +We have already learned that the crocodile is held in great regard and +in some sections there is evidence of its more or less sacred character. +Its importance in the minds of the people is well shown by the frequency +with which it appears in their decorative designs. Fig. 55_A_ shows one +of these animals which has just eaten a man. Both figures are so +realistic that the intention of the weaver is apparent. In _B_, _D_, +_E_, and _F_, the animal is still realistic, but the man disappears, and +in his place is a formless object or straight lines which are identified +as "something eaten." + +FIG. 55A TO H. CROCODILE DESIGNS. + +The pattern _G_ is given as the next step in the conventionalization. +Here the legs, feet, and "something eaten" have assumed undue +proportions, while nearly every trace of likeness has vanished. This +figure is multiplied five times to obtain the highly conventionalized +form shown in _H_. + +By referring to _G_ it is possible to see how the complicated designs in +_I_ and _J_ have been derived, although they bear little resemblance to +the original crocodile form. + +Fig. 56 was identified as a crocodile but was not regarded as a step in +the conventionalization shown. Many other figures such as 57 appear so +closely related to the designs just described that it seems certain they +must have had a common origin, yet this was denied by all the weavers, +who insisted that such decorations were added only to make the garments +pretty. + +FIG. 56. CROCODILE DESIGN. + +FIG. 57. DESIGN USED IN WEAVING. + +Going from weaving to designs cut in wood, something of the same state +of affairs is encountered. Pattern _a_ on the bamboo comb (Fig. 48) is +identified as the crocodile, yet the very similar figures shown on a +bamboo lime holder (Fig. 58) and on a wooden clothes-hanger (Fig. 59) +are not so recognized. + +FIG. 58. INCISED DESIGNS ON A BAMBOO LIME HOLDER. + +FIG. 59. CLOTHES HANGER. + +Figs. 60 and 61 show characteristic designs which are embroidered on +jackets or carrying bags. All these are added with the one idea of +beautifying the garment, without any thought of copying some living +form. This is true also of the incised zigzag lines, scrolls, and +meander patterns seen on the silver breast disks (Fig. 53), and those +stained on palm bark hats (Fig. 47). + +FIGS. 60 AND 61. EMBROIDERED DESIGNS ON JACKTES[sic] AND CARRYING BAGS. + +Tobacco pouches (Fig. 62) are often completely covered with bright +colored geometrical designs embroidered in trade yarn. This work, which +is quite unlike the other decoration used by this people, was probably +introduced along with trade yarn and analine[sic] dyes. + +FIG. 62. TOBACCO POUCHES. + + + +CONCLUSION + +From the material now at our disposal certain general conclusions can be +drawn. + +A comparison of the physical measurements indicates that no group is of +pure race. There are significant variations between members of different +tribes, but these occur also between individuals of the same village. +The average person in each group is short-headed, yet long-headed +individuals are found in every tribe and variations just as great as +this appear in the other measurements and observations. + +We have previously noted the evidences of an aboriginal pygmy +population, that has been partially absorbed by intermarriage with the +later comers.[140] In all the groups, except the Bila-an, the percentage +of individuals showing evidences of Negrito blood increases as we go +from the coasts toward the interior, until in such divisions as the Obo +and Tigdapaya of the Bagobo, and the Tugauanum of the Ata, practically +all the people show traces of this admixture. + +[140] Negrito are reported from the Samal Islands in the Gulf of Davao. + +In addition to the types already described there are found in each tribe +individuals who in all but color might readily pass as white men. These +persons freely intermarry with the rest of the population, and it is no +uncommon thing to find in one family children of this sort as well as +those showing Negrito characteristics or those conforming to the average +type.[141] + +[141] This will be discussed in a forthcoming publication on Physical +Types. That paper will present a full series of measurements accompanied +by photographs, including the Bukidnon of North Central Mindanao in +which tribe this type is more frequently seen than in Davao District. + +The facts indicate that the tribes now found in Davao District did not +reach the coasts of Mindanao at the same time, but rather that they +represent several periods of migration, of which the Kulaman is the +last. This tribe, which only a few generations ago seems to have been +made up of seafarers, has not yet entirely adapted itself to a settled +existence and it is only within the lifetime of the present generation +that its members have taken seriously to agriculture. + +It appears that the Bila-an once inhabited the district about Lake +Buluan, but the pressure of the Moro has forced most of them from that +region toward the mountains to the south and east. They have taken +possession of both sides of this mountain range, except for the lower +eastern slopes where they have encountered the Tagakaolo. + +The other tribes probably landed on the southern or southeastern coast +of the Island, from whence they have gradually moved to their present +habitats. + +Intermarriage between the tribes, Moro raids, warfare with the +accompanying capture of slaves, and the possible influence of boat-loads +of castaways, all have to be considered in dealing with the types found +in Davao District. We have already seen that the physical measurements +indicate a complex racial history. + +After giving full credit to all these influences, however, it does not +appear to the writer that such radical differences exist between the +tribes as will justify us in assigning to them different ancestry or +places of origin. The summarized description of the Bagobo given on page +56 would, with only, slight modification, apply to all the other tribes, +with the exception of certain groups of the Ata in which the Negrito +element is very pronounced. In brief, the various influences that have +been at work on one group have influenced all the others, since their +arrival on the island of Mindanao. + +This conclusion is further justified by the language in which a large +per cent of the words in daily use are common to all the groups. Even +the Bila-an dialect, which differs more from all the others than do any +of those from one another, has so many words in common with the coast +tongues and is so similar in structure that one of my native boys, who +never before had seen a Bila-an, was able freely to carry on a +conversation within a few days after his arrival in one of their most +isolated settlements. + +Similar as are the people and their dialects, the cultural agreements +are even more noticeable. Taking the Bagobo as a starting point, we find +a highly developed culture which, with a few minor changes, holds good +for the tribes immediately surrounding. These in turn differ little from +their neighbors, although from time to time some new forms appear. The +Cibolan type of dwelling, with its raised platform at one end and +box-like enclosures along the side walls, is met with until the Mandaya +territory is approached, while, with little variation, the house +furnishings and utensils in daily use are the same throughout the +District. The same complicated method of overtying, dyeing, and weaving +of hemp employed in the manufacture of women's skirts is in use from +Cateel in the north to Sarangani Bay in the south, while in the +manufacture of weapons the iron worker in Cibolan differs not at all +from his fellow-craftsman among the Mandaya. Here we are confronted by +the objection that, so far as is known, no iron work is done by the +Bila-an and Ata, but this is a condition which is encountered throughout +the archipelago. In the interior of Luzon are found isolated villages, +the inhabitants of which are expert workers in iron and steel, while +their neighbors seem to be ignorant of the process.[142] The writer +holds to the opinion that iron working is an ancient art throughout the +Philippine archipelago and that its use for various reasons, such as +lack of material, has died out in certain sections. Brass workers are +found among most of the tribes, but, as was observed earlier in this +paper, there is sufficient evidence that the industry is of recent +introduction, and the amount and excellence of the work done by the +brass casters is governed by the nearness or remoteness of Moro +settlements. + +[142] The process used in Northern Luzon is very similar to that +employed in Southern Mindanao. + +Except for the cotton garments recently adopted by the Kagan branch of +the Tagakaolo, and the suits worn by the Mandaya men, the clothing seen +throughout the District is very similar. A few ornaments, such as the +silver rings and breast disks of the Mandaya, have only a limited +distribution, but for the most part the decorations worn by the +different tribes differ only in the number of beads, bells, and shell +disks used in their manufacture. + +In the ornamentation of their garments certain groups have specialized +until the bead work of the Bagobo excels all such work found in the +Philippines. The same can be said of the intricate and beautifully +embroidered designs seen in the garments of the Bila-an or the oversewed +fabrics of the Kulaman, while the crudely embroidered patterns of the +Mandaya are wonderfully effective. Yet, despite apparent +dissimilarities, there is such a likeness in many forms of +ornamentation, as well as in the technique of the methods of production, +that there seems to be ample proof of free borrowing, or of a common +origin. + +On the non-material side the similarities between the groups are even +more marked. In each tribe the warriors gain distinction among their +fellows, the protection of certain spirits, and the privilege of wearing +red garments, by killing a certain number of persons. Except among the +Kulaman, mediums much like the _mabalian_ of the Bagobo make known the +wishes of the superior beings and direct the ceremonies. The people are +instructed when to plant by the spirits who place certain constellations +in the skies. These are the same for all the groups, although often +known by different names. The _limokon_ warns or encourages the +traveler, while certain acts of the individual, such as sneezing, are +looked upon as warnings from unseen beings. Many of these beings having +like attributes, although often bearing different names, are known to +each group. The idea of one or more spirits dwelling in different parts +of a man's body is widespread, while the belief that the right side of +the body is under the care of good influences and the left subject to +the bad, is well nigh universal in the District. + +In conclusion note should be made of oft repeated assertions to the +effect that a part of the people of Davao District are white, and that +they are also cannibals and headhunters. The first can be dismissed with +the statement that so far as the writer has been able to observe or to +learn from trustworthy sources, there is no justification for such a +story. It can be just as positively stated that neither the Mandaya nor +any other tribe here described practice cannabalism[sic]. Warriors do +eat a part of the livers and hearts of men who have shown great valor, +the eaters thus securing some of the good qualities of the victims. The +Kulaman warriors always taste of the liver of the slain "in order to +become like Mandalangan," but they expressed the greatest disgust when +it was suggested that the balance of the body might make good food. + +While it is true that the Kulaman take the heads, and some times the +arms,[143] of slain foes, and that the same custom is some times +followed by individual warriors of the other tribes, head-hunting for +the sake of the trophy is not practiced here, as is the case in Northern +Luzon. The skull or other portions of the body are kept only long enough +to prove the murder, or until they can be mutilated by the women and +children, "who thus become brave." + +[143] This is also the custom of the Bukidnon. + + + + + + + + +THE TRAINING OF A PUBLIC SPEAKER + +BY GRENVILLE KLEISER + + +_Formerly Instructor in Public Speaking at Yale Divinity + School, Yale University. Author of_ "_How to Speak + in Public_," "_Great Speeches and How to Make + Them_," "_Complete Guide to Public Speaking_," + "_How to Build Mental Power_," + "_Talks on Talking_," _etc., etc._ + + +[Illustration: Publisher's logo] + +FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY + +NEW YORK AND LONDON + +1920 + + +COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY + +GRENVILLE KLEISER + +[_Printed in the United States of America_] + +Published, February, 1920 + + +Copyright Under the Articles of the Copyright Convention of the +Pan-American Republics and the United States, August 11, 1910 + + + + +PREFACE + + +The power of eloquence to move and persuade men is universally +recognized. To-day the public speaker plays a vital part in the solution +of every great question and problem. Oratory, in the true sense, is not +a lost art, but a potent means of imparting information, instruction, +and persuasion. + +Eloquence is still "the appropriate organ of the highest personal +energy." As one has well said, "The orator is not compelled to wait +through long and weary years to reap the reward of his labors. His +triumphs are instantaneous." + +And again, "To stand up before a vast assembly composed of men of the +most various callings, views, passions, and prejudices, and mold them at +will; to play upon their hearts and minds as a master upon the keys of +a piano; to convince their understandings by the logic, and to thrill +their feelings by the art of the orator; to see every eye watching his +face, and every ear intent on the words that drop from his lips; to see +indifference changed to breathless interest, and aversion to rapturous +enthusiasm; to hear thunders of applause at the close of every period; +to see the whole assembly animated by the feelings which in him are +burning and struggling for utterance; and to think that all this is the +creation of the moment, and has sprung instantaneously from his fiery +brain and the inspiration imparted to it by the circumstances of the +hour;--_this_, perhaps, is the greatest triumph of which the human mind +is capable, and that in which its divinity is most signally revealed." + +The aims and purposes of speaking to-day have radically changed from +former times. Deliberative bodies, composed of busy men, meet now to +discuss and dispose of grave and weighty business. There is little +necessity nor scope for eloquence. Time is too valuable to permit of +prolonged speaking. Men are tacitly expected to "get to the point," and +to be reasonably brief in what they have to say. + +Under these circumstances certain extravagant types of old-time oratory +would be ineffectual to-day. The stentorian and dramatic tones, with +hand inserted in the breast of the coat, with exaggerated facial +expression, and studied posture, would make a speaker to-day an object +of ridicule. + +This applies equally to speech in the law court, pulpit, on the lecture +platform, and in other departments of public address. The implicit +demand everywhere is that the speaker should say what he has to say +naturally, simply, and concisely. + +This does not mean, however, that he must confine himself to plain +statement of fact, with no manifestation of feeling or earnestness. Men +are still influenced and persuaded by impassioned speech. There is +nothing incompatible between deep feeling and clear-cut speech. A man +having profound convictions upon any subject of importance will always +speak on it with fervor and sincerity. + +The widespread interest in the subject of public speaking has suggested +this adaptation of Quintilian's celebrated work on the education of the +orator. This work has long been regarded as one of the most valuable +treatises ever written on oratory, but in its original form it is +ponderous and inaccessible to the average reader. In the present +abridged and modernized form it may be read and studied with benefit by +earnest students of the art of public speaking. + +A brief account of Quintilian says: "Quintilianus, M. Fabius, was born +at Calagurris, in Spain, A. D. 40. He completed his education at Rome, +and began to practise at the bar about 68. But he was chiefly +distinguished as a teacher of eloquence, bearing away the palm in his +department from all his rivals, and associating his name, even to a +proverb, with preeminence in the art. By Domitian he was invested with +the insignia and title of consul, and is, moreover, celebrated as the +first public instructor who, in virtue of the endowment by Vespasian, +received a regular salary from the imperial exchequer. He is supposed to +have died about 118. The great work of Quintilian is a complete system +of rhetoric, in twelve books, entitled _De Institutione Oratoria Libre +XII_, or sometimes _Institutiones Oratoriæ_, dedicated to his friend +Marcellus Victorius, himself a celebrated orator, and a favorite at +Court. This production bears throughout the impress of a clear, sound +judgment, keen discrimination, and pure taste, improved by extensive +reading, deep reflection, and long practise." + +The text used for this condensation is from the version of J. Patsall, +A.M., London, 1774, according to the Paris edition by Professor Rollin. +Many parts of the original work have been re-written or abridged, while +several chapters have been entirely omitted. + + GRENVILLE KLEISER. +New York City, +August, 1919. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE +RHETORIC AND ELOQUENCE 15 + +THE EXORDIUM OR INTRODUCTION 43 + +THE NARRATION 67 + +DIVISION AND ARGUMENT 85 + +THE PERORATION 99 + +PASSION AND PERSUASION 119 + +THE STUDY OF WORDS 133 + +ELEGANCE AND GRACE 145 + +COMPOSITION AND STYLE 173 + +COPIOUSNESS OF WORDS 197 + +KNOWLEDGE AND SELF-CONFIDENCE 229 + +CONCLUSION 247 + + + + +RHETORIC AND ELOQUENCE + + +WHAT RHETORIC IS + +Rhetoric has been commonly defined as "The power of persuading." This +opinion originated with Isocrates, if the work ascribed to him be really +his; not that he intended to dishonor his profession, tho he gives us a +generous idea of rhetoric by calling it the workmanship of persuasion. +We find almost the same thing in the Gorgias of Plato, but this is the +opinion of that rhetorician, and not of Plato. Cicero has written in +many places that the duty of an orator is to speak in "a manner proper +to persuade"; and in his books of rhetoric, of which undoubtedly he does +not approve himself, he makes the end of eloquence to consist in +persuasion. + +But does not money likewise persuade? Is not credit, the authority of +the speaker, the dignity of a respectable person, attended with the same +effect? Even without speaking a word, the remembrance of past services, +the appearance of distress, a beautiful aspect, make deep impressions on +minds and are decisive in their favor. + +Did Antonius, pleading the cause of M. Aquilius, trust to the force of +his reasons when he abruptly tore open his garment and exposed to view +the honorable wounds he received fighting for his country? This act of +his forced streams of tears from the eyes of the Roman people, who, not +able to resist so moving a spectacle, acquitted the criminal. Sergius +Galba escaped the severity of the laws by appearing in court with his +own little children, and the son of Gallus Sulpitius, in his arms. The +sight of so many wretched objects melted the judges into compassion. +This we find equally attested by some of our historians and by a speech +of Cato. What shall I say of the example of Phryne, whose beauty was of +more service in her cause than all the eloquence of Hyperides; for tho +his pleading was admirable in her defense, yet perceiving it to be +without effect, by suddenly laying open her tunic he disclosed the naked +beauty of her bosom, and made the judges sensible that she had as many +charms for them as for others. Now, if all these instances persuade, +persuasion, then, can not be the end of rhetoric. + +Some, therefore, have seemed to themselves rather more exact who, in the +main of the same way of thinking, define rhetoric as the "Power of +persuading by speaking." It is to this that Gorgias, in the book above +cited, is at last reduced by Socrates. Theodectes does not much differ +from them, if the work ascribed to him be his, or Aristotle's. In this +book the end of rhetoric is supposed to be "The leading of men wherever +one pleases by the faculty of speaking." But this definition is not +sufficiently comprehensive. Many others besides the orator persuade by +their words and lead minds in whatever direction they please. + +Some, therefore, as Aristotle, setting aside the consideration of the +end, have defined rhetoric to be "The power of inventing whatever is +persuasive in a discourse." This definition is equally as faulty as that +just mentioned, and is likewise defective in another respect, as +including only invention, which, separate from elocution, can not +constitute a speech. + +It appears from Plato's Gorgias that he was far from regarding rhetoric +as an art of ill tendency, but that, rather it is, or ought to be, if +we were to conceive an adequate idea of it inseparable from virtue. This +he explains more clearly in his Phædrus, where he says that "The art can +never be perfect without an exact knowledge and strict observance of +justice." I join him in this opinion, and if these were not his real +sentiments, would he have written an apology for Socrates and the +eulogium of those brave citizens who lost their lives in the defense of +their country? This is certainly acting the part of an orator, and if in +any respect he attacks the profession, it is on account of those who +make ill use of eloquence. Socrates, animated with the same spirit, +thought it unworthy of him to pronounce the speech Lysias had composed +for his defense, it being the custom of the orators of those times to +write speeches for arraigned criminals, which the latter pronounced in +their own defense; thus eluding the law that prohibited pleading for +another. Plato, likewise, in his Phædrus, condemns the masters that +separated rhetoric from justice, and preferred probabilities to truth. + +Such are the definitions of rhetoric which have been principally set +forth. To go through all of them is not my purpose, nor do I think it +possible, as most writers on arts have shown a perverse dislike for +defining things as others do or in the same terms as those who wrote +before them. I am far from being influenced by a like spirit of +ambition, and far from flattering myself with the glory of invention, +and I shall rest content with that which seems most rational, that +rhetoric is properly defined as "The science of speaking well." Having +found what is best, it is useless to seek further. + +Accepting this definition, therefore, it will be no difficult matter to +ascertain its end, for if it be "The science of speaking well," then "to +speak well" will be the end it proposes to itself. + + +THE USE OF RHETORIC + +The next question is on the utility of rhetoric, and from this point of +view some direct the bitterest invectives against it, and what is very +unbecoming, exert the force of eloquence against eloquence, saying that +by it the wicked are freed from punishment, and the innocent opprest by +its artifices; that it perverts good counsel, and enforces bad; that it +foments troubles and seditions in States; that it arms nations against +each other, and makes them irreconcilable enemies; and that its power is +never more manifest than when error and lies triumph over truth. + +Comic poets reproach Socrates with teaching how to make a bad cause +good, and Plato represents Lysias and Gorgias boasting the same thing. +To these may be added several examples of Greeks and Romans, and a long +list of orators whose eloquence was not only the ruin of private +persons, but even destructive to whole cities and republics; and for +this reason it was that eloquence was banished from Sparta and so +restricted at Athens that the orator was not allowed to make appeal to +the passions. + +Granting all this as sound argument, we must draw this necessary +inference, that neither generals of armies, nor magistrates, nor +medicine, nor philosophy, will be of any use. Flaminius, an imprudent +general, lost one of our armies. The Gracchi Saturninus, and Glaucia, to +raise themselves to dignity, put Rome into an uproar. Physicians often +administer poisons, and among philosophers some have been found guilty +of the most enormous crimes. Let us not eat of the meats with which our +tables are spread, for meats frequently have caused disease. Let us +never go into houses; they may fall and crush us to death. Let not our +soldiers be armed with swords; a robber may use the same weapon against +us. In short, who does not know that the most necessary things in life, +as air, fire, water, nay, even the celestial bodies, are sometimes very +injurious to our well-being? + +But how many examples can be quoted in our favor? Did not Appius the +Blind, by the force of his eloquence dissuade the Senate from making a +shameful peace with Pyrrhus? Did not Cicero's divine eloquence appear +more popular than the Agrarian law he attacked? Did it not disconcert +the audacious measures of Cataline? And did not he, even in his civil +capacity, obtain by it honors that are conferred on only the most +illustrious conquerors? Is it not the orator who strengthens the +soldier's drooping courage, who animates him amidst the greatest +dangers, and inspires him to choose a glorious death rather than a life +of infamy? + +The example of the Romans, among whom eloquence always has been held in +the greatest veneration, shall have a higher place in my regard than +that of the Spartans and Athenians. It is not to be supposed that the +founders of cities could have made a united people of a vagabond +multitude without the charms of persuasive words, nor that law-givers, +without extraordinary talent for speaking, could have forced men to bend +their necks to the yoke of the laws. Even the precepts of moral life, +tho engraved on our hearts by the finger of nature, are more efficacious +to inspire our hearts with love for them when their beauty is displayed +by the ornaments of eloquent speech. Tho the arms of eloquence may harm +and benefit equally, we must not, therefore, look on that as bad which +may be put to a good use. Doubts of this kind may well be entertained by +such as make "the force persuasion the end of eloquence," but we who +constitute it "The science of speaking well," resolved to acknowledge +none but the good man an orator, must naturally judge that its advantage +is very considerable. + +Certainly, the gracious Author of all beings and Maker of the world, has +distinguished us from the animals in no respect more than by the gift of +speech. They surpass us in bulk, in strength, in the supporting of +toil, in speed, and stand less in need of outside help. Guided by nature +only, they learn sooner to walk, to seek for their food, and to swim +over rivers. They have on their bodies sufficient covering to guard them +against cold; all of them have their natural weapons of defense; their +food lies, in a manner, on all sides of them; and we, indigent beings! +to what anxieties are we put in securing these things? But God, a +beneficent parent, gave us reason for our portion, a gift which makes us +partakers of a life of immortality. But this reason would be of little +use to us, and we would be greatly perplexed to make it known, unless we +could express by words our thoughts. This is what animals lack, more +than thought and understanding, of which it can not be said they are +entirely destitute. For to make themselves secure and commodious +lodges, to interweave their nests with such art, to rear their young +with such care, to teach them to shift for themselves when grown up, to +hoard provisions for the winter, to produce such inimitable works as wax +and honey, are instances perhaps of a glimmering of reason; but because +destitute of speech, all the extraordinary things they do can not +distinguish them from the brute part of creation. Let us consider dumb +persons: how does the heavenly soul, which takes form in their bodies, +operate in them? We perceive, indeed, that its help is but weak, and its +action but languid. + + +THE VALUE OF THE GIFT OF SPEECH + +If, then, the beneficent Creator of the world has not imparted to us a +greater blessing than the gift of speech, what can we esteem more +deserving of our labor and improvement, and what object is more worthy +of our ambition than that of raising ourselves above other men by the +same means by which they raise themselves above beasts, so much the more +as no labor is attended with a more abundant harvest of glory? To be +convinced of this we need only consider by what degrees eloquence has +been brought to the perfection in which we now see it, and how far it +might still be perfected. For, not to mention the advantage and pleasure +a good man reaps from defending his friends, governing the Senate by his +counsels, seeing himself the oracle of the people, and master of armies, +what can be more noble than by the faculty of speaking and thinking, +which is common to all men, to erect for himself such a standard of +praise and glory as to seem to the minds of men not so much to discourse +and speak, but, like Pericles, to make his words thunder and lightning. + + +THE ART OF SPEAKING + +There would be no end were I to expatiate to the limit of my inclination +on the subject of the gift of speech and its utility. I shall pass, +therefore, to the following question, "Whether rhetoric be an art?" +Those who wrote rules for eloquence doubted so little its being so, that +they prefixt no other title to their books than "The art of speaking." +Cicero says that what we call rhetoric is only an artificial eloquence. +If this were an opinion peculiar to orators, it might be thought that +they intended it as a mark of dignity attached to their studies, but +most philosophers, stoics as well as peripatetics, concur in this +opinion. I must confess I had some doubt about discussing this matter, +lest I might seem diffident of its truth; for who can be so devoid of +sense and knowledge as to find art in architecture, in weaving, in +pottery, and imagine that rhetoric, the excellence of which we have +already shown, could arrive at its present state of grandeur and +perfection without the direction of art? I am persuaded that those of +the contrary opinion were so more for the sake of exercising their wit +on the singularity of the subject than from any real conviction. + + +IS ELOQUENCE A GIFT OF NATURE? + +Some maintain that rhetoric is a gift of nature, yet admit that it may +be helped by exercise. Antonius, in Cicero's books of the Orator, calls +it a sort of observation and not an art. But this opinion is not there +asserted as truth, but only to keep up the character of Antonius, who +was a connoisseur at concealing art. Lysias seems to be of the same +opinion, which he defends by saying that the most simple and ignorant +people possess a kind of rhetoric when they speak for themselves. They +find something like an exordium, they make a narration, they prove, +refute, and their prayers and entreaties have the force of a peroration. +Lysias and his adherents proceed afterward to vain subtleties. "That +which is the effect of art," say they, "could not have existed before +art. In all times men have known how to speak for themselves and against +others, but masters of rhetoric have been only of a late date, first +known about the time of Tisias and Corax; therefore oratorical speech +was prior to art, consequently it could not be the result of art, and +therefore, rhetoric is not an art." We shall not endeavor to enquire +into the time when rhetoric began to be taught, but this we may say, +that it is certain Homer makes mention not only of Phoenix, who was a +master, skilled in both speaking and fighting, but also of many other +orators. We may observe likewise from Homer, that all the parts of a +discourse are found in the speech of the three captains deputed to +Achilles, that several young men dispute for the prize of eloquence, and +that among other ornaments of sculpture on the buckler of Achilles, +Vulcan did not forget law-causes and the pleaders of them. + +It will be sufficient, however, to answer that "Everything perfected by +art has its source in nature." If it were not so, we should exclude +medicine from the catalog of arts, the discovery of which was owing to +observations made on things conducive or harmful to public health, and +in the opinion of some it is wholly grounded on experiments. Before it +was reduced to an art, tents and bandages were applied to wounds, rest +and abstinence cured fever; not that the reason of all this was then +known, but the nature of the ailment indicated such curative methods and +forced men to this regimen. In like manner architecture can not be an +art, the first men having built their cottages without its direction. +Music must undergo the same charge, as every nation has its own +peculiarities in dancing and singing. Now, if by rhetoric be meant any +kind of speech, I must own it prior to art; but if not everyone who +speaks is an orator, and if in the primitive ages of the world men did +not speak orator-like, the orator, consequently, must have been made so +by art, and therefore could not exist before it. + + +RHETORIC AND MISREPRESENTATION + +The next objection is not one so much in reality as it is a mere cavil; +that "Art never assents to false opinions, because it can not be +constituted as such without precepts, which are always true; but +rhetoric assents to what is false, therefore it is not an art." I admit +that sometimes rhetoric says false things instead of true, but it does +not follow that it assents to what is false. There is a wide difference +between assenting to a falsehood, and making others assent to it. So it +is that a general of an army often has recourse to stratagems. When +Hannibal perceived himself to be blocked up by Fabius, he ordered +faggots of brush-wood to be fastened about the horns of some oxen, and +fire being set to the faggots, had the cattle driven up the mountains in +the night, in order to make the enemy believe he was about to decamp. +But this was only a false alarm, for he himself very well knew what his +scheme was. When Theopompus the Spartan, by changing clothes with his +wife, made his escape out of prison, the deception was not imposed upon +himself, but upon his guards. Thus, when an orator speaks falsehood +instead of truth, he knows what he is about; he does not yield to it +himself, his intention being to deceive others. When Cicero boasted that +he threw darkness on the minds of the judges, in the cause of Cluentius, +could it be said that he himself was unacquainted with all the +intricacies of his method of confusing their understanding of the facts? +Or shall a painter who so disposes his objects that some seem to project +from the canvas, others to sink in, be supposed not to know that they +are all drawn on a plain surface? + + +THE OBJECT OF A SPEECH + +It is again objected that "Every art proposes to itself an end; but +rhetoric has no end, or does not put into execution the end it proposes +to itself." This is false, as is shown from what already has been said +concerning the end of rhetoric and in what it consists. The orator will +never fail to obtain this end, for he always will speak well. This +objection, therefore, can affect only those who make persuasion the end +of rhetoric; but our orator, and our definition of art, are not +restricted to events. An orator, indeed, strives to gain his cause; but +suppose he loses it, as long as he has pleaded well he fulfils the +injunctions of his art. A pilot desires to come safe into port, but if a +storm sweeps away his ship, is he, on that account, a less experienced +pilot? His keeping constantly to the helm is sufficient proof that he +was not neglecting his duty. A physician tries to cure a sick person, +but if his remedies are hindered in their operation by either the +violence of the disease, the intemperance of the patient, or some +unforeseen accident, he is not to be blamed, because he has satisfied +all the directions of his art. So it is with the orator, whose end is to +speak well; for it is in the act, and not in the effect, that art +consists, as I shall soon make clear. Therefore, it is false to say that +"Art knows when it has obtained its end, but rhetoric knows nothing of +the matter," as if an orator could be ignorant of his speaking well and +to the purpose. + +But it is said, further, that rhetoric, contrary to the custom of all +other arts, adopts vice, because it countenances falsehood and moves the +passions. Neither of these are bad practises, and consequently not +vicious, when grounded on substantial reasons. To disguise truth is +sometimes allowable even in the sage, and if a judge can not be brought +to do justice except by means of the passions, the orator must +necessarily have recourse to them. Very often the judges appointed to +decide are ignorant, and there is necessity for changing their wrongly +conceived opinions, to keep them from error. Should there be a bench, a +tribunal, an assembly of wise and learned judges whose hearts are +inaccessible to hatred, envy, hope, fear, prejudice, and the impositions +of false witnesses, there would be little occasion for the exertions of +eloquence and all that might seem requisite would be only to amuse the +ear with the harmony of cadence. But if the orator has to deal with +light, inconstant, prejudiced, and corrupt judges, and if many +embarrassments must be removed in order to throw light upon truth, then +artful stratagem must fight the battle, and set all its engines to work, +for he who is beaten out of the straight road can not get into it again +except by another turnabout. + + +ELOQUENCE ACQUIRED BY STUDY AND PRACTISE + +These are the principal objections which have been made against +rhetoric. There are others of less moment but derived from the same +source. That rhetoric is an art is thus briefly demonstrated. If art, as +Cleanthes thinks, is a power which prepares a way and establishes an +order, can it be doubted that we must keep to a certain way and a +certain order for speaking well? And if, according to the most generally +accepted opinion, we ought to call art, everything which by a +combination of agreeing and co-exercised principles conducts to a useful +end, have we not already shown that nothing of all this is lacking in +rhetoric? Has it not, likewise, the two constituent parts of other +arts, theory and practise? Again, if dialect be an art, as it is +granted, for the same reason; so is rhetoric an art, the chief +difference lying not so much in the genus as in the species. But we must +not forget this observation, that art must be where a thing is done +according to rule, and not at random; and art must be where he who has +learned succeeds better than he who has not learned. But in matter of +eloquence not only will the ignorant person be surpassed by the learned, +but also the learned by the more learned; otherwise we should not have +so many rules nor so many excellent masters. This ought to be +acknowledged by all, but more especially by us who do not separate +eloquence from the man of integrity. + + + + +THE EXORDIUM OR INTRODUCTION + + +The exordium, or introduction, is that part of the discourse which is +pronounced before the subject is entered upon. As musicians make a +prelude for obtaining silence and attention before they play their +selections, so orators, before they begin their cause, have specified by +the same application that which they say by way of preface for securing +for themselves a kindly feeling in the listeners. + + +THE PURPOSE OF THE INTRODUCTION + +The reason for an exordium is to dispose the auditors to be favorable to +us in the other parts of the discourse. This, as most authors agree, is +accomplished by making them friendly, attentive, and receptive, tho due +regard should be paid to these three particulars throughout the whole +of a speech. + +Sometimes the exordium is applicable to the pleader of the cause, who, +tho he ought to speak very little of himself, and always modestly, will +find it of vast consequence to create a good opinion of himself and to +make himself thought to be an honest man. So it is he will be regarded +not so much as a zealous advocate, as a faithful and irreproachable +witness. His motives for pleading must, therefore, appear to proceed not +from tie of kindred, or friendship, but principally from a desire to +promote the public good, if such motive can be urged, or any other +important consideration. This conduct will befit plaintiffs in a much +greater degree, that they may seem to have brought their action for just +and weighty reasons, or were even compelled to do it from necessity. + +As nothing else gives so great a sanction to the authority of the +speaker as to be free from all suspicion of avarice, hatred, and +ambition, so, also, there is a sort of tacit recommendation of ourselves +if we profess our weak state and inability for contending with the +superior genius and talents of the advocate of the other side. We are +naturally disposed to favor the weak and opprest, and a conscientious +judge hears an orator willingly whom he presumes not to be capable of +making him swerve from his fixt purpose of doing justice. Hence the care +of the ancients for concealing their talents. + + +IDEAS TO AVOID AND TO INCLUDE + +All contemptuous, spiteful, haughty, calumniating expressions must be +avoided and not so much as even insinuated to the defamation of any +particular person or rank, much less against those to whom an affront +would alienate the minds of the judges. To be so imprudent as to attack +judges themselves, not openly, but in any indirect manner, would be most +unwise. + +The advocate for the other side may likewise furnish sufficient matter +for an exordium. Sometimes honorable mention may be made of him, as when +we pretend to be in dread of his interest and eloquence in order to make +them suspected by the judges, and sometimes by casting odium on him, +altho this must be done very seldom. I rather think, from the authority +of the best authors, that whatever affects the orator, affects also the +cause he patronizes, as it is natural for a judge to give more credit to +those whom he more willingly hears. + +We shall procure the favor of the judge not so much by praising him, +which ought to be done with moderation, and is common to both sides, but +rather by making his praise fitting, and connecting it with the interest +of our cause. Thus, in speaking for a person of consequence, we may lay +some stress on the judge's own dignity; for one of mean condition, on +his justice; for the unhappy, on his mercy; for the injured, on his +severity. + + +STUDYING YOUR HEARERS + +It also would not be amiss to become acquainted, if possible, with his +character. For, according as his temper is, harsh or mild, pleasant or +grave, severe or easy, the cause should be made to incline toward the +side which corresponds with his disposition, or to admit some mitigation +or softening where it runs counter to it. + +It may happen sometimes, too, that the judge is our enemy, or the +opponent's friend. This is a circumstance requiring the circumspection +of both parties, yet I think the favored advocate should behave with +great caution, for a judge of a biased disposition will sometimes choose +to pass sentence against his friends, or in favor of those to whom he +bears enmity, that he may not appear to act with injustice. + + +AROUSING EMOTIONS + +Judges have also their private opinions and prejudices, which we must +either strengthen or weaken, according as we see necessary. Fear, too, +sometimes must be removed, as Cicero, in his defense of Milo, endeavors +to assure the judges that Pompey's army, drawn up about the Forum, is +for their protection; and sometimes there will be an occasion to +intimidate them, as the same orator does in one of his pleadings against +Verres. + +There are two ways of proceeding in this last case, the first plausible, +and frequently used, as when it is hinted to them that the Roman people +might entertain an ill opinion of them, or that there might be an appeal +from their judgment; the other desperate, and not so much used, as when +threatened with prosecution themselves if they suffer themselves to be +corrupted. This is a hazardous point, and is conducted with more safety +to the orator when in a large assembly where corrupt judges are +restrained by fear, and the upright have the majority. But I would never +counsel this before a single judge, unless every other resource was +wanting. If necessity requires it, I can not say that it is the business +of the art of oratory to give directions in the matter, any more than to +lodge an appeal, tho that, too, is often of service, or to cite the +judge in justice before he passes sentence, for to threaten, denounce, +or indict may be done by any one else as well as the orator. + +If the cause itself should furnish sufficient reason for gaining the +good will of the judge, out of this whatever is most specious and +favorable may be inserted in the exordium. It will be unnecessary to +enumerate all the favorable circumstances in causes, they being easily +known from the state of facts; besides, no exact enumeration can take +place on account of the great diversity of law-suits. It is the cause +itself, therefore, that must teach us to find and improve these +circumstances; and, in like manner, with a circumstance that may make +against us the cause will inform us how it may either be made entirely +void, or at least invalidated. + +From the cause compassion also sometimes arises, whether we have +already suffered or are likely to suffer anything grievous. For I am not +of the opinion of those who to distinguish the exordium from the +peroration, will have the one to speak of what is past and the other of +what is to come. They are sufficiently distinguished without this +discrimination. In the exordium the orator ought to be more reserved, +and ought only to throw out some hints of the sentiments of compassion +he designs to excite in the minds of the judges; whereas in the +peroration he may pour out all the passions, introduce persons speaking, +and make the dead to come forth, as it were, out of their graves, and +recommend to the judges the care of their dearest pledges. All these +particulars are seldom executed in the exordium. But the manner just +pointed out, it will be very proper to observe in it, and to wear down +all impressions to the contrary made by the opposite side, that as our +situation will be deplorable if we should be defeated in our +expectations, so, on the other hand, the behavior of our opponent would +be insolent and haughty. + + +MATERIAL FOR THE INTRODUCTION + +Besides persons and causes, the exordium likewise is sometimes taken +from their adjuncts, that is, from things relating to the cause and +persons. To persons are applicable not only the pledges above mentioned, +but affinities, friendships, sometimes cities and whole countries are +also likely to suffer by the person's misfortunes. + +Theophrastus adds another kind of exordium, taken from the pleading of +the orator who speaks first. Such seems to be that of Demosthenes for +Ctesiphon, in which he requests the judges to please permit him to +reply as he thinks suitable rather than to follow the rules prescribed +by the accuser. + +As the confidence observable in some orators may easily pass for +arrogance, there are certain ways of behavior which, tho common, will +please, and therefore ought not to be neglected, to prevent their being +used by the opposing side: these are wishing, warding off suspicion, +supplicating, and making a show of trouble and anxiety. + +The judge's attention is secured by inducing him to believe that the +matter under debate is new, important, extraordinary, or of a heinous +nature, or that it equally interests him and the public. Then his mind +is to be roused and agitated by hope, fear, remonstrance, entreaty, and +even by flattery, if it is thought that will be of any use. Another way +of procuring attention may be to promise that we shall take up but +little of their time, as we shall confine ourselves to the subject. + +From what has been said, it appears that different causes require to be +governed by different rules; and five kinds of causes are generally +specified, which are said to be, either honest, base, doubtful, +extraordinary, or obscure. Some add shameful, as a sixth kind, which +others include in base or extraordinary. By extraordinary is understood +that which is contrary to the opinion of men. In a doubtful cause the +judge should be made favorable; in an obscure, docile; in a base, +attentive. An honest cause is sufficient of itself to procure favor. +Extraordinary and base causes lack remedies. + + +TWO TYPES OF INTRODUCTIONS + +Some, therefore, specify two kinds of exordiums, one a beginning, the +other an insinuation. In the first the judges are requested openly to +give their good will and attention; but as this can not take place in +the base kind of cause, the insinuation must steal in upon their minds, +especially when the cause does not seem to appear with a sufficiently +honest aspect, either because the thing itself is wicked, or is a +measure not approved by the public. There are many instances of causes +of unseemly appearance, as when general odium is incurred by opposing a +patriot; and a like hostility ensues from acting against a father, a +wretched old man, the blind, or the orphan. + +This may be a general rule for the purpose, "To touch but slightly on +the things that work against us, and to insist chiefly on those which +are for our advantage." If the cause can not be so well maintained, let +us have recourse to the goodness of the person, and if the person is not +condemnable, let us ground our support on the cause. If nothing occurs +to help us out, let us see what may hurt the opponent. For, since to +obtain more favor is a thing to be wished, so the next step to it is to +incur less hatred. + +In things that can not be denied, we must endeavor to show that they are +greatly short of what they are reported to be, or that they have been +done with a different intention, or that they do not in any wise belong +to the present question, or that repentance will make sufficient amends +for them, or that they have already received a proportionate punishment. +Herein, therefore, it will be better and more suitable for an advocate +to act than for the person himself; because when pleading for another he +can praise without the imputation of arrogance, and sometimes can even +reprove with advantage. + +Insinuation seems to be not less necessary when the opponent's action +has pre-possest the minds of the judges, or when they have been fatigued +by the tediousness of the pleading. The first may be got the better of +by promising substantial proofs on our side, and by refuting those of +the opponent. The second, by giving hopes of being brief, and by having +recourse to the means prescribed for making the judge attentive. In the +latter case, too, some seasonable pleasantry, or anything witty to +freshen the mind will have a good effect. It will not be amiss, +likewise, to remove any seeming obstruction. As Cicero says of himself, +he is not unaware that some will find it strange that he, who for so +many years had defended such a number of people, and had given no +offense to anyone, should undertake to accuse Verres. Afterward he shows +that if, on the one hand, he accuses Verres, still, on the other, he +defends the allies of the Roman people. + + +HOW TO SELECT THE RIGHT BEGINNING + +The orator should consider what the subject is upon which he is to +speak, before whom, for whom, against whom, at what time, in what place, +under what conditions, what the public think of it, what the judges may +think of it before they hear him, and what he himself has to desire, and +what to apprehend. Whoever makes these reflections will know where he +should naturally begin. But now orators call exordium anything with +which they begin, and consider it of advantage to make the beginning +with some brilliant thought. Undoubtedly many things are taken into the +exordium which are drawn from other parts of the cause or at least are +common to them, but nothing in either respect is better said than that +which can not be said so well elsewhere. + + +THE VALUE OF NATURALNESS + +There are many very engaging things in an exordium which is framed from +the opponent's pleading, and this is because it does not seem to favor +of the closet, but is produced on the spot and comes from the very +thing. By its easy, natural turn, it enhances the reputation of genius. +Its air of simplicity, the judge not being on his guard against it, +begets belief, and tho the discourse in all other parts be elaborate and +written with great accuracy, it will for the most part seem an +extempore oration, the exordium evidently appearing to have nothing +premeditated. + +But nothing else will so well suit an exordium as modesty in the +countenance, voice, thoughts, and composition, so that even in an +uncontrovertible kind of cause, too great confidence ought not to +display itself. Security is always odious in a pleader, and a judge who +is sensible of his authority tacitly demands respect. + +An orator must likewise be exceedingly careful to keep himself from +being suspected, particularly in that regard; therefore, not the least +show of study should be made, because all his art will seem exerted +against the judge, and not to show this is the greatest perfection of +art. This rule has been recommended by all authors, and undoubtedly with +good reason, but sometimes is altered by circumstances, because in +certain causes the judges themselves require studied discourses, and +fancy themselves thought mean of unless accuracy appears in thought and +expression. It is of no significance to instruct them; they must be +pleased. It is indeed difficult to find a medium in this respect, but +the orator may so temper his manner as to speak with justness, and not +with too great a show of art. + + +THE NEED OF SIMPLICITY OF EXPRESSION + +Another rule inculcated by the ancients is not to admit into the +exordium any strange word, too bold a metaphor, an obsolete expression, +or a poetical turn. As yet we are not favorably received by the +auditors, their attention is not entirely held, but when once they +conceive an esteem and are warmly inclined toward us, then is the time +to hazard this liberty, especially when we enter upon parts the natural +fertility of which does not allow the liberty of expression to be +noticed amidst the luster spread about it. + +The style of the exordium ought not to be like that of the argument +proper and the narration, neither ought it to be finely spun out, or +harmonized into periodical cadences, but, rather, it should be simple +and natural, promising neither too much by words nor countenance. A +modest action, also, devoid of the least suspicion of ostentation, will +better insinuate itself into the mind of the auditor. But these ought to +be regulated according to the sentiments we would have the judges imbibe +from us. + +It must be remembered, however, that nowhere is less allowance made than +here for failing in memory or appearing destitute of the power of +articulating many words together. An ill-pronounced exordium may well +be compared to a visage full of scars, and certainly he must be a bad +pilot who puts his ship in danger of sinking, as he is going out of +port. + +In regard to the length of the exordium, it ought to be proportionate to +the nature of the cause. Simple causes admit of a shorter exordium; the +complex, doubtful, and odious, require a longer exordium. Some writers +have prescribed four points as laws for all exordiums,--which is +ridiculous. An immoderate length should be equally avoided, lest it +appear, as some monsters, bigger in the head than in the rest of the +body, and create disgust where it ought only to prepare. + + +"TYING UP" THE INTRODUCTION + +As often as we use an exordium, whether we pass next to the narration, +or immediately to the proofs, we ought always to preserve a connection +between what follows and what goes before. To proceed from one part to +another, by some ingenious thought which disguises the transition, and +to seek applause from such a studied exertion of wit, is quite of a +piece with the cold and childish affectation of our declaimers. If a +long and intricate narration must follow, the judge ought naturally to +be prepared for it. This Cicero often does, as in this passage: "I must +proceed pretty high to clear up this matter to you, which I hope, +gentlemen, you will not be displeased at, because its origin being known +will make you thoroughly acquainted with the particulars proceeding from +it." + + + + +THE NARRATION + + +There are causes so short as to require rather to be proposed than told. +It is sometimes the case with two contending sides, either that they +have no exposition to make, or that agreeing on the fact, they contest +only the right. Sometimes one of the contending parties, most commonly +the plaintiff, need only propose the matter, as most to his advantage, +and then it will be enough for him to say: "I ask for a certain sum of +money due to me according to agreement; I ask for what was bequeathed to +me by will." It is the defendant's business to show that he has no right +to such a debt or legacy. On other occasions it is enough, and more +advisable, for the plaintiff to point out merely the fact: "I say that +Horatius killed his sister." This simple proposition makes known the +whole crime, but the details and the cause of the fact will suit better +the defendant. Let it be supposed, on the other hand, that the fact can +not be denied or excused; then the defendant, instead of narrating, will +best abide by the question of right. Some one is accused of sacrilege +for stealing the money of a private person out of a temple. The pleader +of the cause had better confess the fact than give an account of it. "We +do not deny that this money was taken out of the temple. It was the +money of a private person, and not set apart for any religious use. But +the plaintiff calumniates us by an action for sacrilege. It is, +therefore, your business, gentlemen, to decide whether it can properly +be specified as sacrilege." + + +THE TWO KINDS OF NARRATION + +There are two kinds of narration in judicial matters, the one for the +cause, the other for things belonging to it. "I have not killed that +man." This needs no narration. I admit it does not; but there may be a +narration, and even somewhat long, concerning the probable causes of +innocence in the accused, as his former integrity of life, the +opponent's motives for endangering the life of a guiltless person, and +other circumstances arguing the incredibility of the accusation. The +accuser does not merely say, "You have committed that murder," but shows +reasons to evince its credibility; as, in tragedies, when Teucer imputes +the death of Ajax to Ulysses, he says that "He was found in a lonely +place, near the dead body of his enemy, with his sword all bloody." +Ulysses, in answer, not only denies the crime, but protests there was +no enmity between him and Ajax, and that they never contended but for +glory. Then he relates how he came into that solitary place, how he +found Ajax dead, and that it was Ajax's own sword he drew out of his +wound. To these are subjoined proofs, but the proofs, too, are not +without narration, the plaintiff alleging, "You were in the place where +your enemy was found killed." "I was not," says the defendant, and he +tells where he was. + + +HOW TO MAKE THE CONCLUSION + +The end of the narration is rather more for persuading than informing. +When, therefore, the judges might not require information, yet, if we +consider it advisable to draw them over to our way of thinking, we may +relate the matter with certain precautions, as, that tho they have +knowledge of the affair in general, still would it not be amiss if they +chose to examine into every particular fact as it happened. Sometimes we +may diversify the exposition with a variety of figures and turns; as, +"You remember"; "Perhaps it would be unnecessary to insist any longer on +this point"; "But why should I speak further when you are so well +acquainted with the matter." + +A subject of frequent discussion is to know whether the narration ought +immediately to follow the exordium. They who think it should, seem to +have some reason on their side, for as the design of the exordium is to +dispose the judges to hear us with all the good will, docility, and +attention, we wish, and as arguments can have no effect without previous +knowledge of the cause, it follows naturally that they should have this +knowledge as soon as it can conveniently be given to them. + + +PURPOSES OF THE NARRATION + +If the narration be entirely for us, we may content ourselves with those +three parts, whereby the judge is made the more easily to understand, +remember, and believe. But let none think of finding fault if I require +the narration which is entirely for us, to be probable tho true, for +many things are true but scarcely credible, as, on the contrary, many +things are false tho frequently probable. We ought, therefore, to be +careful that the judge should believe as much what we pretend as the +truth we say, by preserving in both a probability to be credited. + +Those three qualities of the narration belong in like manner to all +other parts of the discourse, for obscurity must be avoided throughout, +and we must everywhere keep within certain bounds, and all that is said +must be probable; but a strict observance of these particulars ought to +be kept more especially in that part wherein the judge receives his +first information, for if there it should happen that he either does not +understand, remember, or believe, our labor in all other parts will be +to no purpose. + + +THE QUALITIES NEEDED FOR SUCCESS + +The narration will be clear and intelligible if, first, it be exprest in +proper and significant words, which have nothing mean and low, nothing +far-fetched, and nothing uncommon. Second, if it distinguishes exactly +things, persons, times, places, causes; all of which should be +accompanied with a suitable delivery, that the judge may retain the more +easily what is said. + +This is a quality neglected by most of our orators, who, charmed by the +applause of a rabble brought together by chance, or even bribed to +applaud with admiration every word and period, can neither endure the +attentive silence of a judicious audience, nor seem to themselves to be +eloquent unless they make everything ring about them with tumultuous +clamor. To explain simply the fact, appears to them too low, and common, +and too much within the reach of the illiterate, but I fancy that what +they despise as easy is not so much because of inclination as because of +inability to effect it. For the more experience we have, the more we +find that nothing else is so difficult as to speak in such a manner that +all who have heard us may think they could acquit themselves equally as +well. The reason for the contrary notion is that what is so said is +considered as merely true and not as fine and beautiful. But will not +the orator express himself in the most perfect manner, when he seems to +speak truth? Now, indeed, the narration is laid out as a champion-ground +for eloquence to display itself in; the voice, the gesture, the +thoughts, the expression, are all worked up to a pitch of extravagance, +and what is monstrous, the action is applauded, and yet the cause is far +from being understood. But we shall forego further reflections on this +misguided notion, lest we offend more by reproving faults, than gratify +by giving advice. + +The narration will have its due brevity if we begin by explaining the +affair from the point where it is of concern to the judge; next, if we +say nothing foreign to the cause; and last, if we avoid all +superfluities, yet without curtailing anything that may give insight +into the cause or be to its advantage. There is a certain brevity of +parts, however, which makes a long whole: "I came to the harbor, I saw a +ship ready for sailing, I asked the price for passengers, I agreed as to +what I should give, I went aboard, we weighed anchor, we cleared the +coast, and sailed on briskly." None of these circumstances could be +exprest in fewer words, but it is sufficient to say, "I sailed from the +port." And as often as the end of a thing sufficiently denotes what went +before, we may rest satisfied with it as facilitating the understanding +of all other circumstances. + +But often when striving to be short, we become obscure, a fault equally +to be avoided, therefore it is better that the narration should have a +little too much, than that it should lack enough. What is redundant, +disgusts; what is necessary is cut down with danger. I would not have +this rule restricted to what is barely sufficient for pronouncing +judgment on, because the narration may be concise, yet not, on that +account, be without ornament. In such cases it would appear as coming +from an illiterate person. Pleasure, indeed, has a secret charm; and the +things which please seem less tedious. A pleasant and smooth road, tho +it be longer, fatigues less than a rugged and disagreeable short cut. I +am not so fond of conciseness as not to make room for brightening a +narration with proper embellishments. If quite homely and curtailed on +all sides, it will be not so much a narration as a poor huddling up of +things together. + + +GETTING YOUR STATEMENTS ACCEPTED + +The best way to make the narration probable is to first consult with +ourselves on whatever is agreeable to nature, that nothing may be said +contrary to it; next, to find causes and reasons for facts, not for all, +but for those belonging to the question; and last, to have characters +answerable to the alleged facts which we would have believed; as, if one +were guilty of theft, we should represent him as a miser; of adultery, +as addicted to impure lusts; of manslaughter, as hot and rash. The +contrary takes place in defense, and the facts must agree with time, +place, and the like. + +Sometimes a cause may be prepared by a proposition, and afterward +narrated. All circumstances are unfavorable to three sons who have +conspired against their father's life. They cast lots who shall strike +the blow. He on whom the lot falls, enters his father's bed-chamber at +night, with a poniard, but has not courage to put the design into +execution. The second and the third do the same. The father wakes. All +confess their wicked purpose, and by virtue of a law made and provided +for such case, they are to be disinherited. But should the father, who +has already made a partition of his estate in their favor, plead their +cause, he may proceed thus: "Children are accused of parricide, whose +father is still alive, and they are sued in consequence of a law that is +not properly applicable to their case. I need not here give an account +of a transaction that is foreign to the point of law in question. But if +you require a confession of my guilt, I have been a hard father to them, +and rather too much occupied in hoarding up the income of my estate, +which would have been better spent in necessaries for them." Afterward +he may say that they did not form this plan by themselves, that they +were instigated to it by others who had more indulgent parents, that the +result clearly showed they were not capable of so unnatural an action, +that there was no necessity for binding themselves by oath if in reality +they could have had such an inclination, nor of casting lots if each did +not want to avoid the perpetration of such a crime. All these +circumstances, such as they are, will be favorably received, softened in +some measure by the short defense of the previous propositions. + + +THE ORDER OF THE NARRATION + +I am not of the opinion of those who think that the facts ought always +to be related in the same order in which they happened. That manner of +narration is best which is of most advantage to the cause, and it may, +not improperly, call in the aid of a diversity of figures. Sometimes we +may pretend that a thing has been overlooked, so that it may be better +exprest elsewhere than it would be in its own order and place; assuring +the judges at the same time that we shall resume the proper order, but +that the cause in this way will be better understood. Sometimes, after +explaining the whole affair, we may subjoin the antecedent causes. And +thus it is that the art of defense, not circumscribed by any one +invariable rule, must be adapted to the nature and circumstances of the +cause. + +It will not be amiss to intimate that nothing enhances so much the +credibility of a narration as the authority of him who makes it, and +this authority it is our duty to acquire, above all, by an +irreproachable life, and next, by the manner of enforcing it. The more +grave and serious it is, the more weight it will have. Here all +suspicion of cunning and artifice should, therefore, be particularly +avoided, for the judges, ever distrustful, are here principally on their +guard, and, likewise, nothing should seem a pure fiction, or the work of +study, which all might rather be believed to proceed from the cause than +the orator. But this we can not endure, and we think our art lost unless +it is seen; whereas it ceases to be art if it is seen. + + + + +DIVISION AND ARGUMENT + + +Some are of the opinion that division should always be used, as by it +the cause will be more clear and the judge more attentive and more +easily taught when he knows of what we speak to him and of what we +intend afterward to speak. Others think this is attended with danger to +the orator, either by his sometimes forgetting what he has promised, or +by something else occurring to the judge or auditor, which he did not +think of in the division. I can not well imagine how this may happen, +unless with one who is either destitute of sense or rash enough to plead +without preparation. In any other respect, nothing else can set a +subject in so clear a light as just division. It is a means to which we +are directed by the guidance of nature, because keeping in sight the +heads on which we propose to speak, is the greatest help the memory can +have. + + +THE MISTAKE OF TOO MANY DIVISIONS + +But if division should seem requisite, I am not inclined to assent to +the notion of those who would have it extend to more than three parts. +Indeed, when the parts are too many, they escape the judge's memory and +distract his attention; but a cause is not scrupulously to be tied down +to this number, as it may require more. + + +DISADVANTAGES OF DIVISIONS + +There are reasons for not always using division, the principal reason +being that most things are better received when seemingly of extempore +invention and not suggestive of study, but arising in the pleading from +the nature of the thing itself. Whence such figures are not unpleasing +as, "I had almost forgotten to say"; "It escaped my memory to acquaint +you"; and "You have given me a good hint." For if the proofs should be +proposed without something of a reputation of this kind, they would +lose, in the sequel, all the graces of novelty. + +The distinguishing of questions, and the discussing of them, should be +equally avoided. But the listeners' passions ought to be excited, and +their attention diverted from its former bias, for it is the orator's +business not so much to instruct as to enforce his eloquence by emotion, +to which nothing can be more contrary than minute and scrupulously exact +division of a discourse into parts. + + +WHEN THE DIVISION IS DESIRABLE + +If many things are to be avoided or refuted, the division will be both +useful and pleasing, causing everything to appear in the order in which +it is to be said. But if we defend a single crime by various ways, +division will be superfluous, as, "I shall make it clear that the person +I defend is not such as to make it seem probable that he could be guilty +of murder; it shall also be shown that he had no motives to induce him +to do it; and lastly, that he was across the sea when this murder took +place." Whatever is cited and argued before the third point must seem +quite unnecessary, for the judge is in haste to have you come to that +which is of most consequence, and the patient, will tacitly call upon +you to acquit yourself of your promise, or, if he has much business to +dispatch, or his dignity puts him above your trifling, or he is of a +peevish humor, he will oblige you to speak to the purpose, and perhaps +do so in disrespectful terms. + + +PITFALLS IN ARGUMENT + +Many doubt the desirability of this kind of defense: "If I had killed +him, I should have done well; but I did not kill him." Where is the +occasion, say they, for the first proposition if the second be true? +They run counter to each other, and whoever advances both, will be +credited in neither. This is partly true, for if the last proposition be +unquestionable, it is the only one that should be used. But if we are +apprehensive of anything in the stronger, we may use both. On these +occasions persons seem to be differently affected; one will believe the +fact, and exculpate the right; another will condemn the right, and +perhaps not credit the fact. So, one dart may be enough for an unerring +hand to hit the mark, but chance and many darts must effect the same +result for an uncertain aim. Cicero clears up this matter in his defense +of Milo. He first shows Clodius to be the aggressor, and then, by a +superabundance of right, adds that tho he might not be the aggressor, it +was brave and glorious in Milo to have delivered Rome of so bad a +citizen. + +Tho division may not always be necessary, yet when properly used it +gives great light and beauty to a discourse. This it effects not only by +adding more perspicuity to what is said, but also by refreshing the +minds of the hearers by a view of each part circumscribed within its +bounds; just so milestones ease in some measure the fatigue of +travelers, it being a pleasure to know the extent of the labor they have +undergone, and to know what remains encourages them to persevere, as a +thing does not necessarily seem long when there is a certainty of coming +to the end. + + +ESSENTIALS OF GOOD ARGUMENT + +Every division, therefore, when it may be employed to advantage, ought +to be first clear and intelligible, for what is worse than being obscure +in a thing, the use of which is to guard against obscurity in other +things? Second, it ought to be short, and not encumbered with any +superfluous word, because we do not enter upon the subject matter, but +only point it out. + +If proofs be strong and cogent, they should be proposed and insisted on +separately; if weak, it will be best to collect them into a body. In the +first case, being persuasive by themselves, it would be improper to +obscure them by the confusion of others: they should appear in their +due light. In the second case, being naturally weak, they should be made +to support each other. If, therefore, they are not greatly effective in +point of quality, they may be in that of number, all of them having a +tendency to prove the same thing; as, if one were accused of killing +another for the sake of inheriting his fortune: "You did expect an +inheritance, and it was something very considerable; you were poor, and +your creditors troubled you more than ever; you also offended him who +had appointed you his heir, and you know that he intended to alter his +will." These proofs taken separately are of little moment, and common; +but collectively their shock is felt, not as a peal of thunder, but as a +shower of hail. + +The judge's memory, however, is not always to be loaded with the +arguments we may invent. They will create disgust, and beget distrust +in him, as he can not think such arguments to be powerful enough which +we ourselves do not think sufficient. But to go on arguing and proving, +in the case of self-evident things, would be a piece of folly not unlike +that of bringing a candle to light us when the sun is in its greatest +splendor. + +To these some add proofs which they call moral, drawn from the milder +passions; and the most powerful, in the opinion of Aristotle, are such +as arise from the person of him who speaks, if he be a man of real +integrity. This is a primary consideration; and a secondary one, remote, +indeed, yet following, will be the probable notion entertained of his +irreproachable life. + + +THE BEST ORDER OF THE ARGUMENT + +It has been a matter of debate, also, whether the strongest proofs +should have place in the beginning, to make an immediate impression on +the hearers, or at the end, to make the impression lasting with them, or +to distribute them, partly in the beginning and partly at the end, +placing the weaker in the middle, or to begin with the weakest and +proceed to the strongest. For my part I think this should depend on the +nature and exigencies of the cause, yet with this reservation, that the +discourse might not dwindle from the powerful into what is nugatory and +frivolous. + +Let the young orator, for whose instruction I make these remarks, +accustom himself as much as possible to copy nature and truth. As in +schools he often engages in sham battles, in imitation of the contests +of the bar, let him even then have an eye to victory, and learn to +strike home, dealing moral blows and putting himself on his defense as +if really in earnest. It is the master's business to require this duty, +and to commend it according as it is well executed. For if they love +praise to the degree of seeking it in their faults, which does them much +harm, they will desire it more passionately when they know it to be the +reward of real merit. The misfortune now is that they commonly pass over +necessary things in silence, considering what is for the good of the +cause as of little or no account if it be not conducive to the +embellishment of the discourse. + + + + +THE PERORATION + + +The peroration, called by some the completion, by others the conclusion, +of a discourse, is of two kinds, and regards either the matters discust +in it or the moving of the passions. + +The repetition of the matter and the collecting it together, which is +called by the Greeks recapitulation, and by some of the Latins +enumeration, serves for refreshing the judge's memory, for placing the +whole cause in one direct point of view, and for enforcing in a body +many proofs which, separately, made less impression. It would seem that +this repetition ought to be very short, and the Greek term sufficiently +denotes that we ought to run over only the principal heads, for if we +are long in doing it, it will not be an enumeration that we make, but, +as it were, a second discourse. The points which may seem to require +this enumeration, however, ought to be pronounced with some emphasis, +and enlivened with opposite thoughts, and diversified by figures, +otherwise nothing will be more disagreeable than a mere cursory +repetition, which would seem to show distrust of the judge's memory. + + +RULES FOR THE PERORATION + +This seems to be the only kind of peroration allowed by most of the +Athenians and by almost all the philosophers who left anything written +on the art of oratory. The Athenians, I suppose, were of that opinion +because it was customary at Athens to silence, by the public crier, any +orator who should attempt to move the passions. I am less surprized at +this opinion among philosophers, every perturbation of the mind being +considered by them as vicious; nor did it seem to them compatible with +sound morality to divert the judge from truth, nor agreeable to the idea +of an honest man to have recourse to any sinister stratagem. Yet moving +the passions will be acknowledged necessary when truth and justice can +not be otherwise obtained and when public good is concerned in the +decision. All agree that recapitulation may also be employed to +advantage in other parts of the pleading, if the cause is complicated +and requires many arguments to defend it, and, on the other hand, it +will admit of no doubt that many causes are so short and simple as to +have no occasion in any part of them for recapitulation. The above rules +for the peroration apply equally to the accuser and to the defendant's +advocate. + +They, likewise, use nearly the same passions, but the accuser more +seldom and more sparingly, and the defendant oftener and with greater +emotions; for it is the business of the former to stir up aversion, +indignation, and other similar passions in the minds of the judges, and +of the latter to bend their hearts to compassion. Yet the accuser is +sometimes not without tears, in deploring the distress of those in whose +behalf he sues for satisfaction, and the defendant sometimes complains +with great vehemence of the persecution raised against him by the +calumnies and conspiracy of his enemies. It would be best, therefore, to +distinguish and discuss separately the different passions excited on the +parts of the plaintiff and defendant, which are most commonly, as I +have said, very like what takes place in the exordium, but are treated +in a freer and fuller manner in the peroration. + + +PURPOSES OF THE PERORATION + +The favor of the judges toward us is more sparingly sued for in the +beginning, it being then sufficient to gain their attention, as the +whole discourse remains in which to make further impressions. But in the +peroration we must strive to bring the judge into that disposition of +the mind which it is necessary for us that he should retain when he +comes to pass judgment. The peroration being finished, we can say no +more, nor can anything be reserved for another place. Both of the +contending sides, therefore, try to conciliate the judge, to make him +unfavorable to the opponent, to rouse and occasionally allay his +passions; and both may find their method of procedure in this short +rule, which is, to keep in view the whole stress of the cause, and +finding what it contains that is favorable, odious, or deplorable, in +reality or in probability, to say those things which would make the +greatest impression on themselves if they sat as judges. + +I have already mentioned in the rules for the exordium how the accuser +might conciliate the judges. Yet some things, which it was enough to +point out there, should be wrought to a fulness in the peroration, +especially if the pleading be against some one universally hated, and a +common disturber, and if the condemnation of the culprit should redound +as much to the honor of the judges as his acquittal to their shame. Thus +Calvus spoke admirably against Vatinius: + +"You know, good sirs, that Vatinius is guilty, and no one is unaware +that you know it." Cicero, in the same way, informs the judges that if +anything is capable of reestablishing the reputation of their judgment, +it must be the condemnation of Verres. If it be proper to intimidate the +judges, as Cicero likewise does, against Verres, this is done with +better effect in the peroration than in the exordium. I have already +explained my sentiments on this point. + + +HOW TO AROUSE EMOTIONS + +In short, when it is requisite to excite envy, hatred, or indignation +there is greater scope for doing this to advantage in the peroration +than elsewhere. The interest in the accused may naturally excite the +judge's envy, the infamy of his crimes may draw upon him his hatred, +the little respect he shows him may rouse his indignation. If he is +stubborn, haughty, presumptuous, let him be painted in all the glaring +colors that aggravate such vicious temper, and these manifested not only +from his words and deeds, but from face, manner, and dress. I remember, +on my first coming to the bar, a shrewd remark of the accuser of +Cossutianus Capito. He pleaded in Greek before the Emperor, but the +meaning of his words was: "Might it not be said that this man disdains +even to respect Cæsar." + +The accuser has recourse frequently to the arousing of compassion, +either by setting forth the distrest state of him for whom he hopes to +find redress, or by describing the desolation and ruin into which his +children and relations are likely thereby to be involved. He may, too, +move the judges by holding out to them a prospect of what may happen +hereafter if injuries and violence remain unpunished, the consequence of +which will be that either his client must abandon his dwelling and the +care of his effects, or must resolve to endure patiently all the +injustice his enemy may try to do him. + +The accuser more frequently will endeavor to caution the judge against +the pity with which the defendant intends to inspire him, and he will +stimulate him, in as great a degree as he can, to judge according to his +conscience. Here, too, will be the place to anticipate whatever it is +thought the opponent may do or say, for it makes the judges more +circumspect regarding the sacredness of their oath, and by it the answer +to the pleading may lose the indulgence which it is expected to receive, +together with the charm of novelty in all the particulars which the +accuser has already cleared up. The judges, besides, may be informed of +the answer they should make to those who might threaten to have their +sentence reversed; and this is another kind of recapitulation. + +The persons concerned are very proper objects for affecting the mind of +the judge, for the judge does not seem to himself to hear so much the +orator weeping over others' misfortunes, as he imagines his ears are +smitten with the feelings and voice of the distrest. Even their dumb +appearance might be a sufficiently moving language to draw tears, and as +their wretchedness would appear in lively colors if they were to speak +it themselves, so proportionately it must be thought to have a powerful +effect when exprest, as it were, from their own mouths. Just so, in +theatrical representations, the same voice, and the same emphatic +pronunciation, become very interesting under the masks used for +personating different characters. With a like view Cicero, tho he gives +not the voice of a suppliant to Milo, but, on the contrary, commends his +unshaken constancy, yet does he adapt to him words and complaints not +unworthy of a man of spirit: "O my labors, to no purpose undertaken! +Deceiving hopes! Useless projects!" + +This exciting of pity, however, should never be long, it being said, not +without reason, that "nothing dries up so soon as tears." If time can +mitigate the pangs of real grief, of course the counterfeit grief +assumed in speaking must sooner vanish; so that if we dally, the auditor +finding himself overcharged with mournful thoughts, tries to resume his +tranquility, and thus ridding himself of the emotion that overpowered +him, soon returns to the exercise of cool reason. We must, therefore, +never allow this kind of emotion to become languid, but when we have +wound up the passions to their greatest height, we must instantly drop +the subject, and not expect that any one will long bewail another's +mishap. Therefore, as in other parts, the discourse should be well +supported, and rather rise, so here particularly it should grow to its +full vigor, because that which makes no addition to what has already +been said seems to diminish it, and a passion soon evaporates that once +begins to subside. + +Tears are excited not only by words but by doing certain things, whence +it is not unusual to present the very persons who are in danger of +condemnation, in a garb suitable to their distress, together with their +children and relations. Accusers, too, make it a custom to show a bloody +sword, fractured bones picked out of wounds, and garments drenched in +blood. Sometime, likewise, they unbind wounds to show their condition, +and strip bodies naked to show the stripes they have received. These +acts are commonly of mighty efficacy, as fully revealing the reality of +the occurrence. Thus it was that Cæsar's robe, bloody all over, exposed +in the Forum, drove the people of Rome into an excess of madness. It was +well known that he was assassinated; his body also lay in state, until +his funeral should take place; yet that garment, still dripping with +blood, formed so graphic a picture of the horrible murder that it seemed +to them to have been perpetrated that very instant. + +It will not be amiss to hint that the success of the peroration depends +much on the manner of the parties in conforming themselves to the +emotions and action of their advocates. Stupidity, rusticity, and a want +of sensibility and attention, as it is said, throw cold water on a cause +against which the orator can not be too well provided. I have, indeed, +often seen them act quite contrary to their advocate's instructions. Not +the least show of concern could be observed in their countenance. They +laughed foolishly and without reason, and made others laugh by some +ridiculous gesticulation or grimace, especially when the heat of a +debate exhibited anything akin to theatrical action. + +An orator of slender ability will acquit himself better if he allows the +judges by themselves to feel the compassion with which his subject may +naturally inspire them, especially since the appearance, and voice, and +studied air of the advocate's countenance are often ridiculed by such as +are not affected by them. Let the orator make an exact estimate of his +powers, therefore, and be conscious of the burden he undertakes. Here +there is no middle state; he must either make his hearers weep, or +expect to be laughed at. + +It should not be imagined, as some have thought, that all exciting of +the passions, all sentimental emotions, ought to be confined to the +exordium and peroration. In them they are most frequent, yet other parts +admit them likewise, but in a shorter compass, as their greatest stress +should be reserved for the end. For here, if anywhere, the orator may be +allowed to open all the streams of eloquence. If we have executed all +other parts to advantage, here we take possession of the minds of the +judges, and having escaped all rocks, may expand all our sails for a +favorable gale; and as amplification makes a great part of the +peroration, we then may raise and embellish our style with the choicest +expressions and brightest thoughts. And, indeed, the conclusion of a +speech should bear some resemblance to that of tragedy and comedy, +wherein the actor courts the spectator's applause. In other parts the +passions may be touched upon, as they naturally rise out of the subject, +and no horrible or sorrowful thing should be set forth without +accompanying it with a suitable sentiment. When the debate may be on the +quality of a thing, it is properly subjoined to the proofs of each thing +brought out. When we plead a cause complicated with a variety of +circumstances, then it will be necessary to use many perorations, as it +were; as Cicero does against Verres, lending his tears occasionally to +Philodamus, to the masters of ships, to the crucified Roman citizens, +and to many others. + + + + +PASSION AND PERSUASION + + +It may well be imagined that nothing else is so important in the whole +art of oratory as the proper use of the passions. A slender genius, +aided by learning or experience, may be sufficient to manage certain +parts to some advantage, yet I think they are fit only for instructing +the judges, and as masters and models for those who take no concern +beyond passing for good speakers. But to possess the secret of forcibly +carrying away the judges, of moving them, as we please, to a certain +disposition of mind, of inflaming them with anger, of softening them to +pity, so as to draw tears from them, all this is rare, tho by it the +orator is made most distinguished and by it eloquence gains empire over +hearts. The cause itself is naturally productive of arguments, and the +better share generally falls to the lot of the more rightful side of the +question, so that whichever side wins by dint of argument, may think +that so far they did not lack an advocate. But when violence is to be +used to influence the minds of the judges, when they are to be turned +from coolly reflecting on the truth that works against us, then comes +the true exercise of the orator's powers; and this is what the +contending parties can not inform us of, nor is it contained in the +state of their cases. Proofs, it is true, make the judges presume that +our cause is the better, but passion makes them wish it to be such, and +as they wish it, they are not far from believing it to be so. For as +soon as they begin to absorb from us our passions of anger, favor, +hatred, or pity, they make the affair their own. As lovers can not be +competent judges of beauty, because love blinds them, so here a judge +attentive to the tumultuous working of a passion, loses sight of the way +by which he should proceed to inquire after the truth. The impetuous +torrent sweeps him away, and he is borne down in the current. The effect +of arguments and witnesses is not known until judgment has been passed, +but the judge who has been affected by the orator, still sitting and +hearing, declares his real sentiments. Has not he who is seen to melt +into tears, already pronounced sentence? Such, then, is the power of +moving the passions, to which the orator ought to direct all his +efforts, this being his principal work and labor, since without it all +other resources are naked, hungry, weak, and unpleasing. The passions +are the very life and soul of persuasion. + + +QUALITIES NEEDED IN THE ORATOR + +What we require in the orator is, in general, a character of goodness, +not only mild and pleasing, but humane, insinuating, amiable, and +charming to the hearer; and its greatest perfection will be if all, as +influenced by it, shall seem to flow from the nature of things and +persons, that so the morals of the orator may shine forth from his +discourse and be known in their genuine colors. This character of +goodness should invariably be maintained by those whom a mutual tie +ought to bind in strict union, whenever it may happen that they suffer +anything from each other, or pardon, or make satisfaction, or admonish, +or reprimand, but far from betraying any real anger or hatred. + +A sentiment very powerful for exciting hatred may arise when an act of +submission to our opponents is understood as a silent reproach of their +insolence. Our willingness to yield must indeed show them to be +insupportable and troublesome, and it commonly happens that they who +have desire for railing, and are too free and hot in their invectives, +do not imagine that the jealousy they create is of far greater prejudice +to them than the malice of their speech. + +All this presupposes that the orator himself ought to be a good and +humane man. The virtues which he commends, if he possibly can, in his +client, he should possess, or be supposed to possess, himself. In this +way will he be of singular advantage to the cause he undertakes, the +good opinion he has created of himself being a prejudice in its favor. +For if while he speaks he appears to be a bad man, he must in +consequence plead ill, because what he says will be thought repugnant to +justice. The style and manner suitable on these occasions ought, +therefore, to be sweet and insinuating, never hot and imperious, never +hazarded in too elevated a strain. It will be sufficient to speak in a +proper, pleasing, and probable way. + +The orator's business in regard to the passions should be not only to +paint atrocious and lamentable things as they are, but even to make +those seem grievous which are considered tolerable, as when we say that +an injurious word is less pardonable than a blow, and that death is +preferable to dishonor. For the powers of eloquence do not consist so +much in forcing the judge into sentiments which the nature of the matter +itself may be sufficient to inspire him with, as they do in producing +and creating, as it were, the same sentiments when the subject may seem +not to admit them. This is the vehemence of oratorical ability which +knows how to equal and even to surpass the enormity and indignity of the +facts it exposes, a quality of singular consequence to the orator, and +one in which Demosthenes excelled all others. + + +THE SECRET OF MOVING THE PASSIONS + +The great secret for moving the passions is to be moved ourselves, for +the imitation of grief, anger, indignation, will often be ridiculous if +conforming to only our words and countenance, while our heart at the +same time is estranged from them. What other reason makes the afflicted +exclaim in so eloquent a manner during the first transports of their +grief? And how, otherwise, do the most ignorant speak eloquently in +anger, unless it be from this force and these mental feelings? + +In such passions, therefore, which we would represent as true copies of +real ones, let us be ourselves like those who unfeignedly suffer, and +let our speech proceed from such a disposition of mind as that in which +we would have the judge be. Will he grieve who hears me speak with an +expressionless face and air of indifference? Will he be angry when I, +who am to excite him to anger, remain cool and sedate? Will he shed +tears when I plead unconcerned? All this is attempting impossibilities. +Nothing warms nor moistens but that which is endued with the quality of +heat or moisture, nor does anything give to another a color it has not +itself. The principal consideration, then, must be that we, ourselves, +retain the impression of which we would have the judges susceptible, and +be ourselves affected before we endeavor to affect others. + + +THE POWER OF MENTAL IMAGERY + +But how shall we be affected, the emotions or passions being not at our +command? This may be done by what we may call visions, whereby the +images of things absent are so represented to the mind that we seem to +see them with our eyes and have them present before us. Whoever can work +up his imagination to an intuitive view of this kind, will be very +successful in moving the passions. + +If I deplore the fate of a man who has been assassinated, may I not +paint in my mind a lively picture of all that probably happened on the +occasion? Shall not the assassin appear to rush forth suddenly from his +lurking place? Shall not the other appear seized with horror? Shall he +not cry out, beg for his life, or fly to save it? Shall I not see the +assassin dealing the deadly blow, and the defenseless wretch falling +dead at his feet? Shall I not picture vividly in my mind the blood +gushing from his wounds, his ghastly face, his groans, and the last gasp +he fetches? + +When there is occasion for moving to compassion, we should believe and, +indeed, be persuaded that the distress and misfortunes of which we speak +have happened to ourselves. Let us place ourselves in the very position +of those for whom we feel sorrow on account of their having suffered +such grievous and unmerited treatment. Let us plead their cause, not as +if it were another's, but taking to ourselves, for a short time, their +whole grief. In this way we shall speak as if the case were our own. I +have seen comedians who, when they have just appeared in a mournful +character, often make their exit with tears in their eyes. If, then, the +expression given to imaginary passions can affect so powerfully, what +should not orators do, whose inner feelings ought to sympathize with +their manner of speaking, which can not happen unless they are truly +affected by the danger to which their clients are exposed. + + +RULES FOR PRACTISE + +In the declamatory exercises of schools it would be expedient, likewise, +to move the passions and imagine the scene as a real one in life, and +it is the more important as there the part is performed rather of a +pleader against some person, than an advocate for some person. We +represent a person who has lost his children, or has been shipwrecked, +or is in danger of losing his life, but of what significance is it to +personate such characters, unless we also assume their real sentiments. +This nature, and these properties of the passions, I thought it +incumbent on me not to conceal from the reader, for I, myself, such as I +am, or have been (for I flatter myself that I have acquired some +reputation at the bar), have often been so affected that not only tears, +but even paleness, and grief, not unlike that which is real, have +betrayed my emotions. + + + + +THE STUDY OF WORDS + + +What now follows requires special labor and care, the purpose being to +treat of elocution, which in the opinion of all orators is the most +difficult part of our work, for M. Antonius says that he has seen many +good speakers, but none eloquent. He thinks it good enough for a speaker +to say whatever is necessary on a subject, but only the most eloquent +may discuss it with grace and elegance. If down to the time he lived in, +this perfection was not discoverable in any orator, and neither in +himself nor in L. Crassus, it is certain that it was lacking in them and +their predecessors only on account of its extreme difficulty. Cicero +says that invention and disposition show the man of sense, but eloquence +the orator. He therefore took particular pains about the rules for this +part, and that he had reason for so doing the very name of eloquence +sufficiently declares. For to be eloquent is nothing else than to be +able to set forth all the lively images you have conceived in your mind, +and to convey them to the hearers in the same rich coloring, without +which all the principles we have laid down are useless, and are like a +sword concealed and kept sheathed in its scabbard. + +This, then, is what we are principally to learn; this is what we can not +attain without the help of art; this ought to be the object of our +study, our exercise, our imitation; this may be full employment for our +whole life; by this, one orator excels another; and from this proceeds +diversity of style. + + +THE PROPER VALUE OF WORDS + +It should not be inferred from what is said here that all our care must +be about words. On the contrary, to such as would abuse this concession +of mine, I declare positively my disapprobation of those persons who, +neglecting things, the nerves of causes, consume themselves in a +frivolous study about words. This they do for the sake of elegance, +which indeed is a fine quality when natural but not when affected. Sound +bodies, with a healthy condition of blood, and strong by exercise, +receive their beauty from the very things from which they receive their +strength. They are fresh-colored, active, and supple, neither too much +nor too little in flesh. Paint and polish them with feminine cosmetics, +and admiration ceases; the very pains taken to make them appear more +beautiful add to the dislike we conceive for them. Yet a magnificent, +and suitable, dress adds authority to man; but an effeminate dress, the +garb of luxury and softness, lays open the corruption of the heart +without adding to the ornament of the body. In like manner, translucent +and flashy elocution weakens the things it clothes. I would, therefore, +recommend care about words, but solicitude about things. + +The choicest expressions are for the most part inherent in things, and +are seen in their own light, but we search after them as if always +hiding and stealing themselves away from us. Thus we never think that +what ought to be said is at hand; we fetch it from afar, and force our +invention. Eloquence requires a more manly temper, and if its whole +body be sound and vigorous, it is quite regardless of the nicety of +paring the nails and adjusting the hair. + + +THE DANGER OF VERBIAGE + +It often happens, too, that an oration becomes worse by attending to +these niceties, because simplicity, the language of truth, is its +greatest ornament, and affectation the reverse. The expressions that +show care, and would also appear as newly formed, fine, and eloquent, +lose the graces at which they aim, and are far from being striking and +well received, because they obscure the sense by spreading a sort of +shadow about it, or by being too crowded they choke it up, like +thick-sown grain that must run up too spindling. That which may be +spoken in a plain, direct manner we express by paraphrase; and we use +repetitions where to say a thing once is enough; and what is well +signified by one word, we load with many, and most things we choose to +signify rather by circumlocution than by proper and pertinent terms. + +A proper word, indeed, now has no charms, nothing appearing to us fine +which might have been said by another word. We borrow metaphors from the +whims and conceits of the most extravagant poets, and we fancy ourselves +exceedingly witty, when others must have a good deal of wit to +understand us. Cicero is explicit in his views in this respect. "The +greatest fault a speech can have," says he, "is when it departs from the +common way of discourse and the custom of common sense." But Cicero +would pass for a harsh and barbarous author, compared to us, who make +little of whatever nature dictates, who seek not ornaments, but +delicacies and refinements, as if there were any beauty in words without +an agreement with things, for if we were to labor throughout our whole +life in consulting their propriety, clearness, ornament, and due +placing, we should lose the whole fruit of our studies. + + +ACQUIRING A PRACTICAL VOCABULARY + +Yet many are seen to hesitate at single words, even while they invent, +and reflect on and measure what they invent. If this were done +designedly to use always the best, this unhappy temper would still be +detestable, as it must check the course of speaking and extinguish the +heat of thought by delay and diffidence. For the orator is wretched, +and, I may say, poor, who can not patiently lose a word. But he will +lose none who first has studied a good manner of speaking, and by +reading well the best authors has furnished himself with a copious +supply of words and made himself expert in the art of placing them. Much +practise will so improve him afterward that he always will have them at +hand and ready for use, the thought fitting in naturally with the proper +manner of expression. + +But all this requires previous study, an acquired faculty, and a rich +fund of words. For solicitude in regard to inventing, judging, and +comparing, should take place when we learn, and not when we speak. +Otherwise they who have not sufficiently cultivated their talents for +speaking will experience the fate of those who have made no provision +for the future. But if a proper stock of words is already prepared, +they will attend as in duty bound, not so much in the way of answering +exigencies as always to seem inherent in the thought and to follow as a +shadow does a body. + + +HOW TO CHOOSE THE RIGHT WORDS + +Yet this care should not exceed its due bounds, for when words are +authorized by use, are significant, elegant, and aptly placed, what more +need we trouble ourselves about? But some eternally will find fault, and +almost scan every syllable, who, even when they have found what is best, +seek after something that is more ancient, remote, and unexpected, not +understanding that the thought must suffer in a discourse, and can have +nothing of value, where only the words are commendable. Let us, +therefore, pay particular regard to elocution, yet, at the same time be +convinced that nothing is to be done for the sake of words, they having +been invented solely for the sake of things. The most proper words +always will be those which are best expressive of the ideas in our mind, +and which produce in the ideas of the judges the effect we desire. Such +undoubtedly will make a speech both admirable and pleasing, but not so +admirable as are prodigies, nor pleasing by a vicious and unseemly +pleasure, but a pleasure reflecting dignity with praise. + + + + +ELEGANCE AND GRACE + + +The orator will recommend himself particularly by the embellishments he +adopts, securing in other ways the approbation of the learned, and in +this also the favor of popular applause. + +Not so much with strong as with shining armor did Cicero engage in the +cause of Cornelius. His success was not due merely to instructing the +judges, and speaking in a pure and clear style. These qualities would +not have brought him the honor of the admiration and applause of the +Roman people. It was the sublimity, magnificence, splendor, and dignity +of his eloquence that forced from them signal demonstrations of their +amazement. Nor would such unusual eulogies have been given him if his +speech had contained nothing extraordinary, nothing but what was common. +And, indeed, I believe that those present were not completely aware of +what they were doing, and that what they did was neither spontaneous, +nor from an act of judgment, but that filled with a sort of enthusiasm, +and not considering the place they were in, they burst forth with +unrestrained excitement. + + +THE VALUE OF BEAUTY OF EXPRESSION + +These ornaments of speech, therefore, may be thought to contribute not a +little to the success of a cause, for they who hear willingly are more +attentive and more disposed to believe. Most commonly it is pleasure +that wins them over, and sometimes they are seized and carried away with +admiration. A glittering sword strikes the eyes with some terror, and +thunder would not so shock us if its crash only, and not its lightning, +was dreaded. Therefore Cicero, with good reason, says in one of his +epistles to Brutus: "The eloquence which does not excite admiration, I +regard as nothing." Aristotle, too, would have us endeavor to attain +this perfection. + +But this embellishment, I must again and again repeat, ought to be +manly, noble, and modest; neither inclining to effeminate delicacy, nor +assuming a color indebted to paint, but glistening with health and +spirits. + +Let none of those who build up their reputation on a corrupt manner of +eloquence, say that I am an enemy to such as speak with elegance. I do +not deny that it is a perfection, but I do not ascribe it to them. Shall +I think a piece of ground better laid out and improved, in which one +shall show me lilies and violets and pleasing cascades, than one where +there is a full harvest or vines laden with grapes? Shall I esteem a +barren planetree and shorn myrtles beyond the fruitful olive and the elm +courting the embraces of the vine? The rich may pride themselves on +these pleasures of the eye, but how little would be their value if they +had nothing else? + +But shall no beauty, no symmetry, be observed in the care of fruit +trees? Undoubtedly there should, and I would place them in a certain +order, and keep a due distance in planting them. What is more beautiful +than the quincunx, which, whatever way you look, retains the same direct +position? Planting them out so will also be of service to the growth of +the trees, by equally attracting the juices of the earth. I should lop +off the aspiring tops of my olive; it will spread more beautifully into +a round form, and will produce fruit on more branches. A horse with +slender flanks is considered handsomer than one not framed in that +manner, and the same quality also shows that he excels in swiftness. An +athlete whose arms from exercise show a full spring and play of the +muscles, is a beautiful sight, and he, likewise, is best fitted as a +combatant. Thus the true species is never without its utility, as even a +meager judgment easily may discern. + + +DEVELOPING VARIETY OF STYLE + +But it will be of more importance to observe that this decent attire +ought to be varied according to the nature of the subject. To begin with +our first division, the same style will not suit equally demonstrative, +deliberative, and judicial causes. The first, calculated for +ostentation, aims at nothing but the pleasure of the auditory. It, +therefore, displays all the riches of art, and exposes to full view all +the pomp of eloquence; not acting by stratagem, nor striving for +victory, but making praise and glory its sole and ultimate end. Whatever +may be pleasing in the thought, beautiful in the expression, agreeable +in the turn, magnificent in the metaphor, elaborate in the composition, +the orator will lay open for inspection and, if it were possible, for +handling, as a merchant exposes his wares; for here the success wholly +regards him and not the cause. + +But when the serious part of a trial is on hand, and the contest is +truly in earnest, care of reputation ought to be the orator's last +concern. For this reason, when everything in a way is at stake, no one +ought to be solicitous about words. I do not say that no ornaments ought +to have place in them, but that they should be more modest and severe, +less apparent, and above all suited to the subject. For in deliberations +the senate require something more elevated; the assemblies of the +people, something more spirited; and at the bar, public and capital +causes, something more accurate. But a private deliberation, and causes +of trivial consequence, as the stating of accounts and the like, need +little beyond the plain and easy manner of common discourse. Would it +not be quite shameful to demand in elaborate periods the payment of +money lent, or appeal to the emotions in speaking of the repairs of a +gutter or sink? + + +THE CHOICE OF WORDS + +As the ornament, as well as perspicuity, of speech consists either in +single words or in many together, we shall consider what they require +separately and what in conjunction. Tho there is good reason for saying +that perspicuity is best suited by proper words, and ornament by +metaphorical, yet we should always know that an impropriety is never +ornamental. But as many words very often signify the same thing, and +therefore are called synonymous, some of these must be more sublime, +more bright, more agreeable, and sweeter and fuller in pronunciation +than others. As the more clear-sounding letters communicate the same +quality to the syllables they compose, so the words composed of these +syllables become more sonorous, and the greater the force or sound of +the syllables is, the more they fill or charm the ear. What the +junction of syllables makes, the copulation of words makes also, a word +sounding well with one, which sound badly with another. + +There is a great diversity in the use of words. Harsh words best express +things of an atrocious nature. In general, the best of simple words are +believed to be such as sound loudest in exclamation, or sweetest in a +pleasing strain. Modest words will ever be preferred to those that must +offend a chaste ear, and no polite discourse ever makes allowance for a +filthy or sordid expression. Magnificent, noble, and sublime words are +to be estimated by their congruity with the subject; for what is +magnificent in one place, swells into bombast in another; and what is +low in a grand matter, may be proper in a humble situation. As in a +splendid style a low word must be very much out of place and, as it +were, a blemish to it, so a sublime and pompous expression is unsuited +to a subject that is plain and familiar, and therefore must be reputed +corrupt, because it raises that which ought to find favor through its +native simplicity. + + +THE MANNER OF DELIVERY + +I shall pass now to the construction of words, observing that their +ornamental use may be considered from two points of view; first, as it +regards the elocution we conceive in our minds; second, the manner of +expressing it. It is of particular consequence that we should be clear +as to what ought to be amplified or diminished; whether we are to speak +with heat or moderation; in a florid or austere style; in a copious or +concise manner; in words of bitter invective, or in those showing placid +and gentle disposition; with magnificence or plainness; gravity or +politeness. Besides which it is equally important to know what +metaphors, what figures, what thoughts, what manner, what disposition, +are best suited for effecting our purpose. + + +FAULTS OF EXPRESSION TO AVOID + +In speaking of the ornaments of a discourse, it may not be amiss to +touch first upon qualities contrary to them, because the principal +perfection consists in being free from faults. We, therefore, must not +expect ornament that is not probable, in a discourse. Cicero calls that +kind of ornament probable which is not more nor less than it ought to +be. Not that it should not appear neat and polished, for this is a part +of ornament, but because too much in anything is always a fault. He +would have authority and weight in words, and thoughts that are +sensible, or conformable to the opinions and manners of men. These +inviolably retained and adhered to, he makes ample allowance for +whatever else may contribute to illustrate a discourse. And thus it is +that metaphors, superlatives, epithets, compound, and synonymous words, +if they seem to express the action and fully represent things, seldom +fail to please. + +We should avoid the fault which makes a sentence appear not full enough, +on account of something defective, tho this is rather a vice of +obscurity than want of ornament in speech. But when it is done for some +particular reason, then it becomes a figure of speech. We should +likewise be aware of tautology, which is a repetition of the same word +or thought, or the use of many similar words or thoughts. Tho this does +not seem to have been much guarded against by some authors of great +note, it is, notwithstanding, a fault, and Cicero himself often falls +into it. + +Similarity of expression is a still greater vice, because the mind is +wearied by lack of the graces of variety, and the discourse being all of +one color, shows a great deficiency in the art of oratory. It, besides, +creates loathing, and at length becomes insupportable, both to the mind +and ear, through the tedious repetition of the same cold thoughts, +figures, and periods. + +There is another fault, that of being over-nice, which is caused by +extreme anxiety to be exact, but which is as far distant from exactness +as superstition is from true religion. In short, every word that +contributes neither to perspicuity nor ornament, may be called vicious. + +A perverse affectation is faulty in all respects. All bombast, and +flimsiness, and studied sweetness, and redundancies, and far-fetched +thoughts, and witticisms, fall under the same denomination. Thus +whatever stretches beyond the bounds of perfection, may be called +affectation, and this happens as often as the genius is lacking in +judgment, and suffers itself to be deceived by an appearance of good. It +is the worst of vices in matters of eloquence, for even when others are +avoided, this is sought after, and its whole trespass is against +elocution. There are vices incident to things, which come from being +devoid of sense, or from being common, or contrary, or unnecessary, and +a corrupt style consists principally in impropriety of words, in their +redundancy, in their obscure import, in a weak composition, and in a +puerile hunting after synonymous or equivocal words. But every perverse +affectation is false in consequence of its idea, tho not everything that +is false is an affectation, the latter saying a thing otherwise than as +nature will have it, and than it ought to be, and than is sufficient. + + +USE OF VIVID DESCRIPTION + +There can not be a greater perfection than to express the things we +speak of in such lively colors as to make them seem really to take place +in our presence. Our words are lacking in full effect, they assume not +that absolute empire they ought to have, when they strike only the ear, +and when the judge who is to take cognizance of the matter is not +sensible of its being emphatically exprest. + +One manner of representation consists in making out of an assemblage of +circumstances the image we endeavor to exhibit. An example of this we +have in Cicero's description of a riotous banquet; he being the only one +who can furnish us with examples of all kinds of ornaments: "I seemed to +myself to see some coming in, others going out; some tottering with +drunkenness, others yawning from yesterday's carousing. In the midst of +these was Gallius, bedaubed with essences, and crowned with flowers. The +floor of their apartment was all in a muck of dirt, streaming with wine, +and strewed all about with chaplets of faded flowers, and fish-bones." +Who could have seen more had he been present? + +In this manner pity grows upon us from hearing of the sacking of a town. +Undoubtedly he who acquaints us of such an event, comprehends all the +incidents of so great a calamity, yet this cursory piece of intelligence +makes but a languid impression upon the mind. But if you enter into +descriptive pictures of all that was included in one word, as it were, +flames will appear spreading through houses and temples; the crash of +falling houses will be heard; and one confused noise formed out of all +together. Some will be seen striving to escape the danger, but know not +where to direct their flight; others embracing for the last time their +parents and relations; here the dismal shrieks of women and piercing +cries of children fill one with pity; there the sighs and groans of old +men, lamenting their unhappy fate for having lived so long as to be +witnesses of their country's desolation. A further addition to these +scenes of woe is the plunder of all things, sacred as well as profane; +the avidity of the soldier prowling after and carrying away his prey; +the wretched citizens dragged away in chains before their haughty +conquerors; mothers struggling to keep with them their children; and +slaughter still exercising its cruelties wherever there is the least +expectation of booty. Tho all these details are comprehended in the idea +of the sacking of a town, yet it is saying less to state merely that the +town was sacked than to describe its destruction in this circumstantial +manner. + +Such circumstances may be made to appear vivid if they retain a likeness +to truth. They may not have happened in reality, yet, as they are +possible, the descriptive evidence is not objectionable. The same +evidence will arise also from accidents, as in the following examples: + + + ... me horror chills, + Shudd'ring, and fear congeals my curdling blood. + TRAPP. + + + ... to their bosoms press'd, + The frighted mothers clasp'd their crying babes. + TRAPP. + + +This perfection, the greatest, in my opinion, a discourse can have, is +very easily acquired by only considering and following nature. For +eloquence is a picture of the happenings of human life, every one +applying to himself what he hears, by making the case in some measure +his own, and the mind receives very willingly that with which it has +become familiar. + +To throw light, also, upon things, similes have been invented, some of +which by way of proof are inserted among arguments, and others are +calculated for expressing the images of things, the point we are here +explaining. + + + ... Thence like wolves + Prowling in gloomy shade, which hunger blind + Urges along, while their forsaken whelps + Expect them with dry jaws. + TRAPP. + + + ... Thence with all his body's force + Flings himself headlong from the steepy height + Down to the ocean: like the bird that flies + Low, skimming o'er the surface, near the sea, + Around the shores, around the fishy rocks. + TRAPP. + + +HOW TO EMPLOY SIMILES AND METAPHORS + +We must be exceedingly cautious in regard to similitudes, that we do not +use such as are either obscure or unknown. For that which is assumed for +the sake of illustrating another thing, ought indeed to be clearer than +that which it so illustrates. + +In speaking of arguments I mentioned a kind of similitude which, as an +ornament to a discourse, contributes to make it sublime, florid, +pleasing, and admirable. For the more far-fetched a similitude is, the +more new and unexpected it will appear. Some may be thought commonplace, +yet will avail much for enforcing belief; as, "As a piece of ground +becomes better and more fertile by cultivation, so does the mind by good +institutions." "As physicians prescribe the amputation of a limb that +manifestly tends to mortification, so would it be necessary to cut off +all bad citizens, tho even allied to us in blood." Here is something +more sublime: "Rocks and solitudes echo back the melody, and the +fiercest beasts are often made more gentle, being astonished by the +harmony of music." But this kind of similitude is often abused by the +too great liberties our declaimers give themselves; for they use such as +are false, and they do not make a just application of them to the +subjects to which they would compare them. + +In every comparison the similitude either goes before, and the thing +follows; or the thing goes before, and the similitude follows. But the +similitude sometimes is free and separate: sometimes, which is best, it +is connected with the thing of which it is the image, this connection +being made to aid and correspond mutually on both sides. Cicero says in +his oration for Murena: "They who have not a genius for playing on the +lyre, may become expert at playing on the flute (a proverbial saying +among the Greeks to specify the man who can not make himself master of +the superior sciences): so among us they who can not become orators, +turn to the study of the law." In another passage of the same oration, +the connected comparison is conceived in a sort of poetical spirit. "As +storms are often raised by the influence of some constellation, and +often suddenly and from some hidden cause which can not be accounted +for, so the stormy agitations we sometimes behold in the assemblies of +the people are often occasioned by a malign influence easily +discoverable by all; and often their cause is so obscure as to seem +merely the effect of chance." There are other similes, which are very +short, as this, "Strolling and wandering through forests like beasts." +And that of Cicero against Clodius, "From which judgment we have seen +him escape naked, like a man from his house on fire." Such similes +constantly occur in common discourse. + +Of a similar kind is an ornament which not only represents things, but +does so in a lively and concise manner. Undoubtedly a conciseness in +which nothing is lacking, is deservedly praised; that which says +precisely only what is necessary, is less estimable; but that which +expresses much in a few words is of all the most beautiful. + +Eloquence does not think it enough to show of what it speaks, in a clear +and evident manner; it uses, besides, a variety of other expedients for +embellishing a discourse. Thus it is that a simple and unaffected style +is not without beauty, but it is a beauty entirely pure and natural, +such as is admired in women. Beauty is also annexed to propriety and +justness of expression, and this beauty is the more elegant as it shows +but little care. There is an abundance that is rich, an abundance that +smiles amidst the gaiety of flowers, and there is more than one sort of +power, for whatever is complete in its kind can not be destitute of its +proper strength and efficacy. + + + + +COMPOSITION AND STYLE + + +I well know that there are some who will not sanction any care in +composition, contending that our words as they flow by chance, however +uncouth they may sound, are not only more natural, but likewise more +manly. If what first sprang from nature, indebted in nowise to care and +industry, be only what they deem natural, I admit that the art of +oratory in this respect has no pretensions to that quality. For it is +certain that the first men did not speak according to the exactness of +the rules of composition; neither were they acquainted with the art of +preparing by an exordium, informing by a narration, proving by +arguments, and moving by passions. They were deficient in all these +particulars, and not in composition only; and if they were not allowed +to make any alterations for the better, of course they would not have +exchanged their cottages for houses, nor their coverings of skins for +more decent apparel, nor the mountains and forests in which they ranged +for the abode of cities in which they enjoy the comforts of social +intercourse. And, indeed, what art do we find coeval with the world, and +what is there of which the value is not enhanced by improvement? Why do +we restrain the luxuriance of our vines? Why do we dig about them? Why +do we grub up the bramble-bushes in our fields? Yet the earth produces +them. Why do we tame animals? Yet are they born with intractable +dispositions. Rather let us say that that is very natural which nature +permits us to meliorate in her handiwork. + + +THE POWER OF SKILFUL COMPOSITION + +How can a jumble of uncouth words be more manly than a manner of +expression which is well joined and properly placed? If some authors +weaken the subjects of which they treat, by straining them into certain +soft and lascivious measures, we must not on that account judge that +this is the fault of composition. As the current of rivers is swifter +and more impetuous in a free and open channel than amidst an obstruction +of rocks breaking and struggling against the flow of their waters, an +oration that is properly connected flows with its whole might, and is +far preferable to one that is craggy and desultory by reason of frequent +interruptions. Why, then, should it be thought that strength and beauty +are incompatible, when, on the contrary, nothing has its just value +without art, and embellishment always attends on it? Do not we observe +the javelin which has been cleverly whirled about, dart through the air +with the best effect; and in managing a bow and arrow, is not the beauty +of the attitude as much more graceful as the aim is more unerring? In +feats of arms, and in all the exercises of the palæstra, is not his +attitude best calculated for defense or offense, who uses a certain art +in all his motions, and keeps to a certain position of the feet? +Composition, therefore, in my opinion, is to thoughts and words what the +dexterous management of a bow or string may be for directing the aim of +missive weapons; and I may say that the most learned are convinced that +it is greatly conducive not only to pleasure, but also to making a good +impression on others. First, because it is scarcely possible that +anything should affect the heart, which begins by grating on the ear. +Secondly, because we are naturally affected by harmony, otherwise the +sounds of musical instruments, tho they express no words, would not +excite in us so great a variety of pleasing emotions. In sacred +canticles, some airs are for elating the heart into raptures, others to +restore the mind to its former tranquillity. The sound of a trumpet is +not the same when it is the signal for a general engagement, and when on +defeat it implores the conqueror's mercy; neither is it the same when an +army marches up to give battle, and when it is intent on retreating. It +was a common practise with the Pythagoric philosophers, on arising in +the morning, to awake their minds by an air on the lyre, in order to +make them more alert for action; and they had recourse to the same +musical entertainment for disposing them to sleep, believing it to be a +means for allaying all tumultuous thoughts which might in any way have +ruffled them in the course of the day. + +If, then, so great a power lies in musical strains and modulations, what +must it be with eloquence, the music of which is a speaking harmony? As +much, indeed, as it is essential for a thought to be exprest in suitable +words, it is equally necessary for the same words to be disposed in +proper order by composition, that they may flow and end harmoniously. +Some things of little consequence in their import, and requiring but a +moderate degree of elocution, are commendable only by this perfection; +and there are others which appear exprest with so much force, beauty, +and sweetness, that if the order in which they stand should be changed +or disturbed, all force, beauty, and sweetness would vanish from them. + + +THE ESSENTIALS OF GOOD COMPOSITION + +There are three things necessary in every kind of composition, and these +are order, correction, and number. + + +_1. Order_ + +We shall speak first of order, which applies to words considered +separately or joined together. In regard to the former, care must be +taken that there be no decrease by adding a weaker word to a stronger, +as accusing one of sacrilege, and giving him afterward the name of +thief; or adding the character of wanton fellow to that of a highwayman. +The sense ought to increase and rise, which Cicero observes admirably +where he says: "And thou, with that voice, those lungs, and that +gladiator-like vigor of thy whole body." Here each succeeding thing is +stronger than the one before; but if he had begun with the whole body, +he could not with propriety have descended to the voice and lungs. There +is another natural order in saying men and women, day and night, east +and west. + +Words in prose not being measured, as are the feet which compose verse, +they are, therefore, transferred from place to place, that they may be +joined where they best fit, as in a building where the irregularity, +however great, of rough stones is both suitable and proper. The happiest +composition language can have, however, is to keep to a natural order, +just connection, and a regularly flowing cadence. + +Sometimes there is something very striking about a word. Placed in the +middle of a sentence, it might pass unnoticed, or be obscured by the +other words that lie about it, but when placed at the end the auditor +can not help noting it and retaining it in his mind. + + +_2. Connection_ + +Juncture follows, which is equally requisite in words, articles, +members, and periods, all these having their beauty and faults, in +consequence of their manner of connection. It may be a general +observation that in the placing of syllables, their sound will be +harsher as they are pronounced with a like or different gaping of the +mouth. This, however, is not to be dreaded as a signal fault, and I know +not which is worse here, inattention or too great care. Too scrupulous +fear must damp the heat and retard the impetuosity of speaking, while +at the same time it prevents the mind from attending to thoughts which +are of greater moment. As, therefore, it is carelessness to yield to +these faults, so it is meanness to be too much afraid of them. + + +_3. Number_ + +Numbers are nowhere so much lacking, nor so remarkable, as at the end of +periods; first, because every sense has its bounds, and takes up a +natural space, by which it is divided from the beginning of what +follows: next, because the hearers following the flow of words, and +drawn, as it were, down the current of the oration, are then more +competent judges, when that impetuosity ceases and gives time for +reflection. There should not, therefore, be anything harsh nor abrupt in +that ending, which seems calculated for the respite and recreation of +the mind and ear. This, too, is the resting-place of the oration, this +the auditor expects, and here burst forth all his effusions of praise. + + +THE COMPOSITION OF PERIODS + +The beginning of periods demands as much care as the closing of them, +for here, also, the auditor is attentive. But it is easier to observe +numbers in the beginning of periods, as they are not depending on, nor +connected with, what went before. But the ending of periods, however +graceful it may be in composition and numbers, will lose all its charm +if we proceed to it by a harsh and precipitate beginning. + +As to the composition of the middle parts of a period, care must be +taken not only of their connection with each other, but also that they +may not seem slow, nor long, nor, what is now a great vice, jump and +start from being made up of many short syllables, and producing the same +effect on the ear as the sounds from a child's rattle. For as the +ordering of the beginning and ending is of much importance, as often as +the sense begins or ends; so in the middle, too, there is a sort of +stress which slightly insists; as the feet of people running, which, tho +they make no stop, yet leave a track. It is not only necessary to begin +and end well the several members and articles, but the intermediate +space, tho continued without respiration, ought also to retain a sort of +composition, by reason of the insensible pauses that serve as so many +degrees for pronunciation. + +Cicero gives many names to the period, calling it a winding about, a +circuit, a comprehension, continuation, and circumscription. It is of +two kinds; the one simple when a single thought is drawn out into a +considerable number of words; the other compound, consisting of members +and articles which include several thoughts. + +Wherever the orator has occasion to conduct himself severely, to press +home, to act boldly and resolutely, he should speak by members and +articles. This manner has vast power and efficacy in an oration. The +composition is to adapt itself to the nature of things, therefore, even +rough things being conceived in rough sounds and numbers, that the +hearer may be made to enter into all the passions of the speaker. It +would be advisable, for the most part, to make the narration in members; +or if periods are used, they ought to be more loose and less elaborate +than elsewhere. But I except such narrations as are calculated more for +ornament than for giving information. + + +THE USE OF PERIODS + +The period is proper for the exordiums of greater causes, where the +matter requires solicitude, commendation, pity. Also in common places +and in every sort of amplification; but if you accuse, it ought to be +close and compact; if you praise, it should be full, round, and flowing. +It is likewise of good service in perorations, and may be used without +restriction wherever the composition requires to be set off in a +somewhat grand and noble manner, and when the judge not only has a +thorough knowledge of the matter before him, but is also captivated with +the beauty of the discourse and, trusting to the orator, allows himself +to be led away by the sense of pleasure. + +History does not so much stand in need of a periodical flow of words, as +it likes to move around in a sort of perpetual circle, for all its +members are connected with each other, by its slipping and gliding along +from one subject to the next, just as men, strengthening their pace, +hold and are held, by grasping each other by the hand. Whatever belongs +to the demonstrative kind has freer and more flowing numbers. The +judicial and deliberative, being varied in their matter, occasionally +require a different form of composition. + + +FITTING EXPRESSION TO THOUGHT + +Who doubts that some things are to be exprest in a gentle way, others +with more heat, others sublimely, others contentiously, and others +gravely? Feet composed of long syllables best suit grave, sublime, and +ornamental subjects. The grave will take up a longer space in the +pronunciation, and the sublime and ornamental will demand a clear and +sonorous expression. Feet of short syllables are more agreeable in +arguments, division, raillery, and whatever partakes of the nature of +ordinary conversation. + +The composition of the exordium will differ, therefore, as the subject +may require. For the mind of the judge is not always the same, so that, +according to the time and circumstances, we must declare our mournful +plight, appear modest, tart, grave, insinuating; move to mercy and +exhort to diligence. As the nature of these is different, so their +composition must be conducted in a different way. + +Let it be in some measure a general observation that the composition +ought to be modeled on the manner of pronunciation. In exordiums are we +not most commonly modest, except when in a cause of accusation we strive +to irritate the minds of the judges? Are we not copious and explicit in +narration; in arguments animated and lively, even showing animation in +our actions; in common places and descriptions, exuberant and lavish of +ornaments; and in perorations, for the most part weighed down by +distress? Of the variety which ought to be in a discourse, we may find +another parallel instance in the motions of the body. With all of them, +do not the circumstances regulate their respective degrees of slowness +and celerity? And for dancing as well as singing, does not music use +numbers of which the beating of the time makes us sensible? As our voice +and action are indeed expressive of our inner feelings in regard to the +nature of the things of which we speak, need we, then, be surprized if a +like conformity ought to be found in the feet that enter into the +composition of a piece of eloquence? Ought not sublime matters be made +to walk in majestic solemnity, the mild to keep in a gentle pace, the +brisk and lively to bound with rapidity, and the nice and delicate to +flow smoothly? + + +FAULTS IN COMPOSITION + +If faults in composition be unavoidable, I should rather give preference +to that which is harsh and rough than to that which is nerveless and +weak, the results of an affected style that many now study, and which +constantly corrupts, more and more, by a wantonness in numbers more +becoming a dance than the majesty of eloquence. But I can not say that +any composition is good, however perfect otherwise, which constantly +presents the same form, and continually falls into the same feet. A +constant observing of similar measures and cadences, is a kind of +versification, and all prose in which this fault is discoverable, can +have no allowance made for it, by reason of its manifest affectation +(the very suspicion of which ought to be avoided), and its uniformity, +which, of course, must fatigue and disgust the mind. This vice may have +some engaging charms at first sight, but the greater its sweets are, the +shorter will be their continuance; and the orator once detected of any +anxious concern in this respect, will instantly lose all belief that has +been placed in him, and vainly will he strive to make on others' minds +the impressions he expected to make; for how is it to be expected that +a judge will believe a man, or permit himself to feel grief or anger on +account of one whom he observes to have attended to nothing more than +the display of such trifles? Some of the connections of smooth +composition ought, therefore, to be designedly broken, and it is no +small labor to make them appear not labored. + +Let us not be such slaves to the placing of words as to study +transpositions longer than necessary, lest what we do in order to +please, may displease by being affected. Neither let a fondness for +making the composition flow with smoothness, prevail on us to set aside +a word otherwise proper and becoming; as no word, in reality, can prove +disagreeable enough to be wholly excluded, unless it be that in the +avoiding of such words we consult mere beauty of expression rather than +the good of composition. + +To conclude, composition ought to be graceful, agreeable, varied. Its +parts are three: order, connection, number. Its art consists in adding, +retrenching, changing. Its qualities are according to the nature of the +things discust. The care in composition ought to be great, but not to +take the place of care in thinking and speaking. What deserves to be +particularly attended to is the concealing of the care of composition, +that the numbers may seem to flow of their own accord, and not with the +least constraint or affectation. + + + + +COPIOUSNESS OF WORDS + + +Eloquence will never be solid and robust, unless it collects strength +and consistence from much writing and composing; and without examples +from reading, that labor will go astray for lack of a guide; and tho it +be known how everything ought to be said, yet the orator who is not +possest of a talent for speaking, always ready to exert himself on +occasion, will be like a man watching over a hidden treasure. + +Our orator, who we suppose is familiar with the way of inventing and +disposing things, of making a choice of words, and placing them in +proper order, requires nothing further than the knowledge of the means +whereby in the easiest and best manner he may execute what he has +learned. It can not, then, be doubted that he must acquire a certain +stock of wealth in order to have it ready for use when needed, and this +stock of wealth consists of a plentiful supply of things and words. + + +THE RIGHT WORD IN THE RIGHT PLACE + +Things are peculiar to each cause, or common to few; but a provision of +words must be made indiscriminately for all subjects. If each word were +precisely significant of each thing, our perplexity would be less, as +then words would immediately present themselves with things, but some +being more proper than others, or more ornamental, or more emphatic, or +more harmonious, all ought not only to be known but to be kept ready and +in sight, as it were, that when they present themselves for the +orator's selection, he easily may make a choice of the best. + +I know that some make a practise of classing together all synonymous +words and committing them to memory, so that out of so many at least one +may more easily come to mind; and when they have used a word, and +shortly after need it again, to avoid repetition they take another of +the same significance. This is of little or no use, for it is only a +crowd that is mustered together, out of which the first at hand is taken +indifferently, whereas the copiousness of language of which I speak is +to be the result of acquisition of judgment in the use of words, with +the view of attaining the true expressive force of eloquence, and not +empty volubility of speech. This can be affected only by hearing and +reading the best things; and it is only by giving it our attention that +we shall know not only the appellations of things, but what is fittest +for every place. + + +THE VALUE OF HEARING SPEAKERS + +With some eloquent compositions we may derive more profit by reading +them, but with some others, more by hearing them pronounced. The speaker +keeps awake all our senses, and inspires us by the fire that animates +him. We are struck, not by the image and exterior of things, but by the +things themselves. All is life and motion, and with solicitude for his +success, we favorably receive all he says, its appeal to us lying in the +charm of novelty. Together with the orator, we find ourselves deeply +interested in the issue of the trial and the safety of the parties whose +defense he has undertaken. Besides these we find that other things +affect us: a fine voice, a graceful action corresponding with what is +said, and a manner of pronunciation, which perhaps is the most powerful +ornament of eloquence; in short, everything conducted and managed in the +way that is most fitting. + + +THE ADVANTAGES OF READING + +In reading, our judgment goes upon surer ground, because often our good +wishes for the speaker, or the applause bestowed on him, surprizes us +into approbation. We are ashamed to differ in opinion from others, and +by a sort of secret bashfulness are kept from believing ourselves more +intelligent than they are; tho indeed we are aware, at the same time, +that the taste of the greater number is vicious, and that sycophants, +even persons hired to applaud, praise things which can not please us; +as, on the other hand, it also happens that a bad taste can have no +relish for the best things. Reading is attended, besides, with the +advantage of being free, and not escaping us by the rapidity which +accompanies action; and we may go over the same things often, should we +doubt their accuracy, or wish to fix them in our memories. Repeating and +reviewing will, therefore, be highly necessary; for as meats are chewed +before they descend into the stomach, in order to facilitate their +digestion, so reading is fittest for being laid up in the memory, that +it may be an object of imitation when it is no longer in a crude state +but has been softened and elaborated by long meditation. + + +HOW TO READ MOST PROFITABLY + +None, however, but the best authors, and such as we are least liable to +be deceived in, demand this care, which should be diligent and extended +even almost to the point of taking the pains to transcribe them. Nor +ought judgment to be passed on the whole from examining a part, but +after the book has been fully perused, it should have a second reading; +especially should this be done with an oration, the perfections of which +are often designedly kept concealed. The orator, indeed, often prepares, +dissembles, lies in wait, and says things in the first part of the +pleading which he avails himself of in the last part. They may, +therefore, be less pleasing in their place, while we still remain +ignorant of the purpose for their being said. For this reason, after a +due consideration of particulars, it would not be amiss to re-read the +whole. + + +WHAT TO READ + +Theophrastus says that the reading of poetry is of vast service to the +orator. Many, and with good reason, are of the same opinion, as from the +poets may be derived sprightliness in thought, sublimity in expression, +force and variety in sentiment, propriety and decorum in character, +together with that diversion for cheering and freshening minds which +have been for any time harassed by the drudgery of the bar. + +Let it be remembered, however, that poets are not in all things to be +imitated by the orator, neither in the liberty of words, nor license of +figures. The whole of that study is calculated for ostentation. Its sole +aim is pleasure, and it invariably pursues it, by fictions of not only +what is false, but of some things that are incredible. It is sure, also, +of meeting with partizans to espouse its cause, because, since it is +bound down to a certain necessity of feet it can not always use proper +words, and being driven out of the straight road, must turn into byways +of speaking, and be compelled to change some words, and to lengthen, +shorten, transpose and divide them. As for orators, they must stand +their ground completely armed in the order of battle, and having to +fight for matters of the highest consequence, must think of nothing but +gaining the victory. + +Still would I not have their armor appear squalid and covered with rust, +but retain rather a brightness that dismays, such as of polished steel, +striking both the mind and eyes with awe, and not the splendor of gold +and silver, a weak safeguard, indeed, and rather dangerous to the +bearer. + +History, likewise, by its mild and grateful sap may afford kind +nutriment to an oratorical composition. Yet the orator should so read +history as to be convinced that most of its perfections ought to be +avoided by him. It nearly borders upon poetry, and may be held as a +poem, unrestrained by the laws of verse. Its object is to narrate, and +not to prove, and its whole business neither intends action nor +contention, but to transmit facts to posterity, and enhance the +reputation of its author. + +In the reading of history there is another benefit, and indeed the +greatest, but one not relative to the present subject. This proceeds +from the knowledge of things and examples, which the orator ought to be +well versed in, so that not all his testimonies may be from the parties, +but many of them may be taken from antiquity, with which, through +history, he will be well acquainted; these testimonies being the more +powerful, as they are exempt from suspicion of prejudice and partiality. + +I shall venture to say that there are few which have stood the test of +time, that may not be read with some profit by the judicious. Cicero +himself confesses that he received great help from old authors, who +were, indeed, very ingenious but were deficient in art. Before I speak +of the respective merit of authors, I must make, in a few words, some +general reflections on the diversity of taste in regard to matters of +eloquence. Some think that the ancients deserve to be read, believing +that they alone have distinguished themselves by natural eloquence and +that strength of language so becoming men. Others are captivated with +the flowery profusion of the orators of the present age, with their +delicate turns, and with all the blandishments they skilfully invent to +charm the ears of an ignorant multitude. Some choose to follow the plain +and direct way of speaking. Others take to be sound and truly Attic +whatever is close, neat, and departs but little from ordinary +conversation. Some are delighted with a more elevated, more impetuous, +and more fiery force of genius. Others, and not a few, like a smooth, +elegant, and polite manner. I shall speak of this difference in taste +more fully when I come to examine the style which may seem most proper +for the orator. + + +QUALITIES OF CLASSIC WRITERS + +_Homer_ + +We may begin properly with Homer. + +He it is who gave birth to, and set the example for all parts of +eloquence, in the same way, as he himself says, as the course of rivers +and springs of fountains owe their origin to the ocean. No one, in great +subjects, has excelled him in elevation; nor in small subjects, in +propriety. He is florid and close, grave and agreeable, admirable for +his concise as well as for his copious manner, and is not only eminent +for poetical, but likewise oratorical, abilities. + + +_Æschylus_ + +Æschylus is the one who gave birth to tragedy. He is sublime, and grave, +and often pompous to a fault. But his plots are mostly ill-contrived and +as ill-conducted. For which reason the Athenians permitted the poets who +came after him to correct his pieces and fit them for the stage, and in +this way many of these poets received the honor of being crowned. + + +_Sophocles and Euripides_ + +Sophocles and Euripides brought tragedy to greater perfection; but the +difference in their manner has occasioned dispute among the learned as +to their relative poetic merits. For my part, I shall leave the matter +undecided, as having nothing to do with my present purpose. It must be +confest, nevertheless, that the study of Euripedes will be of much +greater value to those who are preparing themselves for the bar; for +besides the fact that his style comes nearer the oratorical style, he +likewise abounds in fine thoughts, and in philosophic maxims is almost +on an equality with philosophers, and in his dialog may be compared with +the best speakers at the bar. He is wonderful, again, for his masterly +strokes in moving the passions, and more especially in exciting +sympathy. + + +_Thucydides and Herodotus_ + +There have been many famous writers of history, but all agree in giving +the preference to two, whose perfections, tho different, have received +an almost equal degree of praise. Thucydides is close, concise, and ever +pressing on. Herodotus is sweet, natural, and copious. One is remarkable +for his animated expression of the more impetuous passions, the other +for gentle persuasion in the milder: the former succeeds in harangues +and has more force; the other surpasses in speeches of familiar +intercourse, and gives more pleasure. + + +_Demosthenes_ + +A numerous band of orators follows, for Athens produced ten of them, +contemporary with one another. Demosthenes was by far the chief of them, +and in a manner held to be the only model for eloquence; so great is +his force; so closely together are all things interwoven in his +discourse, and attended with a certain self-command; so great is his +accuracy, he never adopting any idle expression; and so just his +precision that nothing lacking, nothing redundant, can be found in him. +Æschines is more full, more diffusive, and appears the more grand, as he +has more breadth. He has more flesh, but not so many sinews. + + +_Lysias and Isocrates_ + +Lysias, older than these, is subtle and elegant, and if it is enough for +the orator to instruct, none could be found more perfect than he is. +There is nothing idle, nothing far-fetched in him; yet is he more like a +clear brook than a great river. Isocrates, in a different kind of +eloquence, is fine and polished, and better adapted for engaging in a +mock than a real battle. He was attentive to all the beauties of +discourse, and had his reasons for it, having intended his eloquence for +schools and not for contentions at the bar. His invention was easy, he +was very fond of graces and embellishments, and so nice was he in his +composition that his extreme care is not without reprehension. + + +_Plato_ + +Among philosophers, by whom Cicero confesses he has been furnished with +many resourceful aids to eloquence, who doubts that Plato is the chief, +whether we consider the acuteness of his dissertations, or his divine +Homerical faculty of elocution? He soars high above prose, and even +common poetry, which is poetry only because comprised in a certain +number of feet; and he seems to me not so much endowed with the wit of +a man, as inspired by a sort of Delphic oracle. + + +_Xenophon_ + +What shall I say of Xenophon's unaffected agreeableness, so unattainable +by any imitation that the Graces themselves seem to have composed his +language? The testimony of the ancient comedy concerning Pericles, is +very justly applicable to him, "That the Goddess of Persuasion had +seated herself on his lips." + + +_Aristotle and Theophrastus_ + +And what shall I say of the elegance of the other disciples of Socrates? +What of Aristotle? I am at a loss to know what most to admire in him, +his vast and profound erudition, or the great number of his writings, or +his pleasing style and manner, or the inventions and penetration of his +wit, or the variety of his works. And as to Theophrastus, his elocution +has something so noble and so divine that it may be said that from these +qualities came his name. + + +_Vergil_ + +In regard to our Roman authors, we can not more happily begin than with +Vergil, who of all their poets and ours in the epic style, is without +any doubt the one who comes nearest to Homer. Tho obliged to give way to +Homer's heavenly and immortal genius, yet in Vergil are to be found a +greater exactness and care, it being incumbent on him to take more +pains; so that what we lose on the side of eminence of qualities, we +perhaps gain on that of justness and equability. + + +_Cicero_ + +I proceed to our orators, who likewise may put Roman eloquence upon a +par with the Grecian. Cicero I would strenuously oppose against any of +them, tho conscious of the quarrel I should bring upon myself by +comparing him with Demosthenes in a time so critical as this; especially +as my subject does not oblige me to it, neither is it of any +consequence, when it is my real opinion that Demosthenes ought to be +particularly read, or, rather, committed to memory. + +I must say, notwithstanding, that I judge them to be alike in most of +the great qualities they possest; alike in design, disposition, manner +of dividing, of preparing minds, of proving, in short in everything +belonging to invention. In elocution there is some difference. The one +is more compact, the other more copious; the one closes in with his +opponent, the other allows him more ground to fight in; the one is +always subtle and keen in argument, the other is perhaps less so, but +often has more weight; from the one nothing can be retrenched, neither +can anything be added to the other; the one has more study, the other +more nature. + +Still ought we to yield, if for no other reason than because Demosthenes +lived before Cicero, and because the Roman orator, however great, is +indebted for a large part of his merit to the Athenian. For it seems to +me that Cicero, having bent all his thoughts on the Greeks, toward +forming himself on their model, had at length made constituents of his +character the force of Demosthenes, the abundance of Plato, and the +sweetness of Isocrates. Nor did he only, by his application, extract +what was best in these great originals, but by the happy fruitfulness of +his immortal genius he himself produced the greater part, or rather all, +of these same perfections. And to make use of an expression of Pindar, +he does not collect the water from rains to remedy a natural dryness, +but flows continually, himself, from a source of living waters, and +seems to have existed by a peculiar gift of Providence, that in him +eloquence might make trial of her whole strength and her most powerful +exertions. + +For who can instruct with more exactness, and move with more vehemence? +What orator ever possest so pleasing a manner that the very things he +forcibly wrests from you, you fancy you grant him; and when by his +violence he carries away the judge, yet does the judge seem to himself +to obey his own volition, and not to be swept away by that of another? +Besides, in all he says there is so much authority and weight that you +are ashamed to differ from him in opinion; and it is not the zeal of an +advocate you find in him, but rather the faith and sincerity of a +witness or judge. And what, at the same time, is more admirable, all +these qualities, any one of which could not be attained by another +without infinite pains, seem to be his naturally; so that his +discourses, the most charming, the most harmonious, which possibly can +be heard, retain, notwithstanding, so great an air of happy ease that +they seem to have cost him nothing. + +With good reason, therefore, is he said by his contemporaries to reign +at the bar, and he has so far gained the good graces of posterity that +Cicero is now less the name of a man than the name of eloquence itself. +Let us then keep him in view, let him be our model, and let that orator +think he has made considerable progress who has once conceived a love +and taste for Cicero. + + +_Cæsar_ + +If Cæsar had made the bar his principal occupation, no other of our +orators could better have disputed the prize of eloquence with Cicero. +So great is his force, so sharp his wit, so active his fire, that it +plainly appears he spoke with as much spirit as he fought. A wonderful +elegance and purity of language, which he made his particular study, +were a further embellishment of all these talents for eloquence. + + +_Philosophers_ + +It remains only to speak of those who have written on subjects of +philosophy. Hitherto we have had but few of this kind. Cicero, as in +all other respects, so also in this, was a worthy rival of Plato. Brutus +has written some excellent treatises, the merit of which is far superior +to that of his orations. He supports admirably well the weight of his +matter, and seems to feel what he says. Cornelius Celsus, in the manner +of the Skeptics, has written a good many tracts, which are not without +elegance and perspicuity. Plancus, among the Stoics, may be read with +profit, for the sake of becoming acquainted with the things he +discusses. Catius, an Epicurean, has some levity in his way, but in the +main is not an unpleasing author. + + +_Seneca_ + +I have designedly omitted speaking hitherto of Seneca,--who was +proficient in all kinds of eloquence,--on account of the false opinion +people entertained that I not only condemned his writings, but also +personally hated him. I drew this aspersion upon myself by my endeavor +to bring over eloquence to a more austere taste, which had been +corrupted and enervated by very many softnesses and delicacies. Then +Seneca was almost the only author young people read with pleasure. I did +not strive to exclude him absolutely, but could not bear that he should +be preferred to others much better, whom he took all possible pains to +cry down, because he was conscious that he had taken to a different +manner from their way of writing, and he could not otherwise expect to +please people who had a taste for these others. It was Seneca's lot, +however, to be more loved than imitated, and his partizans run as wide +from him as he himself had fallen from the ancients. Yet it were to be +wished that they had proved themselves like, or had come near, him. But +they were fond of nothing in him but his faults, and every one strove to +copy them if he could. Then priding themselves on speaking like Seneca, +of course they could not avoid bringing him into disgrace. + +His perfections, however, were many and great. His wit was easy and +fruitful, his erudition considerable, his knowledge extensive--in which +last point he sometimes was led into mistakes, probably by those whom he +had charged to make researches for him. There is hardly a branch of +study on which he has not written something; for we have his orations, +his poems, epistles, and dialogs. In philosophic matters he was not so +accurate, but was admirable for his invectives against vice. + +He has many bright thoughts, and many things are well worth reading in +him for improvement of the moral character; but his elocution is, for +the most part, corrupt, and the more dangerous because its vices are of +a sweet and alluring nature. One could wish he had written with his own +genius and another's judgment. For if he had rejected some things, if he +had less studiously affected some engaging beauties, if he had not been +overfond of all his productions, if he had not weakened the importance +of his matter by frivolous thoughts, he would have been honored by the +approbation of the learned rather than by the love of striplings. + +However, such as he is, he may be read when the taste is formed and +strengthened by a more austere kind of eloquence, if for no other +reason than because he can exercise judgment on both sides. For, as I +have said, many things in him are worthy of praise, worthy even of +admiration if a proper choice had been made, which I wish he had made +himself, as indeed that nature is deserving of an inclination to embrace +what is better, which has ability to effect anything to which it +inclines. + + + + +KNOWLEDGE AND SELF-CONFIDENCE + + +Knowledge of the civil law will, likewise, be necessary for the orator +whom we have described, and together with it knowledge of the customs +and religion of the commonwealth of which he may take charge, for how +shall he be able to give counsel in public and private deliberations if +ignorant of the many things which happen together particularly to the +establishment of the State? And must he not falsely aver himself to be +the patron of the causes he undertakes, if obliged to borrow from +another what is of greatest consequence in these causes, in some measure +like those who repeat the writings of poets? And how will he accomplish +what he has so undertaken if the things which he requires the judge to +believe, he shall speak on the faith of another, and if he, the reputed +helper of his clients, shall himself stand in need of the help of +another? + + +THOROUGH INFORMATION INDISPENSABLE + +But we will suppose him not reduced to this inconvenience, having +studied his cause sufficiently at home, and having thoroughly informed +himself of all that he has thought proper to lay before the judges: yet +what shall become of him when unforeseen questions arise, which often +are suddenly started on the back of pleadings? Will he not with great +unseemliness look about him? Will he not ask the lower class of +advocates how he shall behave? Can he be accurate in comprehending the +things then whispered to him, when he is to speak on them instantly? +Can he strongly affirm, or speak ingenuously for his clients? Grant that +he may in his pleadings, but what shall be his fate in altercation, when +he must have his answer ready and he has no time for receiving +information? And what if a person learned in the law is not assisting? +What if one who knows little of the matter tells him something that is +wrong? And this is the greatest mischief in ignorance, to believe such a +monitor intelligent. + +Now, as we suppose the orator to be a particularly learned and honest +man, when he has made sufficient study of that which naturally is best, +it will give him little trouble if a lawyer dissents from him in +opinion, since even they are admitted to be of different opinions among +themselves. But if he desires to know their sentiments on any point of +law, he need only read a little, which is the least laborious part of +study. If many men who despaired of acquiring the necessary talents for +speaking in public, have engaged in the study of law, with how much more +ease will the orator effect this, which may be learned by those who from +their own confession could not be orators? + +M. Cato was as much distinguished by his great eloquence as by his great +learning in the law. Scævola and Servius Sulpitius, both eminent +lawyers, were also very eloquent. Cicero not only in pleading never +appeared at a loss in knowledge of the law, but also began to write some +tracts on it. From all these examples it appears that an orator may not +less attend to the teaching than the learning of it. + + +THE MANNER OF THE SPEAKER + +I would not have him who is to speak rise unconcerned, show no change of +color, and betray no sense of danger,--if they do not happen naturally, +they ought at least to be pretended. But this sense should proceed from +solicitude for performing well our duty, not from a motive of fear; and +we may decently betray emotion, but not faint away. The best remedy, +therefore, for bashfulness, is a modest assurance, and however weak the +forehead may be, it ought to be lifted up, and well it may by conscious +merit. + + +THE NEED OF GOOD DELIVERY + +There are natural aids, as specified before, which are improved by care, +and these are the voice, lungs, a good presence, and graceful action, +which are advantages sometimes so considerable as to beget a reputation +for wit. Our age produced orators more copious than Trachallus, but when +he spoke he seemed to surpass them all, so great was the advantage of +his stature, the sprightliness of his glance, the majesty of his aspect, +the beauty of his action, and a voice, not as Cicero desires it should +be, but almost like that of tragedians, and surpassing all the +tragedians I ever heard. I well remember that when he once pleaded in +the Julian Hall before the first bench of judges, and there also, as +usual, the four classes of judges were then sitting, and the whole place +rang with noise, he was not only heard distinctly from the four benches, +but also was applauded, which was a disparagement to those who spoke +after him. But this is the accumulation of what can be wished for, and a +happiness hard to be met with, and as it can not fall to every one's +lot, let the orator strive at least to make himself heard by those +before whom he speaks. + + +THE TEST OF AN ORATION + +Above all, as happens to a great many, let not desire for temporary +praise keep our orator from having an eye to the interest of the cause +he has undertaken. For as generals in waging wars do not always march +their armies over pleasant plains, but often must climb rugged hills, +must lay siege to forts and castles raised on steep rocks and mountains, +and fortified both by nature and by art: so an orator will be pleased +with an opportunity to make great excursions, and when he engages on +champion ground, he will display all his forces so as to make an +exceedingly fine appearance; but if under the necessity of unraveling +the intricacies of some points of law, or placing truth in a clear +light from amidst the obscurity thrown around it, he will not then +ostentatiously ride about, nor will he use a shower of pointed +sentences, as missive weapons; but he will carry on his operations by +frustrating his enemy; by mines, by ambuscade, and by stratagem: all of +which are not much to be commended while they are being used, but after +they have been practised. Whence those men benefit themselves most, who +seem least desirous of praise; for when the frivolous parade of +eloquence has ceased its bursts of thunder among its own applauders, the +more potent applause of true talents will appear in genuine splendor; +the judges will not conceal the impressions which have been made on +them; the sense of the learned will outweigh the opinion of ignorance: +so true it is that it is the winding up of the discourse, and the +success attending it, that must prove its true merit. + + +AVOIDING OSTENTATION + +It was customary with the ancients to hide their eloquence; and M. +Antonius advises orators so to do, in order that they may be the more +believed, and that their stratagems may be less suspected. But the +eloquence of those times could well be concealed, not yet having made an +accession of so many luminaries as to break out through every +intervening obstacle to the transmission of their light. But indeed all +art and design should be kept concealed, as most things when once, +discovered lose their value. In what I have hitherto spoken of, +eloquence loves nothing else so much as privacy. A choice of words, +weight of thought, elegance of figures, either do not exist, or they +appear. But because they appear, they are not therefore to be displayed +with ostentation. Or if one of the two is to be chosen, let the cause +rather than the advocate be praised; still the issue will justify him, +by his having pleaded excellently a very good cause. It is certain that +no one else pleads so ill as he who endeavors to please, while his cause +displeases; because the things by which he pleases must necessarily be +foreign to his subject. + +The orator ought not to be so particular and vain as not to undertake +the pleading of the smaller kind of causes, as beneath him, or as if a +matter of less consequence should in any respect lessen the reputation +he has acquired. Duty indeed is a just motive for his undertaking them, +and he should wish that his friends were never engaged in any other +kind of suits, which in the main are set off with sufficient eloquence +when he has spoken to the purpose. + + +DO NOT ABUSE YOUR OPPONENT + +Some are very liberal in abuse of the advocate of the opposing party, +but unless he has brought it upon himself, I think it is acting very +ungenerously by him, in consideration of the common duties of the +profession. Add to this that these sallies of passion are of no +advantage whatever to him who pleads, the opponent having, in his turn, +an equal right to abuse; and they may even be harmful to the cause, +because the opponent, spurred on to become a real enemy, musters +together all the forces of wit to conquer if possible. Above all, that +modesty is irrecoverably lost which procures for the orator so much +authority and belief, if once departing from the character of a good +man, he degenerates into a brawler and barker, conforming himself not to +the disposition of the judge, but to the caprice and resentment of the +client. + +Taking liberties of this kind frequently leads the orator to hazard some +rash expressions not less dangerous to the cause than to himself. +Pericles was accustomed to wish, with good reason, that no word might +ever enter his mind which could give umbrage to the people. But the +respect he had for the people ought in my opinion to be had for all, who +may have it in their power to do as much hurt; for the words that seemed +strong and bold when exprest, are called foolish when they have given +offense. + + +THOROUGH PREPARATION ESSENTIAL + +As every orator is remarkable for his manner, the care of one having +been imputed to slowness, and the facility of another to rashness, it +may not be amiss to point out here a medium. Let him come for pleading +prepared with all possible care, as it must argue not only neglect, but +also a wicked and treacherous disposition in him, to plead worse than he +can in the cause he undertakes, therefore he should not undertake more +causes than he is well able to handle. + +He should say things, studied and written, in as great a degree as the +subject can bear, and, as Demosthenes says, deeply engraven, if it were +possible, on his memory, and as perfect as may be. This may be done at +the first pleading of a cause, and when in public judgments a cause is +adjourned for some time before it comes to a rehearsing. But when a +direct reply is to be made, due preparations are impracticable; and even +they who are not so ready find what they have written to be rather a +prejudice to them if anything unexpectedly is brought forward; for it is +with reluctance that they part with what they have prepared, and keeping +it in mind during the whole pleading, they are forced to continually +wonder if anything can be taken from it to be included in what they are +obliged to speak extempore. And tho this may be done, there will still +be a lack of connection, and the incoherence will be discoverable from +the different coloring and inequality of style. Thus there is neither an +uninterrupted fluency in what they say extempore, nor a connection +between it and what they recite from memory, for which reason one must +be a hindrance to the other, for the written matter will always bring +to it the attention of the mind, and scarcely ever follow it. Therefore +in these actions, as country-laboring men say, we must stand firmly on +our legs. For, as every cause consists of proving and refuting, whatever +regards the first may be written, and whatever it is certain the +opponent will answer, as sometimes it is certain what he will, may be +refuted with equal care and study. + +Knowing the cause well is one essential point for being prepared in +other respects, and listening attentively to all the opponent states, is +another. Still we may previously think of many particular incidents and +prepare the mind for all emergencies, this being of special advantage in +speaking, the thought being thereby the more easily transmitted and +transferred. + +But when in answering or otherwise there may be necessity for extempore +speaking, the orator will never find himself at a loss and disconcerted, +who has been prepared by discipline, and study, and exercise, with the +powers of facility, and who, as always under arms and ready for +engaging, will no more lack a sufficient flow of speech in the pleading +of causes than he does in conversation on daily and domestic +occurrences; neither will he ever, for lack of coming duly prepared, +decline burdening himself with a cause, if he has time to learn the +state of it, for with anything else he always will be well +acquainted. + + + + +CONCLUSION + + +The orator having distinguished himself by these perfections of +eloquence at the bar, in counsels, in the assemblies of the people, in +the senate, and in all the duties of a good citizen, ought to think, +likewise, of making an end worthy of an honest man and the sanctity of +his ministry: not that during the course of his life he ought to cease +being of service to society, or that, endowed with such integrity of +mind and such talent of eloquence, he can continue too long in the +exercise of so noble an employment; but because it is fitting that he +should guard against degrading his character, by doing anything which +may fall short of what he has already done. The orator is indebted for +what he is, not only to knowledge, which increases with his years, but +to his voice, lungs, and strength of body; and when the latter are +impaired by years, or debilitated by infirmities, it is to be feared +that something might be lacking in this great man, either from his +stopping short through fatigue, and out of breath at every effort, or by +not making himself sufficiently heard, or, lastly, by expecting, and not +finding, him to be what he formerly was. + +When the orator does sound a retreat, no less ample fruits of study will +attend on him. He either will write the history of his time for the +instruction of posterity, or he will explain the law to those who came +to ask his advice, or he will write a treatise on eloquence, or that +worthy mouth of his will employ itself in inculcating the finest moral +precepts. As was customary with the ancients, well-disposed youth will +frequent his house, consulting him as an oracle on the true manner of +speaking. As the parent of eloquence will he form them, and as an old +experienced pilot will he give them an account of shores, and harbors, +and what are the presages of storms, and what may be required for +working the ship in contrary or favorable winds. To all this will he be +induced not only by a duty of humanity common to mankind, but also by a +certain pleasure in it; for no one would be glad to see an art going +into decay, in which he himself excelled, and what is more laudable than +to teach others that in which one is perfectly skilled? + +For all I know, the happiest time in an orator's life is when he has +retired from the world to devote himself to rest; and, remote from envy, +and remote from strife, he looks back on his reputation, as from a +harbor of safety; and while still living has a sense of that veneration +which commonly awaits only the dead; thus anticipating the pleasure of +the noble impression posterity will conceive of him. I am conscious that +to the extent of my poor ability, whatever I knew before, and whatever I +could collect for the service of this work, I have candidly and +ingenuously made a communication of, for the instruction of those who +might be willing to reap any advantage from it: and it is enough for an +honest man to have taught what he knows. + +To be good men, which is the first and most important thing, consists +chiefly in the will, and whoever has a sincere desire to be a man of +integrity, will easily learn the arts that teach virtue; and these arts +are not involved in so many perplexities, neither are they of such +great number, as not to be learned by a few years' application. The +ordering of an upright and happy life is attainable by an easy and +compendious method, when inclination is not lacking. Nature begot us +with the best dispositions, and it is so easy to the well-inclined to +learn that which is good, that we can not help being surprized, on +making a due estimate of things, how there can be so many bad persons in +the world. For, as water is naturally a proper element for fish, dry +land for quadrupeds, and air for birds, so indeed it ought to be more +easy to live according to the prescript of nature than to infringe her +laws. + +As to the rest, tho we might measure our age, not by the space of more +advanced years, but by the time of youth, we should find that we had +quite years enough for learning, all things being made shorter by +order, method, and the manner of application. To bring the matter home +to our oratorical studies, of what significance is the custom which I +see kept up by many, of declaiming so many years in schools, and of +expending so much labor on imaginary subjects, when in a moderate time +the rules of eloquence may be learned, and pursuant to their directions, +a real image framed of the contests at the bar? By this I do not mean to +hint in the least that exercises for speaking should ever be +discontinued, but rather that none should grow old in any one particular +exercise for that purpose, for we may require the knowledge of many +sciences, and learn the precepts of morality, and exercise ourselves in +such causes as are agitated at the bar, even while we continue in the +state of scholars. And indeed the art of oratory is such as need not +require many years for learning it. Each of the arts I have mentioned +may be abridged into few books, there being no occasion to consider them +so minutely and so much in detail. Practise remains, which soon makes us +well skilled in them. Knowledge of things is increasing daily, and yet +books are not so many; it is necessary to read in order to acquire this +knowledge, of which either examples as to the things themselves may be +met with in history, or the eloquent expression of them may be found in +orators. It is also necessary that we should read the opinions of +philosophers and lawyers, with some other things deserving of notice. + + +TAKING TIME FOR STUDY + +All this indeed may be compassed, but we ourselves are the cause of our +not having time enough. How small a portion of it do we allot to our +studies! A good part of it is spent in frivolous compliments and paying +and returning visits, a good part of it is taken up in the telling of +idle stories, a good part at the public spectacles, and a good part in +the pleasures of the table. Add to these our great variety of +amusements, and that extravagant indulgence we bestow upon our bodies. +One time we must go on a course of travels, another time we wish +recreation amidst the pleasures of rural life, and another time we are +full of painful solicitude regarding the state of our fortune, +calculating and balancing our loss and gain; and together with these, +how often do we give ourselves up to the intoxication of wine, and in +what a multiplicity of voluptuousness does our profligate mind suffer +itself to be immersed? Should there be an interval for study amidst +these avocations, can it be said to be proper? But were we to devote all +this idle or ill-spent time to study, should we not find life long +enough and time more than enough for becoming learned? This is evident +by only computing the time of the day, besides the advantages of the +night, of which a good part is more than sufficient for sleep. But we +now preposterously compute not the years we have studied, but the years +we have lived. Tho geometricians and grammarians, and the professors of +other arts, spent all their lives, however long, in treating and +discussing their respective arts, does it thence follow that we must +have as many lives as there are things to be learned? But they did not +extend the learning of them to old age, being content with learning them +only, and they spent so many years not so much in their study as in +their practise. + +Now, tho one should despair of reaching to the height of perfection, a +groundless hope even in a person of genius, health, talent, and with +masters to assist him; yet it is noble, as Cicero says, to have a place +in the second, or third, rank. He who can not rival the glory of +Achilles in military exploits, shall not therefore have a mean opinion +of the praise due to Ajax, or Diomedes, and he who can not approach +Homer, need not despise the fame of Tyrteus. If men were to yield to the +thought of imagining none capable of exceeding such eminent persons as +went before them, then they even who are deemed excellent would not have +been so. Vergil would not have excelled Lucretius and Macer; nor Cicero, +Crassus and Hortensius; and no one for the future would pretend to any +advantage over his predecessor. + +Tho the hope of surpassing these great men be but faint, yet it is an +honor to follow them. Have Pollio and Messala, who began to appear at +the bar when Cicero was already possest of the empire of eloquence, +acquired little dignity in their life-time, and left but a small degree +of glory for the remembrance of posterity? True it is that arts brought +to perfection would deserve very ill of human affairs if afterward they +could not at least be kept to the same standard. + + +THE REWARDS OF ELOQUENCE + +Add to this that a moderate share of eloquence is attended with no small +advantage, and if measured by the fruits gathered from it, will almost +be on a par with that which is perfect. It would be no difficult matter +to show from many ancient or modern examples that no other profession +acquires for men, greater honors, wealth, friendship, present and future +glory, were it not degrading to the honor of letters to divert the mind +from the contemplation of the most noble object, the study and +possession of which is such a source of contentment, and fix it on the +less momentous rewards it may have, not unlike those who say they do not +so much seek virtue as the pleasure resulting from it. + +Let us therefore with all the zealous impulses of our heart endeavor to +attain the very majesty of eloquence, than which the immortal gods have +not imparted anything better to mankind, and without which all would be +mute in nature, and destitute of the splendor of a perfect glory and +future remembrance. Let us likewise always make continued progress +toward perfection, and by so doing we shall either reach the height, or +at least shall see many beneath us. + +This is all, as far as in me lies, I could contribute to the promoting +and perfecting of the art of eloquence; the knowledge of which, if it +does not prove of any great advantage to studious youth, will, at least, +what I more heartily wish for, give them a more ardent desire for doing +well. + + + + + * * * * * + +ADVERTISEMENTS + + * * * * * + +How to Read and Declaim + +A COURSE OF INSTRUCTION IN READING AND DECLAMATION HAVING AS ITS PRIME +OBJECT THE CULTIVATION OF TASTE AND REFINEMENT + +By GRENVILLE KLEISER + +_Formerly Instructor in Public Speaking at Yale Divinity School; Author +of "How to Speak in Public," etc._ + + +This eminently practical book is divided into five parts: + +PART ONE--Preparatory Course: Twenty Lessons on Naturalness, +Distinctness, Vivacity, Confidence, Simplicity, Deliberateness, and +kindred topics. + +PART TWO--Advance Course: Twenty Lessons on Thought Values, Thought +Directions, Persuasion, Power, Climax, etc., etc. + +PART THREE--Articulation and Pronunciation. + +PART FOUR--Gesture and Facial Expression. + +PART FIVE--The most up-to-date and popular prose and poetic selections +anywhere to be found. + +It is a book to beget intelligent reading, so as to develop in the +student mental alertness, poise, and self-confidence. + +_12mo, Cloth. $1.50, net; by mail, $1.65_ + +FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers + +NEW YORK and LONDON + + * * * * * + +Kleiser's Complete Guide to Public Speaking + +_By GRENVILLE KLEISER_ + +Famous Author of many Practical Books and Courses + + +The only extensive, comprehensive, encyclopedic work of its kind ever +issued. How to speak, develop vocabulary, write, train memory, gesture, +etc. The best advice by the world's great authorities upon every phase +of Public Speaking. + + + _Of Great Worth to the Public Speaker_ + + "I consider it a compendium of particularly valuable information to + all men who are called upon to address public + audiences."--_Josephus Daniels_, Secretary of the Navy. + + "Full of the best sort of instruction."--_Evening Sun_, New York. + + _A Storehouse of Practical Information_ + + "In that one volume is stored an amazing amount of practical + information of success-winning sort."--_Hudson Maxim_. + + +_Royal 8vo, Cloth, over 700 Pages, $5.00 net. Full Flexible Leather, +$7.00 net; carriage 24 Cents Extra_ + +FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers + +NEW YORK and LONDON + + * * * * * + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +ENTER BRIDGET + + +BY + +THOMAS COBB + + + +AUTHOR OF "PHILLIDA," "THE CHOICE OF THEODORA," + +"THE ANGER OF OLIVIA," ETC. + + + + + +SECOND EDITION + + + + +MILLS & BOON, LIMITED + +49 RUPERT STREET + +LONDON, W. + + + + +Published 1912. + + + + + +INSCRIBED TO + +E. C. + +MY BEST OF FRIENDS. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + I LATE FOR DINNER + II MARK EXPLAINS + III BRIDGET + IV BRIDGET AT GRANDISON SQUARE + V COLONEL FAVERSHAM + VI CONCERNING BIRTHDAYS + VII THE EXCURSION + VIII A PROPOSAL + IX MARK RETURNS + X CONFIDENCES + XI MARK REPORTS PROGRESS + XII SYBIL + XIII A WALK ABROAD + XIV THE WOOING O'T + XV MARK MAKES A BEGINNING + XVI BUYING A CARPET--AND AFTER + XVII HASTY WORDS + XVIII HOW IT HAPPENED + XIX AN APPOINTMENT + XX IN SIGHT OF PORT + XXI JIMMY SETS TO WORK + XXII INCRIMINATING HIMSELF + XXIII HAVING IT OUT + XXIV A HOT SCENT + XXV OPEN CONFESSION + XXVI LAWRENCE SUMS IT UP + XXVII "MRS. JIMMY" + XXVIII EXEUNT OMNES + + + + +ENTER BRIDGET + + +CHAPTER I + +LATE FOR DINNER + +Concerning Bridget there was from the outset considerable difference of +opinion. Mark Driver, for instance, always showed a tendency to +something more than tolerance, and even Carrissima Faversham, in spite +of a manifestly unfavourable bias, strove to hold the balance even. It +was her brother Lawrence who took the most adverse view; insisting that +Miss Rosser was neither more nor less than an adventuress--"a pretty +woman on the make" was his expression, uttered, it is true, before he +had an opportunity of seeing her face. + +Her entrance on the scene was heralded by Mark Driver one evening +towards the end of March, when he had accepted an invitation to dine +with his sister and Lawrence in Charteris Street, S.W. + +Carrissima's maid found her so exacting that evening, that she might +have been going to an important party, instead of merely to a quiet +dinner with her brother and his wife; but then, expecting Mark to make +a fourth, she wished to look her very best, and flattered herself she +had succeeded. + +Although she sometimes longed for the power to add a few inches to her +stature, she realized that she had already much to be thankful for. +Suppose, for example, that her eyebrows had been as fair as her hair, +or even worse, her eyelashes, which as it happened were satisfactorily +black. + +Mr. Lawrence Faversham, barrister-at-law, was thirty-two years of age, +and rather short, although he always held his head in the air as if he +were doing his best to appear taller. Hearing the street door bell +ring, Mrs. Lawrence Faversham waylaid Carrissima on the stairs and +insisted on taking her to gaze at little Victor, aged two, peacefully +sleeping in the nursery. + +"Mark's late as usual," exclaimed Lawrence, as his sister presently +sailed into the drawing-room. "Ten minutes past eight," he added, +taking her hand. + +He had fair hair, a long narrow face and sloping shoulders. Whether he +was sitting down or standing up, there always seemed to be something +stiff, self-important and formal about him. + +"Mark wasn't due at King's Cross until tea-time," said Phoebe, a pretty +brunette, several inches taller than her husband and seven years +younger. "I wanted him to sleep here to-night, and really I cannot +imagine why he refused." + +"Not very complimentary to us," answered Lawrence, "to prefer to go to +an hotel!" + +"And," Phoebe explained, "he is off to Paris to-morrow morning." + +"Well, I wish to goodness he would come soon if he's coming at all," +grumbled Lawrence. + +"Oh, of course, he's certain to be here," urged Phoebe, not liking to +begin dinner without her brother, who might provokingly arrive as soon +as they sat down; while on the other hand, her three years' experience +of married life had taught her that it was undesirable to keep Lawrence +waiting. When half-past eight struck, however, she could restrain his +impatience no longer; the three went to the dining-room, and +Carrissima, with a sense of profound disappointment, sat down at the +round table opposite the empty chair. + +Although Phoebe did her utmost to spin out the meal by eating with +tantalizing and hygienic slowness, it ended without any sign of the +absentee, and at last she felt bound to return to the drawing-room, +where she was followed ten minutes later by Lawrence, who had stayed to +smoke a cigarette. + +"The worst of it is," he said, standing before the fire, "you never +know quite where you are with Mark." + +"I suppose," suggested Carrissima, "the simple fact of the matter is +that he missed his train." + +"In that case," returned her brother, "surely he might have run to +sixpence for a telegram. For a steady-going fellow Mark is about as +erratic as they're made." + +"How extremely inconsistent!" exclaimed Carrissima. + +"Not at all!" said Lawrence, frowning, as he took a chair. "A man may +drive crookedly without exceeding the limit. Although there are things +you can swear Mark would never dream of doing, you never know what +folly he will be up to next." + +As Lawrence was speaking in his rather pompous manner, the door opened +and Mark Driver entered the room: tall, broad-shouldered, with a +handsome, alert, shaven face and an obvious appearance of haste. + +On leaving Cambridge he had gone to Saint Bartholomew's, and having +completed his course there, taken a post as House Surgeon at Saint +Josephine's, a small hospital in a southeastern suburb. Mark remained +there two years and left at Christmas; after spending a few weeks idly +in London he went to take charge of Doctor Bunbury's practice in +Yorkshire, principally for the sake of being near to his own people, +and having passed two months, more occupied by sport than patients, +returned this afternoon. + +"Why didn't you come in time for dinner?" demanded Phoebe, as he kissed +her cheek. + +"Upon my word, I am most awfully sorry," he replied, and turned at once +to Carrissima, who was striving to hide her satisfaction on seeing his +face again. Never, perhaps, during their long acquaintance, had they +been so many months apart; but while Mark was in London between +Christmas and his departure for the North of England, Carrissima had +been on a long visit to Devonshire. + +"I didn't expect to meet you this evening," said Mark. "Phoebe told me +in her letter last week that you were staying in Shropshire with +Colonel Faversham." + +"So I was," returned Carrissima. "But I never had the least intention +to live there for the remainder of my life." + +"She took us all completely by surprise," explained Phoebe, "by coming +home the day before yesterday." + +"I really cannot understand even now," said Lawrence, "why in the world +you couldn't stay to return with father!" + +"Oh well, it's an ill-wind that blows no one any good," cried Mark, +while Carrissima sat with her eyes averted, hoping that nobody would +suspect her actual object. + +But she had known of his intention to depart for Paris the next +morning, to spend a month with his old friend Wentworth before finally +settling down in London. If she had waited for Colonel Faversham's +return to Grandison Square she must, obviously, have missed Mark Driver +again. One of the chief purposes of Carrissima's life seemed to be the +disguise of motives, concerning which she scarcely knew whether she +ought to feel ashamed or not. + +"Well," suggested Lawrence, "we haven't heard why you didn't turn up in +time." + +"I hope I didn't keep you waiting," said Mark, at last shaking hands +with his brother-in-law. + +"Only half-an-hour!" + +"You see," Mark explained, "I dined at Belloni's." + +"Good gracious!" answered Lawrence, with evident annoyance, "if you +could go to Belloni's, why in the world couldn't you come here as you +promised?" + +"I meant to come," said Mark, looking somewhat embarrassed, as he +glanced at Carrissima. "You see, I went to Duffield's Hotel in Craven +Street direct from the station. I thought I would just potter about +and smoke a pipe or so till it was time to change." + +"But you haven't changed!" exclaimed Lawrence, with a disapproving +frown at Mark's blue serge jacket. It no doubt suited his long, +athletic figure admirably; but, nevertheless, was very much out of +place in present circumstances. + +"No, of course not," said Mark. "The fact is I altered my mind. +Instead of hanging about at Duffield's, I thought I would go to Golfney +Place." + +"What on earth for?" + +"Oh well, to see Bridget, you know," answered Mark, and once more he +glanced at Carrissima, whose eyes met his own. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +MARK EXPLAINS + +"Who is Bridget?" asked Phoebe, whereupon Mark swung round to face her, +his hands thrust deep in his jacket pockets, his face slightly flushed. + +"Miss Rosser," he said. "You remember Bridget Rosser, Phoebe! When we +stayed at Crowborough four years ago." + +"Five," suggested Lawrence, with his usual meticulous exactitude. + +"You were not there," said Mark. + +"But still," answered Lawrence, "I remember going down with father to +look at the house before he made up his mind to take it." + +"I recollect Bridget perfectly well," said Carrissima in her most +cheerful tone. "Her father was David Rosser the novelist." + +"He died in Paris about ten months ago," explained Mark, "and Bridget +was his only daughter." + +"A rather nice-looking girl, with reddish hair!" said Phoebe. + +"The most wonderful hair!" exclaimed Mark. "I have never seen anything +like it. Oh, she's wonderful altogether!" + +"Where did you come across Miss Rosser again?" inquired Lawrence, while +Carrissima wished that her cheeks would not tingle so uncomfortably. + +"At the Old Masters' about three months ago--just after Christmas," +replied Mark. "I had lately left Saint Josephine's, you know. I +should never have recognized her, but she happened to drop her purse; I +naturally picked it up, and then she asked whether my name wasn't +Driver." + +"Isn't Golfney Place chiefly lodging-houses?" asked Carrissima. + +"Number Five is one, anyhow." + +"Does Miss Rosser live with her mother?" suggested Phoebe. + +"Mrs. Rosser died shortly after we left Crowborough," was the answer. +"Then the house was given up. Bridget wandered about Europe with her +father until his own death a little less than a year ago." + +"Then," demanded Lawrence, "whom does she live with?" + + _See_ Sign language. + + Manual alphabet method, 285-287. + + Manual method, 285-287. + + Maryland, education in, 141, 172, 173, 176n, 183, 202-205, 219. + + Marriages of deaf, advisability of, 46, 54-56; + laws to prohibit, 56n; + partners in, 55; + possibilities of deaf offspring, 46-52. + _See_ Congenital deafness. + + Massachusetts, education in, 130, 138, 171, 173, 184, 191, 193n, 219, 305. + _See_ Clarke School; Horace Mann School; New England Industrial + School; Sarah Fuller Home. + + Medical bodies and prevention of deafness, 25, 26. + _See_ Adventitious deafness. + + Mendicancy, _see_ Alms-seekers. + + Methodist Church, work of, _see_ Church work. + + Methods of instruction, 193, 205, 277-287. + + Michigan, education in, 183, 191, 192, 202, 221, 301. + + Middle ages, education in, 120. + + Minnesota, education in, 183, 184, 191, 193, 222. + + Mississippi, education in, 182, 223. + + Missions, _see_ Church work for deaf; Legislation in aid of deaf. + + Missouri, education in, 142n, 144, 183, 191, 193, 202, 223. + + Montana, education in, 176, 182, 183, 184, 224, 300. + + Montans, Peter, 124. + + "Mute", _see_ "Deaf". + + + National college, _see_ Gallaudet College. + + National Educational Association, 114. + + National government, granting land for schools, 137, 141, 162, 299, 300; + creating Gallaudet College, 206-208. + _See_ District of Columbia. + + Nebraska, education in, 183, 224. + + Negroes, education of, 172, 176n, 185n, 268n. + + Nelson Philip, 129. + + Nevada, education in, 171, 185, 224. + + New England School, 306. + _See_ Massachusetts. + + New England states, interest in American School, 136, 137, 138. + + New Hampshire, education in, 138, 171, 185, 225. + + New Jersey, education in, 140, 141, 184, 191, 192, 225. + + New Mexico, education in, 182, 185n, 225. + + New York, education in, 131, 139, 140, 148n, 171, 173, 183, 184, + 191-193, 204, 226-229, 305. + _See_ Le Couteulx St. Mary's Institution; New York Institution; New + York Institution for Improved Instruction; St. Joseph's + Institution. + + New York Institution, 131, 132n, 139, 140, 161n, 187n, 280n, 306. + _See_ New York. + + New York Institution for Improved Instruction, 281, 306. + _See_ New York. + + North Carolina, education in, 143, 172, 176n, 183, 184, 229. + + North Dakota, education in, 183, 230, 297, 300. + + + Occupations of deaf, _see_ Economic condition. + + [OE]colampadius, 124. + + Offspring, deaf, _see_ Marriages of deaf. + + Ohio, education in, 142, 143n, 157n, 183, 191, 192, 202, 205, 230. + + Oklahoma education in, 172, 176, 183, 184, 185n, 231. + + Opinions of deaf, _see_ Charity; Economic condition; Legal exceptions. + + Oral method, 187n, 193, 205, 279-287, 296n. + + Oregon, education in, 183, 185n, 191, 232. + + + Papers of deaf, 97, 116; + of schools, 116, 292. + _See_ Publications for deaf. + + Parents, deaf, and offspring, _see_ Marriages of deaf. + + Parents' associations, 109. + + Partially deaf, 3n. + + Pasch, 125. + + Pay pupils, _see_ Fees. + + Peet, Harvey P., 156n. + + Pereire, 126. + + Pennsylvania, education in, 140, 141, 171, 173, 183, 202-204, 233, 234, + 305. + _See_ Pennsylvania Institution; Western Pennsylvania Institution. + + Pennsylvania Institution, 140, 141, 181, 187n, 306. + _See_ Pennsylvania. + + Politics in schools, 185n, 322. + + Ponce de Leon, Pedro, 122. + + Popular conceptions of deaf, 99-106, 313, 314. + + Prevention of deafness, _see_ Adventitious deafness; Congenital deafness. + + Principals, Conference of, 113, 114. + + Private benefactions, 135, 136, 140, 142, 158, 160, 161, 163, 173-176, + 179, 181, 281, 295, 296, 301, 303-308, 321. + _See_ Denominational and private schools; Homes; Private + organizations; States, provision in. + + Private organizations for deaf, 107-116. + _See_ Denominational schools; Semi-public schools. + + Private schools, _see_ Denominational and private schools. + + Property, value of, 293. + + Protestant Episcopal Church, work of, _see_ Church work. + + Public appropriations, _see_ Appropriations. + + Public schools, deaf in, _see_ Day schools. + + Publications for deaf, 115, 307n. + _See_ Papers; Volta Bureau. + + Pupils, at beginning, 165; + number of, 288; + proportion in attendance, 268-270. + _See_ Clothing; Fees; Gradations; Restrictions. + + + Quasi-public schools, _see_ Semi-public schools. + + + Rae, Luzerne, 156n. + + Raphel, Georges, 125. + + Relatives, deaf, _see_ Congenital deafness. + + Relief for needy deaf, 69, 95, 112. + + Religious work, _see_ Church work; Denominational schools. + + Restrictions, 157, 166, 262, 263, 318. + _See_ Fees; Age-limits. + + Rhode Island, education in, 138, 184, 234. + + + St. Francis de Sales, 124. + + St. Joseph's Institution, 306. + _See_ New York. + + Sarah Fuller Home, 306. + _See_ Denominational and private schools; Massachusetts. + + Schott, Gaspard, 125. + + Seixas, David, 140. + + Self-supporting, the deaf as, _see_ Economic condition. + + "Semi-deaf", 9n, 286n. + + "Semi-mute", 9n, 286n. + + Semi-public schools, 156, 172-176, 180, 181, 295n, 297, 303. + + Sensational accounts of deaf, 105n. + + Settlements, social, work of, 107n. + + Sibscota, George, 123. + + Sicard, 127. + + Sign language, 11, 12, 92, 187n, 277-279. + _See_ Manual alphabet. + + Societies for deaf, _see_ Private organizations. + + Social organization of deaf, 91-98. + + Societies of the deaf, 92-96; + desirability, 93; + purposes, 94-96. + + Solidarity of deaf, 78n, 94, 95. + + South Carolina, education in, 138, 144, 176, 182, 184, 235. + + South Dakota, education in, 183, 204n, 235, 300. + + Spain, early education in, 122, 123. + + Speech, 8-12, 279-284; + ability of deaf in, 8, 9, 284; + growth of teaching of, 282-284; + relation to sense of hearing, 3, 4. + _See_ Oral method. + + Stanford, John, 131, 139. + + State, action of, _see_ Law, attitude of. + + States, provision in, 209-241; + lands given by, 301; + without schools, procedure in, 169, 171, 185, 297. + _See_ Appropriations; Charity; Constitutional provisions; Government + of institutions. + + Stone, Collins, 156n. + + Strange class, deaf as a, 99. + + Subsidies, _see_ Appropriations; Semi-public schools. + + Support of schools, _see_ Cost. + + + Tax, exemptions of deaf from, 65, 69. + + Taxation for schools, special, 163, 172, 297. + + Teachers, _see_ Instructors. + + Tennessee, education in, 143, 182, 183, 184, 236. + + Terms, _see_ Admission into schools. + + Terzi, Lana, 124. + + Texas, education in, 172, 176n, 182, 236. + + Thornton, William, 133n. + + Totally deaf, _see_ "Deaf". + + Trades, _see_ Industrial training; Economic condition. + + Transportation, _see_ Clothing. + + Trustees of schools, 163, 169, 180-184, 185n. + _See_ Homes; Denominational schools; States, provision in. + + Turner, William W., 156n. + + + Unhappy class, deaf as, 102. + + United States, number of deaf in, 5. + _See_ American possessions. + + Utah, education in, 176, 182, 185n, 236, 300. + + + Vagrants, _see_ Impostors. + + Value of property, _see_ Property. + + Van Helmont, Jan Baptista, 124. + + Van Nostrand, Jacob, 156n. + + Vanin, 126. + + Vermont, education in, 138, 173, 176, 237. + + Virginia, education in, 131-133, 142, 172, 176, 183, 184, 237. + + Volta Bureau, 108, 109, 115. + + "Volta Review", 109, 115. + + + Wages paid to deaf, _see_ Economic condition. + + Walker, Newton P., 156n. + + Wallis, John, 123. + + Washington, education in, 183, 185n, 191, 192, 238. + + Weld, Louis, 156n. + + West Virginia, education in, 172n, 176, 183, 185n, 238. + + Western Pennsylvania Institution, 187n, 188n, 306. + _See_ Pennsylvania. + + Wills of deaf, 65, 72, 73. + + Wisconsin, education in, 144, 183, 188n, 191, 192, 202, 239. + + Witness, the deaf as, 72. + + Writing as means of communication, 11, 12, 285, 286. + + Wyoming, education in, 171, 185, 240. + + + Young Men's Christian Association, work of, 107n. + + + + +Transcriber's Corrections: + + Page 19. Chapter II. "ceramen" to _cerumen_. + Impacted cerumen + + Page 19n. Chapter II. "ceramen" to _cerumen_. + ... ear trouble, impacted cerumen is usually found ... + + Page 28. Chapter II. "1800" to _1880_. + NUMBER OF THE ADVENTITIOUSLY DEAF IN 1880, 1890 AND 1900 + + Page 32. Table IV. 8th column "1902/1901" to _1901/1902_. + + Page 69. Chapter III. "is" to _in_. + Thus in Missouri we find a statute of 1843 allowing ... + + Page 128n. Chapter VIII. "appendicies" to _appendices_. + ... Mississippi School, appendices, 1907, 1909, 1911 ... + + Page 158. Chapter IX. "nucleii" to _nuclei_. + ... schools were thus often the nuclei of the ... + + Page 202n. Chapter XII. "nucleii" to _nuclei_. + ... which were the nuclei of the state ... + + Page 222. Chapter XIV. "Saulte" to _Sault_. + ... Sault Ste. Marie, 1906; ... + + Page 253. Chapter XVI. "superintendant" to _superintendent_ + ... By one superintendent it has been stated ... + + Page 259. Chapter XVI. "Rosolved" to _Resolved_. + Resolved, that the deaf youth of our land ... + + Page 304. Chapter XXII. "suffcient" to _sufficient_. + ... are quite sufficient to enable us to ... + + Page 320. Chapter XXIII. "educaton" to _education_. + ... work of the education of the deaf ... + + Page 329. Appendix B. "Annez" to _Annex_. + Public School, Queens, (Annex to School 47, Manhattan) + + Page 333 & 339. Index. No entry for "Age Limits". + Relevant information can be found in Ch. XVII, pp. 265-267, under + the heading "Age Limits of Attendance". + + Page 334. Index. "Giralamo" to _Girolamo_. + Cardano, Girolamo, 121. + + Page 335, 337 & 340. Index. "provisions" to _provision_. + _See_ ... States, provision in ... + + Page 340. Index. "schools" to _institutions_. + _See_ ... Government of institutions. + + Page 340. Index. "of pupils" to _into schools_. + Terms, _see_ Admission into schools. + + + + + + +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + NATURAL LAW + + IN THE + + SPIRITUAL WORLD. + + + BY + + HENRY DRUMMOND. F.R.S.E.: F.G.S. + + + + NEW YORK: + HURST & CO., PUBLISHERS, + 122 NASSAU ST. + + + + + ARGYLE PRESS + PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING, + 24 & 26 WOOSTER ST., N. Y. + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Greek + text appears as originally printed, except for two significant + errors as noted at the end of the text. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + PREFACE, 5 + INTRODUCTION, 21 + BIOGENESIS, 59 + DEGENERATION, 83 + GROWTH, 99 + DEATH, 111 + MORTIFICATION, 133 + ETERNAL LIFE, 149 + ENVIRONMENT, 181 + CONFORMITY TO TYPE, 203 + SEMI-PARASITISM, 223 + PARASITISM, 237 + CLASSIFICATION, 255 + + + + +PREFACE. + + +No class of works is received with more suspicion, I had almost said +derision, than those which deal with Science and Religion. Science is +tired of reconciliations between two things which never should have been +contrasted; Religion is offended by the patronage of an ally which it +professes not to need; and the critics have rightly discovered that, in +most cases where Science is either pitted against Religion or fused with +it, there is some fatal misconception to begin with as to the scope and +province of either. But although no initial protest, probably, will save +this work from the unhappy reputation of its class, the thoughtful mind +will perceive that the fact of its subject-matter being Law--a property +peculiar neither to Science nor to Religion--at once places it on a +somewhat different footing. + +The real problem I have set myself may be stated in a sentence. Is there +not reason to believe that many of the Laws of the Spiritual World, +hitherto regarded as occupying an entirely separate province, are simply +the Laws of the Natural World? Can we identify the Natural Laws, or any +one of them, in the Spiritual sphere? That vague lines everywhere run +through the Spiritual World is already beginning to be recognized. Is it +possible to link them with those great lines running through the visible +universe which we call the Natural Laws, or are they fundamentally +distinct? In a word, Is the Supernatural natural or unnatural? + +I may, perhaps, be allowed to answer these questions in the form in +which they have answered themselves to myself. And I must apologize at +the outset for personal references which, but for the clearness they may +lend to the statement, I would surely avoid. + +It has been my privilege for some years to address regularly two very +different audiences on two very different themes. On week days I have +lectured to a class of students on the Natural Sciences, and on Sundays +to an audience consisting for the most part of working men on subjects +of a moral and religious character. I cannot say that this collocation +ever appeared as a difficulty to myself, but to certain of my friends it +was more than a problem. It was solved to me, however, at first, by what +then seemed the necessities of the case--I must keep the two departments +entirely by themselves. They lay at opposite poles of thought; and for a +time I succeeded in keeping the Science and the Religion shut off from +one another in two separate compartments of my mind. But gradually the +wall of partition showed symptoms of giving way. The two fountains of +knowledge also slowly began to overflow, and finally their waters met +and mingled. The great change was in the compartment which held the +Religion. It was not that the well there was dried; still less that the +fermenting waters were washed away by the flood of Science. The actual +contents remained the same. But the crystals of former doctrine were +dissolved; and as they precipitated themselves once more in definite +forms, I observed that the Crystalline System was changed. New channels +also for outward expression opened, and some of the old closed up; and I +found the truth running out to my audience on the Sundays by the +week-day outlets. In other words, the subject-matter Religion had taken +on the method of expression of Science, and I discovered myself +enunciating Spiritual Law in the exact terms of Biology and Physics. + +Now this was not simply a scientific coloring given to Religion, the +mere freshening of the theological air with natural facts and +illustrations. It was an entire re-casting of truth. And when I came +seriously to consider what it involved, I saw, or seemed to see, that it +meant essentially the introduction of Natural Law into the Spiritual +World. It was not, I repeat, that new and detailed analogies of +_Phenomena_ rose into view--although material for Parable lies unnoticed +and unused on the field of recent Science in inexhaustible profusion. +But Law has a still grander function to discharge toward Religion than +Parable. There is a deeper unity between the two Kingdoms than the +analogy of their Phenomena--a unity which the poet's vision, more quick +than the theologian's, has already dimly seen:-- + + "And verily many thinkers of this age, + Aye, many Christian teachers, half in heaven, + Are wrong in just my sense, who understood + Our natural world too insularly, as if + No spiritual counterpart completed it, + Consummating its meaning, rounding all + To justice and perfection, _line by line, + Form by form, nothing single nor alone_, + The great below clenched by the great above."[1] + +The function of Parable in religion is to exhibit "form by form." Law +undertakes the profounder task of comparing "line by line." Thus Natural +Phenomena serve mainly an illustrative function in Religion. Natural +Law, on the other hand, could it be traced in the Spiritual World, would +have an important scientific value--it would offer Religion a new +credential. The effect of the introduction of Law among the scattered +Phenomena of Nature has simply been to make Science, to transform +knowledge into eternal truth. The same crystallizing touch is needed in +Religion. Can it be said that the Phenomena of the Spiritual World are +other than scattered? Can we shut our eyes to the fact that the +religious opinions of mankind are in a state of flux? And when we regard +the uncertainty of current beliefs, the war of creeds, the havoc of +inevitable as well as of idle doubt, the reluctant abandonment of early +faith by those who would cherish it longer if they could, is it not +plain that the one thing thinking men are waiting for is the +introduction of Law among the Phenomena of the Spiritual World? When +that comes we shall offer to such men a truly scientific theology. And +the Reign of Law will transform the whole Spiritual World as it has +already transformed the Natural World. + +I confess that even when in the first dim vision, the organizing hand of +Law moved among the unordered truths of my Spiritual World, poor and +scantily-furnished as it was, there seemed to come over it the beauty of +a transfiguration. The change was as great as from the old chaotic world +of Pythagoras to the symmetrical and harmonious universe of Newton. My +Spiritual World before was a chaos of facts; my Theology, a Pythagorean +system trying to make the best of Phenomena apart from the idea of Law. +I make no charge against Theology in general. I speak of my own. And I +say that I saw it to be in many essential respects centuries behind +every department of Science I knew. It was the one region still +unpossessed by Law. I saw then why men of Science distrust Theology; why +those who have learned to look upon Law as Authority grow cold to it--it +was the Great Exception. + +I have alluded to the genesis of the idea in my own mind partly for +another reason--to show its naturalness. Certainly I never premeditated +anything to myself so objectionable and so unwarrantable in itself, as +either to read Theology into Science or Science into Theology. Nothing +could be more artificial than to attempt this on the speculative side; +and it has been a substantial relief to me throughout that the idea rose +up thus in the course of practical work and shaped itself day by day +unconsciously. It might be charged, nevertheless, that I was all the +time, whether consciously or unconsciously, simply reading my Theology +into my Science. And as this would hopelessly vitiate the conclusions +arrived at, I must acquit myself at least of the intention. Of nothing +have I been more fearful throughout than of making Nature parallel with +my own or with any creed. The only legitimate questions one dare put to +Nature are those which concern universal human good and the Divine +interpretation of things. These I conceive may be there actually studied +at first-hand, and before their purity is soiled by human touch. We have +Truth in Nature as it came from God. And it has to be read with the same +unbiased mind, the same open eye, the same faith, and the same reverence +as all other Revelation. All that is found there, whatever its place in +Theology, whatever its orthodoxy or heterodoxy, whatever its narrowness +or its breadth, we are bound to accept as Doctrine from which on the +lines of Science there is no escape. + +When this presented itself to me as a method, I felt it to be due to +it--were it only to secure, so far as that was possible, that no former +bias should interfere with the integrity of the results--to begin again +at the beginning and reconstruct my Spiritual World step by step. The +result of that inquiry, so far as its expression in systematic form is +concerned, I have not given in this book. To reconstruct a Spiritual +Religion, or a department of Spiritual Religion--for this is all the +method can pretend to--on the lines of Nature would be an attempt from +which one better equipped in both directions might well be pardoned if +he shrank. My object at present is the humbler one of venturing a simple +contribution to practical Religion along the lines indicated. What Bacon +predicates of the Natural World, _Natura enim non nisi parendo +vincitur_, is also true, as Christ had already told us, of the Spiritual +World. And I present a few samples of the religious teaching referred to +formerly as having been prepared under the influence of scientific ideas +in the hope that they may be useful first of all in this direction. + +I would, however, carefully point out that though their unsystematic +arrangement here may create the impression that these papers are merely +isolated readings in Religion pointed by casual scientific truths, they +are organically connected by a single principle. Nothing could be more +false both to Science and to Religion than attempts to adjust the two +spheres by making out ingenious points of contact in detail. The +solution of this great question of conciliation, if one may still refer +to a problem so gratuitous, must be general rather than particular. The +basis in a common principle--the Continuity of Law--can alone save +specific applications from ranking as mere coincidences, or exempt them +from the reproach of being a hybrid between two things which must be +related by the deepest affinities or remain forever separate. + +To the objection that even a basis in Law is no warrant for so great a +trespass as the intrusion into another field of thought of the +principles of Natural Science, I would reply that in this I find I am +following a lead which in other departments has not only been allowed +but has achieved results as rich as they were unexpected. What is the +Physical Politic of Mr. Walter Bagehot but the extension of Natural Law +to the Political World? What is the Biological Sociology of Mr. Herbert +Spencer but the application of Natural Law to the Social World? Will it +be charged that the splendid achievements of such thinkers are hybrids +between things which Nature has meant to remain apart? Nature usually +solves such problems for herself. Inappropriate hybridism is checked by +the Law of Sterility. Judged by this great Law these modern developments +of our knowledge stand uncondemned. Within their own sphere the results +of Mr. Herbert Spencer are far from sterile--the application of Biology +to Political Economy is already revolutionizing the Science. If the +introduction of Natural Law into the Social sphere is no violent +contradiction but a genuine and permanent contribution, shall its +further extension to the Spiritual sphere be counted an extravagance? +Does not the Principle of Continuity demand its application in every +direction? To carry it as a working principle into so lofty a region may +appear impracticable. Difficulties lie on the threshold which may seem, +at first sight, insurmountable. But obstacles to a true method only test +its validity. And he who honestly faces the task may find relief in +feeling that whatever else of crudeness and imperfection mar it, the +attempt is at least in harmony with the thought and movement of his +time. + +That these papers were not designed to appear in a collective form, or +indeed to court the more public light at all, needs no disclosure. They +are published out of regard to the wish of known and unknown friends by +whom, when in a fugitive form, they were received with so curious an +interest as to make one feel already that there are minds which such +forms of truth may touch. In making the present selection, partly from +manuscript, and partly from articles already published, I have been +guided less by the wish to constitute the papers a connected series than +to exhibit the application of the principle in various directions. They +will be found, therefore, of unequal interest and value, according to +the standpoint from which they are regarded. Thus some are designed with +a directly practical and popular bearing, others being more expository, +and slightly apologetic in tone. The risk of combining two objects so +very different is somewhat serious. But, for the reason named, having +taken this responsibility, the only compensation I can offer is to +indicate which of the papers incline to the one side or to the other. +"Degeneration," "Growth," "Mortification," "Conformity to Type," +"Semi-Parasitism," and "Parasitism" belong to the more practical order; +and while one or two are intermediate, "Biogenesis," "Death," and +"Eternal Life" may be offered to those who find the atmosphere of the +former uncongenial. It will not disguise itself, however, that, owing to +the circumstances in which they were prepared, all the papers are more +or less practical in their aim; so that to the merely philosophical +reader there is little to be offered except--and that only with the +greatest diffidence--the Introductory chapter. + +In the Introduction, which the general reader may do well to ignore, I +have briefly stated the case for Natural Law in the Spiritual World. The +extension of Analogy to Laws, or rather the extension of the Laws +themselves so far as known to me, is new; and I cannot hope to have +escaped the mistakes and misadventures of a first exploration in an +unsurveyed land. So general has been the survey that I have not even +paused to define specially to what departments of the Spiritual World +exclusively the principle is to be applied. The danger of making a new +principle apply too widely inculcates here the utmost caution. One thing +is certain, and I state it pointedly, the application of Natural Law to +the Spiritual World has decided and necessary limits. And if elsewhere +with undue enthusiasm I seem to magnify the principle at stake, the +exaggeration--like the extreme amplification of the moon's disc when +near the horizon--must be charged to that almost necessary aberration of +light which distorts every new idea while it is yet slowly climbing to +its zenith. + +In what follows the Introduction, except in the setting there is nothing +new. I trust there is nothing new. When I began to follow out these +lines, I had no idea where they would lead me. I was prepared, +nevertheless, at least for the time, to be loyal to the method +throughout, and share with nature whatever consequences might ensue. But +in almost every case, after stating what appeared to be the truth in +words gathered directly from the lips of Nature, I was sooner or later +startled by a certain similarity in the general idea to something I had +heard before, and this often developed in a moment, and when I was least +expecting it, into recognition of some familiar article of faith. I was +not watching for this result. I did not begin by tabulating the +doctrines, as I did the Laws of Nature, and then proceed with the +attempt to pair them. The majority of them seemed at first too far +removed from the natural world even to suggest this. Still less did I +begin with doctrines and work downward to find their relations in the +natural sphere. It was the opposite process entirely. I ran up the +Natural Law as far as it would go, and the appropriate doctrine seldom +even loomed in sight till I had reached the top. Then it burst into view +in a single moment. + +I can scarcely now say whether in those moments I was more overcome with +thankfulness that Nature was so like Revelation, or more filled with +wonder that Revelation was so like Nature. Nature, it is true, is a part +of Revelation--a much greater part doubtless than is yet believed--and +one could have anticipated nothing but harmony here. But that a derived +Theology, in spite of the venerable verbiage which has gathered round +it, should be at bottom and in all cardinal respects so faithful a +transcript of "the truth as it is in Nature" came as a surprise and to +me at least as a rebuke. How, under the rigid necessity of incorporating +in its system much that seemed nearly unintelligible, and much that was +barely credible, Theology has succeeded so perfectly in adhering through +good report and ill to what in the main are truly the lines of Nature, +awakens a new admiration for those who constructed and kept this faith. +But however nobly it has held its ground, Theology must feel to-day that +the modern world calls for a further proof. Nor will the best Theology +resent this demand; it also demands it. Theology is searching on every +hand for another echo of the Voice of which Revelation also is the echo, +that out of the mouths of two witnesses its truths should be +established. That other echo can only come from Nature. Hitherto its +voice has been muffled. But now that Science has made the world around +articulate, it speaks to Religion with a twofold purpose. In the first +place it offers to corroborate Theology, in the second to purify it. + +If the removal of suspicion from Theology is of urgent moment, not less +important is the removal of its adulterations. These suspicions, many of +them at least, are new; in a sense they mark progress. But the +adulterations are the artificial accumulations of centuries of +uncontrolled speculation. They are the necessary result of the old +method and the warrant for its revision--they mark the impossibility of +progress without the guiding and restraining hand of Law. The felt +exhaustion of the former method, the want of corroboration for the old +evidence, the protest of reason against the monstrous overgrowths which +conceal the real lines of truth, these summon us to the search for a +surer and more scientific system. With truths of the theological order, +with dogmas which often depend for their existence on a particular +exegesis, with propositions which rest for their evidence upon a balance +of probabilities, or upon the weight of authority; with doctrines which +every age and nation may make or unmake, which each sect may tamper +with, and which even the individual may modify for himself, a second +court of appeal has become an imperative necessity. + +Science, therefore, may yet have to be called upon to arbitrate at some +points between conflicting creeds. And while there are some departments +of Theology where its jurisdiction cannot be sought, there are others in +which Nature may yet have to define the contents as well as the limits +of belief. + +What I would desire especially is a thoughtful consideration of the +method. The applications ventured upon here may be successful or +unsuccessful. But they would more than satisfy me if they suggested a +method to others whose less clumsy hands might work it out more +profitably. For I am convinced of the fertility of such a method at the +present time. It is recognized by all that the younger and abler minds +of this age find the most serious difficulty in accepting or retaining +the ordinary forms or belief. Especially is this true of those whose +culture is scientific. And the reason is palpable. No man can study +modern Science without a change coming over his view of truth. What +impresses him about Nature is its solidity. He is there standing upon +actual things, among fixed laws. And the integrity of the scientific +method so seizes him that all other forms of truth begins to appear +comparatively unstable. He did not know before that any form of truth +could so hold him; and the immediate effect is to lessen his interest in +all that stands on other bases. This he feels in spite of himself; he +struggles against it in vain; and he finds perhaps to his alarm that he +is drifting fast into what looks at first like pure Positivism. This is +an inevitable result of the scientific training. It is quite erroneous +to suppose that science ever overthrows Faith, if by that is implied +that any natural truth can oppose successfully any single spiritual +truth. Science cannot overthrow Faith; but it shakes it. Its own +doctrines, grounded in Nature, are so certain, that the truths of +Religion, resting to most men on Authority, are felt to be strangely +insecure. The difficulty, therefore, which men of Science feel about +Religion is real and inevitable, and in so far as Doubt is a +conscientious tribute to the inviolability of Nature it is entitled to +respect. + +None but those who have passed through it can appreciate the radical +nature of the change wrought by Science in the whole mental attitude of +its disciples. What they really cry out for in Religion is a new +standpoint--a standpoint like their own. The one hope, therefore, for +Science is more Science. Again, to quote Bacon--we shall hear enough +from the moderns by-and-by--"This I dare affirm in knowledge of Nature, +that a little natural philosophy, and the first entrance into it, doth +dispose the opinion to atheism; but, on the other side, much natural +philosophy, and wading deep into it, will bring about men's minds to +religion."[2] + +The application of _similia similibus curantur_ was never more in point. +If this is a disease, it is the disease of Nature, and the cure is more +Nature. For what is this disquiet in the breasts of men but the loyal +fear that Nature is being violated? Men must oppose with every energy +they possess what seems to them to oppose the eternal course of things. +And the first step in their deliverance must be not to "reconcile" +Nature and Religion, but to exhibit Nature in Religion. Even to convince +them that there is no controversy between Religion and Science is +insufficient. A mere flag of truce, in the nature of the case, is here +impossible; at least, it is only possible so long as neither party is +sincere. No man who knows the splendor of scientific achievement or +cares for it, no man who feels the solidity of its method or works with +it, can remain neutral with regard to Religion. He must either extend +his method into it, or, if that is impossible, oppose it to the knife. +On the other hand, no one who knows the content of Christianity, or +feels the universal need of a Religion, can stand idly by while the +intellect of his age is slowly divorcing itself from it. What is +required, therefore, to draw Science and Religion together again--for +they began the centuries hand in hand--is the disclosure of the +naturalness of the supernatural. Then, and not till then, will men see +how true it is, that to be loyal to all of Nature, they must be loyal to +the part defined as Spiritual. No science contributes to another without +receiving a reciprocal benefit. And even as the contribution of Science +to Religion is the vindication of the naturalness of the Supernatural, +so the gift of Religion to Science is the demonstration of the +supernaturalness of the Natural. Thus, as the Supernatural becomes +slowly Natural, will also the Natural become slowly Supernatural, until +in the impersonal authority of Law men everywhere recognize the +Authority of God. + +To those who already find themselves fully nourished on the older forms +of truth, I do not commend these pages. They will find them superfluous. +Nor is there any reason why they should mingle with light which is +already clear the distorting rays of a foreign expression. + +But to those who are feeling their way to a Christian life, haunted now +by a sense of instability in the foundation of their faith, now brought +to bay by specific doubt at one point raising, as all doubt does, the +question for the whole, I would hold up a light which has often been +kind to me. There is a sense of solidity about a Law of Nature which +belongs to nothing else in the world. Here, at last, amid all that is +shifting, is one thing sure; one thing outside ourselves, unbiased, +unprejudiced, uninfluenced by like or dislike, by doubt or fear; one +thing that holds on its way to me eternally, incorruptible, and +undefiled. This more than anything else, makes one eager to see the +Reign of Law traced in the Spiritual Sphere. And should this seem to +some to offer only a surer, but not a higher Faith; should the better +ordering of the Spiritual World appear to satisfy the intellect at the +sacrifice of reverence, simplicity, or love; especially should it seem +to substitute a Reign of Law and a Lawgiver for a Kingdom of Grace and a +Personal God, I will say, with Browning,-- + + "I spoke as I saw. + I report, as a man may of God's work--_all's love, yet all's Law_. + Now I lay down the judgeship He lent me. Each faculty tasked, + To perceive Him, has gained an abyss where a dewdrop was asked." + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] Aurora Leigh. + +[2] "Meditationes Sacræ," x. + + + + +ANALYSIS OF INTRODUCTION. + + [For the sake of the general reader who may desire to pass at once + to the practical applications, the following outline of the + Introduction--devoted rather to general principles--is here + presented.] + + +PART I. + +NATURAL LAW IN THE SPIRITUAL SPHERE. + + 1. The growth of the Idea of Law. + + 2. Its gradual extension throughout every department of Knowledge. + + 3. Except one. Religion hitherto the Great Exception. Why so? + + 4. Previous attempts to trace analogies between the Natural and + Spiritual spheres. These have been limited to analogies between + _Phenomena_; and are useful mainly as illustrations. Analogies of + _Law_ would also have a Scientific value. + + 5. Wherein that value would consist. (1) The Scientific demand of the + age would be met; (2) Greater clearness would be introduced into + Religion practically; (3) Theology, instead of resting on + Authority, would rest equally on Nature. + + +PART II. + +THE LAW OF CONTINUITY. + +_A priori_ argument for Natural Law in the spiritual world. + + 1. The Law Discovered. + + 2. " Defined. + + 3. " Applied. + + 4. The objection answered that the _material_ of the Natural and + Spiritual worlds being different they must be under different + Laws. + + 5. The existence of Laws in the Spiritual world other than the Natural + Laws (1) improbable, (2) unnecessary, (3) unknown. Qualification. + + 6. The Spiritual not the projection upward of the Natural; but the + Natural the projection downward of the Spiritual. + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + "This method turns aside from hypotheses not to be tested by any + known logical canon familiar to science, whether the hypothesis + claims support from intuition, aspiration or general plausibility. + And, again, this method turns aside from ideal standards which avow + themselves to be lawless, which profess to transcend the field of + law. We say, life and conduct shall stand for us wholly on a basis + of law, and must rest entirely in that region of science (not + physical, but moral and social science), where we are free to use + our intelligence in the methods known to us as intelligible logic, + methods which the intellect can analyze. When you confront us with + hypotheses, however sublime and however affecting, if they cannot be + stated in terms of the rest of our knowledge, if they are disparate + to that world of sequence and sensation which to us is the ultimate + base of all our real knowledge, then we shake our heads and turn + aside."--_Frederick Harrison._ + + "Ethical science is already forever completed, so far as her general + outline and main principles are concerned, and has been, as it were, + waiting for physical science to come up with her."--_Paradoxical + Philosophy._ + + +PART I. + +Natural Law is a new word. It is the last and the most magnificent +discovery of science. No more telling proof is open to the modern world +of the greatness of the idea than the greatness of the attempts which +have always been made to justify it. In the earlier centuries, before +the birth of science, Phenomena were studied alone. The world then was a +chaos, a collection of single, isolated, and independent facts. Deeper +thinkers saw, indeed, that relations must subsist between these facts, +but the Reign of Law was never more to the ancients than a far-off +vision. Their philosophies, conspicuously those of the Stoics and +Pythagoreans, heroically sought to marshal the discrete materials of the +universe into thinkable form, but from these artificial and fantastic +systems nothing remains to us now but an ancient testimony to the +grandeur of that harmony which they failed to reach. + +With Copernicus, Galileo, and Kepler the first regular lines of the +universe began to be discerned. When Nature yielded to Newton her great +secret, Gravitation was felt to be not greater as a fact in itself than +as a revelation that Law was fact. And thenceforth the search for +individual Phenomena gave way before the larger study of their +relations. The pursuit of Law became the passion of science. + +What that discovery of Law has done for Nature, it is impossible to +estimate. As a mere spectacle the universe to-day discloses a beauty so +transcendent that he who disciplines himself by scientific work finds it +an overwhelming reward simply to behold it. In these Laws one stands +face to face with truth, solid and unchangeable. Each single Law is an +instrument of scientific research, simple in its adjustments, universal +in its application, infallible in its results. And despite the +limitations of its sphere on every side Law is still the largest, +richest, and surest source of human knowledge. + +It is not necessary for the present to more than lightly touch on +definitions of Natural Law. The Duke of Argyll[3] indicates five senses +in which the word is used, but we may content ourselves here by taking +it in its most simple and obvious significance. The fundamental +conception of Law is an ascertained working sequence or constant order +among the Phenomena of Nature. This impression of Law as order it is +important to receive in its simplicity, for the idea is often corrupted +by having attached to it erroneous views of cause and effect. In its +true sense Natural Law predicates nothing of causes. The Laws of Nature +are simply statements of the orderly condition of things in Nature, what +is found in Nature by a sufficient number of competent observers. What +these Laws are in themselves is not agreed. That they have any absolute +existence even is far from certain. They are relative to man in his many +limitations, and represent for him the constant expression of what he +may always expect to find in the world around him. But that they have +any causal connection with the things around him is not to be conceived. +The Natural Laws originate nothing, sustain nothing; they are merely +responsible for uniformity in sustaining what has been originated and +what is being sustained. They are modes of operation, therefore, not +operators; processes, not powers. The Law of Gravitation, for instance, +speaks to science only of process. It has no light to offer as to +itself. Newton did not discover Gravity--that is not discovered yet. He +discovered its Law, which is Gravitation, but tells us nothing of its +origin, of its nature or of its cause. + +The Natural Laws then are great lines running not only through the +world, but, as we now know, through the universe, reducing it like +parallels of latitude to intelligent order. In themselves, be it once +more repeated, they may have no more absolute existence than parallels +of latitude. But they exist for us. They are drawn for us to understand +the part by some Hand that drew the whole; so drawn, perhaps, that, +understanding the part, we too in time may learn to understand the +whole. Now the inquiry we propose to ourselves resolves itself into the +simple question, Do these lines stop with what we call the Natural +sphere? Is it not possible that they may lead further? Is it probable +that the Hand which ruled them gave up the work where most of all they +were required? Did that Hand divide the world into two, a cosmos and a +chaos, the higher being the chaos? With Nature as the symbol of all of +harmony and beauty that is known to man, must we still talk of the +super-natural, not as a convenient word, but as a different order of +world, an unintelligible world, where the Reign of Mystery supersedes +the Reign of Law? + +This question, let it be carefully observed, applies to Laws not to +Phenomena. That the Phenomena of the Spiritual World are in analogy with +the Phenomena of the Natural World requires no restatement. Since Plato +enunciated his doctrine of the Cave or of the twice-divided line; since +Christ spake in parables; since Plotinus wrote of the world as an image; +since the mysticism of Swedenborg; since Bacon and Pascal; since "Sartor +Resartus" and "In Memoriam," it has been all but a commonplace with +thinkers that "the invisible things of God from the creation of the +world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made." +Milton's question-- + + "What if earth + Be but the shadow of heaven, and things therein + Each to other like more than on earth is thought?" + +is now superfluous. "In our doctrine of representations and +correspondences," says Swedenborg, "we shall treat of both these +symbolical and typical resemblances, and of the astonishing things that +occur, I will not say in the living body only, but throughout Nature, +and which correspond so entirely to supreme and spiritual things, that +one would swear that the physical world was purely symbolical of the +spiritual world."[4] And Carlyle: "All visible things are emblems. What +thou seest is not there on its own account; strictly speaking is not +there at all. Matter exists only spiritually, and to represent some idea +and body it forth."[5] + +But the analogies of Law are a totally different thing from the +analogies of Phenomena and have a very different value. To say +generally, with Pascal, that--"La nature est une image de la grace," is +merely to be poetical. The function of Hervey's "Meditations in a Flower +Garden," or, Flavel's "Husbandry Spiritualized," is mainly homiletical. +That such works have an interest is not to be denied. The place of +parable in teaching, and especially after the sanction of the greatest +of Teachers, must always be recognized. The very necessities of language +indeed demand this method of presenting truth. The temporal is the husk +and framework of the eternal, and thoughts can be uttered only through +things.[6] + +But analogies between Phenomena bear the same relation to analogies of +Law that Phenomena themselves bear to Law. The light of Law on truth, as +we have seen, is an immense advance upon the light of Phenomena. The +discovery of Law is simply the discovery of Science. And if the +analogies of Natural Law can be extended to the Spiritual World, that +whole region at once falls within the domain of science and secures a +basis as well as an illumination in the constitution and course of +Nature. All, therefore, that has been claimed for parable can be +predicated _a fortiori_ of this--with the addition that a proof on the +basis of Law would want no criterion possessed by the most advanced +science. + +That the validity of analogy generally has been seriously questioned one +must frankly own. Doubtless there is much difficulty and even liability +to gross error in attempting to establish analogy in specific cases. The +value of the likeness appears differently to different minds, and in +discussing an individual instance questions of relevancy will invariably +crop up. Of course, in the language of John Stuart Mill, "when the +analogy can be proved, the argument founded upon it cannot be +resisted."[7] But so great is the difficulty of proof that many are +compelled to attach the most inferior weight to analogy as a method of +reasoning. "Analogical evidence is generally more successful in +silencing objections than in evincing truth. Though it rarely refutes it +frequently repels refutation; like those weapons which though they +cannot kill the enemy, will ward his blows.... It must be allowed that +analogical evidence is at least but a feeble support, and is hardly ever +honored with the name of proof."[8] Other authorities on the other hand, +such as Sir William Hamilton, admit analogy to a primary place in logic +and regard it as the very basis of induction. + +But, fortunately, we are spared all discussion on this worn subject, for +two cogent reasons. For one thing, we do not demand of Nature directly +to prove Religion. That was never its function. Its function is to +interpret. And this, after all, is possibly the most fruitful proof. The +best proof of a thing is that we _see_ it; if we do not see it, perhaps +proof will not convince us of it. It is the want of the discerning +faculty, the clairvoyant power of seeing the eternal in the temporal, +rather than the failure of the reason, that begets the sceptic. But +secondly, and more particularly, a significant circumstance has to be +taken into account, which, though it will appear more clearly afterward, +may be stated here at once. The position we have been led to take up is +not that the Spiritual Laws are analogous to the Natural Laws, but that +_they are the same Laws_. It is not a question of analogy but of +_Identity_. The Natural Laws are not the shadows or images of the +Spiritual in the same sense as autumn is emblematical of Decay, or the +falling leaf of Death. The Natural Laws, as the Law of Continuity might +well warn us, do not stop with the visible and then give place to a new +set of Laws bearing a strong similitude to them. The Laws of the +invisible are the same Laws, projections of the natural not +supernatural. Analogous Phenomena are not the fruit of parallel Laws, +but of the same Laws--Laws which at one end, as it were, may be dealing +with Matter, at the other end with Spirit. As there will be some +inconvenience, however, in dispensing with the word analogy, we shall +continue occasionally to employ it. Those who apprehend the real +relation will mentally substitute the larger term. + +Let us now look for a moment at the present state of the question. Can +it be said that the Laws of the Spiritual World are in any sense +considered even to have analogies with the Natural World? Here and there +certainly one finds an attempt, and a successful attempt, to exhibit on +a rational basis one or two of the great Moral Principles of the +Spiritual World. But the Physical World has not been appealed to. Its +magnificent system of Laws remains outside, and its contribution +meanwhile is either silently ignored or purposely set aside. The +Physical, it is said, is too remote from the Spiritual. The Moral World +may afford a basis for religious truth, but even this is often the +baldest concession; while the appeal to the Physical universe is +everywhere dismissed as, on the face of it, irrelevant and unfruitful. +From the scientific side, again, nothing has been done to court a closer +fellowship. Science has taken theology at its own estimate. It is a +thing apart. The Spiritual World is not only a different world, but a +different kind of world, a world arranged on a totally different +principle, under a different governmental scheme. + +The Reign of Law has gradually crept into every department of Nature, +transforming knowledge everywhere into Science. The process goes on, and +Nature slowly appears to us as one great unity, until the borders of the +Spiritual World are reached. There the Law of Continuity ceases, and the +harmony breaks down. And men who have learned their elementary lessons +truly from the alphabet of the lower Laws, going on to seek a higher +knowledge, are suddenly confronted with the Great Exception. + +Even those who have examined most carefully the relations of the Natural +and the Spiritual, seem to have committed themselves deliberately to a +final separation in matters of Law. It is a surprise to find such a +writer as Horace Bushnell, for instance, describing the Spiritual World +as "another system of nature incommunicably separate from ours," and +further defining it thus: "God has, in fact, erected another and higher +system, that of spiritual being and government for which nature exists; +a system not under the law of cause and effect, but ruled and marshaled +under other kinds of laws."[9] Few men have shown more insight than +Bushnell in illustrating Spiritual truth from the Natural World; but he +has not only failed to perceive the analogy with regard to Law, but +emphatically denies it. + +In the recent literature of this whole region there nowhere seems any +advance upon the position of "Nature and the Supernatural." All are +agreed in speaking of Nature _and_ the Supernatural. Nature _in_ the +Supernatural, so far as Laws are concerned, is still an unknown truth. + +"The Scientific Basis of Faith" is a suggestive title. The accomplished +author announces that the object of his investigation is to show that +"the world of nature and mind, as made known by science, constitute a +basis and a preparation for that highest moral and spiritual life of +man, which is evoked by the self-revelation of God."[10] On the whole, +Mr. Murphy seems to be more philosophical and more profound in his view +of the relation of science and religion than any writer of modern times. +His conception of religion is broad and lofty, his acquaintance with +science adequate. + +He makes constant, admirable, and often original use of analogy; and +yet, in spite of the promise of this quotation, he has failed to find +any analogy in that department of Law where surely, of all others, it +might most reasonably be looked for. In the broad subject even of the +analogies of what he defines as "evangelical religion" with Nature, Mr. +Murphy discovers nothing. Nor can this be traced either to short-sight +or over-sight. The subject occurs to him more than once, and he +deliberately dismisses it--dismisses it not merely as unfruitful, but +with a distinct denial of its relevancy. The memorable paragraph from +Origen which forms the text of Butler's "Analogy," he calls "this +shallow and false saying."[11] He says: "The designation of Butler's +scheme of religious philosophy ought then to be _the analogy of +religion, legal and evangelical, to the constitution of nature_. But +does this give altogether a true meaning? Does this double analogy +really exist? If justice is natural law among beings having a moral +nature, there is the closest analogy between the constitution of nature +and merely legal religion. Legal religion is only the extension of +natural justice into a future life.... But is this true of evangelical +religion? Have the doctrines of Divine grace any similar support in the +analogies of nature? I trow not."[12] And with reference to a specific +question, speaking of immortality, he asserts that "the analogies of +mere nature are opposed to the doctrine of immortality."[13] + +With regard to Butler's great work in this department, it is needless at +this time of day to point out that his aims did not lie exactly in this +direction. He did not seek to indicate analogies _between_ religion and +the constitution and course of Nature. His theme was, "The Analogy _of_ +Religion _to_ the constitution and course of Nature." And although he +pointed out direct analogies of Phenomena, such as those between the +metamorphoses of insects and the doctrine of a future state; and +although he showed that "the natural and moral constitution and +government of the world are so connected as to make up together but one +scheme,"[14] his real intention was not so much to construct arguments +as to repel objections. His emphasis accordingly was laid upon the +difficulties of the two schemes rather than on their positive lines; and +so thoroughly has he made out this point that as is well known, the +effect upon many has been, not to lead them to accept the Spiritual +World on the ground of the Natural, but to make them despair of both. +Butler lived at a time when defence was more necessary than +construction, when the materials for construction were scarce and +insecure, and when, besides, some of the things to be defended were +quite incapable of defence. Notwithstanding this, his influence over the +whole field since has been unparalleled. + +After all, then, the Spiritual World, as it appears at this moment, is +outside Natural Law. Theology continues to be considered, as it has +always been, a thing apart. It remains still a stupendous and splendid +construction, but on lines altogether its own. Nor is Theology to be +blamed for this. Nature has been long in speaking; even yet its voice is +low, sometimes inaudible. Science is the true defaulter, for Theology +had to wait patiently for its development. As the highest of the +sciences, Theology in the order of evolution should be the last to fall +into rank. It is reserved for it to perfect the final harmony. Still, if +it continues longer to remain a thing apart, with increasing reason will +be such protests as this of the "Unseen Universe," when, in speaking of +a view of miracles held by an older Theology, it declares:--"If he +submits to be guided by such interpreters, each intelligent being will +forever continue to be baffled in any attempt to explain these +phenomena, because they are said to have no physical relation to +anything that went before or that followed after; in fine, they are made +to form a universe within a universe, a portion cut off by an +insurmountable barrier from the domain of scientific inquiry."[15] + +This is the secret of the present decadence of Religion in the world of +Science. For Science can hear nothing of a Great Exception. +Constructions on unique lines, "portions cut off by an insurmountable +barrier from the domain of scientific inquiry," it dare not recognize. +Nature has taught it this lesson, and Nature is right. It is the +province of Science to vindicate Nature here at any hazard. But in +blaming Theology for its intolerance, it has been betrayed into an +intolerance less excusable. It has pronounced upon it too soon. What if +Religion be yet brought within the sphere of Law? Law is the revelation +of time. One by one slowly through the centuries the Sciences have +crystallized into geometrical form, each form not only perfect in +itself, but perfect in its relation to all other forms. Many forms had +to be perfected before the form of the Spiritual. The Inorganic has to +be worked out before the Organic, the Natural before the Spiritual. +Theology at present has merely an ancient and provisional philosophic +form. By-and-by it will be seen whether it be not susceptible of +another. For Theology must pass through the necessary stages of +progress, like any other science. The method of science-making is now +fully established. In almost all cases the natural history and +development are the same. Take, for example, the case of Geology. A +century ago there was none. Science went out to look for it, and brought +back a Geology which, if Nature were a harmony, had falsehood written +almost on its face. It was the Geology of Catastrophism, a Geology so +out of line with Nature as revealed by the other sciences, that on _a +priori_ grounds a thoughtful mind might have been justified in +dismissing it as a final form of any science. And its fallacy was soon +and thoroughly exposed. The advent of modified uniformitarian principles +all but banished the word catastrophe from science, and marked the birth +of Geology as we know it now. Geology, that is to say, had fallen at +last into the great scheme of Law. Religious doctrines, many of them at +least, have been up to this time all but as _catastrophic_ as the old +Geology. They are not on the lines of Nature as we have learned to +decipher her. If any one feel, as Science complains that it feels, that +the lie of things in the Spiritual World as arranged by Theology is not +in harmony with the world around, is not, in short, scientific, he is +entitled to raise the question whether this be really the final form of +those departments of Theology to which his complaint refers. He is +justified, moreover, in demanding a new investigation with all modern +methods and resources; and Science is bound by its principles not less +than by the lessons of its own past, to suspend judgment till the last +attempt is made. The success of such an attempt will be looked forward +to with hopefulness or fearfulness just in proportion to one's +confidence in Nature--in proportion to one's belief in the divinity of +man and in the divinity of things. If there is any truth in the unity of +Nature, in that supreme principle of Continuity which is growing in +splendor with every discovery of science, the conclusion is foregone. If +there is any foundation for Theology, if the phenomena of the Spiritual +World are real, in the nature of things they ought to come into the +sphere of Law. Such is at once the demand of Science upon Religion and +the prophecy that it can and shall be fulfilled. + +The Botany of Linnæus, a purely artificial system, was a splendid +contribution to human knowledge, and did more in its day to enlarge the +view of the vegetable kingdom than all that had gone before. But all +artificial systems must pass away. None knew better than the great +Swedish naturalist himself that his system, being artificial, was but +provisional. Nature must be read in its own light. And as the botanical +field became more luminous, the system of Jussieu and De Candolle slowly +emerged as a native growth, unfolded itself as naturally as the petals +of one of its own flowers, and forcing itself upon men's intelligence as +the very voice of Nature, banished the Linnæan system forever. It were +unjust to say that the present Theology is as artificial as the system +of Linnæus; in many particulars it wants but a fresh expression to make +it in the most modern sense scientific. But if it has a basis in the +constitution and course of Nature, that basis has never been adequately +shown. It has depended on Authority rather than on Law; and a new basis +must be sought and found if it is to be presented to those with whom Law +alone is Authority. + +It is not of course to be inferred that the scientific method will ever +abolish the radical distinctions of the Spiritual World. True science +proposes to itself no such general leveling in any department. Within +the unity of the whole there must always be room for the characteristic +differences of the parts, and those tendencies of thought at the present +time which ignore such distinctions, in their zeal for simplicity really +create confusion. As has been well said by Mr. Hutton: "Any attempt to +merge the distinctive characteristic of a higher science in a lower--of +chemical changes in mechanical--of physiological in chemical--above all, +of mental changes in physiological--is a neglect of the radical +assumption of all science, because it is an attempt to deduce +representations--or rather misrepresentations--of one kind of phenomena +from a conception of another kind which does not contain it, and must +have it implicitly and illicitly smuggled in before it can be extracted +out of it. Hence, instead of increasing our means of representing the +universe to ourselves without the detailed examination of particulars, +such a procedure leads to misconstructions of fact on the basis of an +imported theory, and generally ends in forcibly perverting the +least-known science to the type of the better known."[16] + +What is wanted is simply a unity of conception, but not such a unity of +conception as should be founded on an absolute identity of phenomena. +This latter might indeed be a unity, but it would be a very tame one. +The perfection of unity is attained where there is infinite variety of +phenomena, infinite complexity of relation, but great simplicity of +Law. Science will be complete when all known phenomena can be arranged +in one vast circle in which a few well known Laws shall form the +radii--these radii at once separating and uniting, separating into +particular groups, yet uniting all to a common center. To show that the +radii for some of the most characteristic phenomena of the Spiritual +World are already drawn within that circle by science is the main object +of the papers which follow. There will be found an attempt to restate a +few of the more elementary facts of the Spiritual Life in terms of +Biology. Any argument for Natural Law in the Spiritual World may be best +tested in the _a posteriori_ form. And although the succeeding pages are +not designed in the first instance to prove a principle, they may yet be +entered here as evidence. The practical test is a severe one, but on +that account all the more satisfactory. + +And what will be gained if the point be made out? Not a few things. For +one, as partly indicated already, the scientific demand of the age will +be satisfied. That demand is that all that concerns life and conduct +shall be placed on a scientific basis. The only great attempt to meet +that at present is Positivism. + +But what again is a scientific basis? What exactly is this demand of the +age? "By Science I understand," says Huxley, "all knowledge which rests +upon evidence and reasoning of a like character to that which claims our +assent to ordinary scientific propositions; and if any one is able to +make good the assertion that his theology rests upon valid evidence and +sound reasoning, then it appears to me that such theology must take its +place as a part of science." That the assertion has been already made +good is claimed by many who deserve to be heard on questions of +scientific evidence. But if more is wanted by some minds, more not +perhaps of a higher kind but of a different kind, at least the attempt +can be made to gratify them. Mr. Frederick Harrison,[17] in name of the +Positive method of thought, "turns aside from ideal standards which avow +themselves to be _lawless_ [the italics are Mr. Harrison's], which +profess to transcend the field of law. We say, life and conduct shall +stand for us wholly on a basis of law, and must rest entirely in that +region of science (not physical, but moral and social science) where we +are free to use our intelligence, in the methods known to us as +intelligible logic, methods which the intellect can analyze. When you +confront us with hypotheses, however sublime and however affecting, if +they cannot be stated in terms of the rest of our knowledge, if they are +disparate to that world of sequence and sensation which to us is the +ultimate base of all our real knowledge, then we shake our heads and +turn aside." This is a most reasonable demand, and we humbly accept the +challenge. We think religious truth, or at all events certain of the +largest facts of the Spiritual Life, can be stated "in terms of the rest +of our knowledge." + +We do not say, as already hinted, that the proposal includes an attempt +to prove the existence of the Spiritual World. Does that need proof? And +if so, what sort of evidence would be considered in court? The facts of +the Spiritual World are as real to thousands as the facts of the Natural +World--and more real to hundreds. But were one asked to prove that the +Spiritual World can be discerned by the appropriate faculties, one would +do it precisely as one would attempt to prove the Natural World to be an +object of recognition to the senses--and with as much or as little +success. In either instance probably the fact would be found incapable +of demonstration, but not more in the one case than in the other. Were +one asked to prove the existence of Spiritual Life, one would also do it +exactly as one would seek to prove Natural Life. And this perhaps might +be attempted with more hope. But this is not on the immediate +programme. Science deals with known facts; and accepting certain known +facts in the Spiritual World we proceed to arrange them, to discover +their Laws, to inquire if they can be stated "in terms of the rest of +our knowledge." + +At the same time, although attempting no philosophical proof of the +existence of a Spiritual Life and a Spiritual World, we are not without +hope that the general line of thought here may be useful to some who are +honestly inquiring in these directions. The stumbling-block to most +minds is perhaps less the mere existence of the unseen than the want of +definition, the apparently hopeless vagueness, and not least, the +delight in this vagueness as mere vagueness by some who look upon this +as the mark of quality in Spiritual things. It will be at least +something to tell earnest seekers that the Spiritual World is not a +castle in the air, of an architecture unknown to earth or heaven, but a +fair ordered realm furnished with many familiar things and ruled by +well-remembered Laws. + +It is scarcely necessary to emphasize under a second head the gain in +clearness. The Spiritual World as it stands is full of perplexity. One +can escape doubt only by escaping thought. With regard to many important +articles of religion perhaps the best and the worst course at present +open to a doubter is simple credulity. Who is to answer for this state +of things? It comes as a necessary tax for improvement on the age in +which we live. The old ground of faith, Authority, is given up; the new, +Science, has not yet taken its place. Men did not require to _see_ truth +before; they only needed to believe it. Truth, therefore, had not been +put by Theology in a seeing form--which, however, was its original form. +But now they ask to see it. And when it is shown them they start back in +despair. We shall not say what they see. But we shall say what they +might see. If the Natural Laws were run through the Spiritual World, +they might see the great lines of religious truth as clearly and simply +as the broad lines of science. As they gazed into that Natural-Spiritual +World they would say to themselves, "We have seen something like this +before. This order is known to us. It is not arbitrary. This Law here is +that old Law there, and this Phenomenon here, what can it be but that +which stood in precisely the same relation to that Law yonder?" And so +gradually from the new form everything assumes new meaning. So the +Spiritual World becomes slowly Natural; and, what is of all but equal +moment, the Natural World becomes slowly Spiritual. Nature is not a mere +image or emblem of the Spiritual. It is a working model of the +Spiritual. In the Spiritual World the same wheels revolve--but without +the iron. The same figures flit across the stage, the same processes of +growth go on, the same functions are discharged, the same biological +laws prevail--only with a different quality of βιος. Plato's prisoner, +if not out of the Cave, has at least his face to the light. + + "The earth is cram'd with heaven, + And every common bush afire with God." + +How much of the Spiritual World is covered by Natural law we do not +propose at present to inquire. It is certain, at least, that the whole +is not covered. And nothing more lends confidence to the method than +this. For one thing, room is still left for mystery. Had no place +remained for mystery it had proved itself both unscientific and +irreligious. A Science without mystery is unknown; a Religion without +mystery is absurd. This is no attempt to reduce Religion to a question +of mathematics, or demonstrate God in biological formulæ. The +elimination of mystery from the universe is the elimination of Religion. +However far the scientific method may penetrate the Spiritual World, +there will always remain a region to be explored by a scientific faith. +"I shall never rise to the point of view which wishes to 'raise' faith +to knowledge. To me, the way of truth is to come through the knowledge +of my ignorance to the submissiveness of faith, and then, making that +my starting place, to raise my knowledge into faith."[18] + +Lest this proclamation of mystery should seem alarming, let us add that +this mystery also is scientific. The one subject on which all scientific +men are agreed, the one theme on which all alike become eloquent, the +one strain of pathos in all their writing and speaking and thinking, +concerns that final uncertainty, that utter blackness of darkness +bounding their work on every side. If the light of Nature is to +illuminate for us the Spiritual Sphere, there may well be a black +Unknown, corresponding, at least at some points, to this zone of +darkness round the Natural World. + +But the final gain would appear in the department of Theology. The +establishment of the Spiritual Laws on "the solid ground of Nature," to +which the mind trusts "which builds for aye," would offer a new basis +for certainty in Religion. It has been indicated that the authority of +Authority is waning. This is a plain fact. And it was inevitable. +Authority--man's Authority, that is--is for children. And there +necessarily comes a time when they add to the question, What shall I do? +or, What shall I believe? the adult's interrogation--Why? Now this +question is sacred, and must be answered. + +"How truly its central position is impregnable," Herbert Spencer has +well discerned, "religion has never adequately realized. In the +devoutest faith, as we habitually see it, there lies hidden an innermost +core of scepticism; and it is this scepticism which causes that dread of +inquiry displayed by religion when face to face with science."[19] + +True indeed; Religion has never realized how impregnable are many of its +positions. It has not yet been placed on that basis which would make +them impregnable. And in a transition period like the present, holding +Authority with one hand, the other feeling all around in the darkness +for some strong new support, Theology is surely to be pitied. Whence +this dread when brought face to face with Science? It cannot be dread of +scientific fact. No single fact in Science has ever discredited a fact +in Religion. The theologian knows that, and admits that he has no fear +of facts. What then has Science done to make Theology tremble? It is its +method. It is its system. It is its Reign of Law. It is its harmony and +continuity. The attack is not specific. No one point is assailed. It is +the whole system which when compared with the other and weighed in its +balance is found wanting. An eye which has looked at the first cannot +look upon this. To do that, and rest in the contemplation, it has first +to uncentury itself. + +Herbert Spencer points out further, with how much truth need not now be +discussed, that the purification of Religion has always come from +Science. It is very apparent at all events that an immense debt must +soon be contracted. The shifting of the furnishings will be a work of +time. But it must be accomplished. And not the least result of the +process will be the effect upon Science itself. No department of +knowledge ever contributes to another without receiving its own again +with usury--witness the reciprocal favors of Biology and Sociology. From +the time that Comte defined the analogy between the phenomena exhibited +by aggregations of associated men and those of animal colonies, the +Science of Life and the Science of Society have been so contributing to +one another that their progress since has been all but hand-in-hand. A +conception borrowed by the one has been observed in time finding its way +back, and always in an enlarged form, to further illuminate and enrich +the field it left. So must it be with Science and Religion. If the +purification of Religion comes from Science, the purification of +Science, in a deeper sense, shall come from Religion. The true ministry +of Nature must at last be honored, and Science take its place as the +great expositor. To Men of Science, not less than to Theologians, + + "Science then + Shall be a precious visitant; and then, + And only then, be worthy of her name; + For then her heart shall kindle, her dull eye, + Dull and inanimate, no more shall hang + Chained to its object in brute slavery; + But taught with patient interest to watch + The process of things, and serve the cause + Of order and distinctness, not for this + Shall it forget that its most noble use, + Its most illustrious province, must be found + In furnishing clear guidance, a support, + Not treacherous, to the mind's _excursive_ power."[20] + +But the gift of Science to Theology shall be not less rich. With the +inspiration of Nature to illuminate what the inspiration of Revelation +has left obscure, heresy in certain whole departments shall become +impossible. With the demonstration of the naturalness of the +supernatural, scepticism even may come to be regarded as unscientific. +And those who have wrestled long for a few bare truths to ennoble life +and rest their souls in thinking of the future will not be left in +doubt. + +It is impossible to believe that the amazing succession of revelations +in the domain of Nature during the last few centuries, at which the +world has all but grown tired wondering, are to yield nothing for the +higher life. If the development of doctrine is to have any meaning for +the future, Theology must draw upon the further revelation of the seen +for the further revelation of the unseen. It need, and can, add nothing +to fact; but as the vision of Newton rested on a clearer and richer +world than that of Plato, so, though seeing the same things in the +Spiritual World as our fathers, we may see them clearer and richer. With +the work of the centuries upon it, the mental eye is a finer instrument, +and demands a more ordered world. Had the revelation of Law been given +sooner, it had been unintelligible. Revelation never volunteers anything +that man could discover for himself--on the principle, probably, that it +is only when he is capable of discovering it that he is capable of +appreciating it. Besides, children do not need Laws, except Laws in the +sense of commandments. They repose with simplicity on authority, and ask +no questions. But there comes a time, as the world reaches its manhood, +when they will ask questions, and stake, moreover, everything on the +answers. That time is now. Hence we must exhibit our doctrines, not +lying athwart the lines of the world's thinking, in a place reserved, +and therefore shunned, for the Great Exception; but in their kinship to +all truth and in their Law-relation to the whole of Nature. This is, +indeed, simply following out the system of teaching begun by Christ +Himself. And what is the search for spiritual truth in the Laws of +Nature but an attempt to utter the parables which have been hid so long +in the world around without a preacher, and to tell men at once more +that the Kingdom of Heaven is like unto this and to that? + + +PART II. + +The Law of Continuity having been referred to already as a prominent +factor in this inquiry, it may not be out of place to sustain the plea +for Natural Law in the Spiritual Sphere by a brief statement and +application of this great principle. The Law of Continuity furnishes an +_a priori_ argument for the position we are attempting to establish of +the most convincing kind--of such a kind, indeed, as to seem to our mind +final. Briefly indicated, the ground taken up is this, that if Nature be +a harmony, Man in all his relations--physical, mental, moral, and +spiritual--falls to be included within its circle. It is altogether +unlikely that man spiritual should be violently separated in all the +conditions of growth, development, and life, from man physical. It is +indeed difficult to conceive that one set of principles should guide the +natural life, and these at a certain period--the very point where they +are needed--suddenly give place to another set of principles altogether +new and unrelated. Nature has never taught us to expect such a +catastrophe. She has nowhere prepared us for it. And Man cannot in the +nature of things, in the nature of thought, in the nature of language, +be separated into two such incoherent halves. + +The spiritual man, it is true, is to be studied in a different +department of science from the natural man. But the harmony established +by science is not a harmony within specific departments. It is the +universe that is the harmony, the universe of which these are but parts. +And the harmonies of the parts depend for all their weight and interest +on the harmony of the whole. While, therefore, there are many +harmonies, there is but one harmony. The breaking up of the phenomena of +the universe into carefully guarded groups, and the allocation of +certain prominent Laws to each, it must never be forgotten, and however +much Nature lends herself to it, are artificial. We find an evolution in +Botany, another in Geology, and another in Astronomy, and the effect is +to lead one insensibly to look upon these as three distinct evolutions. +But these sciences, of course, are mere departments created by ourselves +to facilitate knowledge--reductions of Nature to the scale of our own +intelligence. And we must beware of breaking up Nature except for this +purpose. Science has so dissected everything, that it becomes a mental +difficulty to put the puzzle together again; and we must keep ourselves +in practice by constantly thinking of Nature as a whole, if science is +not to be spoiled by its own refinements. Evolution being found in so +many different sciences, the likelihood is that it is a universal +principle. And there is no presumption whatever against this Law and +many others being excluded from the domain of the spiritual life. On the +other hand, there are very convincing reasons why the Natural Laws +should be continuous through the Spiritual Sphere--not changed in any +way to meet the new circumstances, but continuous as they stand. + +But to the exposition. One of the most striking generalizations of +recent science is that even Laws have their Law. Phenomena first, in the +progress of knowledge, were grouped together, and Nature shortly +presented the spectacle of a cosmos, the lines of beauty being the great +Natural Laws. So long, however, as these Laws were merely great lines +running through Nature, so long as they remained isolated from one +another, the system of Nature was still incomplete. The principle which +sought Law among phenomena had to go further and seek a Law among the +Laws. Laws themselves accordingly came to be treated as they treated +phenomena, and found themselves finally grouped in a still narrower +circle. That inmost circle is governed by one great Law, the Law of +Continuity. It is the Law for Laws. + +It is perhaps significant that few exact definitions of Continuity are +to be found. Even in Sir W. R. Grove's famous paper,[21] the +fountain-head of the modern form of this far from modern truth, there is +no attempt at definition. In point of fact, its sweep is so magnificent, +it appeals so much more to the imagination than to the reason, that men +have preferred to exhibit rather than to define it. Its true greatness +consists in the final impression it leaves on the mind with regard to +the uniformity of Nature. For it was reserved for the Law of Continuity +to put the finishing touch to the harmony of the universe. + +Probably the most satisfactory way to secure for one's self a just +appreciation of the Principle of Continuity is to try to conceive the +universe without it. The opposite of a continuous universe would be a +discontinuous universe, an incoherent and irrelevant universe--as +irrelevant in all its ways of doing things as an irrelevant person. In +effect, to withdraw Continuity from the universe would be the same as to +withdraw reason from an individual. The universe would run deranged; the +world would be a mad world. + +There used to be a children's book which bore the fascinating title of +"The Chance World." It described a world in which everything happened by +chance. The sun might rise or it might not; or it might appear at any +hour, or the moon might come up instead. When children were born they +might have one head or a dozen heads, and those heads might not be on +their shoulders--there might be no shoulders--but arranged about the +limbs. If one jumped up in the air it was impossible to predict whether +he would ever come down again. That he came down yesterday was no +guarantee that he would do it next time. For every day antecedent and +consequent varied, and gravitation and everything else changed from +hour to hour. To-day a child's body might be so light that it was +impossible for it to descend from its chair to the floor; but to-morrow, +in attempting the experiment again, the impetus might drive it through a +three-story house and dash it to pieces somewhere near the center of the +earth. In this chance world cause and effect were abolished. Law was +annihilated. And the result to the inhabitants of such a world could +only be that reason would be impossible. It would be a lunatic world +with a population of lunatics. + +Now this is no more than a real picture of what the world would be +without Law, or the universe without Continuity. And hence we come in +sight of the necessity of some principle of Law according to which Laws +shall be, and be "continuous" throughout the system. Man as a rational +and moral being demands a pledge that if he depends on Nature for any +given result on the ground that Nature has previously led him to expect +such a result, his intellect shall not be insulted, nor his confidence +in her abused. If he is to trust Nature, in short, it must be guaranteed +to him that in doing so he will "never be put to confusion." The authors +of the _Unseen Universe_ conclude their examination of this principle by +saying that "assuming the existence of a supreme Governor of the +universe, the Principle of Continuity may be said to be the definite +expression in words of our trust that He will not put us to permanent +intellectual confusion, and we can easily conceive similar expressions +of trust with reference to the other faculties of man."[22] Or, as it +has been well put elsewhere, Continuity is the expression of "the Divine +Veracity in Nature."[23] The most striking examples of the +continuousness of Law are perhaps those furnished by Astronomy, +especially in connection with the more recent applications of spectrum +analysis. But even in the case of the simpler Laws the demonstration is +complete. There is no reason apart from Continuity to expect that +gravitation for instance should prevail outside our world. But wherever +matter has been detected throughout the entire universe, whether in the +form of star or planet, comet or meteorite, it is found to obey that +Law. "If there were no other indication of unity than this, it would be +almost enough. For the unity which is implied in the mechanism of the +heavens is indeed a unity which is all-embracing and complete. The +structure of our own bodies, with all that depends upon it, is a +structure governed by, and therefore adapted to, the same force of +gravitation which has determined the form and the movements of myriads +of worlds. Every part of the human organism is fitted to conditions +which would all be destroyed in a moment if the forces of gravitation +were to change or fail."[24] + +But it is unnecessary to multiply illustrations. Having defined the +principle we may proceed at once to apply it. And the argument may be +summed up in a sentence. As the Natural Laws are continuous through the +universe of matter and of space, so will they be continuous through the +universe of spirit. + +If this be denied, what then? Those who deny it must furnish the +disproof. The argument is founded on a principle which is now +acknowledged to be universal; and the _onus_ of disproof must lie with +those who may be bold enough to take up the position that a region +exists where at last the Principle of Continuity fails. To do this one +would first have to overturn Nature, then science, and last, the human +mind. + +It may seem an obvious objection that many of the Natural Laws have no +connection whatever with the Spiritual World, and as a matter of fact +are not continued through it. Gravitation for instance--what direct +application has that in the Spiritual World? The reply is threefold. +First, there is no proof that it does not hold there. If the spirit be +in any sense material it certainly must hold. In the second place, +gravitation may hold for the Spiritual Sphere although it cannot be +directly proved. The spirit may be armed with powers which enable it to +rise superior to gravity. During the action of these powers gravity need +be no more suspended than in the case of a plant which rises in the air +during the process of growth. It does this in virtue of a higher Law and +in apparent defiance of the lower. Thirdly, if the spiritual be not +material it still cannot be said that gravitation ceases at that point +to be continuous. It is not gravitation that ceases--it is matter. + +This point, however, will require development for another reason. In the +case of the plant just referred to, there is a principle of growth or +vitality at work superseding the attraction of gravity. Why is there no +trace of that Law in the Inorganic world? Is not this another instance +of the discontinuousness of Law? If the Law of vitality has so little +connection with the Inorganic kingdom--less even than gravitation with +the Spiritual, what becomes of Continuity? Is it not evident that each +kingdom of Nature has its own set of Laws which continue possibly +untouched for the specific kingdom but never extend beyond it? + +It is quite true that when we pass from the Inorganic to the Organic, we +come upon a new set of Laws. But the reason why the lower set do not +seem to act in the higher sphere is not that they are annihilated, but +that they are overruled. And the reason why the higher Laws are not +found operating in the lower is not because they are not continuous +downward, but because there is nothing for them there to act upon. It is +not Law that fails, but opportunity. The biological Laws are continuous +for life. Wherever there is life, that is to say, they will be found +acting, just as gravitation acts wherever there is matter. + +We have purposely, in the last paragraph, indulged in a fallacy. We +have said that the biological Laws would certainly be continuous in the +lower or mineral sphere were there anything there for them to act upon. +Now Laws do not act upon anything. It has been stated already, although +apparently it cannot be too abundantly emphasized, that Laws are only +modes of operation, not themselves operators. The accurate statement, +therefore, would be that the biological Laws would be continuous in the +lower sphere were there anything there for them, not to act upon, but to +keep in order. If there is no acting going on, if there is nothing being +kept in order, the responsibility does not lie with Continuity. The Law +will always be at its post, not only when its services are required, but +wherever they are possible. + +Attention is drawn to this, for it is a correction one will find one's +self compelled often to make in his thinking. It is so difficult to keep +out of mind the idea of substance in connection with the Natural Laws, +the idea that they are the movers, the essences, the energies, that one +is constantly on the verge of falling into false conclusions. Thus a +hasty glance at the present argument on the part of any one +ill-furnished enough to confound Law with substance or with cause would +probably lead to its immediate rejection. For, to continue the same line +of illustration, it might next be urged that such a Law as Biogenesis, +which, as we hope to show afterward, is the fundamental Law of life for +both the natural and spiritual worlds, can have no application +whatsoever in the latter sphere. The _life_ with which it deals in the +Natural World does not enter at all into the Spiritual World, and +therefore, it might be argued, the Law of Biogenesis cannot be capable +of extension into it. The Law of Continuity seems to be snapped at the +point where the natural passes into the spiritual. The vital principle +of the body is a different thing from the vital principle of the +spiritual life. Biogenesis deals with βιος, with the natural life, with +cells and germs, and as there are no exactly similar cells and germs in +the Spiritual World, the Law cannot therefore apply. All which is as +true as if one were to say that the fifth proposition of the First Book +of Euclid applies when the figures are drawn with chalk upon a +blackboard, but fails with regard to structures of wood or stone. + +The proposition is continuous for the whole world, and, doubtless, +likewise for the sun and moon and stars. The same universality may be +predicated likewise for the Law of life. Wherever there is life we may +expect to find it arranged, ordered, governed according to the same Law. +At the beginning of the natural life we find the Law that natural life +can only come from preëxisting natural life; and at the beginning of the +spiritual life we find that the spiritual life can only come from +preëxisting spiritual life. But there are not two Laws; there is +one--Biogenesis. At one end the Law is dealing with matter, at the other +with spirit. The qualitative terms natural and spiritual make no +difference. Biogenesis is the Law for all life and for all kinds of +life, and the particular substance with which it is associated is as +indifferent to Biogenesis as it is to Gravitation. Gravitation will act +whether the substance be suns and stars, or grains of sand, or +raindrops. Biogenesis, in like manner, will act wherever there is life. + +The conclusion finally is, that from the nature of Law in general, and +from the scope of the Principle of Continuity in particular, the Laws of +the natural life must be those of the spiritual life. This does not +exclude, observe, the possibility of there being new Laws in addition +within the Spiritual Sphere; nor does it even include the supposition +that the old Laws will be the conspicuous Laws of the Spiritual World, +both which points will be dealt with presently. It simply asserts that +whatever else may be found, these must be found there; that they must be +there though they may not be seen there; and that they must project +beyond there if there be anything beyond there. If the Law of Continuity +is true, the only way to escape the conclusion that the Laws of the +natural life are the Laws, or at least are Laws, of the spiritual life, +is to say that there is no spiritual life. It is really easier to give +up the phenomena than to give up the Law. + +Two questions now remain for further consideration--one bearing on the +possibility of new Law in the spiritual; the other, on the assumed +invisibility or inconspicuousness of the old Laws on account of their +subordination to the new. + +Let us begin by conceding that there may be new Laws. The argument might +then be advanced that since, in Nature generally, we come upon new Laws +as we pass from lower to higher kingdoms, the old still remaining in +force, the newer Laws which one would expect to meet in the Spiritual +World would so transcend and overwhelm the older as to make the analogy +or identity, even if traced, of no practical use. The new Laws would +represent operations and energies so different, and so much more +elevated, that they would afford the true keys to the Spiritual World. +As Gravitation is practically lost sight of when we pass into the domain +of life, so Biogenesis would be lost sight of as we enter the Spiritual +Sphere. + +We must first separate in this statement the old confusion of Law and +energy. Gravitation is not lost sight of in the organic world. Gravity +may be, to a certain extent, but not Gravitation; and gravity only where +a higher power counteracts its action. At the same time it is not to be +denied that the conspicuous thing in Organic Nature is not the great +Inorganic Law. + +But the objection turns upon the statement that reasoning from analogy +we should expect, in turn, to lose sight of Biogenesis as we enter the +Spiritual Sphere. One answer to which is that, as a matter of fact, we +do not lose sight of it. So far from being invisible, it lies across the +very threshold of the Spiritual World, and, as we shall see, pervades it +everywhere. What we lose sight of, to a certain extent, is the natural +βιος. In the Spiritual World that is not the conspicuous thing, and it +is obscure there just as gravity becomes obscure in the Organic, because +something higher, more potent, more characteristic of the higher plane, +comes in. That there are higher energies, so to speak, in the Spiritual +World is, of course, to be affirmed alike on the ground of analogy and +of experience; but it does not follow that these necessitate other Laws. +A Law has nothing to do with potency. We may lose sight of a substance, +or of an energy, but it is an abuse of language to talk of losing sight +of Laws. + +Are there, then, no other Laws in the Spiritual World except those which +are the projections or extensions of Natural Laws? From the number of +Natural Laws which are found in the higher sphere, from the large +territory actually embraced by them, and from their special prominence +throughout the whole region, it may at least be answered that the margin +left for them is small. But if the objection is pressed that it is +contrary to the analogy, and unreasonable in itself, that there should +not be new Laws for this higher sphere, the reply is obvious. Let these +Laws be produced. If the spiritual nature, in inception, growth, and +development, does not follow natural principles, let the true principles +be stated and explained. We have not denied that there may be new Laws. +One would almost be surprised if there were not. The mass of material +handed over from the natural to the spiritual, continuous, apparently, +from the natural to the spiritual, is so great that till that is worked +out it will be impossible to say what space is still left unembraced by +Laws that are known. At present it is impossible even approximately to +estimate the size of that supposed _terra incognita_. From one point of +view it ought to be vast, from another extremely small. But however +large the region governed by the suspected new Laws may be that cannot +diminish by a hair's-breadth the size of the territory where the old +Laws still prevail. That territory itself, relatively to us though +perhaps not absolutely, must be of great extent. The size of the key +which is to open it, that is, the size of all the Natural Laws which can +be found to apply, is a guarantee that the region of the knowable in the +Spiritual World is at least as wide as these regions of the Natural +World which by the help of these Laws have been explored. No doubt also +there yet remain some Natural Laws to be discovered, and these in time +may have a further light to shed on the spiritual field. Then we may +know all that is? By no means. We may only know all that may be known. +And that may be very little. The Sovereign Will which sways the scepter +of that invisible empire must be granted a right of freedom--that +freedom which by putting it into our wills He surely teaches us to honor +in His. In much of His dealing with us also, in what may be called the +paternal relation, there may seem no special Law--no Law except the +highest of all, that Law of which all other Laws are parts, that Law +which neither Nature can wholly reflect nor the mind begin to +fathom--the Law of Love. He adds nothing to that, however, who loses +sight of all other Laws in that, nor does he take from it who finds +specific Laws everywhere radiating from it. + +With regard to the supposed new Laws of the Spiritual World--those Laws, +that is, which are found for the first time in the Spiritual World, and +have no analogies lower down--there is this to be said, that there is +one strong reason against exaggerating either their number or +importance--their importance at least for our immediate needs. The +connection between language and the Law of Continuity has been referred +to incidentally already. It is clear that we can only express the +Spiritual Laws in language borrowed from the visible universe. Being +dependent for our vocabulary on images, if an altogether new and foreign +set of Laws existed in the Spiritual World, they could never take shape +as definite ideas from mere want of words. The hypothetical new Laws +which may remain to be discovered in the domain of Natural or Mental +Science may afford some index of these hypothetical higher Laws, but +this would of course mean that the latter were no longer foreign but in +analogy, or, likelier still, identical. If, on the other hand, the +Natural Laws of the future have nothing to say of these higher Laws, +what can be said of them? Where is the language to come from in which to +frame them? If their disclosure could be of any practical use to us, we +may be sure the clue to them, the revelation of them, in some way would +have been put into Nature. If, on the contrary, they are not to be of +immediate use to man, it is better they should not embarrass him. After +all, then, our knowledge of higher Law must be limited by our knowledge +of the lower. The Natural Laws as at present known, whatever additions +may yet be made to them, give a fair rendering of the facts of Nature. +And their analogies or their projections in the Spiritual sphere may +also be said to offer a fair account of that sphere, or of one or two +conspicuous departments of it. The time has come for that account to be +given. The greatest among the theological Laws are the Laws of Nature in +disguise. It will be the splendid task of the theology of the future to +take off the mask and disclose to a waning scepticism the naturalness of +the supernatural. + +It is almost singular that the identification of the Laws of the +Spiritual World with the Laws of Nature should so long have escaped +recognition. For apart from the probability on _a priori_ grounds, it is +involved in the whole structure of Parable. When any two Phenomena in +the two spheres are seen to be analogous, the parallelism must depend +upon the fact that the Laws governing them are not analogous but +identical. And yet this basis for Parable seems to have been overlooked. +Thus Principal Shairp:--"This seeing of Spiritual truths mirrored in the +face of Nature rests not on any fancied, but in a real analogy between +the natural and the spiritual worlds. They are _in some sense which +science has not ascertained_, but which the vital and religious +imagination can perceive, counterparts one of the other."[25] But is not +this the explanation, that parallel Phenomena depend upon identical +Laws? It is a question indeed whether one can speak of Laws at all as +being analogous. Phenomena are parallel, Laws which make them so are +themselves one. + +In discussing the relations of the Natural and Spiritual kingdom, it has +been all but implied hitherto that the Spiritual Laws were framed +originally on the plan of the Natural; and the impression one might +receive in studying the two worlds for the first time from the side of +analogy would naturally be that the lower world was formed first, as a +kind of scaffolding on which the higher and Spiritual should be +afterward raised. Now the exact opposite has been the case. The first in +the field was the Spiritual World. + +It is not necessary to reproduce here in detail the argument which has +been stated recently with so much force in the "Unseen Universe." The +conclusion of that work remains still unassailed, that the visible +universe has been developed from the unseen. Apart from the general +proof from the Law of Continuity, the more special grounds of such a +conclusion are, first, the fact insisted upon by Herschel and +Clerk-Maxwell that the atoms of which the visible universe is built up +bear distinct marks of being manufactured articles; and, secondly, the +origin in time of the visible universe is implied from known facts with +regard to the dissipation of energy. With the gradual aggregation of +mass the energy of the universe has been slowly disappearing, and this +loss of energy must go on until none remains. There is, therefore, a +point in time when the energy of the universe must come to an end; and +that which has its end in time cannot be infinite, it must also have had +a beginning in time. Hence the unseen existed before the seen. + +There is nothing so especially exalted therefore in the Natural Laws in +themselves as to make one anxious to find them blood relations of the +Spiritual. It is not only because these Laws are on the ground, more +accessible therefore to us who are but groundlings; not only, as the +"Unseen Universe" points out in another connection, "because they are at +the bottom of the list--are in fact the simplest and lowest--that they +are capable of being most readily grasped by the finite intelligences of +the universe."[26] But their true significance lies in the fact that +they are on the list at all, and especially in that the list is the same +list. Their dignity is not as Natural Laws, but as Spiritual Laws, Laws +which, as already said, at one end are dealing with Matter, and at the +other with Spirit. "The physical properties of matter form the alphabet +which is put into our hands by God, the study of which, if properly +conducted, will enable us more perfectly to read that great book which +we call the 'Universe.'"[27] But, over and above this, the Natural Laws +will enable us to read that great duplicate which we call the "Unseen +Universe," and to think and live in fuller harmony with it. After all, +the true greatness of Law lies in its vision of the Unseen. Law in the +visible is the Invisible in the visible. And to speak of Laws as Natural +is to define them in their application to a part of the universe, the +sense-part, whereas a wider survey would lead us to regard all Law as +essentially Spiritual. To magnify the Laws of Nature, as Laws of this +small world of ours, is to take a provincial view of the universe. Law +is great not because the phenomenal world is great, but because these +vanishing lines are the avenues into the eternal Order. "It is less +reverent to regard the universe as an illimitable avenue which leads up +to God, than to look upon it as a limited area bounded by an +impenetrable wall, which, if we could only pierce it would admit us at +once into the presence of the Eternal?"[28] Indeed the authors of the +"Unseen Universe" demur even to the expression _material universe_, +since, as they tell us "Matter is (though it may seem paradoxical to say +so) the less important half of the material of the physical +universe."[29] And even Mr. Huxley, though in a different sense, assures +us, with Descartes, "that we know more of mind than we do of body; that +the immaterial world is a firmer reality than the material."[30] + +How the priority of the Spiritual improves the strength and meaning of +the whole argument will be seen at once. The lines of the Spiritual +existed first, and it was natural to expect that when the "Intelligence +resident in the 'Unseen'" proceeded to frame the material universe He +should go upon the lines already laid down. He would, in short, simply +project the higher Laws downward, so that the Natural World would become +an incarnation, a visible representation, a working model of the +spiritual. The whole function of the material world lies here. The world +is only a thing that is; it is not. It is a thing that teaches, yet not +even a thing--a show that shows, a teaching shadow. However useless the +demonstration otherwise, philosophy does well in proving that matter is +a non-entity. We work with it as the mathematician with an _x_. The +reality is alone the Spiritual. "It is very well for physicists to speak +of 'matter,' but for men generally to call this 'a material world' is an +absurdity. Should we call it an _x_-world it would mean as much, viz., +that we do not know what it is."[31] When shall we learn the true +mysticism of one who was yet far from being a mystic--"We look not at +the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the +things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen +are eternal?"[32] The visible is the ladder up to the invisible; the +temporal is but the scaffolding of the eternal. And when the last +immaterial souls have climbed through this material to God, the +scaffolding shall be taken down, and the earth dissolved with fervent +heat--not because it was base, but because its work is done. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[3] "Reign of Law," chap. ii. + +[4] "Animal Kingdom." + +[5] "Sartor Resartus," 1858 Ed., p. 43. + +[6] Even parable, however, has always been considered to have attached +to it a measure of evidential as well as of illustrative value. Thus: +"The parable or other analogy to spiritual truth appropriated from the +world of nature or man, is not merely illustrative, but also in some +sort proof. It is not merely that these analogies assist to make the +truth intelligible or, if intelligible before, present it more vividly +to the mind, which is all that some will allow them. Their power lies +deeper than this, in the harmony unconsciously felt by all men, and +which all deeper minds have delighted to trace, between the natural and +spiritual worlds, so that analogies from the first are felt to be +something more than illustrations happily but yet arbitrarily chosen. +They are arguments, and may be alleged as witnesses; the world of nature +being throughout a witness for the world of spirit, proceeding from the +same hand, growing out of the same root, and being constituted for that +very end."--(Archbishop Trench: "Parables," pp. 12, 13.) + +[7] Mill's "Logic," vol. ii. p. 96. + +[8] Campbell's "Rhetoric," vol. i. p. 114. + +[9] "Nature and the Supernatural," p. 19. + +[10] "The Scientific Basis of Faith." By J. J. Murphy, p. 466. + +[11] Op. cit., p. 333. + +[12] _Ibid._, p. 333. + +[13] _Ibid._, p. 331. + +[14] "Analogy," chap. vii. + +[15] "Unseen Universe," 6th Ed., pp. 89, 90. + +[16] "Essays," vol. i. p. 40. + +[17] "A Modern Symposium."--_Nineteenth Century_, vol. i. p. 625. + +[18] Beck: "Bib. Psychol.," Clark's Tr., Pref., 2d Ed., p. xiii. + +[19] "First Principles," p. 161. + +[20] Wordsworth's _Excursion_, Book iv. + +[21] "The Correlation of Physical Forces," 6th Ed., p. 181 _et seq._ + +[22] "Unseen Universe," 6th Ed., p. 88. + +[23] "Old Faiths in New Light," by Newman Smith. Unwin's English +edition, p. 252. + +[24] The Duke of Argyll: _Contemporary Review_, Sept., 1880, p. 358. + +[25] "Poetic Interpretation of Nature," p. 115. + +[26] 6th edition, p. 235. + +[27] _Ibid._, p. 286. + +[28] "Unseen Universe," p. 96. + +[29] "Unseen Universe," p. 100. + +[30] "Science and Culture," p. 259. + +[31] Hinton's "Philosophy and Religion," p. 40. + +[32] 2 Cor. iv. 18. + + + + +BIOGENESIS. + + "What we require is no new Revelation, but simply an adequate + conception of the true essence of Christianity. And I believe that, + as time goes on, the work of the Holy Spirit will be continuously + shown in the gradual insight which the human race will attain into + the true essence of the Christian religion. I am thus of opinion + that a standing miracle exists, and that it has ever existed--a + direct and continued influence exerted by the supernatural on the + natural."--_Paradoxical Philosophy._ + + "He that hath the Son hath Life, and he that hath not the Son of God + hath not Life."--_John._ + + "Omne vivum ex vivo."--_Harvey._ + + +For two hundred years the scientific world has been rent with +discussions upon the Origin of Life. Two great schools have defended +exactly opposite views--one that matter can spontaneously generate life, +the other that life can only come from preëxisting life. The doctrine of +Spontaneous Generation, as the first is called, has been revived within +recent years by Dr. Bastian, after a series of elaborate experiments on +the Beginnings of Life. Stated in his own words, his conclusion is this: +"Both observation and experiment unmistakably testify to the fact that +living matter is constantly being formed _de novo_, in obedience to the +same laws and tendencies which determined all the more simple chemical +combinations."[33] Life, that is to say, is not the Gift of Life. It is +capable of springing into being of itself. It can be Spontaneously +Generated. + +This announcement called into the field a phalanx of observers, and the +highest authorities in biological science engaged themselves afresh +upon the problem. The experiments necessary to test the matter can be +followed or repeated by any one possessing the slightest manipulative +skill. Glass vessels are three-parts filled with infusions of hay or any +organic matter. They are boiled to kill all germs of life, and +hermetically sealed to exclude the outer air. The air inside, having +been exposed to the boiling temperature for many hours, is supposed to +be likewise dead; so that any life which may subsequently appear in the +closed flasks must have sprung into being of itself. In Bastian's +experiments, after every expedient to secure sterility, life did appear +inside in myriad quantity. Therefore, he argued, it was spontaneously +generated. + +But the phalanx of observers found two errors in this calculation. +Professor Tyndall repeated the same experiment, only with a precaution +to insure absolute sterility suggested by the most recent science--a +discovery of his own. After every care, he conceived there might still +be undestroyed germs in the air inside the flasks. If the air were +absolutely germless and pure, would the myriad-life appear? He +manipulated his experimental vessels in an atmosphere which under the +high test of optical purity--the most delicate known test--was +absolutely germless. Here not a vestige of life appeared. He varied the +experiment in every direction, but matter in the germless air never +yielded life. + +The other error was detected by Mr. Dallinger. He found among the lower +forms of life the most surprising and indestructible vitality. Many +animals could survive much higher temperatures than Dr. Bastian had +applied to annihilate them. Some germs almost refused to be +annihilated--they were all but fire-proof. + +These experiments have practically closed the question. A decided and +authoritative conclusion has now taken its place in science. So far as +science can settle anything, this question is settled. The attempt to +get the living out of the dead has failed. Spontaneous Generation has +had to be given up. And it is now recognized on every hand that Life can +only come from the touch of Life. Huxley categorically announces that +the doctrine of Biogenesis, or life only from life, is "victorious along +the whole line at the present day."[34] And even while confessing that +he wishes the evidence were the other way, Tyndall is compelled to say, +"I affirm that no shred of trustworthy experimental testimony exists to +prove that life in our day has ever appeared independently of antecedent +life."[35] + +For much more than two hundred years a similar discussion has dragged +its length through the religious world. Two great schools here also have +defended exactly opposite views--one that the Spiritual Life in man can +only come from preëxisting Life, the other that it can Spontaneously +Generate itself. Taking its stand upon the initial statement of the +Author of the Spiritual Life, one small school, in the face of derision +and opposition, has persistently maintained the doctrine of Biogenesis. +Another, larger and with greater pretension to philosophic form, has +defended Spontaneous Generation. The weakness of the former school +consists--though this has been much exaggerated--in its more or less +general adherence to the extreme view that religion had nothing to do +with the natural life; the weakness of the latter lay in yielding to the +more fatal extreme that it had nothing to do with anything else. That +man, being a worshiping animal by nature, ought to maintain certain +relations to the Supreme Being, was indeed to some extent conceded by +the naturalistic school, but religion itself we looked upon as a thing +to be spontaneously generated by the evolution of character in the +laboratory of common life. + +The difference between the two positions is radical. Translating from +the language of Science into that of Religion, the theory of +Spontaneous Generation is simply that a man may become gradually better +and better until in course of the process he reaches that quantity of +religious nature known as Spiritual Life. This Life is not something +added _ab extra_ to the natural man; it is the normal and appropriate +development of the natural man. Biogenesis opposes to this the whole +doctrine of Regeneration. The Spiritual Life is the gift of the Living +Spirit. The spiritual man is no mere development of the natural man. He +is a New Creation born from Above. As well expect a hay infusion to +become gradually more and more living until in course of the process it +reached Vitality, as expect a man by becoming better and better to +attain the Eternal Life. + +The advocates of Biogenesis in Religion have founded their argument +hitherto all but exclusively on Scripture. The relation of the doctrine +to the constitution and course of Nature was not disclosed. Its +importance, therefore, was solely as a dogma; and being directly +concerned with the Supernatural, it was valid for those alone who chose +to accept the Supernatural. + +Yet it has been keenly felt by those who attempt to defend this doctrine +of the origin of the Spiritual Life, that they have nothing more to +oppose to the rationalistic view than the _ipse dixit_ of Revelation. +The argument from experience, in the nature of the case, is seldom easy +to apply, and Christianity has always found at this point a genuine +difficulty in meeting the challenge of Natural Religions. The direct +authority of Nature, using Nature in its limited sense, was not here to +be sought for. On such a question its voice was necessarily silent; and +all that the apologist could look for lower down was a distant echo or +analogy. All that is really possible, indeed, is such an analogy; and if +that can now be found in Biogenesis, Christianity in its most central +position secures at length a support and basis in the Laws of Nature. + +Up to the present time the analogy required has not been forthcoming. +There was no known parallel in Nature for the spiritual phenomena in +question. But now the case is altered. With the elevation of Biogenesis +to the rank of a scientific fact, all problems concerning the Origin of +Life are placed on a different footing. And it remains to be seen +whether Religion cannot at once reaffirm and re-shape its argument in +the light of this modern truth. + +If the doctrine of the Spontaneous Generation of Spiritual Life can be +met on scientific grounds, it will mean the removal of the most serious +enemy Christianity has to deal with, and especially within its own +borders, at the present day. The religion of Jesus has probably always +suffered more from those who have misunderstood than from those who have +opposed it. Of the multitudes who confess Christianity at this hour how +many have clear in their minds the cardinal distinction established by +its Founder between "born of the flesh" and "born of the Spirit?" By how +many teachers of Christianity even is not this fundamental postulate +persistently ignored? A thousand modern pulpits every seventh day are +preaching the doctrine of Spontaneous Generation. The finest and best of +recent poetry is colored with this same error. Spontaneous Generation is +the leading theology of the modern religious or irreligious novel; and +much of the most serious and cultured writing of the day devotes itself +to earnest preaching of this impossible gospel. The current conception +of the Christian religion in short--the conception which is held not +only popularly but by men of culture--is founded upon a view of its +origin which, if it were true, would render the whole scheme abortive. + +Let us first place vividly in our imagination the picture of the two +great Kingdoms of Nature, the inorganic and organic, as these now stand +in the light of the Law of Biogenesis. What essentially is involved in +saying that there is no Spontaneous Generation of Life? It is meant that +the passage from the mineral world to the plant or animal world is +hermetically sealed on the mineral side. This inorganic world is staked +off from the living world by barriers which have never yet been crossed +from within. No change of substance, no modification of environment, no +chemistry, no electricity, nor any form of energy, nor any evolution can +endow any single atom of the mineral world with the attribute of Life. +Only by the bending down into this dead world of some living form can +these dead atoms be gifted with the properties of vitality, without this +preliminary contact with Life they remain fixed in the inorganic sphere +forever. It is a very mysterious Law which guards in this way the +portals of the living world. And if there is one thing in Nature more +worth pondering for its strangeness it is the spectacle of this vast +helpless world of the dead cut off from the living by the Law of +Biogenesis and denied forever the possibility of resurrection within +itself. So very strange a thing, indeed, is this broad line in Nature, +that Science has long and urgently sought to obliterate it. Biogenesis +stands in the way of some forms of Evolution with such stern persistency +that the assaults upon this Law for number and thoroughness have been +unparalleled. But, as we have seen, it has stood the test. Nature, to +the modern eye, stands broken in two. The physical Laws may explain the +inorganic world; the biological Laws may account for the development of +the organic. But of the point where they meet, of that strange +borderland between the dead and the living, Science is silent. It is as +if God had placed everything in earth and heaven in the hands of Nature, +but reserved a point at the genesis of Life for His direct appearing. + +The power of the analogy, for which we are laying the foundations, to +seize and impress the mind, will largely depend on the vividness with +which one realizes the gulf which Nature places between the living and +the dead.[36] But those who, in contemplating Nature, have found their +attention arrested by this extraordinary dividing-line severing the +visible universe eternally into two; those who in watching the progress +of science have seen barrier after barrier disappear--barrier between +plant and plant, between animal and animal, and even between animal and +plant--but this gulf yawn more hopelessly wide with every advance of +knowledge, will be prepared to attach a significance to the Law of +Biogenesis and its analogies more profound perhaps than to any other +fact or law in Nature. If, as Pascal says, Nature is an image of grace; +if the things that are seen are in any sense the images of the unseen, +there must lie in this great gulf fixed, this most unique and startling +of all natural phenomena, a meaning of peculiar moment. + +Where now in the Spiritual spheres shall we meet a companion phenomena +to this? What in the Unseen shall be likened to this deep dividing-line, +or where in human experience is another barrier which never can be +crossed? + +There is such a barrier. In the dim but not inadequate vision of the +Spiritual World presented in the Word of God, the first thing that +strikes the eye is a great gulf fixed. The passage from the Natural +World to the Spiritual World is hermetically sealed on the natural side. +The door from the inorganic to the organic is shut, no mineral can open +it; so the door from the natural to the spiritual is shut, and no man +can open it. This world of natural men is staked off from the Spiritual +World by barriers which have never yet been crossed from within. No +organic change, no modification of environment, no mental energy, no +moral effort, no evolution of character, no progress of civilization can +endow any single human soul with the attribute of Spiritual Life. The +Spiritual World is guarded from the world next in order beneath it by a +law of Biogenesis--_except a man be born again ... except a man be born +of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter the Kingdom of God_. + +It is not said, in this enunciation of the law, that if the condition be +not fulfilled the natural man _will not_ enter the Kingdom of God. The +word is _cannot_. For the exclusion of the spiritually inorganic from +the Kingdom of the spiritually organic is not arbitrary. Nor is the +natural man refused admission on unexplained grounds. His admission is a +scientific impossibility. Except a mineral be born "from above"--from +the Kingdom just _above_ it--it cannot enter the Kingdom just above it. +And except a man be born "from above," by the same law, he cannot enter +the Kingdom just above him. There being no passage from one Kingdom to +another, whether from inorganic to organic, or from organic to +spiritual, the intervention of Life is a scientific necessity if a stone +or a plant or an animal or a man is to pass from a lower to a higher +sphere. The plant stretches down to the dead world beneath it, touches +its minerals and gases with its mystery of Life, and brings them up +ennobled and transformed to the living sphere. The breath of God, +blowing where it listeth, touches with its mystery of Life the dead +souls of men, bears them across the bridgeless gulf between the natural +and the spiritual, between the spiritually inorganic and the spiritually +organic, endows them with its own high qualities, and develops within +them these new and secret faculties, by which those who are born again +are said to _see the Kingdom of God_. + +What is the evidence for this great gulf fixed at the portals of the +Spiritual World? Does Science close this gate, or Reason, or Experience, +or Revelation? We reply, all four. The initial statement, it is not to +be denied, reaches us from Revelation. But is not this evidence here in +court? Or shall it be said that any argument deduced from this is a +transparent circle--that after all we simply come back to the +unsubstantiality of the _ipse dixit_? Not altogether, for the analogy +lends an altogether new authority to the _ipse dixit_. How substantial +that argument really is, is seldom realized. We yield the point here +much too easily. The right of the Spiritual World to speak of its own +phenomena is as secure as the right of the Natural World to speak of +itself. What is Science but what the Natural World has said to natural +men? What is Revelation but what the Spiritual World has said to +Spiritual men? Let us at least ask what Revelation has announced with +reference to this Spiritual Law of Biogenesis; afterward we shall +inquire whether Science, while indorsing the verdict, may not also have +some further vindication of its title to be heard. + +The words of Scripture which preface this inquiry contain an explicit +and original statement of the Law of Biogenesis for the Spiritual Life. +"He that hath the Son hath Life, and he that hath not the Son of God +hath not Life." Life, that is to say, depends upon contact with Life. It +cannot spring up of itself. It cannot develop out of anything that is +not Life. There is no Spontaneous Generation in religion any more than +in Nature. Christ is the source of Life in the Spiritual World; and he +that hath the Son hath Life, and he that hath not the Son, whatever else +he may have, hath not Life. Here, in short, is the categorical denial of +Abiogenesis and the establishment in this high field of the classical +formula _Omne vivum ex vivo_--no Life without antecedent Life. In this +mystical theory of the Origin of Life the whole of the New Testament +writers are agreed. And, as we have already seen, Christ Himself founds +Christianity upon Biogenesis stated in its most literal form. "Except a +man be born of water and of the Spirit he cannot enter into the Kingdom +of God. That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born +of the Spirit is Spirit. Marvel not that I said unto you, ye must be +born again."[37] Why did He add _Marvel not_? Did He seek to allay the +fear in the bewildered ruler's mind that there was more in this novel +doctrine than a simple analogy from the first to the second birth? + +The attitude of the natural man, again, with reference to the Spiritual, +is a subject on which the New Testament is equally pronounced. Not only +in his relation to the spiritual man, but to the whole Spiritual World, +the natural man is regarded as _dead_. He is as a crystal to an +organism. The natural world is to the Spiritual as the inorganic to the +organic. "To be carnally minded is _Death_."[38] "Thou hast a name to +live, but art _Dead_."[39] "She that liveth in pleasure is _Dead_ while +she liveth."[40] "To you he Hath given Life which were _Dead_ in +trespasses and sins."[41] + +It is clear that a remarkable harmony exists here between the Organic +World as arranged by Science and the Spiritual World as arranged by +Scripture. We find one great Law guarding the thresholds of both worlds, +securing that entrance from a lower sphere shall only take place by a +direct regenerating act, and that emanating from the world next in order +above. There are not two laws of Biogenesis, one for the natural, the +other for the Spiritual; one law is for both. Wherever there is Life, +Life of any kind, this same law holds. The analogy, therefore, is only +among the phenomena; between laws there is no analogy--there is +Continuity. In either case, the first step in peopling these worlds +with the appropriate living forms is virtually miracle. Nor in one case +is there less of mystery in the act than in the other. The second birth +is scarcely less perplexing to the theologian than the first to the +embryologist. + +A moment's reflection ought now to make it clear why in the Spiritual +World there had to be added to this mystery the further mystery of its +proclamation through the medium of Revelation. This is the point at +which the scientific man is apt to part company with the theologian. He +insists on having all things materialized before his eyes in Nature. If +Nature cannot discuss this with him, there is nothing to discuss. But +Nature can discuss this with him--only she cannot open the discussion or +supply all the material to begin with. If Science averred that she could +do this, the theologian this time must part company with such Science. +For any Science which makes such a demand is false to the doctrines of +Biogenesis. What is this but the demand that a lower world, hermetically +sealed against all communication with a world above it, should have a +mature and intelligent acquaintance with its phenomena and laws? Can the +mineral discourse to me of animal Life? Can it tell me what lies beyond +the narrow boundary of its inert being? Knowing nothing of other than +the chemical and physical laws, what is its criticism worth of the +principles of Biology? And even when some visitor from the upper world, +for example some root from a living tree, penetrating its dark recess, +honors it with a touch, will it presume to define the form and purpose +of its patron, or until the bioplasm has done its gracious work can it +even know that it is being touched? The barrier which separates Kingdoms +from one another restricts mind not less than matter. Any information of +the Kingdoms above it that could come to the mineral world could only +come by a communication from above. An analogy from the lower world +might make such communication intelligible as well as credible, but the +information in the first instance must be vouchsafed as a _revelation_. +Similarly if those in the organic Kingdom are to know anything of the +Spiritual World, that knowledge must at least begin as Revelation. Men +who reject this source of information, by the Law of Biogenesis, can +have no other. It is no spell of ignorance arbitrarily laid upon certain +members of the Organic Kingdom that prevents them reading the secrets of +the Spiritual World. It is a scientific necessity. No exposition of the +case could be more truly scientific than this: "The natural man +receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God; for they are foolishness +unto him: _neither can he know them_, because they are spiritually +discerned."[42] The verb here, it will be again observed, is potential. +This is not a dogma of theology, but a necessity of Science. And +Science, for the most part, has consistently accepted the situation. It +has always proclaimed its ignorance of the Spiritual World. When Mr. +Herbert Spencer affirms, "Regarding Science as a gradually increasing +sphere we may say that every addition to its surface does but bring it +into wider contact with surrounding nescience,"[43] from his standpoint +he is quite correct. The endeavors of well-meaning persons to show that +the Agnostic's position, when he asserts his ignorance of the Spiritual +World, is only a pretence; the attempts to prove that he really knows a +great deal about it if he would only admit it, are quite misplaced. He +really does not know. The verdict that the natural man receiveth not the +things of the Spirit of God, that they are foolishness unto him, that +_neither can he_ know them, is final as a statement of scientific +truth--a statement on which the entire Agnostic literature is simply one +long commentary. + +We are now in a better position to follow out the more practical +bearings of Biogenesis. There is an immense region surrounding +Regeneration, a dark and perplexing region where men would be thankful +for any light. It may well be that Biogenesis in its many ramifications +may yet reach down to some of the deeper mysteries of the Spiritual +Life. But meantime there is much to define even on the surface. And for +the present we shall content ourselves by turning its light upon one or +two points of current interest. + +It must long ago have appeared how decisive is the answer of Science to +the practical question with which we set out as to the possibility of a +Spontaneous Development of Spiritual Life in the individual soul. The +inquiry into the Origin of Life is the fundamental question alike of +Biology and Christianity. We can afford to enlarge upon it, therefore, +even at the risk of repetition. When men are offering us a Christianity +without a living Spirit, and a personal religion without _conversion_, +no emphasis or reiteration can be extreme. Besides, the clearness as +well as the definiteness of the Testimony of Nature to any Spiritual +truth is of immense importance. Regeneration has not merely been an +outstanding difficulty, but an overwhelming obscurity. Even to earnest +minds the difficulty of grasping the truth at all has always proved +extreme. Philosophically one scarcely sees either the necessity or the +possibility of being born again. Why a virtuous man should not simply +grow better and better until in his own right he enter the Kingdom of +God is what thousands honestly and seriously fail to understand. Now +Philosophy cannot help us here. Her arguments are, if anything, against +us. But Science answers to the appeal at once. If it be simply pointed +out that this is the same absurdity as to ask why a stone should not +grow more and more living till it enters the Organic World, the point is +clear in an instant. + +What now, let us ask specifically, distinguishes a Christian man from a +non-Christian man? Is it that he has certain mental characteristics not +possessed by the other? Is it that certain faculties have been trained +in him, that morality assumes special and higher manifestations, and +character a nobler form? Is the Christian merely an ordinary man who +happens from birth to have been surrounded with a peculiar set of ideas? +Is his religion merely that peculiar quality of the moral life defined +by Mr. Matthew Arnold as "morality touched by emotion?" And does the +possession of a high ideal, benevolent sympathies, a reverent spirit, +and a favorable environment account for what men call his Spiritual +Life? + +The distinction between them is the same as that between the Organic and +the Inorganic, the living and the dead. What is the difference between a +crystal and an organism, a stone and a plant? They have much in common. +Both are made of the same atoms. Both display the same properties of +matter. Both are subject to the Physical Laws. Both may be very +beautiful. But besides possessing all that the crystal has, the plant +possesses something more--a mysterious something called Life. This Life +is not something which existed in the crystal only in a less developed +form. There is nothing at all like it in the crystal. There is nothing +like the first beginning of it in the crystal, not a trace or symptom of +it. This plant is tenanted by something new, an original and unique +possession added over and above all the properties common to both. When +from vegetable Life we rise to animal Life, here again we find something +original and unique--unique at least as compared with the mineral. From +animal Life we ascend again to Spiritual Life. And here also is +something new, something still more unique. He who lives the Spiritual +Life has a distinct kind of Life added to all the other phases of Life +which he manifests--a kind of Life infinitely more distinct than is the +active Life of a plant from the inertia of a stone. The Spiritual man is +more distinct in point of fact than is the plant from the stone. This is +the one possible comparison in Nature, for it is the widest distinction +in Nature; but compared with the difference between the Natural and the +Spiritual the gulf which divides the organic from the inorganic is a +hair's-breadth. The natural man belongs essentially to this present +order of things. He is endowed simply with a high quality of the natural +animal Life. But it is Life of so poor a quality that it is not Life at +all. He that hath not the Son _hath not Life_; but he that hath the Son +hath Life--a new and distinct and supernatural endowment. He is not of +this world. He is of the timeless state, of Eternity. _It doth not yet +appear what he shall be._ + +The difference between the Spiritual man and the Natural man is not a +difference of development, but of generation. It is a distinction of +quality not of quantity. A man cannot rise by any natural development +from "morality touched by emotion," to "morality touched by Life." Were +we to construct a scientific classification, Science would compel us to +arrange all natural men, moral or immoral, educated or vulgar, as one +family. One might be high in the family group, another low; yet, +practically, they are marked by the same set of characteristics--they +eat, sleep, work, think, live, die. But the Spiritual man is removed +from this family so utterly by the possession of an additional +characteristic that a biologist, fully informed of the whole +circumstances, would not hesitate a moment to classify him elsewhere. +And if he really entered into these circumstances it would not be in +another family but in another Kingdom. It is an old-fashioned theology +which divides the world in this way--which speaks of men as Living and +Dead, Lost and Saved--a stern theology all but fallen into disuse. This +difference between the Living and the Dead in souls is so unproved by +casual observation, so impalpable in itself, so startling as a doctrine, +that schools of culture have ridiculed or denied the grim distinction. +Nevertheless the grim distinction must be retained. It is a scientific +distinction. "He that hath not the Son hath not Life." + +Now it is this great Law which finally distinguishes Christianity from +all other religions. It places the religion of Christ upon a footing +altogether unique. There is no analogy between the Christian religion +and, say, Buddhism or the Mohammedan religion. There is no true sense in +which a man can say, He that hath Buddha hath Life. Buddha has nothing +to do with Life. He may have something to do with morality. He may +stimulate, impress, teach, guide, but there is no distinct new thing +added to the souls of those who profess Buddhism. These religions _may_ +be developments of the natural, mental, or moral man. But Christianity +professes to be more. It is the mental or moral man _plus_ something +else or some One else. It is the infusion into the Spiritual man of a +New Life, of a quality unlike anything else in Nature. This constitutes +the separate Kingdom of Christ, and gives to Christianity alone of all +the religions of mankind the strange mark of Divinity. + +Shall we next inquire more precisely what is this something extra which +constitutes Spiritual Life? What is this strange and new endowment in +its nature and vital essence? And the answer is brief--it is Christ. He +that hath _the Son_ hath Life. + +Are we forsaking the lines of Science in saying so? Yes and No. Science +has drawn for us the distinction. It has no voice as to the nature of +the distinction except this--that the new endowment is a something +different from anything else with which it deals. It is not ordinary +Vitality, it is not intellectual, it is not moral, but something beyond. +And Revelation steps in and names what it is--it is Christ. Out of the +multitude of sentences where this announcement is made, these few may be +selected: "Know ye not your own selves how that _Jesus Christ is in +you_?"[44] "Your bodies are the members of Christ."[45] "At that day ye +shall know that I am in the Father, and ye in Me, and I in you."[46] "We +will come unto him and make our abode with him."[47] "I am the Vine, ye +are the branches."[48] "I am crucified with Christ, nevertheless I live, +yet not I, but Christ liveth in me."[49] + +Three things are clear from these statements: First, they are not mere +figures of rhetoric. They are explicit declarations. If language means +anything these words announce a literal fact. In some of Christ's own +statements the literalism is if possible still more impressive. For +instance, "Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink His +blood, ye have no life in you. Whoso eateth My flesh and drinketh My +blood hath eternal life; and I will raise him up at the last day. For My +flesh is meat indeed, and My blood is drink indeed. He that eateth My +flesh and drinketh My blood _dwelleth in Me and I in him_." + +In the second place, Spiritual Life is not something outside ourselves. +The idea is not that Christ is in heaven and that we can stretch out +some mysterious faculty and deal with Him there. This is the vague form +in which many conceive the truth, but it is contrary to Christ's +teaching and to the analogy of nature. Vegetable Life is not contained +in a reservoir somewhere in the skies, and measured out spasmodically at +certain seasons. The Life is _in_ every plant and tree, inside its own +substance and tissue, and continues there until it dies. This +localization of Life in the individual is precisely the point where +Vitality differs from the other forces of nature, such as magnetism and +electricity. Vitality has much in common with such forces as magnetism +and electricity, but there is one inviolable distinction between +them--that Life is permanently fixed and rooted in the organism. The +doctrines of conservation and transformation of energy, that is to say, +do not hold for Vitality. The electrician can demagnetize a bar of iron, +that is, he can transform its energy of magnetism into something +else--heat, or motion, or light--and then re-form these back into +magnetism. For magnetism has no root, no individuality, no fixed +indwelling. But the biologist cannot devitalize a plant or an animal and +revivify it again.[50] Life is not one of the homeless forces which +promiscuously inhabit space, or which can be gathered like electricity +from the clouds and dissipated back again into space. Life is definite +and resident; and Spiritual Life is not a visit from a force, but a +resident tenant in the soul. + +This is, however, to formulate the statement of the third point, that +Spiritual Life is not an ordinary form of energy or force. The analogy +from Nature indorses this, but here Nature stops. It cannot say what +Spiritual Life is. Indeed what natural Life is remains unknown, and the +word Life still wanders through Science without a definition. Nature is +silent, therefore, and must be as to Spiritual Life. But in the absence +of natural light we fall back upon that complementary revelation which +always shines, when truth is necessary and where Nature fails. We ask +with Paul when this Life first visited him on the Damascus road, What is +this? "Who art Thou, Lord?" And we hear, "I am Jesus."[51] + +We must expect to find this denied. Besides a proof from Revelation, +this is an argument from experience. And yet we shall still be told that +this Spiritual Life is a force. But let it be remembered what this means +in Science, it means the heresy of confounding Force with Vitality. We +must also expect to be told that this Spiritual Life is simply a +development of ordinary Life--just as Dr. Bastian tells us that natural +Life is formed according to the same laws which determine the more +simple chemical combinations. But remember what this means in Science. +It is the heresy of Spontaneous Generation, a heresy so thoroughly +discredited now that scarcely an authority in Europe will lend his name +to it. Who art Thou, Lord? Unless we are to be allowed to hold +Spontaneous Generation there is no alternative: Life can only come from +Life: "I am Jesus." + +A hundred other questions now rush into the mind about this Life: How +does it come? Why does it come? How is it manifested? What faculty does +it employ? Where does it reside? Is it communicable? What are its +conditions? One or two of these questions may be vaguely answered, the +rest bring us face to face with mystery. Let it not be thought that the +scientific treatment of a Spiritual subject has reduced religion to a +problem of physics, or demonstrated God by the laws of biology. A +religion without mystery is an absurdity. Even Science has its +mysteries, none more inscrutable than around this Science of Life. It +taught us sooner or later to expect mystery, and now we enter its +domain. Let it be carefully marked, however, that the cloud does not +fall and cover us till we have ascertained the most momentous truth of +Religion--that Christ is in the Christian. + +Not that there is anything new in this. The Churches have always held +that Christ was the source of Life. No spiritual man ever claims that +his spirituality is his own. "I live," he will tell you; "nevertheless +it is not I, but Christ liveth in me." Christ our Life has indeed been +the only doctrine in the Christian Church from Paul to Augustine, from +Calvin to Newman. Yet, when the Spiritual man is cross-examined upon +this confession it is astonishing to find what uncertain hold it has +upon his mind. Doctrinally he states it adequately and holds it +unhesitatingly. But when pressed with the literal question he shrinks +from the answer. We do not really believe that the Living Christ has +touched us, that He makes His abode in us. Spiritual Life is not as +real to us as natural Life. And we cover our retreat into unbelieving +vagueness with a plea of reverence, justified, as we think, by the "Thus +far and no farther" of ancient Scriptures. There is often a great deal +of intellectual sin concealed under this old aphorism. When men do not +really wish to go farther they find it an honorable convenience +sometimes to sit down on the outermost edge of the Holy Ground on the +pretext of taking off their shoes. Yet we must be certain that, making a +virtue of reverence, we are not merely excusing ignorance; or, under the +plea of mystery, evading a truth which has been stated in the New +Testament a hundred times, in the most literal form, and with all but +monotonous repetition. The greatest truths are always the most loosely +held. And not the least of the advantages of taking up this question +from the present standpoint is that we may see how a confused doctrine +can really bear the luminous definition of Science and force itself upon +us with all the weight of Natural Law. + +What is mystery to many men, what feeds their worship, and at the same +time spoils it, is that area round all great truth which is really +capable of illumination, and into which every earnest mind is permitted +and commanded to go with a light. We cry mystery long before the region +of mystery comes. True mystery casts no shadows around. It is a sudden +and awful gulf yawning across the field of knowledge; its form is +irregular, but its lips are clean cut and sharp, and the mind can go to +the very verge and look down the precipice into the dim abyss-- + + "Where writhing clouds unroll, + Striving to utter themselves in shapes." + +We have gone with a light to the very verge of this truth. We have seen +that the Spiritual Life is an endowment from the Spiritual World, and +that the Living Spirit of Christ dwells in the Christian. But now the +gulf yawns black before us. What more does Science know of life? +Nothing. It knows nothing further about its origin in detail. It knows +nothing about its ultimate nature. It cannot even define it. There is a +helplessness in scientific books here, and a continual confession of it +which to thoughtful minds is almost touching. Science, therefore, has +not eliminated the true mysteries from our faith, but only the false. +And it has done more. It has made true mystery scientific. Religion in +having mystery is in analogy with all around it. Where there is +exceptional mystery in the Spiritual world it will generally be found +that there is a corresponding mystery in the natural world. And, as +Origen centuries ago insisted, the difficulties of Religion are simply +the difficulties of Nature. + +One question more we may look at for a moment. What can be gathered on +the surface as to the process of Regeneration in the individual soul? +From the analogies of Biology we should expect three things: First, that +the New Life should dawn suddenly; Second, that it should come "without +observation;" Third, that it should develop gradually. On two of these +points there can be little controversy. The gradualness of growth is a +characteristic which strikes the simplest observer. Long before the word +Evolution was coined Christ applied it in this very connection--"First +the blade, then the ear, then the full corn in the ear." It is well +known also to those who study the parables of Nature that there is an +ascending scale of slowness as we rise in the scale of Life. Growth is +most gradual in the highest forms. Man attains his maturity after a +score of years; the monad completes its humble cycle in a day. What +wonder if development be tardy in the Creature of Eternity? A +Christian's sun has sometimes set, and a critical world has seen as yet +no corn in the ear. As yet? "As yet," in this long Life, has not begun. +Grant him the years proportionate to his place in the scale of Life. +"The time of harvest is _not yet_." + +Again, in addition to being slow, the phenomena of growth are secret. +Life is invisible. When the New Life manifests itself it is a surprise. +_Thou canst not tell whence it cometh or whither it goeth._ When the +plant lives whence has the Life come? When it dies whither has it gone? +_Thou canst not tell ... so is every one that is born of the Spirit. For +the kingdom of God cometh without observation._ + +Yet once more--and this is a point of strange and frivolous +dispute--this Life comes suddenly. This is the only way in which Life +can come. Life cannot come gradually--health can, structure can, but not +Life. A new theology has laughed at the Doctrine of Conversion. Sudden +Conversion especially has been ridiculed as untrue to philosophy and +impossible to human nature. We may not be concerned in buttressing any +theology because it is old. But we find that this old theology is +scientific. There may be cases--they are probably in the majority--where +the moment of contact with the Living Spirit though sudden has been +obscure. But the real moment and the conscious moment are two different +things. Science pronounces nothing as to the conscious moment. If it did +it would probably say that that was seldom the real moment--just as in +the natural Life the conscious moment is not the real moment. The moment +of birth in the natural world is not a conscious moment--we do not know +we are born till long afterward. Yet there are men to whom the Origin of +the New Life in time has been no difficulty. To Paul, for instance, +Christ seems to have come at a definite period of time, the exact moment +and second of which could have been known. And this is certainly, in +theory at least, the normal Origin of Life, according to the principles +of Biology. The line between the living and the dead is a sharp line. +When the dead atoms of Carbon, Hydrogen, Oxygen, Nitrogen, are seized +upon by Life, the organism at first is very lowly. It possesses few +functions. It has little beauty. Growth is the work of time. But Life is +not. That comes in a moment. At one moment it was dead; the next it +lived. This is conversion, the "passing," as the Bible calls it, "from +Death unto Life." Those who have stood by another's side at the solemn +hour of this dread possession have been conscious sometimes of an +experience which words are not allowed to utter--a something like the +sudden snapping of a chain, the waking from a dream. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[33] "Beginnings of Life." By H. C. Bastian, M.A., M.D., F.R.S. +Macmillan, vol. ii. p. 633. + +[34] "Critiques and Addresses." T. H. Huxley. F.R.S., p. 239. + +[35] _Nineteenth Century_, 1878, p. 507. + +[36] This being the crucial point it may not be inappropriate to +supplement the quotations already given in the text with the +following:-- + +"We are in the presence of the one incommunicable gulf--the gulf of all +gulfs--that gulf which Mr. Huxley's protoplasm is as powerless to efface +as any other material expedient that has ever been suggested since the +eyes of men first looked into it--the mighty gulf between death and +life."--"As Regards Protoplasm." By J. Hutchinson Stirling, LL.D., p. +42. + +"The present state of knowledge furnishes us with no link between the +living and the not-living."--Huxley, "Encyclopædia Britannica" (new +Ed.). Art. "Biology." + +"Whoever recalls to mind the lamentable failure of all the attempts made +very recently to discover a decided support for the _generatio æquivoca_ +in the lower forms of transition from the inorganic to the organic +world, will feel it doubly serious to demand that this theory, so +utterly discredited, should be in any way accepted as the basis of all +our views of life."--Virchow: "The Freedom of Science in the Modern +State." + +"All really scientific experience tells us that life can be produced +from a living antecedent only."--"The Unseen Universe," 6th Ed., p. 229. + +[37] John iii. + +[38] Rom. viii. 6. + +[39] Rev. iii. 1. + +[40] 1 Tim. v. 6. + +[41] Eph. ii. 1, 5. + +[42] 1 Cor. ii. 14. + +[43] "First Principles," 2d Ed., p. 17. + +[44] 2 Cor. xii. 5. + +[45] 1 Cor. vi. 15. + +[46] John xiv. 20. + +[47] John xiv. 21-23. + +[48] John xv. 4. + +[49] Gal. ii. 20. + +[50] One must not be misled by popular statements in this connection, +such as this of Professor Owen's: "There are organisms which we can +devitalize and revitalize--devive and revive--many times." (_Monthly +Microscopical Journal_, May, 1869, p. 294.) The reference is of course +to the extraordinary capacity for _resuscitation_ possessed by many of +the Protozoa and other low forms of life. + +[51] Acts ix. 5. + + + + +DEGENERATION. + + "I went by the field of the slothful, and by the vineyard of the man + void of understanding; and lo, it was all grown over with thorns, + and nettles had covered the face thereof, and the stone wall thereof + was broken down. Then I saw and considered it well; I looked upon it + and received instruction."--_Solomon._ + + "How shall we escape if we neglect so great salvation?"--_Hebrews._ + + "We have as possibilities either Balance, or Elaboration, or + Degeneration."--_E. Ray Lankester._ + + +In one of his best known books, Mr. Darwin brings out a fact which may +be illustrated in some such way as this: Suppose a bird fancier collects +a flock of tame pigeons distinguished by all the infinite ornamentations +of their race. They are of all kinds, of every shade of color, and +adorned with every variety of marking. He takes them to an uninhabited +island and allows them to fly off wild into the woods. They found a +colony there, and after the lapse of many years the owner returns to the +spot. He will find that a remarkable change has taken place in the +interval. The birds, or their descendants rather, have all become +changed into the same color. The black, the white and the dun, the +striped, the spotted, and the ringed, are all metamorphosed into one--a +dark slaty blue. Two plain black bands monotonously repeat themselves +upon the wings of each, and the loins beneath are white; but all the +variety, all the beautiful colors, all the old graces of form it may be, +have disappeared. These improvements were the result of care and nature, +of domestication, of civilization; and now that these influences are +removed, the birds themselves undo the past and lose what they had +gained. The attempt to elevate the race has been mysteriously thwarted. +It is as if the original bird, the far remote ancestor of all doves, had +been blue, and these had been compelled by some strange law to discard +the badges of their civilization and conform to the ruder image of the +first. The natural law by which such a change occurs is called _The +Principle of Reversion to Type_. + +It is a proof of the universality of this law that the same thing will +happen with a plant. A garden is planted, let us say, with strawberries +and roses, and for a number of years is left alone. In process of time +it will run to waste. But this does not mean that the plants will really +waste away, but that they will change into something else, and, as it +invariably appears, into something worse; in the one case, namely, into +the small, wild strawberry of the woods, and in the other into the +primitive dog-rose of the hedges. + +If we neglect a garden plant, then, a natural principle of deterioration +comes in, and changes it into a worse plant. And if we neglect a bird, +by the same imperious law it will be gradually changed into an uglier +bird. Or if we neglect almost any of the domestic animals, they will +rapidly revert to wild and worthless forms again. + +Now the same thing exactly would happen in the case of you or me. Why +should Man be an exception to any of the laws of Nature? Nature knows +him simply as an animal--Sub-kingdom _Vertebrata_, Class _Mammalia_, +Order _Bimana_. And the law of Reversion to Type runs through all +creation. If a man neglect himself for a few years he will change into a +worse man and a lower man. If it is his body that he neglects, he will +deteriorate into a wild and bestial savage--like the de-humanized men +who are discovered sometimes upon desert islands. If it is his mind, it +will degenerate into imbecility and madness--solitary confinement has +the power to unmake men's minds and leave them idiots. If he neglect his +conscience, it will run off into lawlessness and vice. Or, lastly, if +it is his soul, it must inevitably atrophy, drop off in ruin and decay. + +We have here, then, a thoroughly natural basis for the question before +us. If we neglect, with this universal principle staring us in the face, +how shall we escape? If we neglect the ordinary means of keeping a +garden in order, how shall it escape running to weeds and waste? Or, if +we neglect the opportunities for cultivating the mind, how shall it +escape ignorance and feebleness? So, if we neglect the soul, how shall +it escape the natural retrograde movement, the inevitable relapse into +barrenness and death? + +It is not necessary, surely, to pause for proof that there is such a +retrograde principle in the being of every man. It is demonstrated by +facts, and by the analogy of all Nature. Three possibilities of life, +according to Science, are open to all living organisms--Balance, +Evolution, and Degeneration. The first denotes the precarious +persistence of a life along what looks like a level path, a character +which seems to hold its own alike against the attacks of evil and the +appeals of good. It implies a set of circumstances so balanced by choice +or fortune that they neither influence for better nor for worse. But +except in theory this state of equilibrium, normal in the inorganic +kingdom, is really foreign to the world of life; and what seems inertia +may be a true Evolution unnoticed from its slowness, or likelier still a +movement of Degeneration subtly obliterating as it falls the very traces +of its former height. From this state of apparent Balance, Evolution is +the escape in the upward direction, Degeneration in the lower. But +Degeneration, rather than Balance or Elaboration, is the possibility of +life embraced by the majority of mankind. And the choice is determined +by man's own nature. The life of Balance is difficult. It lies on the +verge of continual temptation, its perpetual adjustments become +fatiguing, its measured virtue is monotonous and uninspiring. More +difficult still, apparently, is the life of ever upward growth. Most men +attempt it for a time, but growth is slow; and despair overtakes them +while the goal is far away. Yet none of these reasons fully explains the +fact that the alternative which remains is adopted by the majority of +men. That Degeneration is easy only half accounts for it. Why is it +easy? Why but that already in each man's very nature this principle is +supreme? He feels within his soul a silent drifting motion impelling him +downward with irresistible force. Instead of aspiring to Conversion to a +higher Type he submits by a law of his nature to Reversion to a lower. +This is Degeneration--that principle by which the organism, failing to +develop itself, failing even to keep what it has got, deteriorates, and +becomes more and more adapted to a degraded form of life. + +All men who know themselves are conscious that this tendency, +deep-rooted and active, exists within their nature. Theologically it is +described as a gravitation, a bias toward evil. The Bible view is that +man is conceived in sin and shapen in iniquity. And experience tells him +that he will shape himself into further sin and ever deepening iniquity +without the smallest effort, without in the least intending it, and in +the most natural way in the world if he simply let his life run. It is +on this principle that, completing the conception, the wicked are said +further in the Bible to be lost. They are not really lost as yet, but +they are on the sure way to it. The bias of their lives is in full +action. There is no drag on anywhere. The natural tendencies are having +it all their own way; and although the victims may be quite unconscious +that all this is going on, it is patent to every one who considers even +the natural bearings of the case that "the end of these things is +Death." When we see a man fall from the top of a five-story house, we +say the man is lost. We say that before he has fallen a foot; for the +same principle that made him fall the one foot will undoubtedly make him +complete the descent by falling another eighty or ninety feet. So that +he is a dead man, or a lost man from the very first. The gravitation of +sin in a human soul acts precisely in the same way. Gradually, with +gathering momentum it sinks a man further and further from God and +righteousness, and lands him, by the sheer action of a natural law, in +the hell of a neglected life. + +But the lesson is not less clear from analogy. Apart even from the law +of Degeneration, apart from Reversion to Type, there is in every living +organism a law of Death. We are wont to imagine that Nature is full of +Life. In reality it is full of Death. One cannot say it is natural for a +plant to live. Examine its nature fully, and you have to admit that its +natural tendency is to die. It is kept from dying by a mere temporary +endowment which gives it an ephemeral dominion over the elements--gives +it power to utilize for a brief span the rain, the sunshine, and the +air. Withdraw this temporary endowment for a moment and its true nature +is revealed. Instead of overcoming Nature it is overcome. The very +things which appeared to minister to its growth and beauty now turn +against it and make it decay and die. The sun which warmed it, withers +it; the air and rain which nourished it, rot it. It is the very forces +which we associate with life which, when their true nature appears, are +discovered to be really the ministers of death. + +This law, which is true for the whole plant-world, is also valid for the +animal and for man. Air is not life, but corruption--so literally +corruption that the only way to keep out corruption, when life has +ebbed, is to keep out air. Life is merely a temporary suspension of +these destructive powers; and this is truly one of the most accurate +definitions of life we have yet received--"the sum total of the +functions which resist death." + +Spiritual life, in like manner, is the sum total of the functions which +resist sin. The soul's atmosphere is the daily trial, circumstance, and +temptation of the world. And as it is life alone which gives the plant +power to utilize the elements, and as, without it, they utilize it, so +it is the spiritual life alone which gives the soul power to utilize +temptation and trial; and without it they destroy the soul. How shall we +escape if we refuse to exercise these functions--in other words, if we +neglect? + +This destroying process, observe, goes on quite independently of God's +judgment on sin. God's judgment on sin is another and a more awful fact +of which this may be a part. But it is a distinct fact by itself, which +we can hold and examine separately, that on purely natural principles +the soul that is left to itself unwatched, uncultivated, unredeemed, +must fall away into death by its own nature. The soul that sinneth "it +shall die." It shall die, not necessarily because God passes sentence of +death upon it, but because it cannot help dying. It has neglected "the +functions which resist death" and has always been dying. The punishment +is in its very nature, and the sentence is being gradually carried out +all along the path of life by ordinary processes which enforce the +verdict with the appalling faithfulness of law. + +There is an affectation that religious truths lie beyond the sphere of +the comprehension which serves men in ordinary things. This question at +least must be an exception. It lies as near the natural as the +spiritual. If it makes no impression on a man to know that God will +visit his iniquities upon him, he cannot blind himself to the fact that +Nature will. Do we not all know what it is to be punished by Nature for +disobeying her? We have looked round the wards of a hospital, a prison, +or a madhouse, and seen there Nature at work squaring her accounts with +sin. And we knew as we looked that if no Judge sat on the throne of +heaven at all there was a Judgment there, where an inexorable Nature was +crying aloud for justice, and carrying out her heavy sentences for +violated laws. + +When God gave Nature the law into her own hands in this way, He seems to +have given her two rules upon which her sentences were to be based. The +one is formally enunciated in this sentence, "WHATSOEVER A MAN SOWETH +THAT SHALL HE ALSO REAP." The other is informally expressed in this, "IF +WE NEGLECT HOW SHALL WE ESCAPE?" + +The first is the positive law, and deals with sins of commission. The +other, which we are now discussing, is the negative, and deals with sins +of omission. It does not say anything about sowing but about not sowing. +It takes up the case of souls which are lying fallow. It does not say, +if we sow corruption we shall reap corruption. Perhaps we would not be +so unwise, so regardless of ourselves, of public opinion, as to sow +corruption. It does not say, if we sow tares we shall reap tares. We +might never do anything so foolish as sow tares. But if we sow nothing, +it says, we shall reap nothing. If we put nothing into the field, we +shall take nothing out. If we neglect to cultivate in summer, how shall +we escape starving in winter? + +Now the Bible raises this question, but does not answer it--because it +is too obvious to need answering. How shall we escape if we neglect? The +answer is, we cannot. In the nature of things we cannot. We cannot +escape any more than a man can escape drowning who falls into the sea +and has neglected to learn to swim. In the nature of things he cannot +escape--nor can he escape who has neglected the great salvation. + +Now why should such fatal consequences follow a simple process like +neglect? The popular impression is that a man, to be what is called +lost, must be an open and notorious sinner. He must be one who has +abandoned all that is good and pure in life, and sown to the flesh with +all his might and main. But this principle goes further. It says simply, +"If we neglect." Any one may see the reason why a notoriously wicked +person should not escape; but why should not all the rest of us escape? +What is to hinder people who are not notoriously wicked escaping--people +who never sowed anything in particular? Why is it such a sin to sow +nothing in particular? + +There must be some hidden and vital relation between these three words, +Salvation, Neglect, and Escape--some reasonable, essential, and +indissoluble connection. Why are these words so linked together as to +weight this clause with all the authority and solemnity of a sentence of +death? + +The explanation has partly been given already. It lies still further, +however, in the meaning of the word Salvation. And this, of course, is +not at all Salvation in the ordinary sense of forgiveness of sin. This +is one great meaning of Salvation, the first and the greatest. But this +is spoken to people who are supposed to have had this. It is the broader +word, therefore, and includes not only forgiveness of sin but salvation +or deliverance from the downward bias of the soul. It takes in that +whole process of rescue from the power of sin and selfishness that +should be going on from day to day in every human life. We have seen +that there is a natural principle in man lowering him, deadening him, +pulling him down by inches to the mere animal plane, blinding reason, +searing conscience, paralyzing will. This is the active destroying +principle, or Sin. Now to counteract this, God has discovered to us +another principle which will stop this drifting process in the soul, +steer it round, and make it drift the other way. This is the active +saving principle, or Salvation. If a man find the first of these powers +furiously at work within him, dragging his whole life downward to +destruction, there is only one way to escape his fate--to take resolute +hold of the upward power, and be borne by it to the opposite goal. And +as this second power is the only one in the universe which has the +slightest real effect upon the first, how shall a man escape if he +neglect it? To neglect it is to cut off the only possible chance of +escape. In declining this he is simply abandoning himself with his eyes +open to that other and terrible energy which is already there, and +which, in the natural course of things, is bearing him every moment +further and further from escape. + +From the very nature of Salvation, therefore, it is plain that the only +thing necessary to make it of no effect is neglect. Hence the Bible +could not fail to lay strong emphasis on a word so vital. It was not +necessary for it to say, how shall we escape if we trample upon the +great salvation, or doubt, or despise, or reject it. A man who has been +poisoned only need neglect the antidote and he will die. It makes no +difference whether he dashes it on the ground, or pours it out of the +window, or sets it down by his bedside, and stares at it all the time he +is dying. He will die just the same, whether he destroys it in a +passion, or coolly refuses to have anything to do with it. And as a +matter of fact probably most deaths, spiritually, are gradual +dissolutions of the last class rather than rash suicides of the first. + +This, then, is the effect of neglecting salvation from the side of +salvation itself; and the conclusion is that from the very nature of +salvation escape is out of the question. Salvation is a definite +process. If a man refuse to submit himself to that process, clearly he +cannot have the benefits of it. _As many as received Him to them gave +He_ power _to become the sons of God._ He does not avail himself of this +power. It may be mere carelessness or apathy. Nevertheless the neglect +is fatal. He cannot escape because he will not. + +Turn now to another aspect of the case--to the effect upon the soul +itself. Neglect does more for the soul than make it miss salvation. It +despoils it of its capacity for salvation. Degeneration in the spiritual +sphere involves primarily the impairing of the faculties of salvation +and ultimately the loss of them. It really means that the very soul +itself becomes piecemeal destroyed until the very capacity for God and +righteousness is gone. + +The soul, in its highest sense, is a vast capacity for God. It is like a +curious chamber added on to being, and somehow involving being, a +chamber with elastic and contractile walls, which can be expanded, with +God as its guest, illimitably, but which without God shrinks and +shrivels until every vestige of the Divine is gone, and God's image is +left without God's Spirit. One cannot call what is left a soul; it is a +shrunken, useless organ, a capacity sentenced to death by disuse, which +droops as a withered hand by the side, and cumbers nature like a rotted +branch. Nature has her revenge upon neglect as well as upon +extravagance. Misuse, with her, is as mortal a sin as abuse. + +There are certain burrowing animals--the mole for instance--which have +taken to spending their lives beneath the surface of the ground. And +Nature has taken her revenge upon them in a thoroughly natural way--she +has closed up their eyes. If they mean to live in darkness, she argues, +eyes are obviously a superfluous function. By neglecting them these +animals made it clear they do not want them. And as one of Nature's +fixed principles is that nothing shall exist in vain, the eyes are +presently taken away, or reduced to a rudimentary state. There are +fishes also which have had to pay the same terrible forfeit for having +made their abode in dark caverns where eyes can never be required. And +in exactly the same way the spiritual eye must die and lose its power by +purely natural law if the soul choose to walk in darkness rather than in +light. + +This is the meaning of the favorite paradox of Christ, "From him that +hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath;" "take therefore +the talent from him." The religious faculty is a talent, the most +splendid and sacred talent we possess. Yet it is subject to the natural +conditions and laws. If any man take his talent and hide it in a napkin, +although it is doing him neither harm nor good apparently, God will not +allow him to have it. Although it is lying there rolled up in the +darkness, not conspicuously affecting any one, still God will not allow +him to keep it. He will not allow him to keep it any more than Nature +would allow the fish to keep their eyes. Therefore, He says, "take the +talent from him." And Nature does it. + +This man's crime was simply neglect--"thou wicked and _slothful_ +servant." It was a wasted life--a life which failed in the holy +stewardship of itself. Such a life is a peril to all who cross its path. +Degeneration compasses Degeneration. It is only a character which is +itself developing that can aid the Evolution of the world and so fulfill +the end of life. For this high usury each of our lives, however small +may seem our capital, was given us by God. And it is just the men whose +capital seems small who need to choose the best investments. It is +significant that it was the man who had only one talent who was guilty +of neglecting it. Men with ten talents, men of large gifts and burning +energies, either direct their powers nobly and usefully, or misdirect +them irretrievably. It is those who belong to the rank and file of life +who need this warning most. Others have an abundant store and sow to the +spirit or the flesh with a lavish hand. But we, with our small gift, +what boots our sowing? Our temptation as ordinary men is to neglect to +sow at all. The interest on our talent would be so small that we excuse +ourselves with the reflection that it is not worth while. + +It is no objection to all this to say that we are unconscious of this +neglect or misdirection of our powers. That is the darkest feature in +the case. If there were uneasiness there might be hope. If there were, +somewhere about our soul, a something which was not gone to sleep like +all the rest; if there were a contending force anywhere; if we would let +even that work instead of neglecting it, it would gain strength from +hour to hour, and waken up one at a time each torpid and dishonored +faculty till our whole nature became alive with strivings against self, +and every avenue was open wide for God. But the apathy, the numbness of +the soul, what can be said of such a symptom but that it means the +creeping on of death? There are accidents in which the victims feel no +pain. They are well and strong they think. But they are dying. And if +you ask the surgeon by their side what makes him give this verdict, he +will say it is this numbness over the frame which tells how some of the +parts have lost already the very capacity for life. + +Nor is it the least tragic accompaniment of this process that its +effects may even be concealed from others. The soul undergoing +Degeneration, surely by some arrangement with Temptation planned in the +uttermost hell, possesses the power of absolute secrecy. When all within +is festering decay and rottenness, a Judas, without anomaly, may kiss +his Lord. This invisible consumption, like its fell analogue in the +natural world, may even keep its victim beautiful while slowly slaying +it. When one examines the little _Crustacea_ which have inhabited for +centuries the lakes of the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, one is at first +astonished to find these animals apparently endowed with perfect eyes. +The pallor of the head is broken by two black pigment specks, +conspicuous indeed as the only bits of color on the whole blanched body; +and these, even to the casual observer, certainly represent well-defined +organs of vision. But what do they with eyes in these Stygian waters? +There reigns an everlasting night. Is the law for once at fault? A swift +incision with the scalpel, a glance with a lens, and their secret is +betrayed. The eyes are a mockery. Externally they are organs of +vision--the front of the eye is perfect; behind, there is nothing but a +mass of ruins. The optic nerve is a shrunken, atrophied and insensate +thread. These animals have organs of vision, and yet they have no +vision. They have eyes, but they see not. + +Exactly what Christ said of men: They had eyes, but no vision. And the +reason is the same. It is the simplest problem of natural history. The +_Crustacea_ of the Mammoth Cave have chosen to abide in darkness. +Therefore they have become fitted for it. By refusing to see they have +waived the right to see. And Nature has grimly humored them. Nature had +to do it by her very constitution. It is her defence against waste that +decay of faculty should immediately follow disuse of function. He that +hath ears to hear, he whose ears have not degenerated, let him hear. + +Men tell us sometimes there is no such thing as an atheist. There must +be. There are some men to whom it is true that there is no God. They +cannot see God because they have no eye. They have only an abortive +organ, atrophied by neglect. + +All this, it is commonplace again to insist, is not the effect of +neglect when we die, but while we live. The process is in full career +and operation now. It is useless projecting consequences into the future +when the effects may be measured now. We are always practicing these +little deceptions upon ourselves, postponing the consequences of our +misdeeds as if they were to culminate some other day about the time of +death. It makes us sin with a lighter hand to run an account with +retribution, as it were, and delay the reckoning time with God. But +every day is a reckoning day. Every soul is a Book of Judgment and +Nature, as a recording angel, marks there every sin. As all will be +judged by the great Judge some day, all are judged by Nature now. The +sin of yesterday, as part of its penalty, has the sin of to-day. All +follow us in silent retribution on our past, and go with us to the +grave. We cannot cheat Nature. No sleight-of-heart can rob religion of +_a present_, the immortal nature of a _now_. The poet sings-- + + "I looked behind to find my past, + And lo, it had gone before." + +But no, not all. The unforgiven sins are not away in keeping somewhere +to be let loose upon us when we die; they are here, within us, now. +To-day brings the resurrection of their past, to-morrow of to-day. And +the powers of sin, to the exact strength that we have developed them, +nearing their dreadful culmination with every breath we draw, are here, +within us, now. The souls of some men are already honey-combed through +and through with the eternal consequences of neglect, so that taking the +natural and rational view of their case _just now_, it is simply +inconceivable that there is any escape _just now_. What a fearful thing +it is to fall into the hands of the living God! A fearful thing even if, +as the philosopher tells us, "the hands of the Living God are the Laws +of Nature." + +Whatever hopes of a "heaven" a neglected soul may have, can be shown to +be an ignorant and delusive dream. How is the soul to escape to heaven +if it has neglected for a lifetime the means of escape from the world +and self? And where is the capacity for heaven to come from if it be not +developed on earth? Where, indeed, is even the smallest spiritual +appreciation of God and heaven to come from when so little of +spirituality has ever been known or manifested here? If every Godward +aspiration of the soul has been allowed to become extinct, and every +inlet that was open to heaven to be choked, and every talent for +religious love and trust to have been persistently neglected and +ignored, where are the faculties to come from that would ever find the +faintest relish in such things as God and heaven give? + +These three words, Salvation, Escape, and Neglect, then, are not +casually, but organically and necessarily connected. Their doctrine is +scientific, not arbitrary. Escape means nothing more than the gradual +emergence of the higher being from the lower, and nothing less. It means +the gradual putting off of all that cannot enter the higher state, or +heaven, and simultaneously the putting on of Christ. It involves the +slow completing of the soul and the development of the capacity for God. + +Should any one object that from this scientific standpoint the opposite +of salvation is annihilation, the answer is at hand. From this +standpoint there is no such word. + +If, then, escape is to be open to us, it is not to come to us somehow, +vaguely. We are not to hope for anything startling or mysterious. It is +a definite opening along certain lines which are definitely marked by +God, which begin at the Cross of Christ, and lead direct to Him. Each +man in the silence of his own soul must work out this salvation for +himself with fear and trembling--with fear, realizing the momentous +issues of his task; with trembling, lest before the tardy work be done +the voice of Death should summon him to stop. + +What these lines are may, in closing, be indicated in a word. The true +problem of the spiritual life may be said to be, do the opposite of +Neglect. Whatever this is, do it, and you shall escape. It will just +mean that you are so to cultivate the soul that all its powers will open +out to God, and in beholding God be drawn away from sin. The idea really +is to develop among the ruins of the old a new "creature"--a new +creature which, while the old is suffering Degeneration from Neglect, is +gradually to unfold, to escape away and develop on spiritual lines to +spiritual beauty and strength. And as our conception of spiritual being +must be taken simply from natural being, our ideas of the lines along +which the new religious nature is to run must be borrowed from the known +lines of the old. + +There is, for example, a Sense of Sight in the religious nature. Neglect +this, leave it undeveloped and you never miss it. You simply see +nothing. But develop it and you see God. And the line along which to +develop it is known to us. Become pure in heart. The pure in heart shall +see God. Here, then, is one opening for soul-culture--the avenue through +purity of heart to the spiritual seeing of God. + +Then there is a Sense of Sound. Neglect this, leave it undeveloped, and +you never miss it. You simply hear nothing. Develop it, and you hear +God. And the line along which to develop it is known to us. Obey Christ. +Become one of Christ's flock. "The sheep hear His voice, and He calleth +them by name." Here, then, is another opportunity for the culture of the +soul--a gateway through the Shepherd's fold to hear the Shepherd's +voice. + +And there is a Sense of Touch to be acquired--such a sense as the woman +had who touched the hem of Christ's garment, that wonderful electric +touch called faith, which moves the very heart of God. + +And there is a Sense of Taste--a spiritual hunger after God; a something +within which tastes and sees that He is good. And there is the Talent +for Inspiration. Neglect that, and all the scenery of the spiritual +world is flat and frozen. But cultivate it, and it penetrates the whole +soul with sacred fire, and illuminates creation with God. And last of +all there is the great capacity for Love, even for the love of God--the +expanding capacity for feeling more and more its height and depth, its +length and breadth. Till that is felt no man can really understand that +word, "so great salvation," for what is its measure but that other "so" +of Christ--God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son? +Verily, how shall we escape if we neglect that?[52] + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[52] For the scientific basis of this spiritual law the following works +may be consulted:-- + +"The Origin of Species." By Charles Darwin, F.R.S. London: John Murray. +1872. + +"Degeneration." By E. Ray Lankester, F.R.S. London: Macmillan. 1880. + +"Der Ursprung der Wirbelthiere und das Princip des Functions Wechsels." +Dr. A. Dorhn. Leipzig: 1875. + +"Lessons from Nature." By St. George Mivart, F.R.S. London: John Murray. +1876. + +"The Natural Conditions of Existence as they Affect Animal Life." Karl +Semper. London: C. Kegan Paul & Co. 1881. + + + + +GROWTH. + + "Is not the evidence of Ease on the very front of all the greatest + works in existence? Do they not say plainly to us, not 'there has + been a great _effort_ here,' but 'there has been a great _power_ + here?' It is not the weariness of mortality but the strength of + divinity, which we have to recognize in all mighty things; and that + is just what we now never recognize, but think that we are to do + great things by help of iron bars and perspiration; alas! we shall + do nothing that way, but lose some pounds of our own + weight."--_Ruskin._ + + "Consider the lilies of the field how they grow."--_The Sermon on + the Mount._ + + "Nunquam aliud natura, aliud sapientia dicit."--_Juvenal._ + + +What gives the peculiar point to this object-lesson from the lips of +Jesus is, that He not only made the illustration, but made the lilies. +It is like an inventor describing his own machine. He made the lilies +and He made me--both on the same broad principle. Both together, man and +flower, He planted deep in the Providence of God; but as men are dull at +studying themselves He points to this companion-phenomenon to teach us +how to live a free and natural life, a life which God will unfold for +us, without our anxiety, as He unfolds the flower. For Christ's words +are not a general appeal to consider nature. Men are not to consider the +lilies simply to admire their beauty, to dream over the delicate +strength and grace of stem and leaf. The point they were to consider was +_how they grew_--how without anxiety or care the flower woke into +loveliness, how without weaving these leaves were woven, how without +toiling these complex tissues spun themselves, and how without any +effort or friction the whole slowly came ready-made from the loom of God +in its more than Solomon-like glory. "So," He says, making the +application beyond dispute, "you care-worn, anxious men must grow. You, +too, need take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat or what ye +shall drink or what ye shall put on. For if God so clothe the grass of +the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall +He not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?" + +This nature-lesson was a great novelty in its day; but all men now who +have even a "little faith" have learned this Christian secret of a +composed life. Apart even from the parable of the lily, the failures of +the past have taught most of us the folly of disquieting ourselves in +vain, and we have given up the idea that by taking thought we can add a +cubit to our stature. + +But no sooner has our life settled down to this calm trust in God than a +new and graver anxiety begins. This time it is not for the body we are +in travail, but for the soul. For the temporal life we have considered +the lilies, but how is the spiritual life to grow. How are we to become +better men? How are we to grow in grace? By what thought shall we add +the cubits to the spiritual stature and reach the fullness of the +Perfect Man? And because we know ill how to do this, the old anxiety +comes back again and our inner life is once more an agony of conflict +and remorse. After all, we have but transferred our anxious thoughts +from the body to the soul. Our efforts after Christian growth seem only +a succession of failures, and instead of rising into the beauty of +holiness our life is a daily heartbreak and humiliation. + +Now the reason of this is very plain. We have forgotten the parable of +the lily. Violent efforts to grow are right in earnestness, but wholly +wrong in principle. There is but one principle of growth both for the +natural and spiritual, for animal and plant, for body and soul. For all +growth is an organic thing. And the principle of growing in grace is +once more this, "Consider the lilies _how they grow_." + +In seeking to extend the analogy from the body to the soul there are two +things about the lilies' growth, two characteristics of all growth, on +which one must fix attention. These are-- + +First, Spontaneousness. + +Second, Mysteriousness. + +I. Spontaneousness. There are three lines along which one may seek for +evidence of the spontaneousness of growth. The first is Science. And the +argument here could not be summed up better than in the words of Jesus. +The lilies grow, He says, of themselves; they toil not, neither do they +spin. They grow, that is, automatically, spontaneously, without trying, +without fretting, without thinking. Applied in any direction, to plant, +to animal, to the body or to the soul this law holds. A boy grows, for +example, without trying. One or two simple conditions are fulfilled, and +the growth goes on. He thinks probably as little about the condition as +about the result; he fulfills the conditions by habit, the result +follows by nature. Both processes go steadily on from year to year apart +from himself and all but in spite of himself. One would never think of +_telling_ a boy to grow. A doctor has no prescription for growth. He can +tell me how growth may be stunted or impaired, but the process itself is +recognized as beyond control--one of the few, and therefore very +significant, things which Nature keeps in her own hands. No physician of +souls, in like manner, has any prescription for spiritual growth. It is +the question he is most often asked and most often answers wrongly. He +may prescribe more earnestness, more prayer, more self-denial, or more +Christian work. These are prescriptions for something, but not for +growth. Not that they may not encourage growth; but the soul grows as +the lily grows, without trying, without fretting, without ever thinking. +Manuals of devotion, with complicated rules for getting on in the +Christian life, would do well sometimes to return to the simplicity of +nature; and earnest souls who are attempting sanctification by struggle +instead of sanctification by faith might be spared much humiliation by +learning the botany of the Sermon on the Mount. There _can_ indeed be no +other principle of growth than this. It is a vital act. And to try to +_make_ a thing grow is as absurd as to help the tide to come in or the +sun rise. + +Another argument for the spontaneousness of growth is universal +experience. A boy not only grows without trying, but he cannot grow if +he tries. No man by taking thought has ever added a cubit to his +stature; nor has any man by mere working at his soul ever approached +nearer to the stature of the Lord Jesus. The stature of the Lord Jesus +was not itself reached by work, and he who thinks to approach its +mystical height by anxious effort is really receding from it. Christ's +life unfolded itself from a divine germ, planted centrally in His +nature, which grew as naturally as a flower from a bud. This flower may +be imitated; but one can always tell an artificial flower. The human +form may be copied in wax, yet somehow one never fails to detect the +difference. And this precisely is the difference between a native growth +of Christian principle and the moral copy of it. The one is natural, the +other mechanical. The one is a growth, the other an accretion. Now this, +according to modern biology, is the fundamental distinction between the +living and the not living, between an organism and a crystal. The living +organism grows, the dead crystal increases. The first grows vitally from +within, the last adds new particles from the outside. The whole +difference between the Christian and the moralist lies here. The +Christian works from the center, the moralist from the circumference. +The one is an organism, in the center of which is planted by the living +God a living germ. The other is a crystal, very beautiful it may be; but +only a crystal--it wants the vital principle of growth. + +And one sees here also, what is sometimes very difficult to see, why +salvation in the first instance is never connected directly with +morality. The reason is not that salvation does not demand morality, but +that it demands so much of it that the moralist can never reach up to +it. The end of Salvation is perfection, the Christ-like mind, character +and life. Morality is on the way to this perfection; it may go a +considerable distance toward it, but it can never reach it. Only Life +can do that. It requires something with enormous power of movement, of +growth, of overcoming obstacles, to attain the perfect. Therefore the +man who has within himself this great formative agent, Life, is nearer +the end than the man who has morality alone. The latter can never reach +perfection; the former _must_. For the Life must develop out according +to its type; and being a germ of the Christ-life, it must unfold into _a +Christ_. Morality, at the utmost, only develops the character in one or +two directions. It may perfect a single virtue here and there, but it +cannot perfect all. And especially it fails always to give that rounded +harmony of parts, that perfect tune to the whole orchestra, which is the +marked characteristic of life. Perfect life is not merely the possessing +of perfect functions, but of perfect functions perfectly adjusted to +each other and all conspiring to a single result, the perfect working of +the whole organism. It is not said that the character will develop in +all its fullness in this life. That were a time too short for an +Evolution so magnificent. In this world only the cornless ear is seen; +sometimes only the small yet still prophetic blade. The sneer at the +godly man for his imperfections is ill-judged. A blade is a small thing. +At first it grows very near the earth. It is often soiled and crushed +and downtrodden. But it is a living thing. That great dead stone beside +it is more imposing; only it will never be anything else than a stone. +But this small blade--_it doth not yet appear what it shall be_. + +Seeing now that Growth can only be synonymous with a living automatic +process, it is all but superfluous to seek a third line of argument from +Scripture. Growth there is always described in the language of +physiology. The regenerate soul is a new creature. The Christian is a +new man in Christ Jesus. He adds the cubits to his stature just as the +old man does. He is rooted and built up in Christ; he abides in the +vine, and so abiding, not toiling or spinning, brings forth fruit. The +Christian in short, like the poet, is born not made; and the fruits of +his character are not manufactured things but living things, things +which have grown from the secret germ, the fruits of the living Spirit. +They are not the produce of this climate, but exotics from a sunnier +land. + +II. But, secondly, besides this Spontaneousness there is this other +great characteristic of Growth--Mysteriousness. Upon this quality +depends the fact, probably, that so few men ever fathom its real +character. We are most unspiritual always in dealing with the simplest +spiritual things. A lily grows mysteriously, pushing up its solid weight +of stem and leaf in the teeth of gravity. Shaped into beauty by secret +and invisible fingers, the flower develops we know not how. But we do +not wonder at it. Every day the thing is done; it is Nature, it is God. +We are spiritual enough at least to understand that. But when the soul +rises slowly above the world, pushing up its delicate virtues in the +teeth of sin, shaping itself mysteriously into the image of Christ, we +deny that the power is not of man. A strong will, we say, a high ideal, +the reward of virtue, Christian influence--these will account for it. +Spiritual character is merely the product of anxious work, self-command, +and self-denial. We allow, that is to say, a miracle to the lily, but +none to the man. The lily may grow; the man must fret and toil and spin. + +Now grant for a moment that by hard work and self-restraint a man may +attain to a very high character. It is not denied that this can be done. +But what is denied is that this is growth, and that this process is +Christianity. The fact that you can account for it proves that it is not +growth. For growth is mysterious; the peculiarity of it is that you +cannot account for it. Mysteriousness, as Mozley has well observed, is +"the test of spiritual birth." And this was Christ's test. "The wind +bloweth where it listeth. Thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not +tell whence it cometh or whither it goeth, _so is every one that is born +of the Spirit_." The test of spirituality is that you cannot tell whence +it cometh or whither it goeth. If you can tell, if you can account for +it on philosophical principles, on the doctrine of influence, on +strength of will, on a favorable environment, it is not growth. It may +be so far a success, it may be a perfectly honest, even remarkable, and +praiseworthy imitation, but it is not the real thing. The fruits are +wax, the flowers artificial--you can tell whence it cometh and whither +it goeth. + +The conclusion is, then, that the Christian is a unique phenomenon. You +cannot account for him. And if you could he would not be a Christian. +Mozley has drawn the two characters for us in graphic words: "Take an +ordinary man of the world--what he thinks and what he does, his whole +standard of duty is taken from the society in which he lives. It is a +borrowed standard: he is as good as other people are; he does, in the +way of duty, what is generally considered proper and becoming among +those with whom his lot is thrown. He reflects established opinion on +such points. He follows its lead. His aims and objects in life again are +taken from the world around him, and from its dictation. What it +considers honorable, worth having, advantageous and good, he thinks so +too and pursues it. His motives all come from a visible quarter. It +would be absurd to say that there is any mystery in such a character as +this, because it is formed from a known external influence--the +influence of social opinion and the voice of the world. 'Whence such a +character cometh' we see; we venture to say that the source and origin +of it is open and palpable, and we know it just as we know the physical +causes of many common facts." + +Then there is the other. "There is a certain character and disposition +of mind of which it is true to say that 'thou canst not tell whence it +cometh or whither it goeth.' ... There are those who stand out from +among the crowd, which reflects merely the atmosphere of feeling and +standard of society around it, with an impress upon them which bespeaks +a heavenly birth.... Now, when we see one of those characters, it is a +question which we ask ourselves. How has the person become possessed of +it? Has he caught it from society around him? That cannot be, because it +is wholly different from that of the world around him. Has he caught it +from the inoculation of crowds and masses, as the mere religious zealot +catches his character? That cannot be either, for the type is altogether +different from that which masses of men, under enthusiastic impulses, +exhibit. There is nothing gregarious in this character; it is the +individual's own; it is not borrowed, it is not a reflection of any +fashion or tone of the world outside; it rises up from some fount +within, and it is a creation of which the text says, We know not whence +it cometh."[53] + +Now we have all met these two characters--the one eminently respectable, +upright, virtuous, a trifle cold perhaps, and generally, when critically +examined, revealing somehow the mark of the tool; the other with God's +breath still upon it, an inspiration; not more virtuous, but differently +virtuous; not more humble, but different, wearing the meek and quiet +spirit artlessly as to the manner born. The other-worldliness of such a +character is the thing that strikes you; you are not prepared for what +it will do or say or become next, for it moves from a far-off center, +and in spite of its transparency and sweetness that presence fills you +always with awe. A man never feels the discord of his own life, never +hears the jar of the machinery by which he tries to manufacture his own +good points, till he has stood in the stillness of such a presence. Then +he discerns the difference between growth and work. He has considered +the lilies, how they grow. + +We have now seen that spiritual growth is a process maintained and +secured by a spontaneous and mysterious inward principle. It is a +spontaneous principle even in its origin, for it bloweth where it +listeth; mysterious in its operation, for we can never tell whence it +cometh; obscure in its destination, for we cannot tell whence it goeth. +The whole process therefore transcends us; we do not work, we are taken +in hand--"it is God which worketh in us, both to will and to do of His +good pleasure." We do not plan--we are "created in Christ Jesus unto +good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them." + +There may be an obvious objection to all this. It takes away all +conflict from the Christian life? It makes man, does it not, mere clay +in the hands of the potter? It crushes the old character to make a new +one, and destroys man's responsibility for his own soul? + +Now we are not concerned here in once more striking the time-honored +"balance between faith and works." We are considering how lilies grow, +and in a specific connection, namely, to discover the attitude of mind +which the Christian should preserve regarding his spiritual growth. That +attitude, primarily, is to be free from care. We are not lodging a plea +for inactivity of the spiritual energies, but for the tranquillity of +the spiritual mind. Christ's protest is not against work, but against +anxious thought; and rather, therefore, than complement the lesson by +showing the other side, we take the risk of still further extending the +plea in the original direction. + +What is the relation, to recur again to analogy, between growth and work +in a boy? Consciously, there is no relation at all. The boy never thinks +of connecting his work with his growth. Work in fact is one thing and +growth another, and it is so in the spiritual life. If it be asked +therefore, Is the Christian wrong in these ceaseless and agonizing +efforts after growth? the answer is, Yes, he is quite wrong, or at +least, he is quite mistaken. When a boy takes a meal or denies himself +indigestible things, he does not say, "All this will minister to my +growth;" or when he runs a race he does not say, "This will help the +next cubit of my stature." It may or it may not be true that these +things will help his stature, but, if he thinks of this, his idea of +growth is morbid. And this is the point we are dealing with. His anxiety +here is altogether irrelevant and superfluous. Nature is far more +bountiful than we think. When she gives us energy she asks none of it +back to expend on our own growth. She will attend to that. "Give your +work," she says, "and your anxiety to others; trust me to add the cubits +to your stature." If God is adding to our spiritual stature, unfolding +the new nature within us, it is a mistake to keep twitching at the +petals with our coarse fingers. We must seek to let the Creative Hand +alone. "It is God which giveth the increase." Yet we never know how +little we have learned of the fundamental principle of Christianity till +we discover how much we are all bent on supplementing God's free grace. +If God is spending work upon a Christian, let him be still and know that +it is God. And if he wants work, he will find it there--in the being +still. + +Not that there is no work for him who would grow, to do. There is work, +and severe work--work so great that the worker deserves to have himself +relieved of all that is superfluous during his task. If the amount of +energy lost in trying to grow were spent in fulfilling rather the +conditions of growth, we should have many more cubits to show for our +stature. It is with these conditions that the personal work of the +Christian is chiefly concerned. Observe for a moment what they are, and +their exact relation. For its growth the plant needs heat, light, air, +and moisture. A man, therefore, must go in search of these, or their +spiritual equivalents, and this is his work? By no means. The +Christian's work is not yet. Does the plant go in search of its +conditions? Nay, the conditions come to the plant. It no more +manufactures the heat, light, air, and moisture, than it manufactures +its own stem. It finds them all around it in Nature. It simply stands +still with its leaves spread out in unconscious prayer, and Nature +lavishes upon it these and all other bounties, bathing it in sunshine, +pouring the nourishing air over and over it, reviving it graciously with +its nightly dew. Grace, too, is as free as the air. The Lord God is a +Sun. He is as the Dew to Israel. A man has no more to manufacture these +than he has to manufacture his own soul. He stands surrounded by them, +bathed in them, beset behind and before by them. He lives and moves and +has his being in them. How then shall he go in search of them? Do not +they rather go in search of him? Does he not feel how they press +themselves upon him? Does he not know how unweariedly they appeal to +him? Has he not heard how they are sorrowful when he will not have them? +His work, therefore, is not yet. The voice still says, "Be still." + +The conditions of growth, then, and the inward principle of growth being +both supplied by Nature, the thing man has to do, the little junction +left for him to complete, is to apply the one to the other. He +manufactures nothing; he earns nothing; he need be anxious for nothing; +his one duty is _to be in_ these conditions, to abide in them, to allow +grace to play over him, to be still therein and know that this is God. + +The conflict begins and prevails in all its life-long agony the moment a +man forgets this. He struggles to grow himself instead of struggling to +get back again into position. He makes the church into a workshop when +God meant it to be a beautiful garden. And even in his closet, where +only should reign silence--a silence as of the mountains whereon the +lilies grow--is heard the roar and tumult of machinery. True, a man +will often have to wrestle with his God--but not for growth. The +Christian life is a composed life. The Gospel is Peace. Yet the most +anxious people in the world are Christians--Christians who misunderstand +the nature of growth. Life is a perpetual self-condemning because they +are not growing. And the effect is not only the loss of tranquillity to +the individual. The energies which are meant to be spent on the work of +Christ are consumed in the soul's own fever. So long as the Church's +activities are spent on growing there is nothing to spare for the world. +A soldier's time is not spent in earning the money to buy his armor, in +finding food and raiment, in seeking shelter. His king provides these +things that he may be the more at liberty to fight his battles. So, for +the soldier of the Cross all is provided. His Government has planned to +leave him free for the Kingdom's work. + +The problem of the Christian life finally is simplified to this--man has +but to preserve the right attitude. To abide in Christ, to be in +position, that is all. Much work is done on board a ship crossing the +Atlantic. Yet none of it is spent on making the ship go. The sailor but +harnesses his vessel to the wind. He puts his sail and rudder in +position, and lo, the miracle is wrought. So everywhere God creates, man +utilizes. All the work of the world is merely a taking advantage of +energies already there.[54] God gives the wind, and the water, and the +heat; man but puts himself in the way of the wind, fixes his water-wheel +in the way of the river, puts his piston in the way of the steam; and so +holding himself in position before God's Spirit, all the energies of +Omnipotence course within his soul. He is like a tree planted by a river +whose leaf is green and whose fruits fail not. Such is the deeper lesson +to be learned from considering the lily. It is the voice of Nature +echoing the whole evangel of Jesus, "Come unto Me, and I will give you +rest." + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[53] University Sermons, pp. 234-241. + +[54] See Bushnell's "New Life." + + + + +DEATH. + + "What could be easier than to form a catena of the most + philosophical defenders of Christianity, who have exhausted language + in declaring the impotence of the unassisted intellect? Comte has + not more explicitly enounced the incapacity of man to deal with the + Absolute and the Infinite than the whole series of orthodox writers. + Trust your reason, we have been told till we are tired of the + phrase, and you will become Atheists or Agnostics. We take you at + your word; we become Agnostics."--_Leslie Stephen._ + + "To be carnally minded is Death."--_Paul._ + + "I do not wonder at what men suffer, but I wonder often at what they + lose."--_Ruskin._ + + +"Death," wrote Faber, "is an unsurveyed land, an unarranged Science." +Poetry draws near Death only to hover over it for a moment and withdraw +in terror. History knows it simply as a universal fact. Philosophy finds +it among the mysteries of being, the one great mystery of being not. All +contributions to this dead theme are marked by an essential vagueness, +and every avenue of approach seems darkened by impenetrable shadow. + +But modern Biology has found it part of its work to push its way into +this silent land, and at last the world is confronted with a scientific +treatment of Death. Not that much is added to the old conception, or +much taken from it. What it is, this certain Death with its uncertain +issues, we know as little as before. But we can define more clearly and +attach a narrower meaning to the momentous symbol. + +The interest of the investigation here lies in the fact that Death is +one of the outstanding things in Nature which has an acknowledged +spiritual equivalent. The prominence of the word in the vocabulary of +Revelation cannot be exaggerated. Next to Life the most pregnant symbol +in religion is its antithesis, Death. And from the time that "If thou +eatest thereof thou shalt surely die" was heard in Paradise, this solemn +word has been linked with human interests of eternal moment. + +Notwithstanding the unparalleled emphasis upon this term in the +Christian system, there is none more feebly expressive to the ordinary +mind. That mystery which surrounds the word in the natural world shrouds +only too completely its spiritual import. The reluctance which prevents +men from investigating the secrets of the King of Terrors is for a +certain length entitled to respect. But it has left theology with only +the vaguest materials to construct a doctrine which, intelligently +enforced, ought to appeal to all men with convincing power and lend the +most effective argument to Christianity. Whatever may have been its +influence in the past, its threat is gone for the modern world. The word +has grown weak. Ignorance has robbed the Grave of all its terror, and +platitude despoiled Death of its sting. Death itself is ethically dead. +Which of us, for example, enters fully into the meaning of words like +these: "She that liveth in pleasure is _dead_ while she liveth?" Who +allows adequate weight to the metaphor in the Pauline phrase, "To be +carnally minded is _Death_;" or in this, "The wages of sin is _Death_?" +Or what theology has translated into the language of human life the +terrific practical import of "Dead in trespasses and sins?" To seek to +make these phrases once more real and burning; to clothe time-worn +formulæ with living truth; to put the deepest ethical meaning into the +gravest symbol of Nature, and fill up with its full consequence the +darkest threat of Revelation--these are the objects before us now. + +What, then, is Death? Is it possible to define it and embody its +essential meaning in an intelligible proposition? + +The most recent and the most scientific attempt to investigate Death we +owe to the biological studies of Mr. Herbert Spencer. In his search for +the meaning of Life the word Death crosses his path, and he turns aside +for a moment to define it. Of course what Death is depends upon what +Life is. Mr. Herbert Spencer's definition of Life, it is well known, has +been subjected to serious criticism. While it has shed much light on +many of the phenomena of Life, it cannot be affirmed that it has taken +its place in science as the final solution of the fundamental problem of +biology. No definition of Life, indeed, that has yet appeared can be +said to be even approximately correct. Its mysterious quality evades us; +and we have to be content with outward characteristics and +accompaniments, leaving the thing itself an unsolved riddle. At the same +time Mr. Herbert Spencer's masterly elucidation of the chief phenomena +of Life has placed philosophy and science under many obligations, and in +the paragraphs which follow we shall have to incur a further debt on +behalf of religion. + +The meaning of Death depending, as has been said, on the meaning of +Life, we must first set ourselves to grasp the leading characteristics +which distinguish living things. To a physiologist the living organism +is distinguished from the not-living by the performance of certain +functions. These functions are four in number--Assimilation, Waste, +Reproduction, and Growth. Nothing could be a more interesting task than +to point out the co-relatives of these in the spiritual sphere, to show +in what ways the discharge of these functions represent the true +manifestations of spiritual life, and how the failure to perform them +constitutes spiritual Death. But it will bring us more directly to the +specific subject before us if we follow rather the newer biological +lines of Mr. Herbert Spencer. According to his definition, Life is "The +definite combination of heterogeneous changes, both simultaneous and +successive, in correspondence with external co-existences and +sequences,"[55] or more shortly "The continuous adjustment of internal +relations to external relations."[56] An example or two will render +these important statements at once intelligible. + +The essential characteristic of a living organism, according to these +definitions, is that it is in vital connection with its general +surroundings. A human being, for instance, is in direct contact with the +earth and air, with all surrounding things, with the warmth of the sun, +with the music of birds, with the countless influences and activities of +nature and of his fellow-men. In biological language he is said thus to +be "in correspondence with his environment." He is, that is to say, in +active and vital connection with them, influencing them possibly, but +especially being influenced by them. Now it is in virtue of this +correspondence that he is entitled to be called alive. So long as he is +in correspondence with any given point of his environment, he lives. To +keep up this correspondence is to keep up life. If his environment +changes he must instantly adjust himself to the change. And he continues +living only as long as he succeeds in adjusting himself to the +"simultaneous and successive changes in his environment" as these occur. +What is meant by a change in his environment may be understood from an +example, which will at the same time define more clearly the intimacy of +the relation between environment and organism. Let us take the case of a +civil-servant whose environment is a district in India. It is a region +subject to occasional and prolonged droughts resulting in periodical +famines. When such a period of scarcity arises, he proceeds immediately +to adjust himself to this external change. Having the power of +locomotion, he may remove himself to a more fertile district, or, +possessing the means of purchase, he may add to his old environment by +importation the "external relations" necessary to continued life. But if +from any cause he fails to adjust himself to the altered circumstances, +his body is thrown out of correspondence with his environment, his +"internal relations" are no longer adjusted to his "external +relations," and his life must cease. + +In ordinary circumstances, and in health, the human organism is in +thorough correspondence with its surroundings; but when any part of the +organism by disease or accident is thrown out of correspondence, it is +in that relation dead. + +This Death, this want of correspondence, may be either partial or +complete. Part of the organism may be dead to a part of the environment, +or the whole to the whole. Thus the victim of famine may have a certain +number of his correspondences arrested by the change in his environment, +but not all. Luxuries which he once enjoyed no longer enter the country, +animals which once furnished his table are driven from it. These still +exist, but they are beyond the limit of his correspondence. In relation +to these things therefore he is dead. In one sense it might be said that +it was the environment which played him false; in another, that it was +his own organization--that he was unable to adjust himself, or did not. +But, however caused, he pays the penalty with partial Death. + +Suppose next the case of a man who is thrown out of correspondence with +a part of his environment by some physical infirmity. Let it be that by +disease or accident he has been deprived of the use of his ears. The +deaf man, in virtue of this imperfection, is thrown out of _rapport_ +with a large and well-defined part of the environment, namely, its +sounds. With regard to that "external relation," therefore, he is no +longer living. Part of him may truly be held to be insensible or "Dead." +A man who is also blind is thrown out of correspondence with another +large part of his environment. The beauty of sea and sky, the forms of +cloud and mountain, the features and gestures of friends, are to him as +if they were not. They are there, solid and real, but not to him; he is +still further "Dead." Next, let it be conceived, the subtle finger of +cerebral disease lays hold of him. His whole brain is affected, and the +sensory nerves, the medium of communication with the environment, cease +altogether to acquaint him with what is doing in the outside world. The +outside world is still there, but not to him; he is still further +"Dead." And so the death of parts goes on. He becomes less and less +alive. "Were the animal frame not the complicated machine we have seen +it to be, death might come as a simple and gradual dissolution, the +'sans everything' being the last stage of the successive loss of +fundamental powers."[57] But finally some important part of the mere +animal framework that remains breaks down. The correlation with the +other parts is very intimate, and the stoppage of correspondence with +one means an interference with the work of the rest. Something central +has snapped, and all are thrown out of work. The lungs refuse to +correspond with the air, the heart with the blood. There is now no +correspondence whatever with environment--the thing, for it is now a +thing, is Dead. + +This then is Death; "part of the framework breaks down," "something has +snapped"--these phrases by which we describe the phases of death yield +their full meaning. They are different ways of saying that +"correspondence" has ceased. And the scientific meaning of Death now +becomes clearly intelligible. Dying is that breakdown in an organism +which throws it out of correspondence with some necessary part of the +environment. Death is the result produced, the want of correspondence. +We do not say that this is all that is involved. But this is the root +idea of Death--Failure to adjust internal relations to external +relations, failure to repair the broken inward connection sufficiently +to enable it to correspond again with the old surroundings. These +preliminary statements may be fitly closed with the words of Mr. Herbert +Spencer: "Death by natural decay occurs because in old age the +relations between assimilation, oxidation, and genesis of force going +on in the organism gradually fall out of correspondence with the +relations between oxygen and food and absorption of heat by the +environment. Death from disease arises either when the organism is +congenitally defective in its power to balance the ordinary external +actions by the ordinary internal actions, or when there has taken place +some unusual external action to which there was no answering internal +action. Death by accident implies some neighboring mechanical changes of +which the causes are either unnoticed from inattention, or are so +intricate that their results cannot be foreseen, and consequently +certain relations in the organism are not adjusted to the relations in +the environment."[58] + +With the help of these plain biological terms we may now proceed to +examine the parallel phenomenon of Death in the spiritual world. The +factors with which we have to deal are two in number as before--Organism +and Environment. The relation between them may once more be denominated +by "correspondence." And the truth to be emphasized resolves itself into +this, that Spiritual Death is a want of correspondence between the +organism and the spiritual environment. + +What is the spiritual environment? This term obviously demands some +further definition. For Death is a relative term. And before we can +define Death in the spiritual world we must first apprehend the +particular relation with reference to which the expression is to be +employed. We shall best reach the nature of this relation by considering +for a moment the subject of environment generally. By the natural +environment we mean the entire surroundings of the natural man, the +entire external world in which he lives and moves and has his being. It +is not involved in the idea that either with all or part of the +environment he is in immediate correspondence. Whether he correspond +with it or not, it is there. There is in fact a conscious environment +and an environment of which he is not conscious; and it must be borne in +mind that the conscious environment is not all the environment that is. +All that surrounds him, all that environs him, conscious or unconscious, +is environment. The moon and stars are part of it, though in the daytime +he may not see them. The polar regions are parts of it, though he is +seldom aware of their influence. In its widest sense environment simply +means all else that is. + +Now it will next be manifest that different organisms correspond with +this environment in varying degrees of completeness or incompleteness. +At the bottom of the biological scale we find organisms which have only +the most limited correspondence with their surroundings. A tree, for +example, corresponds with the soil about its stem, with the sunlight, +and with the air in contact with its leaves. But it is shut off by its +comparatively low development from a whole world to which higher forms +of life have additional access. The want of locomotion alone +circumscribes most seriously its area of correspondence, so that to a +large part of surrounding nature it may truly be said to be dead. So far +as consciousness is concerned, we should be justified indeed in saying +that it was not alive at all. The murmur of the stream which bathes its +roots affects it not. The marvelous insect-life beneath its shadow +excites in it no wonder. The tender maternity of the bird which has its +nest among its leaves stirs no responsive sympathy. It cannot correspond +with those things. To stream and insect and bird it is insensible, +torpid, dead. For this is Death, this irresponsiveness. + +The bird, again, which is higher in the scale of life, corresponds with +a wider environment. The stream is real to it, and the insect. It knows +what lies behind the hill; it listens to the love-song of its mate. And +to much besides beyond the simple world of the tree this higher +organism is alive. The bird we should say is more living than the tree; +it has a correspondence with a larger area of environment. But this +bird-life is not yet the highest life. Even within the immediate +bird-environment there is much to which the bird must still be held to +be dead. Introduce a higher organism, place man himself within this same +environment, and see how much more living he is. A hundred things which +the bird never saw in insect, stream, and tree appeal to him. Each +single sense has something to correspond with. Each faculty finds an +appropriate exercise. Man is a mass of correspondences, and because of +these, because he is alive to countless objects and influences to which +lower organisms are dead, he is the most living of all creatures. + +The relativity of Death will now have become sufficiently obvious. Man +being left out of account, all organisms are seen as it were to be +partly living and partly dead. The tree, in correspondence with a narrow +area of environment, is to that extent alive; to all beyond, to the all +but infinite area beyond, it is dead. A still wider portion of this vast +area is the possession of the insect and the bird. Their's also, +nevertheless, is but a little world, and to an immense further area +insect and bird are dead. All organisms likewise are living and +dead--living to all within the circumference of their correspondences, +dead to all beyond. As we rise in the scale of life, however, it will be +observed that the sway of Death is gradually weakened. More and more of +the environment becomes accessible as we ascend, and the domain of life +in this way slowly extends in ever-widening circles. But until man +appears there is no organism to correspond with the whole environment. +Till then the outermost circles have no correspondents. To the +inhabitants of the innermost spheres they are as if they were not. + +Now follows a momentous question. Is man in correspondence with the +whole environment? When we reach the highest living organism, is the +final blow dealt to the kingdom of Death? Has the last acre of the +infinite area been taken in by his finite faculties? Is his conscious +environment the whole environment? Or is there, among these outermost +circles, one which with his multitudinous correspondences he fails to +reach? If so, this is Death. The question of Life or Death to him is the +question of the amount of remaining environment he is able to compass. +If there be one circle or one segment of a circle which he yet fails to +reach, to correspond with, to know, to be influenced by, he is, with +regard to that circle or segment, dead. + +What then, practically, is the state of the case? Is man in +correspondence with the whole environment or is he not? There is but one +answer. He is not. Of men generally it cannot be said that they are in +living contact with that part of the environment which is called the +spiritual world. In introducing this new term spiritual world, observe, +we are not interpolating a new factor. This is an essential part of the +old idea. We have been following out an ever-widening environment from +point to point, and now we reach the outermost zones. The spiritual +world is simply the outermost segment, circle, or circles of the natural +world. For purposes of convenience we separate the two just as we +separate the animal world from the plant. But the animal world and the +plant world are the same world. They are different parts of one +environment. And the natural and spiritual are likewise one. The inner +circles are called the natural, the outer the spiritual. And we call +them spiritual simply because they are beyond us or beyond a part of us. +What we have correspondence with, that we call natural; what we have +little or no correspondence with, that we call spiritual. But when the +appropriate corresponding organism appears, the organism, that is, which +can freely communicate with these outer circles, the distinction +necessarily disappears. The spiritual to it becomes the outer circle of +the natural. + +Now of the great mass of living organisms, of the great mass of men, is +it not to be affirmed that they are out of correspondence with this +outer circle? Suppose, to make the final issue more real, we give this +outermost circle of environment a name. Suppose we call it God. Suppose +also we substitute a word for "correspondence" to express more +intimately the personal relation. Let us call it Communion. We can now +determine accurately the spiritual relation of different sections of +mankind. Those who are in communion with God live, those who are not are +dead. + +The extent or depth of this communion, the varying degrees of +correspondence in different individuals, and the less or more abundant +life which these result in, need not concern us for the present. The +task we have set ourselves is to investigate the essential nature of +Spiritual Death. And we have found it to consist in a want of communion +with God. The unspiritual man is he who lives in the circumscribed +environment of this present world. "She that liveth in pleasure is Dead +while she liveth." "To be carnally minded is Death." To be carnally +minded, translated into the language of science, is to be limited in +one's correspondences to the environment of the natural man. It is no +necessary part of the conception that the mind should be either +purposely irreligious, or directly vicious. The mind of the flesh, +φρόνημα τῆς σαρκὸς, by its very nature, limited capacity, and time-ward +tendency, is θάνατος, Death. This earthly mind may be of noble caliber, +enriched by culture, high toned, virtuous and pure. But if it know not +God? What though its correspondences reach to the stars of heaven or +grasp the magnitudes of Time and Space? The stars of heaven are not +heaven. Space is not God. This mind certainly, has life, life up to its +level. There is no trace of Death. Possibly, too, it carries its +deprivation lightly, and, up to its level, lies content. We do not +picture the possessor of this carnal mind as in any sense a monster. We +have said he may be high-toned, virtuous, and pure. The plant is not a +monster because it is dead to the voice of the bird; nor is he a monster +who is dead to the voice of God. The contention at present simply is +that he is _Dead_. + +We do not need to go to Revelation for the proof of this. That has been +rendered unnecessary by the testimony of the Dead themselves. Thousands +have uttered themselves upon their relation to the Spiritual World, and +from their own lips we have the proclamation of their Death. The +language of theology in describing the state of the natural man is often +regarded as severe. The Pauline anthropology has been challenged as an +insult to human nature. Culture has opposed the doctrine that "The +natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God, for they are +foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are +spiritually discerned." And even some modern theologies have refused to +accept the most plain of the aphorisms of Jesus, that "Except a man be +born again he cannot see the Kingdom of God." But this stern doctrine of +the spiritual deadness of humanity is no mere dogma of a past theology. +The history of thought during the present century proves that the world +has come round spontaneously to the position of the first. One of the +ablest philosophical schools of the day erects a whole antichristian +system on this very doctrine. Seeking by means of it to sap the +foundation of spiritual religion, it stands unconsciously as the most +significant witness for its truth. What is the creed of the Agnostic, +but the confession of the spiritual numbness of humanity? The negative +doctrine which it reiterates with such sad persistency, what is it but +the echo of the oldest of scientific and religious truths? And what are +all these gloomy and rebellious infidelities, these touching, and too +sincere confessions of universal nescience, but a protest against this +ancient law of Death? + +The Christian apologist never further misses the mark than when he +refuses the testimony of the Agnostic to himself. When the Agnostic +tells me he is blind and deaf, dumb, torpid and dead to the spiritual +world, I must believe him. Jesus tells me that. Paul tells me that. +Science tells me that. He knows nothing of this outermost circle; and we +are compelled to trust his sincerity as readily when he deplores it as +if, being a man without an ear, he professed to know nothing of a +musical world, or being without taste, of a world of art. The nescience +of the Agnostic philosophy is the proof from experience that to be +carnally minded is Death. Let the theological value of the concession be +duly recognized. It brings no solace to the unspiritual man to be told +he is mistaken. To say he is self-deceived is neither to compliment him +nor Christianity. He builds in all sincerity who raises his altar to the +_Unknown_ God. He does not know God. With all his marvelous and complex +correspondences, he is still one correspondence short. + +It is a point worthy of special note that the proclamation of this truth +has always come from science rather than from religion. Its general +acceptance by thinkers is based upon the universal failure of a +universal experiment. The statement, therefore, that the natural man +discerneth not the things of the spirit, is never to be charged against +the intolerance of theology. There is no point at which theology has +been more modest than here. It has left the preaching of a great +fundamental truth almost entirely to philosophy and science. And so very +moderate has been its tone, so slight has been the emphasis placed upon +the paralysis of the natural with regard to the spiritual, that it may +seem to some to have been intolerant. No harm certainly could come now, +no offence could be given to science, if religion asserted more clearly +its right to the spiritual world. Science has paved the way for the +reception of one of the most revolutionary doctrines of Christianity; +and if Christianity refuses to take advantage of the opening it will +manifest a culpable want of confidence in itself. There never was a time +when its fundamental doctrines could more boldly be proclaimed, or when +they could better secure the respect and arrest the interest of Science. + +To all this, and apparently with force, it may, however, be objected +that to every man who truly studies Nature there is a God. Call Him by +whatever name--a Creator, a Supreme Being, a Great First Cause, a Power +that makes for Righteousness--Science has a God; and he who believes in +this, in spite of all protest, possesses a theology. "If we will look at +things, and not merely at words, we shall soon see that the scientific +man has a theology and a God, a most impressive theology, a most awful +and glorious God. I say that man believes in a God who feels himself in +the presence of a Power which is not himself, and is immeasurably above +himself, a Power in the contemplation of which he is absorbed, in the +knowledge of which he finds safety and happiness. And such now is Nature +to the scientific man."[59] Such now, we humbly submit, is Nature to the +very few. Their own confession is against it. That they are "absorbed" +in the contemplation we can well believe. That they might "find safety +and happiness" in the knowledge of Him is also possible--if they had it. +But this is just what they tell us they have not. What they deny is not +a God. It is the correspondence. The very confession of the Unknowable +is itself the dull recognition of an Environment beyond themselves, and +for which they feel they lack the correspondence. It is this want that +makes their God the Unknown God. And it is this that makes them _dead_. + +We have not said, or implied, that there is not a God of Nature. We have +not affirmed that there is no Natural Religion. We are assured there is. +We are even assured that without a Religion of Nature Religion is only +half complete; that without a God of Nature the God of Revelation is +only half intelligible and only partially known. God is not confined to +the outermost circle of environment, He lives and moves and has His +being in the whole. Those who only seek Him in the further zone can +only find a part. The Christian who knows not God in Nature, who does +not, that is to say, correspond with the whole environment, most +certainly is partially dead. The author of "Ecce Homo" may be partially +right when he says: "I think a bystander would say that though +Christianity had in it something far higher and deeper and more +ennobling, yet the average scientific man worships just at present a +more awful, and, as it were, a greater Deity than the average Christian. +In so many Christians the idea of God has been degraded by childish and +little-minded teaching; the Eternal and the Infinite and the +All-embracing has been represented as the head of the clerical interest, +as a sort of clergyman, as a sort of schoolmaster, as a sort of +philanthropist. But the scientific man knows Him to be eternal; in +astronomy, in geology, he becomes familiar with the countless +millenniums of His lifetime. The scientific man strains his mind +actually to realize God's infinity. As far off as the fixed stars he +traces Him, 'distance inexpressible by numbers that have name.' +Meanwhile, to the theologian, infinity and eternity are very much of +empty words when applied to the object of his worship. He does not +realize them in actual facts and definite computations."[60] Let us +accept this rebuke. The principle that want of correspondence is Death +applies all round. He who knows not God in Nature only partially lives. +The converse of this, however, is not true; and that is the point we are +insisting on. He who knows God only in Nature lives not. There is no +"correspondence" with an Unknown God, no "continuous adjustment" to a +fixed First Cause. There is no "assimilation" of Natural Law; no growth +in the Image of "the All-embracing." To correspond with the God of +Science assuredly is not to live. "This is Life Eternal, to know Thee, +_the true God_, and _Jesus Christ_ Whom Thou hast sent." + +From the service we have tried to make natural science render to our +religion, we might be expected possibly to take up the position that the +absolute contribution of Science to Revelation was very great. On the +contrary, it is very small. The _absolute_ contribution, that is, is +very small. The contribution on the whole is immense, vaster than we +have yet any idea of. But without the aid of the higher Revelation this +many-toned and far-reaching voice had been forever dumb. The light of +Nature, say the most for it, is dim--how dim we ourselves, with the +glare of other Light upon the modern world, can only realize when we +seek among the pagan records of the past for the groupings after truth +of those whose only light was this. Powerfully significant and touching +as these efforts were in their success, they are far more significant +and touching in their failure. For they did fail. It requires no +philosophy now to speculate on the adequacy or inadequacy of the +Religion of Nature. For us who could never weigh it rightly in the +scales of Truth it has been tried in the balance of experience and found +wanting. Theism is the easiest of all religions to get, but the most +difficult to keep. Individuals have kept it, but nations never. Socrates +and Aristotle, Cicero and Epictetus had a theistic religion; Greece and +Rome had none. And even after getting what seems like a firm place in +the minds of men, its unstable equilibrium sooner or later betrays +itself. On the one hand theism has always fallen into the wildest +polytheism, or on the other into the blankest atheism. "It is an +indubitable historical fact that, outside of the sphere of special +revelation, man has never obtained such a knowledge of God as a +responsible and religious being plainly requires. The wisdom of the +heathen world, at its very best, was utterly inadequate to the +accomplishment of such a task as creating a due abhorrence of sin, +controlling the passions, purifying the heart, and ennobling the +conduct."[61] + +What is the inference? That this poor rush-light by itself was never +meant to lend the ray by which man should read the riddle of the +universe. The mystery is too impenetrable and remote for its uncertain +flicker to more than make the darkness deeper. What indeed if this were +not a light at all, but only part of a light--the carbon point, the +fragment of calcium, the reflector in the great Lantern which contains +the Light of the World? + +This is one inference. But the most important is that the absence of the +true Light means moral Death. The darkness of the natural world to the +intellect is not all. What history testifies to is, first the partial, +and then the total eclipse of virtue that always follows the abandonment +of belief in a personal God. It is not, as has been pointed out a +hundred times, that morality in the abstract disappears, but the motive +and sanction are gone. There is nothing to raise it from the dead. Man's +attitude to it is left to himself. Grant that morals have their own base +in human life; grant that Nature has a Religion whose creed is Science; +there is yet nothing apart from God to save the world from moral Death. +Morality has the power to dictate but none to move. Nature directs but +cannot control. As was wisely expressed in one of many pregnant +utterances during a recent _Symposium_, "Though the decay of religion +may leave the institutes of morality intact, it drains off their inward +power. The devout faith of men expresses and measures the intensity of +their moral nature, and it cannot be lost without a remission of +enthusiasm, and under this low pressure, the successful reëntrance of +importunate desires and clamorous passions which had been driven back. +To believe in an ever-living and perfect Mind, supreme over the +universe, is to invest moral distinctions with immensity and eternity, +and lift them from the provincial stage of human society to the +imperishable theater of all being. When planted thus in the very +substance of things, they justify and support the ideal estimates of +the conscience; they deepen every guilty shame; they guarantee every +righteous hope; and they help the will with a Divine casting-vote in +every balance of temptation."[62] That morality has a basis in human +society, that Nature has a Religion, surely makes the Death of the soul +when left to itself all the more appalling. It means that, between them, +Nature and morality provide all for virtue--except the Life to live it. + +It is at this point accordingly that our subject comes into intimate +contact with Religion. The proposition that "to be carnally minded is +Death" even the moralist will assent to. But when it is further +announced that "the carnal mind is _enmity against God_" we find +ourselves in a different region. And when we find it also stated that +"the wages of _sin_ is Death," we are in the heart of the profoundest +questions of theology. What before was merely "enmity against society" +becomes "enmity against God;" and what was "vice" is "sin." The +conception of a God gives an altogether new color to worldliness and +vice. Worldliness it changes into heathenism, vice into blasphemy. The +carnal mind, the mind which is turned away from God, which will not +correspond with God--this is not moral only but spiritual Death. And +Sin, that which separates from God, which disobeys God, which _can_ not +in that state correspond with God--this is hell. + +To the estrangement of the soul from God the best of theology traces the +ultimate cause of sin. Sin is simply apostasy from God, unbelief in God. +"Sin is manifest in its true character when the demand of holiness in +the conscience, presenting itself to the man as one of loving submission +to God, is put from him with aversion. Here sin appears as it really is, +a turning away from God; and while the man's guilt is enhanced, there +ensues a benumbing of the heart resulting from the crushing of those +higher impulses. This is what is meant by the reprobate state of those +who reject Christ and will not believe the Gospel, so often spoken of in +the New Testament; this unbelief is just the closing of the heart +against the highest love."[63] The other view of sin, probably the more +popular at present, that sin consists in selfishness, is merely this +from another aspect. Obviously if the mind turns away from one part of +the environment it will only do so under some temptation to correspond +with another. This temptation, at bottom, can only come from one +source--the love of self. The irreligious man's correspondences are +concentrated upon himself. He worships himself. Self-gratification +rather than self-denial; independence rather than submission--these are +the rules of life. And this is at once the poorest and the commonest +form of idolatry. + +But whichever of these views of sin we emphasize, we find both equally +connected with Death. If sin is estrangement from God, this very +estrangement is Death. It is a want of correspondence. If sin is +selfishness, it is conducted at the expense of life. Its wages are +Death--"he that loveth his life," said Christ, "shall lose it." + +Yet the paralysis of the moral nature apart from God does not only +depend for its evidence upon theology or even upon history. From the +analogies of Nature one would expect this result as a necessary +consequence. The development of any organism in any direction is +dependent on its environment. A living cell cut off from air will die. A +seed-germ apart from moisture and an appropriate temperature will make +the ground its grave for centuries. Human nature, likewise, is subject +to similar conditions. It can only develop in presence of its +environment. No matter what its possibilities may be, no matter what +seeds of thought or virtue, what germs of genius or of art, lie latent +in its breast, until the appropriate environment present itself the +correspondence is denied, the development discouraged, the most splendid +possibilities of life remain unrealized, and thought and virtue, genius +and art, are dead. The true environment of the moral life is God. Here +conscience wakes. Here kindles love. Duty here becomes heroic; and that +righteousness begins to live which alone is to live forever. But if this +Atmosphere is not, the dwarfed soul must perish for mere want of its +native air. And its Death is a strictly natural Death. It is not an +exceptional judgment upon Atheism. In the same circumstances, in the +same averted relation to their environment, the poet, the musician, the +artist, would alike perish to poetry, to music, and to art. Every +environment is a cause. Its effect upon me is exactly proportionate to +my correspondence with it. If I correspond with part of it, part of +myself is influenced. If I correspond with more, more of myself is +influenced; if with all, all is influenced. If I correspond with the +world, I become worldly; if with God, I become Divine. As without +correspondence of the scientific man with the natural environment there +could be no Science and no action founded on the knowledge of Nature, so +without communion with the spiritual Environment there can be no +Religion. To refuse to cultivate the religious relation is to deny to +the soul its highest right--the right to a further evolution.[64] We +have already admitted that he who knows not God may not be a monster; we +cannot say he will not be a dwarf. This precisely, and on perfectly +natural principles, is what he must be. You can dwarf a soul just as +you can dwarf a plant, by depriving it of a full environment. Such a +soul for a time may have "a name to live." Its character may betray no +sign of atrophy. But its very virtue somehow has the pallor of a flower +that is grown in darkness, or as the herb which has never seen the sun, +no fragrance breathes from its spirit. To morality, possibly, this +organism offers the example of an irreproachable life; but to science it +is an instance of arrested development; and to religion it presents the +spectacle of a corpse--a living Death. With Ruskin, "I do not wonder at +what men suffer, but I wonder often at what they lose." + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[55] "Principles of Biology," vol. i, p. 74. + +[56] _Ibid._ + +[57] Foster's "Physiology," p. 642. + +[58] Op. cit., pp. 88, 89. + +[59] "Natural Religion," p. 19. + +[60] "Natural Religion," p. 20. + +[61] Prof. Flint, "Theism," p. 805. + +[62] Martineau. _Vide_ the whole Symposium on "The Influences upon +Morality of a Decline in Religious Belief."--_Nineteenth Century_, vol. +i. pp. 331, 531. + +[63] Müller: "Christian Doctrine of Sin." 2d Ed., vol i. p 131. + +[64] It would not be difficult to show, were this the immediate subject, +that it is not only a right but a duty to exercise the spiritual +faculties, a duty demanded not by religion merely, but by science. Upon +biological principles man owes his full development to himself, to +nature, and to his fellow-men. Thus Mr. Herbert Spencer affirms, "The +performance of every function is, in a sense, a moral obligation. It is +usually thought that morality requires us only to restrain such vital +activities as, in our present state, are often pushed to excess, or such +as conflict with average welfare, special or general: but it also +requires us to carry on these vital activities up to their normal +limits. All the animal functions, in common with all the higher +functions, have, as thus understood, their imperativeness."--"The Data +of Ethics," 2d Ed., p. 76. + + + + +MORTIFICATION. + + "If, by tying its main artery, we stop most of the blood going to a + limb, then, for as long as the limb performs its functions, those + parts which are called into play must be wasted faster than they are + repaired: whence eventual disablement. The relation between due + receipt of nutritive matters through its arteries, and due discharge + of its duties by the limb, is a part of the physical order. If + instead of cutting off the supply to a particular limb, we bleed the + patient largely, so drafting away the materials needed for repairing + not one limb but all limbs, and not limbs only but viscera, there + results both a muscular debility and an enfeeblement of the vital + functions. Here, again, cause and effect are necessarily related.... + Pass now to those actions more commonly thought of as the occasions + for rules of conduct."--_Herbert Spencer._ + + "Mortify therefore your members which are upon earth."--_Paul._ + + "O Star-eyed Science! hast thou wandered there + To waft us home the message of despair?"--_Campbell._ + + +The definition of Death which science has given us is this: _A falling +out of correspondence with environment._ When, for example, a man loses +the sight of his eyes, his correspondence with the environing world is +curtailed. His life is limited in an important direction; he is less +living than he was before. If, in addition, he loses the senses of touch +and hearing, his correspondences are still further limited; he is +therefore still further dead. And when all possible correspondences have +ceased, when the nerves decline to respond to any stimulus, when the +lungs close their gates against the air, when the heart refuses to +correspond with the blood by so much as another beat, the insensate +corpse is wholly and forever dead. The soul, in like manner, which has +no correspondence with the spiritual environment is spiritually dead. It +may be that it never possessed the spiritual eye or the spiritual ear, +or a heart which throbbed in response to the love of God. If so, having +never lived, it cannot be said to have died. But not to have these +correspondences is to be in the state of Death. To the spiritual world, +to the Divine Environment, it is dead--as a stone which has never lived +is dead to the environment of the organic world. + +Having already abundantly illustrated this use of the symbol Death, we +may proceed to deal with another class of expressions where the same +term is employed in an exactly opposite connection. It is a proof of the +radical nature of religion that a word so extreme should have to be used +again and again in Christian teaching, to define in different directions +the true spiritual relations of mankind. Hitherto we have concerned +ourselves with the condition of the natural man with regard to the +spiritual world. We have now to speak of the relations of the spiritual +man with regard to the natural world. Carrying with us the same +essential principle--want of correspondence--underlying the meaning of +Death, we shall find that the relation of the spiritual man to the +natural world, or at least to part of it, is to be that of Death. + +When the natural man becomes the spiritual man, the great change is +described by Christ as a passing from Death unto Life. Before the +transition occurred, the practical difficulty was this, how to get into +correspondence with the new Environment? But no sooner is this +correspondence established than the problem is reversed. The question +now is, how to get out of correspondence with the old environment? The +moment the new life is begun there comes a genuine anxiety to break with +the old. For the former environment has now become embarrassing. It +refuses its dismissal from consciousness. It competes doggedly with the +new Environment for a share of the correspondences. And in a hundred +ways the former traditions, the memories and passions of the past, the +fixed associations and habits of the earlier life, now complicate the +new relation. The complex and bewildered soul, in fact, finds itself in +correspondence with two environments, each with urgent but yet +incompatible claims. It is a dual soul living in a double world, a world +whose inhabitants are deadly enemies, and engaged in perpetual +civil-war. + +The position of things is perplexing. It is clear that no man can +attempt to live both lives. To walk both in the flesh and in the spirit +is morally impossible. "No man," as Christ so often emphasized, "can +serve two masters." And yet, as matter of fact, here is the new-born +being in communication with both environments? With sin and purity, +light and darkness, time and Eternity, God and Devil, the confused and +undecided soul is now in correspondence. What is to be done in such an +emergency? How can the New Life deliver itself from the still-persistent +past? + +A ready solution of the difficulty would be _to die_. Were one to die +organically, to die and "go to heaven," all correspondence with the +lower environment would be arrested at a stroke. For Physical Death of +course simply means the final stoppage of all natural correspondences +with this sinful world. + +But this alternative, fortunately or unfortunately, is not open. The +detention here of body and spirit for a given period is determined for +us, and we are morally bound to accept the situation. We must look then +for a further alternative. + +Actual Death being denied us, we must ask ourselves if there is nothing +else resembling it--no artificial relation, no imitation or semblance of +Death which would serve our purpose. If we cannot yet die absolutely, +surely the next best thing will be to find a temporary substitute. If we +cannot die altogether, in short, the most we can do is to die as much as +we can. And we now know this is open to us, and how. To die to any +environment is to withdraw correspondence with it, to cut ourselves off, +so far as possible, from all communication with it. So that the solution +of the problem will simply be this, for the spiritual life to reverse +continuously the processes of the natural life. The spiritual man having +passed from Death unto Life, the natural man must next proceed to pass +from Life unto Death. Having opened the new set of correspondences, he +must deliberately close up the old. Regeneration in short must be +accompanied by Degeneration. + +Now it is no surprise to find that this is the process everywhere +described and recommended by the founders of the Christian system. Their +proposal to the natural man, or rather to the natural part of the +spiritual man, with regard to a whole series of inimical relations, is +precisely this. If he cannot really die, he must make an adequate +approach to it by "reckoning himself dead." Seeing that, until the cycle +of his organic life is complete he cannot die physically, he must +meantime die morally, reckoning himself morally dead to that environment +which, by competing for his correspondences, has now become an obstacle +to his spiritual life. + +The variety of ways in which the New Testament writers insist upon this +somewhat extraordinary method is sufficiently remarkable. And although +the idea involved is essentially the same throughout, it will clearly +illustrate the nature of the act if we examine separately three +different modes of expression employed in the later Scriptures in this +connection. The methods by which the spiritual man is to withdraw +himself from the old environment--or from that part of it which will +directly hinder the spiritual life--are three in number:-- + + First, Suicide. + Second, Mortification. + Third, Limitation. + +It will be found in practice that these different methods are adapted, +respectively, to meet three different forms of temptation; so that we +possess a sufficient warrant for giving a brief separate treatment to +each. + +First, Suicide. Stated in undisguised phraseology, the advice of Paul to +the Christian, with regard to a part of his nature, is to commit +suicide. If the Christian is to "live unto God," he must "die unto sin." +If he does not kill sin, sin will inevitably kill him. Recognizing this, +he must set himself to reduce the number of his correspondences--retaining +and developing those which lead to a fuller life, unconditionally +withdrawing those which in any way tend in an opposite direction. This +stoppage of correspondences is a voluntary act, a crucifixion of the +flesh, a suicide. + +Now the least experience of life will make it evident that a large class +of sins can only be met, as it were, by Suicide. The peculiar feature of +Death by Suicide is that it is not only self-inflicted but sudden. And +there are many sins which must either be dealt with suddenly or not at +all. Under this category, for instance, are to be included generally all +sins of the appetites and passions. Other sins, from their peculiar +nature, can only be treated by methods less abrupt, but the sudden +operation of the knife is the only successful means of dealing with +fleshly sins. For example, the correspondence of the drunkard with his +wine is a thing which can be broken off by degrees only in the rarest +cases. To attempt it gradually may in an isolated case succeed, but even +then the slightly prolonged gratification is no compensation for the +slow torture of a gradually diminishing indulgence. "If thine appetite +offend thee cut it off," may seem at first but a harsh remedy; but when +we contemplate on the one hand the lingering pain of the gradual +process, on the other its constant peril, we are compelled to admit that +the principle is as kind as it is wise. The expression "total +abstinence" in such a case is a strictly biological formula. It implies +the sudden destruction of a definite portion of environment by the total +withdrawal of all the connecting links. Obviously of course total +abstinence ought thus to be allowed a much wider application than to +cases of "intemperance." It's the only decisive method of dealing with +any sin of the flesh; The very nature of the relations makes it +absolutely imperative that every victim of unlawful appetite, in +whatever direction, shall totally abstain. Hence Christ's apparently +extreme and peremptory language defines the only possible, as well as +the only charitable, expedient: "If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it +out, and cast it from thee. And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it +off, and cast it from thee." + +The humanity of what is called "sudden conversion" has never been +insisted on as it deserves. In discussing "Biogenesis"[65] it has been +already pointed out that while growth is a slow and gradual process, the +change from Death to Life alike in the natural and spiritual spheres is +the work of a moment. Whatever the conscious hour of the second birth +may be--in the case of an adult it is probably defined by the first real +victory over sin--it is certain that on biological principles the real +turning-point is literally a moment. But on moral and humane grounds +this misunderstood, perverted, and therefore despised doctrine is +equally capable of defence. Were any reformer, with an adequate +knowledge of human life, to sit down and plan a scheme for the salvation +of sinful men, he would probably come to the conclusion that the best +way after all, perhaps indeed the only way, to turn a sinner from the +error of his ways would be to do it suddenly. + +Suppose a drunkard were advised to take off one portion from his usual +allowance the first week, another the second, and so on! Or suppose at +first, he only allowed himself to become intoxicated in the evenings, +then every second evening, then only on Saturday nights, and finally +only every Christmas? How would a thief be reformed if he slowly reduced +the number of his burglaries, or a wife-beater by gradually diminishing +the number of his blows? The argument ends with an _ad absurdum_. "Let +him that stole _steal no more_," is the only feasible, the only moral, +and the only humane way. This may not apply to every case, but when any +part of man's sinful life can be dealt with by immediate Suicide, to +make him reach the end, even were it possible, by a lingering death, +would be a monstrous cruelty. And yet it is this very thing in "sudden +conversion," that men object to--the sudden change, the decisive stand, +the uncompromising rupture with the past, the precipitate flight from +sin as of one escaping for his life. Men surely forget that this is an +escaping for one's life. Let the poor prisoner run--madly and blindly if +he like, for the terror of Death is upon him. God knows, when the pause +comes, how the chains will gall him still. + +It is a peculiarity of the sinful state, that as a general rule men are +linked to evil mainly by a single correspondence. Few men break the +whole law. Our natures, fortunately, are not large enough to make us +guilty of all, and the restraints of circumstances are usually such as +to leave a loophole in the life of each individual for only a single +habitual sin. But it is very easy to see how this reduction of our +intercourse with evil to a single correspondence blinds us to our true +position. Our correspondences, as a whole, are not with evil, and in our +calculations as to our spiritual condition we emphasize the many +negatives rather than the single positive. One little weakness, we are +apt to fancy, all men must be allowed, and we even claim a certain +indulgence for that apparent necessity of nature which we call our +besetting sin. Yet to break with the lower environment at all, to many, +is to break at this single point. It is the only important point at +which they touch it, circumstances or natural disposition making +habitual contact at other places impossible. The sinful environment, in +short, to them means a small but well-defined area. Now if contact at +this point be not broken off, they are virtually in contact still with +the whole environment. There may be only one avenue between the new life +and the old, it may be but a small and _subterranean passage_, but this +is sufficient to keep the old life in. So long as that remains the +victim is not "dead unto sin," and therefore he cannot "live unto God." +Hence the reasonableness of the words, "Whatsoever shall keep the whole +law, and yet offend at one point, he is guilty of all." In the natural +world it only requires a single vital correspondence of the body to be +out of order to insure Death. It is not necessary to have consumption, +diabetes, and an aneurism to bring the body to the grave if it have +heart-disease. He who is fatally diseased in one organ necessarily pays +the penalty with his life, though all the others be in perfect health. +And such, likewise, are the mysterious unity and correlation of +functions in the spiritual organism that the disease of one member may +involve the ruin of the whole. The reason, therefore, with which Christ +follows up the announcement of His Doctrine of Mutilation, or local +Suicide, finds here at once its justification and interpretation: "If +thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: _for_ it +is profitable for thee that _one_ of thy members should perish, and not +that thy _whole body_ should be cast into hell. And if thy right hand +offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee: _for_ it is profitable +for thee that _one_ of thy members should perish, and not that thy +_whole body_ should be cast into hell." + +Secondly, Mortification. The warrant for the use of this expression is +found in the well-known phrases of Paul, "If ye through the Spirit do +mortify the deeds of the body ye shall live," and "Mortify therefore +your members which are upon earth." The word mortify here is, literally, +to make to die. It is used, of course, in no specially technical sense; +and to attempt to draw a detailed moral from the pathology of +mortification would be equally fantastic and irrelevant. But without in +any way straining the meaning it is obvious that we have here a slight +addition to our conception of dying to sin. In contrast with Suicide, +Mortification implies a gradual rather than a sudden process. The +contexts in which the passages occur will make this meaning so clear, +and are otherwise so instructive in the general connection, that we may +quote them, from the New Version, at length: "They that are after the +flesh do mind the things of the flesh; but they that are after the +Spirit the things of the Spirit. For the mind of the flesh is death; but +the mind of the Spirit is life and peace: because the mind of the flesh +is enmity against God; for it is not subject to the law of God, neither +indeed can it be: and they that are in the flesh cannot please God. But +ye are not in the flesh, but in the Spirit, if so be that the Spirit of +God dwell in you. But if any man hath not the Spirit of Christ, he is +none of His. And if Christ is in you, the body is dead because of sin; +but the Spirit is life because of righteousness. But if the Spirit of +Him that raised up Jesus from the dead dwelleth in you, He that raised +up Christ Jesus from the dead shall quicken also your mortal bodies +through His Spirit that dwelleth in you. So then, brethren, we are +debtors not to the flesh, to live after the flesh: for if ye live after +the flesh ye must die; but if by the Spirit ye mortify the doings +(marg.) of the body, ye shall live."[66] + +And again, "If then ye were raised together with Christ, seek the things +that are above, where Christ is seated on the right hand of God. Set +your mind on the things that are above, not on the things that are upon +the earth. For ye died, and your life is hid with Christ in God. When +Christ, who is our life, shall be manifested, then shall ye also with +Him be manifested in glory. Mortify therefore your members which are +upon the earth; fornication, uncleanness, passion, evil desire, and +covetousness, the which is idolatry; for which things' sake cometh the +wrath of God upon the sons of disobedience; in the which ye also walked +aforetime, when ye lived in these things. But now put ye also away all +these; anger, wrath, malice, railing, shameful speaking out of your +mouth: lie not one to another; seeing that ye have put off the old man +with his doings, and have put on the new man, which is being renewed +unto knowledge after the image of Him that created him."[67] + +From the nature of the case as here stated it is evident that no sudden +process could entirely transfer a man from the old into the new +relation. To break altogether, and at every point, with the old +environment, is a simple impossibility. So long as the regenerate man is +kept in this world, he must find the old environment at many points a +severe temptation. Power over very many of the commonest temptations is +only to be won by degrees, and however anxious one might be to apply the +summary method to every case, he soon finds it impossible in practice. +The difficulty in these cases arises from a peculiar feature of the +temptation. The difference between a sin of drunkenness, and, let us +say, a sin of temper, is that in the former case the victim who would +reform has mainly to deal with the environment, but in the latter with +the correspondence. The drunkard's temptation is a known and definite +quantity. His safety lies in avoiding some external and material +substance. Of course, at bottom, he is really dealing with the +correspondence every time he resists; he is distinctly controlling +appetite. Nevertheless it is less the appetite that absorbs his mind +than the environment. And so long as he can keep himself clear of the +"external relation," to use Mr. Herbert Spencer's phraseology, he has +much less difficulty with the "internal relation." The ill-tempered +person, on the other hand, can make very little of his environment. +However he may attempt to circumscribe it in certain directions, there +will always remain a wide and ever-changing area to stimulate his +irascibility. His environment, in short, is an inconstant quantity, and +his most elaborate calculations and precautions must often and suddenly +fail him. + +What he has to deal with, then, mainly is the correspondence, the +temper itself. And that, he well knows, involves a long and humiliating +discipline. The case now is not at all a surgical but a medical one, and +the knife is here of no more use than in a fever. A specific irritant +has poisoned his veins. And the acrid humors that are breaking out all +over the surface of his life are only to be subdued by a gradual +sweetening of the inward spirit. It is now known that the human body +acts toward certain fever-germs as a sort of soil. The man whose blood +is pure has nothing to fear. So he whose spirit is purified and +sweetened becomes proof against these germs of sin. "Anger, wrath, +malice and railing" in such a soil can find no root. + +The difference between this and the former method of dealing with sin +may be illustrated by another analogy. The two processes depend upon two +different natural principles. The Mutilation of a member, for instance, +finds its analogue in the horticultural operation of _pruning_, where +the object is to divert life from a useless into a useful channel. A +part of a plant which previously monopolized a large share of the vigor +of the total organism, but without yielding any adequate return, is +suddenly cut off, so that the vital processes may proceed more actively +in some fruitful parts. Christ's use of this figure is well-known: +"Every branch in Me that beareth not fruit He purgeth it that it may +bring forth more fruit." The strength of the plant, that is, being given +to the formation of mere wood, a number of useless correspondences have +to be abruptly closed while the useful connections are allowed to +remain. The Mortification of a member, again, is based on the Law of +Degeneration. The useless member here is not cut off, but simply +relieved as much as possible of all exercise. This encourages the +gradual decay of the parts, and as it is more and more neglected it +ceases to be a channel for life at all. So an organism "mortifies" its +members. + +Thirdly, Limitation. While a large number of correspondences between man +and his environment can be stopped in these ways, there are many more +which neither can be reduced by a gradual Mortification nor cut short by +sudden Death. One reason for this is that to tamper with these +correspondences might involve injury to closely related vital parts. Or, +again, there are organs which are really essential to the normal life of +the organism, and which therefore the organism cannot afford to lose +even though at times they act prejudicially. Not a few correspondences, +for instance, are not wrong in themselves but only in their extremes. Up +to a certain point they are lawful and necessary; beyond that point they +may become not only unnecessary but sinful. The appropriate treatment in +these and similar cases consists in a process of Limitation. The +performance of this operation, it must be confessed, requires a most +delicate hand. It is an art, moreover, which no one can teach another. +And yet, if it is not learned by all who are trying to lead the +Christian life, it cannot be for want of practice. For, as we shall see, +the Christian is called upon to exercise few things more frequently. + +An easy illustration of a correspondence which is only wrong when +carried to an extreme, is the love of money. The love of money up to a +certain point is a necessity; beyond that it may become one of the worst +of sins. Christ said: "Ye cannot serve God and Mammon." The two +services, at a definite point, become incompatible, and hence +correspondence with one must cease. At what point, however, it must +cease each man has to determine for himself. And in this consists at +once the difficulty and the dignity of Limitation. + +There is another class of cases where the adjustments are still more +difficult to determine. Innumerable points exist in our surroundings +with which it is perfectly legitimate to enjoy, and even to cultivate, +correspondence, but which privilege, at the same time, it were better on +the whole that we did not use. Circumstances are occasionally such--the +demands of others upon us, for example, may be so clamant--that we have +voluntarily to reduce the area of legitimate pleasure. Or, instead of +it coming from others, the claim may come from a still higher direction. +Man's spiritual life consists in the number and fullness of his +correspondences with God. In order to develop these he may be +constrained to insulate them, to inclose them from the other +correspondences, to shut himself in with them. In many ways the +limitation of the natural life is the necessary condition of the full +enjoyment of the spiritual life. + +In this principle lies the true philosophy of self-denial. No man is +called to a life of self-denial for its own sake. It is in order to a +compensation which, though sometimes difficult to see, is always real +and always proportionate. No truth, perhaps, in practical religion is +more lost sight of. We cherish somehow a lingering rebellion against the +doctrine of self-denial--as if our nature, or our circumstances, or our +conscience, dealt with us severely in loading us with the daily cross. +But is it not plain after all that the life of self-denial is the more +abundant life--more abundant just in proportion to the ampler +crucifixion of the narrower life? Is it not a clear case of exchange--an +exchange however where the advantage is entirely on our side? We give up +a correspondence in which there is a little life to enjoy a +correspondence in which there is an abundant life. What though we +sacrifice a hundred such correspondences? We make but the more room for +the great one that is left. The lesson of self-denial, that is to say of +Limitation, is _concentration_. Do not spoil your life, it says, at the +outset with unworthy and impoverishing correspondences; and if it is +growing truly rich and abundant, be very jealous of ever diluting its +high eternal quality with anything of earth. To concentrate upon a few +great correspondences, to oppose to the death the perpetual petty +larceny of our life by trifles--these are the conditions for the highest +and happiest life. It is only Limitation which can secure the +Illimitable. + +The penalty of evading self-denial also is just that we get the lesser +instead of the larger good. The punishment of sin is inseparably bound +up with itself. To refuse to deny one's self is just to be left with +the self undenied. When the balance of life is struck, the self will be +found still there. The discipline of life was meant to destroy this +self, but that discipline having been evaded--and we all to some extent +have opportunities, and too often exercise them, of taking the narrow +path by the shortest cuts--its purpose is balked. But the soul is the +loser. In seeking to gain its life it has really lost it. This is what +Christ meant when He said: "He that loveth his life shall lose it, and +he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal." + +Why does Christ say: "Hate Life?" Does He mean that life is a sin? No. +Life is not a sin. Still, He says we must hate it. But we must live. Why +should we hate what we must do? For this reason: Life is not a sin, but +the love of life may be a sin. And the best way not to love life is to +hate it. Is it a sin then to love life? Not a sin exactly, but a +mistake. It is a sin to love some life, a mistake to love the rest. +Because that love is lost. All that is lavished on it is lost. Christ +does not say it is wrong to love life. He simply says it is _loss_. Each +man has only a certain amount of life, of time, of attention--a definite +measurable quantity. If he gives any of it to this life solely it is +wasted. Therefore Christ says, Hate life, limit life, lest you steal +your love for it from something that deserves it more. + +Now this does not apply to all life. It is "life in this world" that is +to be hated. For life in this world implies conformity to this world. It +may not mean pursuing worldly pleasures, or mixing with worldly sets; +but a subtler thing than that--a silent deference to worldly opinion; an +almost unconscious lowering of religious tone to the level of the +worldly-religious world around; a subdued resistance to the soul's +delicate promptings to greater consecration, out of deference to +"breadth" or fear of ridicule. These, and such things, are what Christ +tells us we must hate. For these things are of the very essence of +worldliness. "If any man love the world," even in this sense, "the love +of the Father is not in him." + +There are two ways of hating life, a true and a false. Some men hate +life because it hates them. They have seen through it, and it has turned +round upon them. They have drunk it, and come to the dregs; therefore +they hate it. This is one of the ways in which the man who loves his +life literally loses it. He loves it till he loses it, then he hates it +because it has fooled him. The other way is the religious. For religious +reasons a man deliberately braces himself to the systematic hating of +his life. "No man can serve two masters, for either he must hate the one +and love the other, or else he must hold to the one and despise the +other." Despising the other--this is hating life, limiting life. It is +not misanthropy, but Christianity. + +This principle, as has been said, contains the true philosophy of +self-denial. It also holds the secret by which self-denial may be most +easily borne. A common conception of self-denial is that there are a +multitude of things about life which are to be put down with a high hand +the moment they make their appearance. They are temptations which are +not to be tolerated, but must be instantly crushed out of being with +pang and effort. + +So life comes to be a constant and sore cutting off of things which we +love as our right hand. But now suppose one tried boldly to hate these +things? Suppose we deliberately made up our minds as to what things we +were henceforth to allow to become our life? Suppose we selected a given +area of our environment and determined once for all that our +correspondences should go to that alone, fencing in this area all round +with a morally impassable wall? True, to others, we should seem to live +a poorer life; they would see that our environment was circumscribed, +and call us narrow because it was narrow. But, well-chosen, this limited +life would be really the fullest life; it would be rich in the highest +and worthiest, and poor in the smallest and basest correspondences. The +well-defined spiritual life is not only the highest life, but it is also +the most easily lived. The whole cross is more easily carried than the +half. It is the man who tries to make the best of both worlds who makes +nothing of either. And he who seeks to serve two masters misses the +benediction of both. But he who has taken his stand, who has drawn a +boundary line, sharp and deep about his religious life, who has marked +off all beyond as forever forbidden ground to him, finds the yoke easy +and the burden light. For this forbidden environment comes to be as if +it were not. His faculties falling out of correspondence, slowly lose +their sensibilities. And the balm of Death numbing his lower nature +releases him for the scarce disturbed communion of a higher life. So +even here to die is gain. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[65] Page 80. + +[66] Rom. viii. 5-13. + +[67] Col. iii. 1-10. + + + + +ETERNAL LIFE. + + "Supposing that man, in some form, is permitted to remain on the + earth for a long series of years, we merely lengthen out the period, + but we cannot escape the final catastrophe. The earth will gradually + lose its energy of relation, as well as that of revolution round the + sun. The sun himself will wax dim and become useless as a source of + energy, until at last the favorable conditions of the present solar + system will have quite disappeared. + + "But what happens to our system will happen likewise to the whole + visible universe, which will, if finite, become a lifeless mass, if + indeed it be not doomed to utter dissolution. In fine, it will + become old and effete, no less truly than the individual. It is a + glorious garment, this visible universe, but not an immortal one. We + must look elsewhere if we are to be clothed with immortality as with + a garment."--_The Unseen Universe._ + + "This is Life Eternal--that they might know Thee, the True God, and + Jesus Christ whom Thou hast sent."--_Jesus Christ._ +unaccountable liveliness. His short holiday had not served to rest and +invigorate him as much as might have been expected; it had left him +consumed with a hopeless longing for something unattainable. His +thirst for distinction had returned in an aggravated form, and he had +cut himself off now from the only means of slaking it. As that day +wore on, and with each day that succeeded it, he felt a wearier +disgust with himself and his surroundings. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +BAD NEWS. + + +It was Christmas week, and Mrs. Langton and her daughters were +sitting, late one afternoon, in the drawing-room where we saw them +first. Dolly was on a low stool at her mother's feet, submitting, not +too willingly, to have the bow in her hair smoothed and arranged for +her. 'It _must_ be all right now, mother!' she said, breaking away +rebelliously at last. + +'It's worse than ever, Dolly,' said Mrs. Langton plaintively; 'it's +slipped over to the left now!' + +'But it doesn't matter, it never will keep straight long.' + +'Well, if you _like_ to run about like a little wild child,' was the +resigned answer. + +'Little wild children don't wear bows in their hair; they wear--well, +they don't wear anything they've got to be careful and tidy about. I +think that must be rather nice,' said Dolly, turning round from where +she knelt on the hearthrug. 'Wake up, Frisk, and be good-tempered +directly. Mother, on Christmas Day I'm going to tie a Christmas card +round Frisk's neck, and send him into papa's dressing-room to wish him +a Merry Christmas, the first thing in the morning--you won't tell him +before the time, will you?' + +'Not if you don't wish it, darling,' said Mrs. Langton, placidly. + +'I mightn't have had him to tie a card to,' said Dolly, taking the dog +up and hugging him fondly, 'if that gentleman had not fetched him out +of the train for me; and I never said "thank you" to him either. I +forgot somehow, and when I remembered he was gone. Should you think he +will come to see me, Mabel; you told him that mother would be glad to +thank him some time, didn't you, on the paper you gave the guard for +him?' + +'Yes, Dolly,' said Mabel, turning her head a little away; 'but you see +he hasn't come yet.' + +'My dear,' said her mother, 'really I think he shows better taste in +keeping away; there was no necessity to send him a message at all, and +I hope he won't take any advantage of it. Thanking people is so +tiresome and, after all, they never think you have said enough about +it. It was very kind of the young man, of course, very--though I can't +say I ever quite understood what it was he did--it was something in a +fog, I know,' she concluded vaguely. + +'We told you all about it, mother,' explained Dolly; 'I'll tell you +all over again. There was a fog and our train stopped, and we all got +out, and I left Frisk behind, and there he was in the carriage all +alone, and then the gentleman ran back and got him out and brought him +to me. And another train came up behind and stopped too.' + +'Dolly tells it rather tamely,' said Mabel, her cheeks flushing again. +'At the time he ran back for the dog, we could all hear the other +train rushing up in the fog, mamma, and nobody knew whether there +might not be a frightful collision in another minute.' + +'Then I think it was an extremely rash thing for him to do, my dear; +and if I were his mother I should be very angry with him.' + +'He was very good-looking, wasn't he, Mabel?' said Dolly, +irrelevantly. + +'Was he, Dolly? Well, yes, I suppose he was, rather,' said Mabel, with +much outward indifference, and an inward and very vivid picture of +Mark's face as he leaned by the stile, his fine eyes imploring her not +to leave him. + +'Well, perhaps, he doesn't care about being thanked, or doesn't want +to see us again,' said Dolly; 'if he did, he'd call, you know; you +wrote the address on the paper.' + +Mabel had already arrived at the same conclusion, and was secretly a +little piqued and hurt by it; she had gone slightly out of her way to +give him an opportunity of seeing her again if he wished, and he had +not chosen to take advantage of it; it had not seriously disturbed her +peace of mind, but her pride was wounded notwithstanding. At times she +was ready to believe that there had been some mistake or miscarriage +with her message, otherwise it was strange that the admiration which +it had not been difficult to read in his eyes should have evaporated +in this way. + +'Why, here's papa--home already!' cried Dolly, as the door opened and +a tall man entered. 'How do you do, papa? you've rumpled my bow--you +didn't think I _meant_ it, did you? you can do it again if you +like--_I_ don't mind a bit; mother does.' + +He had duly returned the affectionate hug with which Dolly had greeted +him, but now he put her aside with a rather preoccupied air, and went +to his wife's chair, kissing the smooth forehead she presented, still +absently. + +'You are early, Gerald,' she said; 'did the courts rise sooner +to-day?' + +'No,' he said conscientiously, 'it's the Vacation now--I left chambers +as soon as I could get away,' and he was folding and unfolding the +evening paper he had brought in with him, as he stood silent before +the fire. + +Mr. Langton was not much over fifty, and a handsome man still, with +full clear eyes, a well-cut chin and mouth, iron-grey whiskers, and a +florid complexion which years spent in stifling law-courts and dust +and black laden chambers had not done much to tone down. Young +barristers and solicitors' clerks were apt to consider him rather a +formidable personage in Lincoln's Inn; and he was certainly imposing +as he rustled along New Square or Chancery Lane, his brows knitted, a +look of solemn importance about his tightly-closed lips, and his silk +gown curving out behind him like a great black sail. He had little +imperious ways in court, too, of beckoning a client to come to him +from the well, or of waving back a timid junior who had plucked his +gown to draw his attention to some suggestion with a brusque 'Not +now--I can't hear that now!' which suggested immeasurable gulfs +between himself and them. But at home he unbent, a little consciously, +perhaps, but he did unbend--being proud and fond of his children, who +at least stood in no fear of him. Long years of successful practice +had had a certain narrowing effect upon him; the things of his +profession were almost foremost in his mind now, and when he travelled +away from them he was duller than he once promised to be--his humour +had slowly dwindled down until he had just sufficient for ordinary +professional purposes, and none at all for private consumption. + +In his favour it may be added that he was genial to all whom he did +not consider his inferiors, a good though not a demonstrative husband; +that as a lawyer he was learned without the least pedantry; and that +he was a Bencher of his Inn, where he frequently dined, and a Member +of Parliament, where he never spoke, even on legal matters. + +Mabel's quick eyes were the first to notice a shade on his face and a +constraint in his manner; she went to his side and said in an +undertone, 'You are not feeling ill, papa, are you, or has anything +worried you to-day?' + +'I am quite well. I have news to tell you presently,' he said in the +same tone. + +'Come and see my Christmas cards before I do them up,' said Dolly from +a side-table; 'I'm going to send one to each of my friends, except +Clara Haycraft, or if I _do_ send her one,' she added thoughtfully, +'it will be only a penny one, and I shall write her name on the back +so that she can't use it again. Clara has not behaved at all well to +me lately. If I sent one to Vincent now, papa, would he get it in +time?' + +'No--no,' said her father, a little sharply, 'and look here, Pussy, +run away now and see how Colin is getting on.' + +'And come back and tell you?' inquired Dolly; 'very well, papa.' + +'Don't come back till I send for you,' he said. 'Mind that now, Dolly, +stay in the schoolroom.' + +He shut the door carefully after her, and then, turning to his wife +and daughter, he said, 'You haven't either of you seen the papers +to-day, I suppose?' + +'No,' said Mrs. Langton; 'you know I never read daily papers. Gerald,' +she cried suddenly, with a light coming into her eyes, 'is another +judge dead?' Visions of her husband on the Bench, a town-house in a +more central part of London, an increase of social consideration for +herself and daughters, began to float into her brain. + + * * * * * + +'It's not that--if there was, I'm not likely to be offered a judgeship +just yet; it's not good news, Belle, I'm afraid it's very bad,' he +said warningly, 'very bad indeed.' + +'Oh, papa,' cried Mabel, 'please don't break it to us--tell it at +once, whatever it is!' + +'You must let me choose my own course, my dear; I am coming to the +point at once. The "Globe" has a telegram from Lloyd's agent reporting +the total loss of the "Mangalore."' + +'Vincent's ship!' said Mabel. 'Is--is he saved?' + +'We cannot be certain of anything just yet--and--and these disasters +are generally exaggerated in the first accounts, but I'm afraid there +is very grave reason to fear that the poor boy went down with her--not +many passengers were on board at the time, and only four or five of +them were saved, and they are women. We can hope for the best still, +but I cannot after reading the particulars feel any confidence myself. +I made inquiries at the owners' offices this afternoon, but they could +tell me very little just yet, though they will have fuller information +by to-morrow--but from what they did say I cannot feel very hopeful.' + +Mabel hid her face, trying to realise that the man who had sat +opposite to her there scarcely a month ago, with the strange, almost +prophetic, sadness in his eyes, was lying somewhere still and white, +fathoms deep under the sea--she was too stunned for tears just yet. + +'Gerald,' said Mrs. Langton, 'Vincent is drowned--I'm sure of it. I +feel this will be a terrible shock to me by-and-by; I don't know when +I shall get over it--poor, poor dear fellow! To think that the last +time I saw him was that evening we dined at the Gordons'--you +remember, Gerald, a dull dinner--and he saw me into the carriage, and +stood there on the pavement saying good-bye!' Mrs. Langton seemed to +consider that these circumstances had a deep pathos of their own; she +pressed her eyes daintily with her handkerchief before she could go +on. 'Why didn't he sail by one of the safe lines?' she murmured; 'the +P. and O. never lost a single life; he might have gone in one of them +and been alive now!' + +'My dear Belle,' said her husband, 'we can't foresee these things, +it--it _was_ to be, I suppose.' + +'Is nothing more known?' said Mabel, with a strong effort to control +her voice. + +'Here is the account--stay, I can give you the effect of it. It was in +the Indian Ocean, not long after leaving Bombay, somewhere off the +Malabar coast; and the ship seems to have grazed a sunken reef, which +ripped a fearful hole in her side, without stopping her course. They +were not near enough to the land to hope to reverse the engines and +back her on shore at full speed. She began to settle down fast by the +head, and their only chance was in the boats, which unfortunately had +nearly all become jammed in the davits. Every one appears to have +behaved admirably. They managed at last to launch one of the boats, +and to put the women into it; and they were trying to get out the +others, when the vessel went down suddenly, not a quarter of an hour +after striking the reef.' + +'Vincent could swim, papa,' said Mabel, with gleaming eyes. + +'He was not a first-rate swimmer,' said Mr. Langton, 'I remember that, +and even a first-rate swimmer would have found it hard work to reach +the shore, if he had not been drawn down with the ship, as seems to +have been the fate of most of the poor fellows. Still of course there +is always hope.' + +'And he is dead! Vincent dead! It seems so hard, so very, very sad,' +said Mabel, and began to cry softly. + +'Cry, darling,' said Mrs. Langton, 'it will do you good. I'm sure I +wish _I_ could cry like that, it would be such a relief. But you know +papa says we may hope yet; we won't give up all hope till we're +obliged to; we must be brave. You really don't care about coming in to +dinner? You won't have a little something sent up to your room? Well, +I feel as if food would choke me myself, but I must go in to keep papa +company. Will you tell this sad news to Dolly and Colin, and ask +Fräulein to keep them with her till bedtime? I can't bear to see them +just yet.' + +Mr. Langton's decorous concern did not interfere with his appetite, +and Mrs. Langton seemed rather relieved at being able to postpone her +grief for the present, and so Mabel was left to break the disaster, +and the fate there was too much reason to fear for Vincent, to her +younger brother and sister--a painful task, for Holroyd had been very +dear to all three of them. Fr��ulein Mozer, too, wept with a more than +sentimental sorrow for the young man she had tried to help, who would +need her assistance never again. + +The tidings had reached Mark early that same afternoon. He was walking +home through the City from some 'holiday-classes' he had been +superintending at St. Peter's, when the heading 'Loss of a passenger +steamer with ---- lives' on the contents-sheets of the evening papers +caught his eye, and led him, when established with a 'Globe' in one of +the Underground Railway carriages, to turn with a languid interest to +the details. He started when he saw the name of the vessel, and all +his indifference left him as he hurriedly read the various accounts of +the disaster, and looked in vain for Vincent's name amongst the +survivors. + +The next day he, too, went up to the owners' offices to make +inquiries, and by that time full information had come in, which left +it impossible that any but those who had come ashore in the long-boat +could have escaped from the ship. They had remained near the scene of +the wreck for some time, but without picking up more than one or two +of the crew; the rest must all have been sucked down with the ship, +which sank with terrible suddenness at the last. + +Vincent was certainly not amongst those in the boat, while, as +appeared from the agent's list, he was evidently on board when the +ship left Bombay. It was possible to hope no longer after that, and +Mark left the offices with the knowledge that Holroyd and he had +indeed taken their last walk together; that he would see his face and +take his hand no more. + +It came to him with a shock, the unavoidable shock which a man feels +when he has suddenly to associate the idea of death with one with whom +he has had any intimacy. He told himself he was sorry, and for a +moment Vincent's fate seemed somehow to throw a sort of halo round his +memory, but very soon the sorrow faded, until at last it became little +more than an uneasy consciousness that he ought to be miserable and +was not. + +Genuine grief will no more come at command than genuine joy, and so +Mark found, not without some self-reproach; he even began to read 'In +Memoriam' again with the idea of making that the keynote for his +emotions, but the passionate yearning of that lament was pitched too +high for him, and he never finished it. He recognised that he could +not think of his lost friend in the way their long intimacy seemed to +demand, and solved the difficulty by not thinking of him at all, +compounding for his debt of inward mourning by wearing a black tie, +which, as he was fond of a touch of colour in his costume, and as the +emblem in question was not strictly required of him, he looked upon +as, so to speak, a fairly respectable dividend. + +Caffyn heard the news with a certain satisfaction. A formidable rival +had been swept out of his path, and he could speak of him now without +any temptation to depreciate his merits, so much so that when he took +an opportunity one day of referring to his loss, he did it so +delicately that Mabel was touched, and liked him better for this +indication of feeling than she had ever been able to do before. + +Her own sorrow was genuine enough, requiring no artificial stimulus +and no outward tokens to keep it alive, and if Vincent could have been +assured of this it would have reconciled him to all else. No +callousness nor forgetfulness on the part of others could have had +power to wound him so long as he should live on in the memory of the +girl he had loved. + +But it is better far for those who are gone that they should be +impervious alike to our indifference and our grief, for the truest +grief will be insensibly deadened by time, and could not long console +the least exacting for the ever-widening oblivion. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +A TURNING-POINT. + + +Mark came down to the little back parlour at Malakoff Terrace one dull +January morning to find the family already assembled there, with the +exception of Mrs. Ashburn, who was breakfasting in bed--an unusual +indulgence for her. + +'Mark,' said Trixie, as she leaned back in her chair, and put up her +face for his morning greeting, 'there's a letter for you on your +plate.' + +It was not difficult to observe a suppressed excitement amongst all +the younger members of his family concerning this letter; they had +finished their breakfast and fallen into some curious speculations as +to Mark's correspondent before he came in. Now three pairs of eyes +were watching him as he strolled up to his seat; Mr. Ashburn alone +seemed unconscious or indifferent. + +Of late Mark had not had very many letters, and this particular one +bore the name of 'Chilton & Fladgate' on the flap of the envelope. The +Ashburns were not a literary family, but they knew this as the name of +a well-known firm of publishers, and it had roused their curiosity. + +Mark read the name too. For a moment it gave him a throb of +excitement, the idea coming to him that, somehow, the letter concerned +his own unfortunate manuscripts. It was true that he had never had any +communication with this particular firm, but these wild vague +impressions are often independent of actual fact; he took it up and +half began to open it. + +Then he remembered what it probably was, and, partly with the object +of preserving Vincent's secret still as far as possible, but chiefly, +it must be owned, from a malicious pleasure he took in disappointing +the expectation he saw around him, put the letter still unopened in +his pocket. + +'Why don't you open it?' asked Trixie impatiently, who was cherishing +the hope that some magnificent literary success had come at last to +her favourite brother. + +'Manners,' explained Mark, laconically. + +'Nonsense,' said Trixie, 'you don't treat us with such ceremony as all +that.' + +'Not lately,' said Mark; 'that's how it is--it's bad for a family to +get lax in these little matters of mutual courtesy. I'm going to see +if I can't raise your tone--this is the beginning.' + +'I'm sure we're very much obliged to you,' from Martha; 'I'm quite +satisfied with my own tone, it's quite high enough for me, thank you.' + +'Yes, I forgot,' said Mark, 'I've heard it very high indeed sometimes. +I wronged you, Martha. Still, you know, we might (all except _you_, +Martha) be more polite to one another without causing ourselves any +internal injury, mightn't we?' + +'Well, Mark,' said Trixie, 'all you have to do is to ask our leave to +open the letter, if you're really so particular.' + +'Is that in the Etiquette Book?' inquired Mark. + +'Don't be ridiculous--why _don't_ you ask our leave?' + +'I suppose because I want to eat my breakfast--nothing is so +prejudicial, my love, to the furtherance of the digestive process as +the habit of reading at meals, any medical man will tell you that.' + +'Perhaps,' suggested Martha, 'Mark has excellent reasons for +preferring to read his letter alone.' + +'Do you know, Martha,' said Mark, 'I really think there's something in +that?' + +'So do I,' said Martha, 'more than you would care for us to know, +evidently; but don't be afraid, Mark, whether it's a bill, or a +love-letter, or another publisher's rejection; we don't want to know +your secrets--do we, Cuthbert?' + +'Very amiable of you to say so,' said Mark. 'Then I shan't annoy you +if I keep my letter to myself, shall I? Because I rather thought of +doing it.' + +'Eh? doing what? What is Mark saying about a letter?' broke in Mr. +Ashburn. He had a way of striking suddenly like this into +conversations. + +'Somebody has written me a letter, father,' said Mark; 'I was telling +Martha I thought I should read it--presently.' + +But even when he was alone he felt in no hurry to possess himself of +the contents. 'I expect it's the usual thing,' he thought. 'Poor +Vincent is out of all that now. Let's see how they let him down!' and +he read:-- + + 'DEAR SIR,--We have read the romance entitled "Glamour" + which you have done us the honour to forward some time + since. It is a work which appears to us to possess + decided originality and merit, and which may be received + with marked favour by the public, while it can hardly + fail in any case to obtain a reception which will + probably encourage its author to further efforts. Of + course, there is a certain risk attending its reception + which renders it impossible for us to offer such terms + for a first book as may be legitimately demanded + hereafter for a second production by the same pen. We + will give you ...' (and here followed the terms, which + struck Mark as fairly liberal for a first book by an + unknown author). 'Should you accept our offer, will you + do us the favour to call upon us here at your earliest + convenience, when all preliminary matters can be discussed. + 'We are, &c., + 'CHILTON & FLADGATE.' + +Mark ran hurriedly through this letter with a feeling, first of +incredulous wonder, then of angry protest against the bull-headed +manner in which Fortune had dealt out this favour. + +Vincent had been saved the dreary delays, the disappointments and +discouragements, which are the lot of most first books; he had won a +hearing at once--and where was the use of it? no praise or fame among +men could reach him now. + +If he had been alive, Mark thought bitterly; if a letter like this +would have rescued him from all he detested, and thrown open to him +the one career for which he had any ambition, he might have waited for +it long and vainly enough. But he began by being indifferent, and, if +Fortune had required any other inducement to shower her gifts on him, +his death had supplied it. + +He chafed over this as he went up to the City, for there was another +holiday-class that day at St. Peter's; he thought of it at intervals +during the morning, and always resentfully. What increased his +irritation above everything was the fact that the publishers evidently +regarded _him_ as the author of the book, and he would have the +distasteful task put upon him of enlightening them. + +When the day's duties were over he found himself putting on his hat +and coat in company with the Rev. Mr. Shelford, who was also in charge +of one of the classes formed for the relief of parents and the +performance of holiday work, and the two walked out together; Mark +intending to call at once and explain his position to Messrs. Chilton +& Fladgate. + +'What are you going to do with yourself, Ashburn, now?' said Mr. +Shelford in his abrupt way as they went along. 'Going to be a +schoolmaster and live on the _crambe repetita_ all your life, hey?' + +'I don't know,' said Mark sullenly; 'very likely.' + +'Take my advice (I'm old enough to offer it unasked); give yourself a +chance while you can of a future which won't cramp and sour and wear +you as this will. If you feel any interest in the boys----' + +'Which I don't,' put in Mark. + +'Exactly, which you don't--but if you did--I remember _I_ did once, in +some of 'em, and helped 'em on, and spoke to the headmaster about 'em, +and so on. Well, they'll pass out of your class and look another way +when they meet you afterwards. As for the dullards, they'll be always +with you, like the poor, down at the bottom like a sediment, sir, and +much too heavy to stir up! I can't manage 'em now, and my temper gets +the better of me, God forgive me for it, and I say things I'm sorry +for and that don't do me or them any good, and they laugh at me. But +I've got my parish to look after; it's not a large one, but it acts as +an antidote. You're not even in orders, so there's no help for you +_that_ way; and the day will come when the strain gets too much for +you, and you'll throw the whole thing up in disgust, and find yourself +forced to go through the same thing somewhere else, or begin the world +in some other capacity. Choose some line in which hard work and +endurance for years will bring you in a more substantial reward than +that.' + +'Well,' said Mark, for whom this gloomy view of his prospects +reflected his own forebodings, 'I am reading for the Bar. I went up +for my call-examination the other day.' + +'Ah, is that so? I'm glad to hear of it; a fine profession, sir; +constant variety and excitement--for the pleader, that is to say' (Mr. +Shelford shared the lay impression that pleading was a form of +passionate appeal to judge and jurymen), 'and of course you would +plead in court. The law has some handsome prizes in its disposal, too. +But you should have an attorney or two to push you on, they say. +Perhaps you can count on that?' + +'I wish I could,' said Mark, 'but the fact is my ambition doesn't lie +in a legal direction at all. I don't care very much about the Bar.' + +'Do you care very much about anything? Does your ambition lie +anywhere?' + +'Not now; it did once--literature, you know; but that's all over.' + +'I remember, to be sure. They rejected that Christmas piece of yours, +didn't they? Well, if you've no genuine talent for it, the sooner you +find it out the better for you. If you feel you've something inside of +you that must out in chapters and volumes, it generally comes, and all +the discouragement in the world won't keep it down. It's like those +stories of demoniacal possession in the "Anatomy"--you know your +Burton, I daresay? Some of the possessed brought "globes of hair" and +"such-like baggage" out of themselves, but others "stones with +inscriptions." If the demon gets too strong for you, try and produce a +stone with a good readable inscription on it--not three globes of hair +for the circulating libraries.' + +'We shall see,' said Mark laughing. 'I must leave you here. I have an +appointment with Chilton & Fladgate just by.' + +'Ay, ay,' said the old gentleman, wagging his head; 'publishers, +aren't they? Don't tell me your ambition's dead if it's taken you as +far as that. But I won't ask any more questions. I shall hope to be +able to congratulate you shortly. I won't keep you away from your +publishers any longer.' + +'They are not my publishers yet,' said Mark; 'they have made me some +proposals, but I have not accepted them at present.' + +He knew what a false impression this would leave with his companion, +bare statement of fact as it was, but he made it deliberately, feeling +almost as much flattered by the unconscious increase of consideration +in the other's voice and manner as if there had been the slightest +foundation for it. + +They said good-bye, and the old clergyman went on and was swallowed up +in the crowd, thinking as he went, 'Publishing, eh? a good firm, too. +I don't think he could afford to do it at his own expense. Perhaps +there's more ballast in him after all than I gave him credit for. I +can't help liking the young fellow somehow, too. I should like to see +him make a good start.' + +Mark, having sent up his name by one of the clerks behind the imposing +mahogany counters, was shown through various swinging glass doors into +a waiting-room, where the magazines and books symmetrically arranged +on the table gave a certain flavour of dentistry to the place. + +Mark turned them over with a quite unreasonable nervousness, but the +fact was he shrank from what he considered the humiliation of +explaining that he was a mere agent; it occurred to him for the first +time, too, that Holroyd's death might possibly complicate matters, and +he felt a vague anger against his dead friend for leaving him in such +a position. + +The clerk returned with a message that Mr. Fladgate would be happy to +see Mark at once, and so he followed upstairs and along passages with +glimpses through open doors of rooms full of clerks and desks, until +they came to a certain room into which Mark was shown--a small room +with a considerable litter of large wicker trays filled with proofs, +packets and rolls of manuscripts of all sizes, and piles of books and +periodicals, in the midst of which Mr. Fladgate was sitting with his +back to the light, which was admitted through windows of ground-glass. + +He rose and came forward to meet Mark, and Mark saw a little +reddish-haired and whiskered man, with quick eyes, and a curious +perpendicular fold in the forehead above a short, blunt nose, a mobile +mouth, and a pleasantly impulsive manner. + +'How do you do, Mr. Beauchamp?' he said heartily, using the _nom de +plume_ with an air of implied compliment; 'and so you've made up your +mind to entrust yourself to us, have you? That's right. I don't think +you'll find any reason to regret it, I don't indeed.' + +Mark said he was sure of that. + +'Well, now, as to the book,' continued Mr. Fladgate; 'I've had the +pleasure of looking through it myself, as well as Mr. Blackshaw, our +reader, and I must tell you that I agree with him in considering that +you have written a very remarkable book. As we told you, you know, it +may or may not prove a pecuniary success, but, however that may be, my +opinion of it will remain the same; it ought, in my judgment, to +ensure you a certain standing at once--at once.' + +Mark heard this with a pang of jealousy. Long before, he had dreamed +of just such an interview, in which he should be addressed in some +such manner--his dream was being fulfilled now with relentless +mockery! + +'But there is a risk,' said Mr. Fladgate, 'a decided risk, which +brings me to the subject of terms. Are you satisfied with the offer we +made to you? You see that a first book----' + +'Excuse me for one moment,' said Mark desperately, 'I'm afraid you +imagine that--that _I_ wrote the book?' + +'That certainly was my impression,' said Mr. Fladgate, with a humorous +light in his eye; 'the only address on the manuscript was yours, and I +came to the not unnatural conclusion that Mr. Ashburn and Mr. +Beauchamp were one and the same. Am I to understand that is _not_ the +case?' + +'The book,' said Mark--what it cost him to say this,--'the book was +written by a friend of mine, who went abroad some time ago.' + +'Indeed? Well, we should prefer to treat with him in person, of +course, if possible.' + +'It isn't possible,' said Mark, 'my friend was lost at sea, but he +asked me to represent him in this matter, and I believe I know his +wishes.' + +'I've no doubt of it; but you see, Mr.--Mr. Ashburn, this must be +considered a little. I suppose you have some authority from him in +writing, to satisfy us (merely as a matter of business) that we are +dealing with the right person?' + +'I have not indeed,' said Mark, 'my friend was very anxious to retain +his incognito.' + +'He must have been--very much so,' said Mr. Fladgate, coughing; 'well, +perhaps you can bring me some writing of his to that effect? You may +have it among your papers, eh?' + +'No,' said Mark, 'my friend did not think it necessary to give me +one--he was anxious to----' + +'Oh, quite so--then you can procure me a line or two perhaps?' + +'I told you that my friend was dead,' said Mark a little impatiently. + +'Ah, so you did, to be sure, I forgot. I thought--but no matter. Well, +Mr. Ashburn, if you can't say anything more than this--anything, you +understand, which puts you in a position to treat with us, I'm +afraid--I'm _afraid_ I must ask time to think over this. If your +friend is really dead, I suppose your authority is determined. +Perhaps, however, his--ahem--anxiety to preserve his incognito has led +him to allow this rumour of his death to be circulated?' + +'I don't think that is likely,' said Mark, wondering at an +undercurrent of meaning in the publisher's tone, a meaning which had +nothing sinister in it, and yet seemed urging him to contradict +himself for some reason. + +'That is your last word, then?' said Mr. Fladgate, and there was a +sharp inflection as of disappointment and irritation in his voice, and +the fold in his forehead deepened. + +'It must be,' said Mark, rising, 'I have kept you too long already.' + +'If you really _must_ go,' said Mr. Fladgate, not using the words in +their conventional sense of polite dismissal. 'But, Mr. Ashburn, are +you quite sure that this interview might not be saved from coming to +nothing, as it seems about to do? Might not a word or two from you set +things right again? I don't wish to force you to tell me anything you +would rather keep concealed--but really, this story you tell about a +Mr. Vincent Beauchamp who is dead only ties our hands, you +understand--ties our hands!' + +'If so,' said Mark, uncomfortably, 'I can only say I am very sorry for +it--I don't see how I can help it.' + +He was beginning to feel that this business of Holroyd's had given him +quite trouble enough. + +'Now, Mr. Ashburn, as I said before, I should be the last man to +press you--but really, you know, _really_--this is a trifle absurd! I +think you might be a little more frank with me, I do indeed. There is +no reason why you should not trust me!' + +Was this man tempting him, thought Mark. Could he be so anxious to +bring out this book that he was actually trying to induce him to +fabricate some story which would get over the difficulties that had +arisen? + +As a mere matter of fact, it may be almost unnecessary to mention that +no such idea had occurred to worthy Mr. Fladgate, who, though he +certainly was anxious to secure the book if he could, by any +legitimate means, was anything but a publishing Mephistopheles. He had +an object, however, in making this last appeal for confidence, as will +appear immediately; but, innocent as it was, Mark's imagination +conjured up a bland demon tempting him to some act of unspeakable +perfidy; he trembled--but not with horror. 'What do you mean?' he +stammered. + +Mr. Fladgate gave a glance of keen amusement at the pale troubled face +of the young man before him. 'What do I mean?' he repeated. 'Come, +I've known sensitive women try to conceal their identity, and even +their sex, from their own publishers; I've known men even persuade +themselves they didn't care for notoriety--but such a determined +instance of what I must take leave to call the literary ostrich I +don't think I ever _did_ meet before! I never met a writer so +desperately anxious to remain unknown that he would rather take his +manuscript back than risk his secret with his own publisher. But don't +you see that you have raised (I don't use the term in the least +offensively) the mask, so to speak--you should have sent somebody else +here to-day if you wished to keep me in the dark. I've not been in +business all these years, Mr. Ashburn, without gaining a little +experience. I think, I _do_ think, I am able to know an author when I +see him--we are all liable to error, but I am very much mistaken if +this Mr. Vincent Beauchamp (who was so unfortunately lost at sea) is +not to be recovered alive by a little judicious dredging. Do think if +you can't produce him; come, he's not in very deep water--bring him +up, Mr. Ashburn, bring him up!' + +'You make this very difficult for me,' said Mark, in a low voice; he +knew now how greatly he had misjudged the man, who had spoken with +such an innocent, amiable pride in his own surprising discernment; he +also felt how easy and how safe it would be to take advantage of this +misunderstanding, and what a new future it might open to him--but he +was struggling still against the temptation so unconsciously held out +to him. + +'I might retort that, I think. Now, be reasonable, Mr. Ashburn. I +assure you the writer, whoever he may be, has no cause to be ashamed +of the book--the time will come when he will probably be willing +enough to own it. Still, if he wishes to keep his real name secret, I +tell him, through you, that he may surely be content to trust that to +us. We have kept such secrets before--not very long, to be sure, as a +general rule; but then that was because the authors usually relieved +us from the trouble--the veil was never lifted by us.' + +'I think you said,' began Mark, as if thinking aloud, 'that other +works by--by the same author would be sure of acceptance?' + +'I should be very glad to have an opportunity, in time, of producing +another book by Mr. Vincent Beauchamp--but Mr. Beauchamp, as you +explained, is unhappily no more. Perhaps these are earlier manuscripts +of his?' + +Mark had been seized with the desire of making one more attempt, in +spite of his promise to his uncle, to launch those unhappy paper ships +of his--'Sweet Bells Jangled' and 'One Fair Daughter.' For an instant +it occurred to him that he might answer this last question in the +affirmative; he had little doubt that if he did his books would meet +with a very different reception from that of Messrs. Leadbitter and +Gandy; still, that would only benefit Holroyd--not himself, and then +he recollected, only just in time, that the difference in handwriting +(which was very considerable) would betray him. He looked confused and +said nothing. + +Mr. Fladgate's patience began to tire. 'We don't seem to be making any +way, do we?' he said, with rather affected pleasantry. 'I'm afraid I +must ask you to come to a decision on this without any more delay. +Here is the manuscript you sent us. If the real author is dead we are +compelled to return it with much regret. If you can tell me anything +which does away with the difficulty, this is the time to tell it. Of +course you will do exactly as you please, but after what you have +chosen to tell us we can hardly see our way, as I said, to treat with +you without some further explanation. Come, Mr. Ashburn, am I to have +it or not?' + +'Give me a little time,' said Mark faintly, and the publisher, as he +had expected, read the signs of wavering in his face, though it was +not of the nature he believed it to be. + +Mark sat down again and rested his chin on his hand, with his face +turned away from the other's eyes. A conflict was going on within him +such as he had never been called upon to fight before, and he had only +a very few minutes allowed him to fight it. + +Perhaps in these crises a man does not always arrange pros and cons to +contend for him in the severely logical manner with which we find him +doing it in print. The forces on the enemy's side can generally be +induced to desert. All the advantages which would follow if he once +allowed himself to humour the publisher's mistake were very +prominently before Mark's mind--the dangers and difficulties kept in +the background. He was incapable of considering the matter coolly; he +felt an overmastering impulse upon him, and he had never trained +himself to resist his impulses for very long. There was very little of +logical balancing going on in his brain; it began to seem terribly, +fatally easy to carry out this imposition. The fraud itself grew less +ugly and more harmless every instant. + +He saw his own books, so long kept out in the cold by ignorant +prejudice, accepted on the strength of Holroyd's 'Glamour,' and, once +fairly before the public, taking the foremost rank in triumph and +rapidly eclipsing their forerunner. He would be appreciated at last, +delivered from the life he hated, able to lead the existence he longed +for. All he wanted was a hearing; there seemed no other way to obtain +it; he had no time to lose. How could it injure Holroyd? He had not +cared for fame in life; would he miss it after his death? The +publishers might be mistaken; the book might be unnoticed altogether; +_he_ might prove to be the injured person. + +But, as Mr. Fladgate seemed convinced of its merit, as he would +evidently take anything alleged to come from the same source without a +very severe scrutiny, there was nothing for it but to risk this +contingency. + +Mark was convinced that publishers were influenced entirely by +unreasoning prejudices; he thoroughly believed that his works would +carry all before them if any firm could once overcome their repugnance +to his powerful originality, and here was one firm at least prepared +to lay that aside at a word from him. Why should he let it go unsaid? + +The money transactions caused him the most hesitation. If he took +money for another man's work, there was a name, and a very ugly name, +for that. But he would _not_ keep it. As soon as he learnt the names +of Holroyd's legal representatives, whoever they might be, he would +pay the money over to them without mentioning the exact manner in +which it had become due. In time, when he had achieved a reputation +for himself, he could give back the name he had borrowed for a +time--at least he told himself he could do so. + +He stood in no danger of detection, or, if he did, it was very slight. +Vincent was not the man to confide in more than one person; he had +owned as much. He had been reticent enough to conceal his real surname +from his publishers, and now he could never reveal the truth. + +All this rushed through his mind in a hurried, confused form; all his +little vanities and harmless affectations and encouragements of false +impressions had made him the less capable of resisting now. + +'Well?' said Mr. Fladgate at last. + +Mark's heart beat fast. He turned round and faced the publisher. 'I +suppose I had better trust you,' he said awkwardly, and with a sort of +shamefaced constraint that was admirably in keeping with his +confession, though not artificial. + +'I think so. Then you are the man--this book "Glamour"'s your own +work?' + +'If you must have it--yes,' said Mark desperately. + +The words were spoken now, and for good or ill he must abide by them +henceforth to the end. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +REPENTE TURPISSIMUS. + + +No sooner had Mark declared himself the author of his dead friend's +book than he would have given anything to recall his words, not so +much from conscience (though he did feel he had suddenly developed +into a surprisingly finished scoundrel), as from a fear that his lie +might after all be detected. He sat staring stupidly at Mr. Fladgate, +who patted him on the shoulder with well-meant encouragement; he had +never seen quite so coy an author before. 'I'm very glad to make Mr. +Vincent Beauchamp's acquaintance--at last,' he said, beaming with +honest pride at the success of his tactics, 'and now we can come to +terms again.' + +He did not find Mark more difficult to deal with than most budding +authors, and in this case Mark was morbidly anxious to get the money +part of the transaction over as soon as possible; he could not decide +whether his conscience would be better or worse satisfied if he +insisted on the best pecuniary terms he could obtain, so in his +indecision he took the easier course of agreeing to everything. + +'About the title now?' said Mr. Fladgate, when the terms had been +reduced to a formal memorandum. 'I don't think I quite like your +present one; too moonshiny, eh?' + +Mark owned that it did sound a little moonshiny. + +'I think, too, I rather think, there's something very like it out +already, and that may lead to unpleasantness, you know. Now, can you +suggest something else which will give a general idea of the nature of +the book?' + +As Mark had absolutely no idea what the book was about, he could not. + +'Well, Mr. Blackshaw suggested something like "Enchantment," or +"Witchery."' + +'I don't care about either of those,' said Mark, who found this sort +of dissembling unexpectedly easy. + +'No,' said Mr. Fladgate, 'No. I think you're right. Now, I had a +notion--I don't know what you will think of it--but I thought you +might call it "A Modern Merlin," eh?' + +'"A Modern Merlin,"' repeated Mark thoughtfully. + +'Yes, it's not _quite_ the right thing, perhaps, but it's taking, I +think, taking.' + +Mark said it was taking. + +'Of course _your_ hero is not exactly a magician, but it brings in the +"Vivien" part of the story, don't you see?' Of course Mark did not +see, but he thought it best to agree. 'Well,' continued Mr. Fladgate, +who was secretly rather proud of his title, 'how does it strike you +now? it seems to me as good a title as we are likely to hit upon.' + +After all, Mark thought, what did it matter? it wasn't his book, +except in name. 'I think it's excellent,' he said, 'excellent; and, by +the way, Mr. Fladgate,' he added, 'I should like to change the _nom de +plume_: it's a whim of mine, perhaps, but there's another I've been +thinking lately I should like better.' + +'By all means,' said the other, taking up a pencil to make the +necessary alteration on the manuscript, 'but why not use your real +name? I prophesy you'll be proud of that book some day; think over +it.' + +'No,' said Mark, 'I don't wish my real name to appear just yet' (he +hardly knew why; perhaps a lingering sense of shame held him back from +this more open dishonesty). 'Will you strike out "Vincent Beauchamp," +and put in "Cyril Ernstone," please?' For 'Cyril Ernstone' had been +the pseudonym which he had chosen long ago for himself, and he wished +to be able to use it now, since he must not use his own. + +'Very well, then, we may consider that settled. We think of bringing +out the book as soon as possible, without waiting for the spring +season; it will go to press at once and we will send you the proofs as +soon as we get them in.' + +'There's one thing, perhaps, I'd better mention,' said Mark suddenly; +after he had turned to go a new danger had occurred to him, 'the +handwriting of the manuscript is not mine. I--I thought it as well to +tell you that beforehand; it might lead to mistakes. I had it copied +out for me by--by a friend.' + +Mr. Fladgate burst out laughing. 'Pardon me,' he said, when he had +finished, 'but really I couldn't help it, you do seem to have been so +bent on hoodwinking us.' + +'And yet you have found me out, you see,' said Mark, with a very +unmirthful smile. + +Mr. Fladgate smiled, too, making a little gesture of his hand, +thinking very possibly that few precautions could be proof against his +sagacity, and they parted. + +Mark went down the stairs and through the clerks' room into the +street, with a dazed and rather awestruck feeling upon him. He hardly +realised the treachery he had been guilty of, the temptation had burst +upon him so suddenly, his fall had been made so easy for him, that he +scarcely felt his dishonour, nor was he likely to feel it very keenly +so long as only good results should flow from it. But he was vaguely +conscious that he was not the same Mark Ashburn who had parted from +old Shelford not an hour ago in the street there; he was a man with a +new hope in his breast, and it might be a new fear, but the hope was +near and bright, the fear shadowy and remote as yet: he had only to +keep his own counsel and be patient for a while, and the course of +events would assuredly bring him the stake he had played so high for. + +At home that evening he took down his manuscript novels (which of +course he had _not_ burnt) and read them again carefully. Yes; there +was power in them, he felt it, a copious flow of words, sparkling wit, +and melting pathos. The white heat at which the lines were written +surprised even himself. It was humiliating to think that without the +subterfuge that had been forced upon him he might have found it +impossible to find publishers who would appreciate these merits, for +after Messrs. Leadbitter & Gandy's refusal he had recognised this to +the full; but now, at least, they were insured against any such fate. +A careful reading was absolutely necessary to a proper estimation of +them, and a careful reading they had never had as yet, and would +receive at last, or, if they did not, it would only be because the +reputation he had appropriated would procure them a ready acceptance +without any such preliminary ordeal. The great point gained was that +they would be published, and after that he feared nothing. + +If anything whispered to him that he might have accomplished even this +by honourable means; that in time and with economy he could have +produced them at his own expense; that perhaps a little more +perseverance might even have discovered a firm with sufficient faith +to take the risk upon themselves; if these doubts suggested themselves +to him he had little difficulty in arguing them down. They might have +had some weight once, but they came too late; the thing was done now +and could never be recalled; his whole interest lay in persuading +himself that what he had done was the only thing that could be done, +unless he was content to resign his ambition for ever, and Mark +succeeded in persuading himself of this. + +Very soon his chief feeling was one of impatience for Holroyd's book +to come out and make way for his own: then any self-reproach he might +still feel would be drowned in a sense of triumph which would justify +the means he had taken; so he waited eagerly for the arrival of the +first proofs. + +They arrived at last. As he came back one evening to Malakoff Terrace, +Trixie ran to meet him, holding up two tightly rolled parcels, with a +great curiosity in her eyes. 'They came this afternoon,' she +whispered, 'and oh, Mark, I couldn't help it; I tore one end a little +and peeped; are they really part of a book--is it _yours_?' + +Mark thought he had better accustom himself to this kind of thing as +early as possible. 'Yes, Trixie,' he said, 'they're the first proofs +of my book.' + +'O-oh!' cried Trixie, with a gasp of delight, 'not "Sweet Bells +Jangled," Mark?' + +'No, _not_ "Sweet Bells Jangled," it--it's a book you don't know +about--a little thing I don't expect very much from, but my publishers +seem to like it, and I can follow it up with the "Bells" afterwards.' + +He was turning over the rough greyish pages as he spoke, and Trixie +was peeping greedily at them, too, with her pretty chin dug into his +shoulder. + +'And did you really write all that?' she said; 'how interesting it +looks, you clever boy! You _might_ have told me you were doing it, +though. What's it about?' + +'How can I tell you before I know myself,' said Mark, quite forgetting +himself in his impatience. 'I--I mean, Trixie, that I can't correct +these proofs as they ought to be corrected while you stay here +chattering.' + +'I'll go in a minute, Mark; but you won't have time to correct them +before dinner, you know. When did you write it?' + +'What _does_ it matter when I wrote it!' said Mark irritably; 'if it +hadn't been written the proofs wouldn't be here, would they? Is there +anything else you would like to know--_how_ I wrote it, where I wrote +it, why I wrote it? You seem to think it a most extraordinary thing +that anything I write should be printed at all, Trixie.' + +'I don't know why you should speak like that, Mark,' said Trixie, +rather hurt; 'you know a little while ago you never expected such a +thing yourself. I can't help wanting to know all I can about it. What +_will_ you say to Uncle Solomon?' she added, with a little quiver of +laughter in her voice. 'You promised him to give up literature, you +know.' + +'Don't you remember the Arab gentleman in the poem?' said Mark +lightly. 'He agreed to sell his steed, but when the time came it +didn't come off--he didn't come off, either--_he_ "flung them back +their gold," and rode away. I shall fling Uncle Solomon back _his_ +gold, metaphorically, and gallop off on my Pegasus.' + +'Ma won't like that,' prophesied Trixie, shaking her head wisely. + +'No; mother objects to that kind of horse-exercise, and, ahem, Trixie, +it might be as well to say nothing about it to any of them just at +present. There will only be a fuss about it, and I can't stand that.' + +Trixie promised silence. 'I'm so glad about it, though, you can't +think, Mark,' she said; 'and this isn't one of your _great_ books, +either, you said, didn't you?' + +'No,' said Mark; 'it's not one of _them_. I haven't put my best work +into it.' + +'You put your best work into the two that came back, didn't you?' +asked Trixie naively. 'But they won't come back any more, will they? +They'll be glad of them if this is a success.' + +'Fladgate will be glad of them, I fancy, in any case. I've got a +chance at last, Trixie. A chance at last!' + +Later that night he locked himself in the room which he used as a +sitting-room and bedroom combined, and set himself, not without +repugnance, to go steadily through the proofs, and make the +acquaintance of the work he had made his own. + +Much has been said of the delight with which an author reads his first +proofs, and possibly the sensation is a wholly pleasurable one to +some; to others it is not without its drawbacks. Ideas that seemed +vivid and bright enough when they were penned have a bald tame look in +the new form in which they come back. The writer finds himself +judging the work as a stranger's, and forming the worst opinions of +it. He sees hideous gaps and crudities beyond all power of correction, +and for the first time, perhaps, since he learned that his manuscript +was accepted, his self-doubts return to him. + +But Mark's feelings were much more complicated than this; all the +gratified pride of an author was naturally denied to him, and it was +thoroughly distasteful to him to carry out his scheme of deception by +such sordid details as the necessary corrections of printers' errors. + +But he was anxiously eager to find out what kind of a literary +bantling was this which he had fathered so fraudulently; he had +claimed it in blind reliance on the publisher's evident +enthusiasm--had he made a mistake after all? What if it proved +something which could do him no credit whatever--a trap into which his +ambition had led him! The thought that this might be so made him very +uneasy. Poor Holroyd, he thought, was a very good fellow--an excellent +fellow, but not exactly the man to write a book of extraordinary +merit--clever, perhaps, but clever in an unobtrusive way--and Mark's +tendency was to judge, as he expected to be judged himself, by +outsides. + +With these misgivings crowded upon him, he sat down to read the +opening chapters; he was not likely to be much overcome by admiration +in any case, for his habitual attitude in studying even the greatest +works was critical, as he felt the presence of eccentricities or +shortcomings which he himself would have avoided. + +But at least, as he read on, his greatest anxiety was set at rest--if +he could judge by the instalment before him, and the book was not in +any danger of coming absolutely to grief--it would do his reputation +no harm. It was not, to be sure, the sort of book he would have +written himself, as he affected the cynical mode of treatment and the +indiscriminate satire which a rather young writer feels instinctively +that the world expects from him. Still, it was not so bad. It was +slightly dreamy and mystical in parts, the work of a man who had lived +more amongst books than in the world, but some of the passages glowed +with the rich imagery of a true poet, and here and there were +indications of a quiet and cultivated humour which would recommend +itself to all who do not consider the humorous element in literature +as uncanny, if not personally offensive. The situations were strong, +too, and as nearly new as situations can be and retain any probability +in this over-plagiarised world; and at least one of the characters was +obviously studied from life with a true and tender observation. + +All of this Mark did not see, nor was he capable of seeing, but he +thought that, with a little 'weeding' and 'writing-up,' the book would +do, and set himself to supply what was wanting with a laudable +self-devotion. His general plan of accomplishing this may be described +here once for all. + +He freshened up chapters with touches of satire, and gave them a more +scholarly air by liberal allusions to the classics; he rewrote some of +the more descriptive and romantic passages, putting his finest and +most florid epithets into them with what he felt was very like +disinterestedness, and a reckless waste of good material. And he cut +down the dialogue in places, or gave it a more colloquial turn, so as +to suit the tastes of the average reader, and he worked up some of the +crises which struck him as inadequately treated. + +After that he felt much easier; either considering that these +improvements constituted a sort of atonement, or that they removed any +chance of failure. As this book was to go forth and herald his own, it +was vitally important that it should make as imposing an appearance as +possible. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +REVOLT. + + +One afternoon, early in the year, Mark had betaken himself to the +'Cock,' where he was to lunch with his uncle by appointment before +going with him to the steward's office of his Inn to pay his fees for +the privilege of being called to the Bar. For Mark had duly presented +himself for the not very searching ordeal by which the public is +guaranteed against the incompetence of practitioners, and, rather to +his own surprise, had not been required to try again. 'Call night' was +announced in the windows of the law wig-makers, and Uncle Solomon, in +high delight, resolved that his nephew should join the next batch of +barristers, had appointed this day for choosing the wig and gown and +settling all other preliminaries--he had been so much pleased, in +fact, as to inclose a handsome cheque in the letter which conveyed his +desires. + +So Mark waited by the hoardings of the New Law Courts, until his +relative should join him. Mark was not at ease--he was nerving himself +to make a statement which he felt would come upon his uncle as a far +from gratifying surprise--he had put it off from time to time, out of +weakness, or, as he had told himself, from diplomacy. Now he could do +so no longer. Uncle Solomon had hinted terrible things in his letter +of a certain brief with which his own solicitor was to entrust the +brand-new barrister the morning after his call! But for this, Mark +might have let things drift, as he would strongly have preferred to +do, but this threat of immediate employment drove him to declare +himself. He firmly believed that his true vocation was the one he had +secured at such cost to his self-respect; he was willing enough to +bear the title of barrister, but he had no intention of devoting +himself seriously to the profession; he saw little more attraction in +the Bar than in teaching, and the most self-confident man might have +recoiled at having work thrust into his hands before he had undergone +the slightest practical training for conducting it. And Mark's +imagination saw his first brief bringing others in its train, until he +should sink in a sea of blue foolscap, helpless and entangled in +clinging tentacles of red-tape. Perhaps this was a groundless alarm, +but he had planned out a particular career for himself, a career of +going about and observing (and it is well known that what a man of +genius calls 'observing' is uncommonly like ordinary people's +enjoyment), being famous and flattered, and sitting down in moments of +inspiration to compose with a clear head and a mind unhampered by all +other considerations. Now the responsibility of legal work _would_ +hamper him--he felt his muse to be of that jealous disposition which +will suffer no rival--if he meant to be free at all, he must strike +the blow at once. And so, as has been said, he was not at his ease. + +Mr. Lightowler appeared as St. Clement Danes struck half-past one; he +was in high good-humour, jubilant, and ruddy. 'Well, Master +Barrister,' he said, chuckling; 'to think o' my living to see you +figurin' about in a wig and gown--you must cut off that moustache of +yours, though, Mark: none of the young barrister fellows I see goin' +up in the train of a mornin' wear 'em. I'm told the judges don't +consider too much 'air respectful, hey? Well, s'pose we go in and have +a bit of something, eh? The "Cock" is it? Ah, I haven't been in +here--I haven't been in here not since I was a young man "on the +road," as we used to call it. I don't mean I was ever in the Dick +Turpin line, but a commercial gentleman, you know. Well, I've made my +way since. You'll have to make yours, with more help than I ever had, +though.' + +Mark led the way up a steep little passage and into the well-known +room, with its boxes darkened by age, its saw-dusted floor and quaint +carved Jacobean mantelpiece. He chose a compartment well down at the +bottom of the room. + +'What's your partickler preference, eh?' said Uncle Solomon, rather as +if he was treating a schoolboy. 'What's their speciality 'ere, now? +Well, you can give me,' he added to the waiter, with the manner of a +man conferring a particular favour, 'you can give me a chump chop, +underdone, and a sausage. And bring this young gentleman the same. I +don't care about anything 'eavier at this time o' day,' he explained. + +Mark talked on all kinds of topics with desperate brilliancy for some +time; he wanted time before approaching _the_ subject. + +Uncle Solomon broached it for him. 'You'll want a regler set o' +chambers by-and-by,' he said; 'I've seen a room down Middle Temple +Lane that'll do for you for the present. When the briefs begin to come +in, we'll see about something better. I was talkin' about you to +Ferret the other day,' he went on. 'It'll be all right; he's goin' to +instruct their London agent to send you in a little something that you +can try your 'prentice hand at directly. Isn't _that_ be'aving like an +uncle to you, eh? I hope you will go and do me credit over it; that's +the only way you can pay me back a little--I ask but that of you, +Mark.' + +For all his bumptiousness and despotism, there was a real kindness, +possibly not of the purest and most unselfish order, but still +kindness in his manner, and Mark felt a pang at having to reward it as +he must. + +The meal was over now, and Uncle Solomon was finishing the glass of +whisky and water before him. 'Well,' he said, as he set it down, 'we'd +better be off to the place where I'm to pay the fees for you. Ah, what +you young fellows cost to start nowadays!' + +'That's it,' said Mark; 'I--I would rather not cost you anything, +uncle.' + +'It's rather late in the day to be partickler about that, _I_ should +say.' + +'It is. I feel that; but I mean, I don't want to cost you any _more_.' + +'What d'ye mean by that?' + +'I mean that I don't care about being called to the Bar at present.' + +'Don't you? Well, I do, so let that be enough for you. If I'm willing +to pay, I don't see what you 'ave to say against it. All _you've_ got +to do is to work.' + +'Uncle,' said Mark in a low voice, 'I must tell you what I feel about +this. I--I don't want to cause you to spend your money on false +pretences.' + +'You'd better not: that's all I can tell you!' + +'Precisely,' said Mark; 'so I'll be quite frank with you beforehand. +If you set your mind on it, I will take my call to the Bar.' + +'_Will_ yer, though? That's very affable of you, now!' + +'Yes, I will; but I shall never practise; if Ferret's agent sends me +this brief, I shall decline it.' + +'I would; that's the way to get on at the Bar; you're a sharp feller, +_you_ are!' + +'I don't want to get on at the Bar. I don't mean to take it up; there, +if you choose to be angry, I can't help it. I've told you.' + +'Then may I take the liberty of inquirin' _'ow_ you purpose to live?' +demanded Uncle Solomon. + +'I mean to live by literature,' said Mark; 'I know I promised I +wouldn't write any more: well, as far as that goes, I've kept my word; +but--but a former book of mine has been accepted on very liberal +terms, I see my way now to making a living by my pen, and though I'm +sorry, of course, if it disappoints you, I mean to choose my life for +myself, while I can.' + +It must be highly annoying when one has, after infinite labour, +succeeded in converting a clown, to see him come to chapel with a +red-hot poker and his pockets full of stolen sausages; but even that +shock is nothing to Uncle Solomon's. + +He turned deadly pale and sank back in the box, glaring at Mark and +opening his mouth once or twice with a fish-like action, but without +speaking. When he could articulate, he called the waiter, giving Mark +reason for a moment to fear that he was going to pour out his rage and +disappointment into the ears of one of the smug and active attendants. + +'Take for me and this young man, will yer?' was all he said, however. +When the waiter had reckoned up the sum in the time-honoured manner +and departed, Uncle Solomon turned and began to struggle into his +great-coat. 'Let me help you,' said Mark, but Mr. Lightowler +indignantly jerked himself away. 'I don't want to be helped into my +coat by you,' he said; 'you've helped me into my grave by what you've +done this day, you have; let that be sufficient for you!' + +When he had rendered himself rather conspicuous by his ineffectual +attempts to put on the coat, and was reduced to accept the assistance +of two waiters who shook him into it obsequiously, he came back to the +box where Mark was sitting in a relieved but still vaguely +uncomfortable frame of mind. + +'I don't want to 'ave many words with you about this,' he began with a +sternness that was not unimpressive. 'If I was to let myself out in +'ere, I should go too far. I'll only just tell you this much; this is +the second time you've played me this trick, and it's the last! I +warned you before that I should have done with you if you did it +again: you'll 'ave no more chances like the last, so mind that. Take +care of that cheque, you needn't fear I shall stop it, but you won't +get many more out o' me. And now I'll bid you good-day, young +gentleman; I'm goin' to Kensington, and then I shall do a little +littery composing on my own account, since it's so pop'lar, and get +Ferret to help me with it. I'm not one of your littery men, but I +dessey I can compose something yet that'll be read some day with a +good deal of interest; it won't be pleasant reading for you, though, I +can tell yer!' + +He went noisily out, the waiters staring after him and the people +looking up from their boxes as he passed, and Mark was left to his own +reflections, which were of a mixed order. + +He had accomplished his main object--his slavery was over, and he felt +an indescribable relief at the thought; still, he could not avoid the +suspicion that his freedom might have been dearly purchased. His +uncle's words had pointed to a state of things in which he would have +benefited to a considerable extent under his will, and that was over +now. Would it not have been worth while to endure a little longer--but +Mark felt strongly that it would not. With such prospects as he now +saw opening before him, the idea of submitting himself to an old man's +ambitious whims for the sake of a reward which might, after all, be +withheld at last was utterly revolting. He felt a certain excitement, +too, at the idea of conquering the world single-handed. + +When he left the 'Cock' he walked slowly and irresolutely down the +Strand. 'If I go home now I shall find _him_ blustering there. I don't +feel equal to any more of him just now,' he thought. + +He had no club to go to at that time, so he went and read the papers, +and drank coffee at a cigar divan until it was late enough to dine, +and after dinner tried to drown his care by going to see one of those +anomalous productions--a 'three-act burlesque'--at a neighbouring +theatre, which he sat through with a growing gloom, in spite of the +pretty faces and graceful dances which have now, with some rare +exceptions, made plot and humour so unnecessary. Each leading member +of the clever company danced his or her special _pas seul_ as if for a +competitive examination, but left him unthrilled amidst all the +enthusiasm that thundered from most parts of the house. It is true +that there were faces there--and young men's faces--quite as solemn as +his own, but then theirs was the solemnity of an enjoyment too deep +for expression, while Mark's face was blank from a depression he could +not shake off. + +He went away at the end of the second act with a confused recollection +of glowing groups of silk-clad figures, forming up into a tableau for +no obvious dramatic reason, and, thinking it better to face his family +before the morning, went straight home to Malakoff Terrace. He could +not help a slight nervousness as he opened the gate and went up the +narrow path of flagstones. The lower window was dark, but there were +no lights in the upper rooms, so that he guessed that the family had +not retired. Mrs. Ashburn was entirely opposed to the latch-key as a +domestic implement, and had sternly refused to allow such a thing to +pass her threshold, so that Mark refrained from making use of the +key--which of course he had--in all cases where it was not absolutely +necessary, and he knocked and rang now. + +Trixie came to the door and let him in. 'They've sent Ann to bed,' she +whispered, 'but ma and pa are sitting up for you.' + +'Are they though?' said Mark grimly, as he hung up his hat. + +'Yes,' said Trixie; 'come in here for a minute, Mark, while I tell you +all about it. Uncle Solomon has been here this afternoon and stayed to +dinner and he's been saying, oh, such dreadful things about you. Why +weren't you here?' + +'I thought I should enjoy my dinner more if I dined out,' said Mark. +'Well, and what's the end of it all, Trixie?' + +'I'm sure I don't know what it will be. Uncle Solomon actually wanted +me to come and live with him at Chigbourne, and said he would make it +worth my while in the end, if I would promise not to have anything +more to do with you.' + +'Ah, and when are you going?' said Mark, with a cynicism that was only +on the surface. + +'When!' said Trixie indignantly, 'why, never. Horrid old man! As if I +cared about his money! I told him what I thought about things, and I +think I made him angrier. I hope so, I'm sure.' + +'Did he make the same offer to Martha or Cuthbert?' asked Mark; 'and +were they indignant too?' + +'They weren't asked. I don't think Uncle Solomon cares about them +much; _you're_ his favourite, Mark.' + +'Yes, _I'm_ his favourite,' said Mark; 'but I'm not proud, Trixie. +Besides, I rather think all that is over now.' + +Here the door of the next room opened, and Mrs. Ashburn's voice was +heard saying, 'Trixie, tell your brother Mark that, if he is in a +condition to be spoken to, his father and I have something to say to +him at once.' + +'Encouraging that,' said Mark. 'Well, Trixie, here goes. You'd better +go to bed. I'm afraid we are going to have a scene in there.' + +He went in with a rather overdone cheerfulness. 'Well, mother,' he +began, attempting to kiss her, 'I didn't dine at home to-night +because----' + +'I know why you didn't dine at home,' she said. 'I wish for no kisses +from you, Mark. We have seen your uncle.' + +'So have I,' said Mark; 'I lunched with him.' + +'It is useless to trifle now,' she said; 'we know all.' + +'I assure you I _did_ lunch with him; we had chops,' said Mark, who +sometimes found the bland and childlike manner very useful in these +emergencies. It did not serve him then, however. + +'How could you deceive your uncle in such a manner?' she resumed. + +'I didn't. I _un_deceived him.' + +'You have disappointed all his plans for you; thrown up the Bar, your +position at St. Peter's, all your prospects in life--and for what?' + +'For fun, of course, mother. I don't know what I'm fit for or what I +want; it's pure idiotic recklessness, isn't it?' + +'It is; but don't talk to me in that ribald tone, Mark; I have enough +to bear as it is. Once for all I ask you, Is it true what my brother +tells me, that you have returned to the mire like the sow in the +Scriptures; that you are going to let your name be connected +with--with a novel, after all you have promised?' + +'Quite true,' said Mark; 'I hope to be connected with many novels.' + +'Mark,' said his mother, 'you know what I think about that. I implore +you to pause while there's time still, before doing what you can never +recall. It's not only from worldly motives that I ask it. Surely you +can sacrifice a contemptible vanity to your duty towards your mother. +I may be wrong in my prejudices, but still I have a right to expect +you to regard them. I ask you once more to withdraw from this. Are you +going to refuse me?' + +Mrs. Ashburn's harsh tones carried a very genuine feeling and concern. +She truly believed that the paths of fiction would lead to her son's +spiritual as well as his material ruin, and Mark had sense enough to +recognise the reality of this belief of hers, and drop the levity he +had assumed for defensive purposes. + +His father had, as usual, taken no part in the interview; he sat +looking dolefully at the fire, as if anxious to remain neutral as long +as possible; he had long been a mere suzerain, and, like some other +suzerains, felt a very modified resentment at a rebellion against an +authority that was only nominally his own. + +So Mark addressed himself to his mother only. 'I'm sorry if it grieves +you, mother,' he said, gently enough; 'but you really must let me go +my own way in this--it is no use at all asking me to withdraw now.... +I have gone too far.... Some day you will see that I was not so very +foolish after all. I promise you that. Wouldn't you rather think of me +as living the life I could be happy in--being famous, perhaps, even, +some day--than dragging out my days in a school or slaving at a +profession I can never care for? Of course you would! And a novel +isn't such an awful thing, if you could only bring yourself to think +so. You never will read one, you know, so you can't be a very +impartial judge.' + +Mrs. Ashburn read very little of any literature; what she did read +being chiefly the sermons and biographies of Dissenting divines, and +she had never felt any desire to stimulate her imagination by anything +much more exciting, especially by accounts of things that never +happened, and were consequently untruthful. Her extreme horror of +fiction was a form of bigotry now almost extinct, but she had grown up +in it and retained it in all the old Puritan vigour. + +She showed no signs of being at all impressed by Mark's remonstrance; +her eyes were severely cold, and her voice measured and loud as she +replied, without looking at him. + +'You won't make me change my opinion in the least, Mark, if you were +to talk till daylight. If you set yourself against my wishes in this, +we have quite made up our minds how to act, have we not, Matthew?' + +'Yes, quite,' said Mr. Ashburn, uneasily, 'quite; but I hope, Mark, +my boy, I hope you won't cross your mother in this, when you see how +strongly she feels about it. I want to keep my children about me while +I can; I don't wish anyone to go if it can be arranged--if it can be +arranged.' + +'Do you mean, mother, that if I don't do as Uncle Solomon and you +wish, I am to go?' asked Mark. + +'I do,' said his mother. 'I won't encourage any son of mine against my +conscience and my principles. If you choose to live a life of +frivolity and idleness, you shall not lead it under my roof; so you +know what to expect if you persist in disobeying me--us, I mean.' + +'I think I had better go,' said Mark; 'I don't quite see what enormity +I have been guilty of, but if you look at things in that light, there +is no more to be said. I have chosen my life, and I don't mean to go +back from it. I will see about finding lodgings as soon as I can, and +you shall not be troubled with me any longer than I can help.' + +'Mark, don't be headstrong--don't let your passion get the better of +you!' cried his mother, moved out of all her stoniness--for she had +not quite expected this, believing that the amount of Mark's salary +and his expenses made him practically dependent on her. She had +forgotten his uncle's cheque, and did not believe in any serious +profits to be gained from literature. + +'I'm not in the least angry,' he said; 'I don't wish to go, if you +wish me to stay, but if you meant what you said just now, I have no +choice.' + +His mother was much too proud to weaken her authority by retracting. +She still hoped that he would yield if she remained firm, but yielding +was out of the question with Mark then, and, besides, independence had +its charms, though he would not have been the first to loosen the tie. + +'Blame your wicked pride and selfishness, Mark, not your mother, who +is only anxious for your good. Go, if you will, but don't dare to +expect a blessing on your disobedience.' + +'Do you say go, too, father?' said Mark. + +'You hear what your mother says. What else can I say?' he answered +feebly; 'it's very painful to me--all this--but you must take your own +course.' + +'I see I must,' said Mark, and left the room. + +'You've been very hard with the boy, Jane,' said her husband, when +they were alone, and she had sat for some time with a book open but +unread before her; 'I really do think you've been very hard.' + +'Do you want to encourage him against his mother?' she asked. + +'No, no, you know I don't, Jane. Anything you think right--but I think +you were hard.' + +'If I was, it was for his good,' she said; 'I have done what I thought +right, and we have sat up long enough. We can do no good by talking +over it any more, Matthew. Perhaps Mark will think differently +to-morrow.' + +Trixie had been waiting for Mark in the adjoining room into which she +beckoned him as he passed the door. 'How did it end?' she whispered. +'You were very quiet in there; is it settled?' + +'Yes, it's settled,' he said, 'I'm to go, Trixie; I shall have to +shift for myself. They won't have me here any longer!' + +'Oh, Mark!' cried Trixie. 'Take me with you, do, it will be so horrid +at home with only Martha and Cuthbert. You and I always got on +together; let me come too!' + +'I can't,' said Mark, 'not yet--by-and-by, perhaps, Trixie, when I'm a +rich man, you know, we can manage it--just now I shall hardly be able +to keep myself.' + +'I'll work hard at my drawing and get into the Academy. I've begun +features already, and I shall soon get into the antique--then we can +be famous together, you know.' + +'We shall see,' said Mark; 'and in the meantime, Trixie, I think we +had better both go to bed.' + +When he was alone again and had time to think over the day which had +proved so eventful, he could not find it in him to regret what had +happened. He had got rid of Uncle Solomon, he had cast off the wig +and gown which were to him as the garb of slavery, and the petty +restraints of his home life were gone as well; he had no sentimental +feelings about his banishment, the bosom of his family had not been a +very appreciative or sympathetic one, and he had always intended to go +forth from it as soon as he could afford it. + +If he had really committed the offence for which he was to be driven +from home, he could have considered himself a most interesting martyr; +he did his best to do so as it was, but not with complete success. +Betraying a dead man's trust is scarcely heroic, and even Mark felt +that dimly, and could not dwell on his ill-treatment as he would +dearly like to have done. + +But there was something exciting for him, notwithstanding, in the +future; he was to go out into the world and shift for himself, and +conquer; he would have a part, and it might be a difficult one, to +play for a season; but after that he could resume his own character +and take the place he meant to fill in the world, feeling at last that +the applause he won was his by right. + +Vincent Holroyd had been unselfish in life; Mark had always recognised +that trait in his character, though the liking he had for the man had +not been much the stronger on that account--if now Vincent could see +any brief and fleeting fame which his book might gain used as the +stepping-stone to his friend's advancement, surely, Mark told himself, +he would scarcely grudge it. + +But he hardly cared to justify to himself what he had done by any +casuistry of this kind; he preferred to shut his eyes resolutely to +the morality of the thing; he might have acted like the basest +scoundrel, very likely he had. Still, no one did, no one need, suspect +him. All he had to do was to make the best use of the advantage he had +snatched; when he could feel that he had done that, then he would feel +justified; meanwhile he must put up with a few natural twinges of +conscience now and then, when he was not feeling well. + +The next morning breakfast passed without any reference to the scene +of the night before; Martha and Cuthbert both knew of what had +happened, but kept silence, and if Mrs. Ashburn had any hopes that +Mark would recant, she was disappointed. + +That evening he informed them that he had taken rooms, and should not +remain at Malakoff Terrace for more than a few days longer; his +announcement being met by a grim 'Very well, Mark, just as you +please,' from his mother; and though her heart sank at his words, and +her last hope of prevailing died away, she never returned to the +charge in any way, recognising that it was useless. + +When the day for his departure came, there were no scenes; even +Trixie, who felt it most, was calm, for, after all, Mark would not be +so very far away, he had said she might come and see him sometimes; +the other two were civil, and cold, there being that curious latent +antipathy between them and him which sometimes exists between members +of a family. + +Mr. Ashburn had mumbled his good-byes with a touch of emotion and even +shame in his manner as he shuffled away to his office. 'I don't want +you to feel we've cast you off,' he had said nervously. 'Your mother +says rather more than she exactly feels at times; but it's better for +you to go, my boy, better for all parties concerned. Only, if you find +yourself in--in any difficulties, come back to us, or--that is,' he +amended, 'write, or come to me at the office, that will be better, +perhaps.' + +But Mrs. Ashburn's last words were, 'Good-bye, Mark. I never thought +to part with a son of mine in anger; we may never meet again, but you +may live to be sorry for the grief you have caused your mother, when +you stand one day over her grave.' + +This would have been more impressive if Mrs. Ashburn had not been so +much addicted to indulging in such doleful predictions on less +adequate occasions that she had discounted much of the effect that +properly belonged to them; even as it was, however, they cut Mark for +the moment; he half offered to embrace his mother, but she made no +response, and after waiting for a while, and finding that she made no +sign, he went out with a slight shrug of expostulation. + +When he had left the room, she half rose as if to follow, but stopped +half way irresolute, while the cab which he had engaged to take +himself and his luggage to his new quarters drove off, and then she +went upstairs and shut herself in her bedroom for half-an-hour, and +the maid, who was 'doing the rooms' hard by, reported afterwards to +the cook that she had 'heard missus takin' on awful in there, +a-sobbin', and groanin', and prayin' she was, all together like, it +quite upset her to 'ear it.' + +There were no traces of emotion on her face, however, when she came +down again, and only an additional shade of grimness in her voice and +manner to tell of the half-hour's agony in which her mother's heart +had warred against her pride and her principles. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +LAUNCHED. + + +Mark had now cut himself adrift and established himself in rooms in +one of the small streets about Connaught Square, where he waited for +his schemes to accomplish themselves. He still retained his mastership +at St. Peter's, although he hoped to be able to throw that up as soon +as he could do so with any prudence, and the time that was not +occupied by his school duties he devoted to the perfecting of his +friend's work. It was hardly a labour of love, and he came to it with +an ever-increasing weariness; all the tedious toiling through piles of +proofs and revised proofs, the weeding out of ingenious perversions +which seemed to possess a hydra-like power of multiplication after the +first eradication, began to inspire him with an infinite loathing of +this book which was his and not his own. + +It had never interested him; he had never been able to feel the +slightest admiration for any part of it, and at times he ceased to +believe in it altogether, and think that, after all, he had +transgressed to no purpose, and that his own book would have been a +stronger staff to lean upon than this reed he had borrowed. But he had +to go on with it now, and trust to his good-luck for the consequences; +but still there were moments when he trembled at what he had done, and +could not bear to be so constantly reminded of it. + +There was a little story in the book which one of the subordinate +characters told to a child, the distressing history of a small sugar +prince on a Twelfth-cake, who believed himself to be a fairy and was +taken tenderly away from a children's party by a little girl who, as +the prince supposed, would restore him somehow to his proper position +in Fairyland; instead of which, however, she took him home to an +ordinary nursery and ate him. + +Mark was doubtful of the wisdom of retaining this story in the book at +all--it seemed to him out of place there--but as he had some scruples +about cutting it out, he allowed it to remain, a decision which was +not without after-effect upon his fortunes. + +The title of the book underwent one more change, for Mr. Fladgate's +mind misgave him at the last moment as to his own first suggestion, +and it was finally settled that the book should be called 'Illusion,' +which suited Mark quite as well as anything else. + +And so in due time Mark read, with a certain curious thrill, the +announcement that 'Illusion,' a romance by Cyril Ernstone, was 'now +ready at all libraries;' he sent no presentation copies, not even to +Trixie--he had thought of doing so, but when it came to the point he +could not. + +It was early one Saturday afternoon in March, Mark had walked back by +a long round from the school to his lodgings through the parks, and +the flower-beds were gay with the lilac, yellow and white of crocus +and snowdrop, the smoke-blackened twigs were studded with tiny spikes +of tender green, and the air was warm and subtly aromatic with the +promise of spring--even in the muddy tainted streets the Lent-lilies +and narcissus flowers in the street-sellers' baskets gave touches of +passing sweetness to the breeze. + +Mark felt a longing to get further away from the town and enjoy what +remained of the afternoon on higher ground and in purer air; he would +go up to Hampstead, he thought, and see the lights sweeping over the +rusty bracken on the heath, or walk down over Highgate Hill, and past +the quaint old brick houses with their high-trim laurel hedges and +their last century wrought-iron gateways and lamps in which the light +of other days no longer burns. + +But he did not go to either place that afternoon, for when he ran up +to his rooms to change his hat and coat, he saw that on his table +which made him forget his purpose altogether. It was a packet inclosed +in a wrapper which bore the name of his publishers on the outside, and +he knew at once before opening it that it contained reviews. He tore +off the wrapper eagerly, for now at last he would learn whether he had +made a bold and successful stroke, or only a frightful mistake. + +Beginners have taken up reviews before now, cowering in anticipation +before the curse of Balaam, to receive an unexpected benediction; but +perhaps no one could be quite so unprepared for this pleasant form of +surprise as Mark, for others have written the works that are +criticised, and though they may have worked themselves up into a +surface ferment of doubt and humility, deep down in their hearts there +is a wonderfully calm acceptance, after the first shock, of the most +extravagant eulogy. + +The opening paragraphs of the first critique were enough to relieve +Mark's main anxiety; Holroyd's book was not a failure--there could be +no doubt of that--it was treated with respectful consideration as the +work of a man who was entitled to be taken seriously; if reviews had +any influence (and it can scarcely be questioned that a favourable +review has much) this one alone could not fail to bring 'Illusion' its +fair share of attention. + +Mark laid down the first paper with a sense of triumph. If a very +ordinary book like poor Holroyd's was received in this way, what +might he not expect when he produced his own! + +Then he took up the next. Here the critic was more measured in his +praise. The book he pronounced to be on the whole a good and very +nearly a great one, a fine conception fairly worked out, but there was +too strong a tendency in parts to a certain dreamy mysticism (here +Mark began to regret that he had not been more careful over the +proofs), while the general tone was a little too metaphysical, and the +whole marred by even more serious blemishes. + +'The author,' continued the reviewer, 'whose style is for the most +part easy and dignified, with a praiseworthy absence of all inflation +or bombast, seems at times to have been smitten by a fatal desire to +"split the ears of the groundlings" and produce an impression by showy +parades of a not overwhelmingly profound scholarship; and the effect +of these contrasts would be grotesque in the extreme, were it not +absolutely painful in a work of such high average merit. What, for +instance, will be thought of the taste of a writer who could close a +really pathetic scene of estrangement between the lovers by such a +sentence as the following?...' + +The sentence which followed was one of those which Mark had felt it +due to himself to interpolate. This was but one example, said the +inexorable critic, there were other instances more flagrant still--and +in all of these the astonished Mark recognised his own improvements! + +To say that this was for the moment an exceedingly unpleasant shock to +his self-satisfaction is to state a sufficiently obvious fact; but +Mark's character must have been very imperfectly indicated if it +surprises anyone to hear that it did not take him long to recover from +the blow. + +Perhaps he had been wrong in grafting his own strong individuality on +an entirely foreign trunk--he had not been careful enough to harmonise +the two styles--it was merely an odd coincidence that the reviewer, +struck naturally enough by the disparity, should have pitched upon +_him_ as the offender. By-and-by he grew to believe it a positive +compliment that the reviewer (no doubt a dull person) had simply +singled out for disapproval all the passages which were out of his +depth--if there had been nothing remarkable about them, they would not +have been noticed at all. + +And so, as it is a remarkable peculiarity in the mind of man, that it +can frequently be set at ease by some self-constructed theory which +would not bear its own examination for a minute--as if a quack were to +treat himself with his own bread-pills and feel better--Mark, having +convinced himself that the reviewer was a crass fool whose praise and +blame were to be read conversely, found the wound to his self-love +begin to heal from that moment. + +That same Saturday afternoon Mabel was sitting in the little room at +the back of the house, in which she received her own particular +friends, wrote her letters, and read; just then she was engaged in the +latter occupation, for the books had come in from the library that +day, and she had sat down after luncheon to skim them through before +selecting any which seemed worth more careful reading. + + * * * * * + +Mabel had grown to be fastidious in the matter of fiction, the natural +result of a sense of humour combined with an instinctive appreciation +of style. There had been a time of course, when, released from the +strict censorship of a boarding-school under which all novels on the +very lengthy _index expurgatorius_ had to be read in delicious +stealth, she had devoured eagerly any literature which was in bright +covers and three volumes--but that time was past now. + +She could not cry over cheap pathos, or laugh at secondhand humour, or +shudder at sham cynicism any longer--desperate escapes and rescues +moved her not, and she had wearied of beautiful wicked fiends and +effeminate golden-haired guardsmen, who hold a Titanic strength in +reserve as their one practical joke, but the liberty she had enjoyed +had done her no particular harm, even if many mothers might have +thought it their duty to restrict it, which Mrs. Langton was too +languid or had too much confidence in her daughter to think of +attempting. + +Mabel had only returned to the works of the great masters of this +century with an appreciation heightened by contrast, and though her +new delight in them did not blind her--as why should it?--to the +lesser lights in whom something may be found to learn or enjoy, she +now had standards by which she could form her opinions of them. + +Amongst the books sent in that week was 'Illusion,' a romance by Cyril +Ernstone, and Mabel had looked at its neat grey-green covers and red +lettering with a little curiosity, for somebody had spoken of it to +her the day before, and she took it up with the intention of reading a +chapter or two before going out with her racket into the square, where +the tennis season had already set in on the level corner of the lawn. + +But the afternoon wore on, and she remained by the window in a low +wicker chair, indifferent to the spring sunshine outside, to the +attractions of lawn tennis, or the occasional sounds of callers, +reading on with parted lips and an occasional little musical laugh or +involuntary sigh, as Holroyd had once dreamed of seeing his book read +by her. + +His strong and self-contained nature had unfolded all its deepest +tenderness and most cherished fancies in that his first book, and the +pages had the interest of a confession. Mabel felt that personal +affection for the unknown writer which to have aroused must be the +crown of crowns to those who love their art. + +The faults of style and errors of taste here and there which jarred +upon her were still too rare or too foreign to the general tone of the +book to prejudice her seriously, and she put down the book half +finished, not from weariness but with an unusual desire to economise +the pleasure it gave her. + +'I wonder what "Cyril Ernstone" is like,' she thought, half +unconsciously. + +Perhaps, by the way, a popular but plain author who finds it +necessary to cultivate society, would discover, if he would go about +veiled or engage a better-looking man to personate him, a speedy +increase in the circulation of his next work, and, if at all sensitive +as to his own shortcomings, he would certainly be spared a +considerable amount of pain, for it is trying for a man who rather +enjoys being idolised to be compelled to act as his own iconoclast. + +While Mabel was speculating on the personal appearance of the author +of 'Illusion,' Dolly darted in suddenly. 'Oh, there you are, Mabel,' +she said, 'how lazy of you! Mother thought you were playing tennis, +and some people have called, and she and I had to do all the talking +to them!' + +'Come and rest then, Dolly,' said Mabel, putting an arm up and drawing +her down to a low stool by her chair. + +'I've got my new sash on,' said Dolly warningly. + +'I'll be careful,' said Mabel, 'and I've found a little story in this +book I am going to read to you, Dolly, if you care about it.' + +'Not a long story, is it, Mab?' inquired Dolly rather dubiously. But +she finally settled herself comfortably down to listen, with her +bright little face laid against Mabel's side, while she read the +melancholy fate of the sugar fairy prince. + +Dolly heard it all out in silence, and with a growing trouble in her +eyes. When it was all over, and the heartless mortal princess had +swallowed the sugar prince, she turned half away and said softly, +'Mabel, that was _me_.' + +Mabel laughed. 'What _do_ you mean, Dolly?' she said. + +'I thought he was plain sugar,' Dolly protested piteously; 'how was I +to know? I never heard of sugar fairies before. And he did look pretty +at first, but I spilt some tea over him, and the colour got all mixed +up, just as the story says it did, and so I ate him.' + +'It's only a story, Dolly, you know; you needn't make yourself unhappy +about it--it isn't true really.' + +'But it must be true, it's all put down exactly as it happened.... And +it was me.... I've eaten up a real fairy prince.... Mabel, I'm a +greedy pig. If I hadn't done it, perhaps we could have got him out of +the sugar somehow, and then Colin and I would have had a live fairy to +play with. That's what he expected me to do, and I ate him instead. I +know he was a fairy, Mabel, he tasted so nice.... Poor, poor little +prince!' + +Dolly was so evidently distressed that Mabel tried hard to convince +her that the story was about another little girl, the prince was only +a sugar one, and so on; but she did not succeed, until the idea struck +her that a writer whose book seemed to indicate a sympathetic nature +would not object to the trouble of removing the childish fears he had +aroused, and she said: 'Listen, Dolly; suppose you write a letter to +Mr. Ernstone--at his publishers', you know--I'll show you how to +address it, but you must write the rest yourself, and ask him to tell +you if the sugar prince was really a fairy, and then you will know all +about it; but my own belief is, Dolly, that there aren't any +fairies--now, at any rate.' + +'If there weren't,' argued Dolly, 'people wouldn't write books about +them. I've seen pictures of them lots of times.' + +'And they dance in rows at the pantomime, don't they, Dolly?' said +Mabel. + +'Oh, I know _those_ aren't fairies--only thin little girls,' said +Dolly contemptuously. 'I'm not a baby, Mabel, but I _would_ write to +Mr.--what you said just now--only I hate letter-writing so--ink is +such blotty, messy stuff--and I daresay he wouldn't answer after all.' + +'Try him, dear,' said Mabel. + +Dolly looked obstinate and said nothing just then, and Mabel did not +think it well to refer to the matter again. But the next week, from +certain little affectations of tremendous mystery on Dolly's part, and +the absence of the library copy of 'Illusion' from the morning-room +during one whole afternoon, after which it reappeared in a state of +preternatural inkiness, Mabel had a suspicion that her suggestion was +not so disregarded as it had seemed. + +And a few days afterwards Mark found on his breakfast table an +envelope from his publisher, which proved to contain a letter directed +to 'Mr. Ciril Ernstone,' at the office. The letter was written in a +round childish hand, with scrapings here and there to record the fall +of a vanquished blot. + + 'Dear Mr. Ciril Ernstone,' it ran, 'I want you to tell me + how you knew that I ate that sugar prince in your story, + and if you meant me really. Perhaps you made that part of + it up, or else it was some other girl, but please write + and tell me who it was and all about it, because I do so + hate to think I've eaten up a real fairy without knowing + it.--DOROTHY MARGARET LANGTON.' + +This poor little letter made Mark very angry; if he had written the +story he would, of course, have been amused if not pleased by the +naïve testimony to his power; but, as it was, it annoyed him to a +quite unreasonable extent. + +He threw Dolly's note pettishly across the table; 'I wish I had cut +that sugar prince story out; _I_ can't tell the child anything about +it. Langton, too--wonder if it's any relation to my Langton--sister of +his, perhaps--_he_ lives at Notting Hill somewhere. Well, I won't +write; if I do I shall put my foot in it somehow.... It's quite likely +that Vincent knew this child. She can't be seriously unhappy about +such a piece of nonsense, and if she is, it's not _my_ fault.' + +Mark had never quite lost the memory of that morning in the fog, his +brief meeting with Mabel, and the untimely parting by the hedge. +Subsequent events had naturally done something to efface the +impression which her charm and grace had made upon him then; but even +yet he saw her face at times as clearly as ever, and suffered once +more the dull pain he had felt when he first knew that she had gone +from him without leaving him the faintest hope of being ever +privileged to know her more intimately or even see her again. + +Sometimes, when he dreamed most wildly of the brilliant future that +was to come to him, he saw himself, as the author of several famous +and successful works (amongst which 'Illusion' was entirely obscured), +meeting her once more, and marking his sense of her past ingratitude +by a studied coldness. But this was a possibility that never, even in +his most sanguine moments, was other than remote. + +If he had but known it, there had long been close at hand--in the +shape of young Langton--a means which, judiciously managed, might have +brought that part of his dream to pass immediately, and now he had +that which would realise it even more surely and effectually. + +But he did not know, and let the appeal lie unanswered that was due to +Mabel's suggestion--'the moral of which,' as Alice's Duchess might +say, is that one should never neglect a child's letter. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +A 'THORN AND FLOWER PIECE.' + + +'Illusion' had not been very long published before Mark began to have +uncomfortable anticipations that it might be on the way to achieve an +unexpected success, and he was nearer the truth in this than he +himself believed as yet. It might not become popular in the wider and +coarser sense of the word, being somewhat over the heads of the large +class who read fiction for the 'story;' it might never find its way to +railway bookstalls (though even this, as will appear, befell it in +time,) or be considered a profitable subject for Transatlantic piracy; +but it was already gaining recognition as a book that people of any +culture should, for their own sakes, at least assume to have read and +appreciated. + +Mark was hailed by many judges of such things as a new and powerful +thinker, who had chosen to veil his theories under the garb of +romance, and if the theory was dissented from in some quarters, the +power and charm of the book were universally admitted. At dinner +parties, and in all circles where literature is discussed at all, +'Illusion' was becoming a standard topic; friendships were cemented +and intimacies dissolved over it; it became a kind of 'shibboleth.' + +At first Mark had little opportunity of realising this to the full +extent, for he went out seldom if at all. There had been a time in his +life--before he had left Cambridge, that is--when he had mixed more in +society; his undergraduate friends had been proud to present to their +family circle a man with his reputation for general brilliancy, and so +his engagements in the vacations had been frequent. But this did not +last; from a feeling that his own domestic surroundings would scarcely +bear out a vaguely magnificent way he had of alluding to his 'place' +and his 'people'--a way which was not so much deliberate imposition as +a habit caught from associates richer and higher up in the social +scale--from this feeling, he never offered to return any of these +hospitalities, and though this was not rigorously expected of him, it +did serve to prevent any one of his numerous acquaintanceships from +ripening into something more. When the crash came, and it was +generally discovered that the reputed brilliant man of his year was a +very ordinary failure, Mark found himself speedily forgotten, and in +the first soreness of disappointment was not sorry to remain in +obscurity for a season. + +But now a reaction in his favour was setting in; his publishers were +already talking of a second edition of 'Illusion,' and he received, +under his name of 'Cyril Ernstone,' countless letters of +congratulation and kindly criticism, all so pleasantly and cordially +worded, that each successive note made him angrier, the only one that +consoled him at all being a communication in a female hand which +abused the book and its writer in the most unmeasured terms. For his +correspondent's estimate of the work was the one which he had a secret +wish to see more prevalent (so long, of course, as it did not +interfere with the success of his scheme), and he could almost have +written to thank her--had she not, by some unfortunate oversight, +forgotten to append her name and address. + +The next stage in the career of the book was a discovery on someone's +part that the name of its author was an assumed one, and although +there are many who would as little think of looking for the name of +the man who wrote the play they see or the book they read as they +would for that of the locomotive behind which they travel, there are +still circles for whom the first two matters at least possess an +interest. + +And so several set out to run the actual author to earth, well assured +that, as is fabled of the fox, he himself would enjoy the sport as +much as his pursuers; and it is the fact that Mark might have given +them a much longer run had he been anxious to do so, but, though he +regretted it afterwards, the fruits of popularity were too desirable +to be foregone. + +There were some false cries at first. A 'London correspondent' knew +for a fact that the book was written by an old lady at a lunatic +asylum in her lucid intervals; while a ladies' journal had heard that +the author was a common carpenter and entirely self-educated; and +there were other similar discoveries. But before they had time to +circulate widely, it became somehow common knowledge that the author +was a young schoolmaster, and that his real name was Mark Ashburn. + +And Mark at once began to reap the benefit. His old friends sought him +out once more; men who had passed him in the streets with a careless +nod that was almost as bad as a cut direct, or without even the +smallest acknowledgment that a time had been when they were +inseparables, now found time to stop him and ask if the rumours of his +_début_ in literature were really true. + +By-and-by cards began to line his mantelpiece as in the old days; he +went out once more, and met everywhere the kindness and courtesy that +the world of London, whatever may be said against it, is never chary +of showing towards the most insignificant person who has once had the +good fortune to arouse its interest. + +Mark liked it all at first, but as he saw the book growing more and +more in favour, and the honours paid to himself increasing, he began +to be uneasy at his own success. + +He would not have objected to the book's securing a moderate degree of +attention, so as to prepare the public mind for the blaze of intellect +he had in reserve for it--that he had expected, or at least hoped +for--but the mischief of this ridiculous enthusiasm which everyone he +met seemed to be affecting over this book of Holroyd's was that it +made an anticlimax only too possible when his own should see the +light. + +Mark heard compliments and thanks with much the annoyance a practised +_raconteur_ must feel with the feeble listener who laughs heartily, +while the point of the story he is being told is still in perspective. + +And soon he wished heartily that the halo he felt was burning round +his undeserving head could be moderated or put out, like a lamp--it +was such an inconvenience. He could never escape from Holroyd's book; +people _would_ talk to him about it. + +Sooner or later, while talking to the most charming persons, just when +he was feeling himself conversationally at his very best, he would see +the symptoms he dreaded warning him that the one fatal topic was about +to be introduced, which seemed to have the effect of paralysing his +brain. He would struggle hard against it, making frantic efforts to +turn the subject, and doubling with infinite dexterity; but generally +his interlocutor was not to be put off, 'running cunning,' as it were, +like a greyhound dead to sporting instincts, and fixing him at once +with a 'Now, Mr. Ashburn, you really must allow me to express to you +some of the pleasure and instruction I have received from your book,' +and so on; and then Mark found himself forced to listen with ghastly +smiles of sham gratification to the praises of his rival, as he now +felt Holroyd was after all becoming, and had to discuss with the air +of a creator this book which he had never cared to understand, and +soon came cordially to detest. + +If he had been the real author, all this would of course have been +delightful to him; it was all so kind and so evidently sincere for the +most part, that only a very priggish or cynical person could have +affected to undervalue it, and any other, even if he felt it +overstrained now and then, would have enjoyed it frankly while it +lasted, remembering that, in the nature of things, it could not last +very long. + +But unfortunately, Mark had not written 'Illusion,' which made all the +difference. No author could have shrunk more sensitively in his inmost +soul than he did from the praise of his fellow-men, and his modesty +would have been more generally remarked had he not been wise enough to +perceive that modesty, in a man, is a virtue with a dangerous streak +of the ridiculous about it. + +And so he braced himself to go through with it and play out his part. +It would not be for long; soon he would have his own book to be +complimented upon and to explain. Meanwhile he worked hard at +'Illusion,' until he came to have a considerable surface acquaintance +with it; he knew the names of all the more important characters in it +now, and hardly ever mixed them up; he worked out most of the +allusions, and made a careful analysis of the plot and pedigrees of +some of the families. It was much harder work than reading law, and +quite as distasteful; but then it had to be done if he meant to +preserve appearances at all. + +His fame had penetrated to St. Peter's, where his fellow-masters +treated him with an unaccustomed deference, only partially veiled by +mild _badinage_ on the part of the younger men; while even the boys +were vaguely aware that he had distinguished himself in the outer +world, and Mark found his authority much easier to maintain. + +'How's that young rascal--what's his name? Langton?--the little scamp +who said he called me "Prawn," but not "Shellfish," the impident +fellow! How's _he_ getting on, hey?' said Mr. Shelford to Mark one day +about this time. + +Mark replied that the boy had left his form now, but that he heard he +was doing well, and had begun to acquire the graceful art of +verse-making. 'Verse-making? ay, ay; is he indeed? You know, Ashburn, +I often think it's a good thing there are none of the old Romans alive +now. They weren't a yumorous nation, taken as a whole; but I fancy +some of our prize Latin verses would set the stiffest of 'em +sniggering. And we laugh at "Baboo English," as they call it! But you +tell Langton from me, when you see him, that if he likes to try his +hand at a set of elegiacs on a poor old cat of mine that died the +other day, I'll look 'em over if he brings them to me after school +some day, and if they're what I consider worthy of the deceased's many +virtues, I'll find some way of rewarding him. She was a black Persian +and her name was "Jinks," but he'll find it Latinise well as "Jinxia," +tell him. And now I think of it,' he added, 'I never congratulated you +on the effort of _your_ muse. It's not often I read these things now, +but I took your book up, and--maybe I'm too candid in telling you +so--but it fairly surprised me. I'd no idea you had it in you.' + +Mark found it difficult to hit the right expression of countenance at +such a compliment, but he did it. 'There are some very fine things in +that book, sir,' continued Mr. Shelford, 'some very noble words; +remarkable for so young a man as you must be. You have lived, Ashburn, +it's easy to see that!' + +'Oh, well,' said Mark, 'I--I've knocked about, you know.' + +'Ah, and you've knocked something into you, too, which is more to the +purpose. I'd like to know now when you found time to construct your +theories of life and conduct.' + +Mark began to find this embarrassing; he said he had hit upon them at +odd times ('_very_ odd times,' he could not help remembering), and +shifted his ground a little uneasily, but he was held fast by the +buttonhole. 'They're remarkably sound and striking, I must say that, +and your story is interesting, too. I found myself looking at the +end, sir, ha, ha! to see what became of your characters. Ah, I _knew_ +there was something I wanted to ask you. There's a heading you've got +for one of your chapters, a quotation from some Latin author, which I +can't place to my satisfaction; I mean that one beginning "_Non terret +principes_."' + +'Oh, _that_ one?' repeated Mark blankly. + +'Yes, it reads to me like later Latin; where did you take it from? One +of the Fathers?' + +'One of them, I forget which,' said Mark quickly, wishing he had cut +the quotations out. + +'That _ægritudo_, now, "ægritudo superveniens," you know--how do you +understand that?' + +Mark had never troubled himself to understand it at all, so he stared +at his interrogator in rather a lost way. + +'I mean, do you take it as of the mind or body (that's what made me +fancy it must be later Latin). And then there's the _correxit_?' + +Mark admitted that there was the 'correxit.' 'It's mind,' he said +quickly. 'Oh, decidedly the mind, _not_ body, and--er--I think that's +my 'bus passing. I'll say good-bye;' and he escaped with a weary +conviction that he must devote yet more study to the detested +'Illusion.' + +This is only a sample of the petty vexations to which he had exposed +himself. He had taken over a business which he did not understand, and +naturally found the technicalities troublesome, for though, as has +been seen, his own tendencies were literary, he had not soared so high +as a philosophical romance, while his scholarship, more brilliant than +profound, was not always equal to the 'unseen passages' from +out-of-the-way authors with which Holroyd had embellished his +chapters. + +But a little more care made him feel easier on this score, and then +there were many compensations; for one unexpected piece of good +fortune, which will be recorded presently, he had mainly to thank his +friend's book. + +He had met an old acquaintance of his, a certain young Herbert +Featherstone, who had on any previous chance encounter seemed +affected by a kind of trance, during which his eyes lost all power of +vision, but was now completely recovered, so much so indeed as to +greet Mark with a quite unexpected warmth. + +Was it true that he had written this new book? What was its +name--'Delusion' or something? Fellows were saying he had; hadn't read +it himself; his mother and sister had; said it was a devilish good +book, too. Where was he hanging out now, and what was he doing on the +10th? Could he come to a little dance his people had that night? Very +well, then, he should have a card. + +Mark was slightly inclined to let the other understand that he knew +the worth of this resuscitated friendliness, but he refrained. He knew +of the Featherstones as wealthy people, with the reputation of giving +the pleasantest entertainments in London. He had his way to make in +the world, and could not afford, he thought, to neglect these +opportunities. So he went to the dance and, as he happened to dance +well, enjoyed himself, in spite of the fact that two of his partners +had read 'Illusion,' and knew him as the author of it. They were both +pretty and charming girls, but Mark did not enjoy either of those +particular valses. In the course of the evening he had a brief +conversation with his hostess, and was fortunate enough to produce a +favourable impression. Mrs. Featherstone was literary herself, as a +reputedly strong-minded lady who had once written two particularly +weak-minded novels would necessarily be. She liked to have a few +rising young literary men in her train, with whom she might discuss +subjects loftier than ordinary society cares to grasp; but she was +careful at the same time that her daughter should not share too +frequently in these intellectual privileges, for Gilda Featherstone +was very handsome, and literary men are as impressionable as other +people. + +Mark called one Saturday afternoon at the Featherstones' house in +Grosvenor Place, as he had been expressly invited to do on the +occasion of the dance, and found Mrs. Featherstone at home. It was not +her regular day, and she received him alone, though Mark heard voices +and laughter now and then from behind the hangings which concealed +the end room of the long suite. + +'And now let us talk about your delightful "Illusion," Mr. Ernstone,' +she said graciously. 'Do you know, I felt when I read your book that +some of my innermost thoughts, my highest aspirations, had been put +into words--and _such_ words--for me! It was soul speaking to soul, +and you get that in so few novels, you know! What a rapture literary +creation is! Don't you feel that? I am sure, even in my own poor +little way--you must know that _I_ have scribbled once upon a +time--even in my own experience, I know what a state of excitement I +got into over my own stories. One's characters get to be actual living +companions to one; they act by themselves, and all one has to do is +just to sit by and look on, and describe.' + +This seemed to Mark to prove a vividness of imagination on Mrs. +Featherstone's part to which her literary productions had not, so far +as he knew, done full credit. But he was equal to the occasion. + +'Your characters, Mrs. Featherstone, are companions to many more than +their creator. I must confess that I, for one, fell hopelessly in love +with your Gwendoline Vane, in "Mammon and Moonshine."' Mark had once +read a slashing review of a flabby little novel with a wooden heroine +of that name, and turned it to good account now, after his fashion. + +'Now, how nice of you to say that,' she said, highly pleased. 'I am +very fond of Gwendoline myself--my ideal, you know. I won't quote that +about "praise from Sir Hubert," because it's so very trite, but I feel +it. But do you _really_ like Gwendoline better than my Magdalen +Harwood, in "Strawberries and Cream."' + +Here Mark got into deep water once more; but he was no mean +conversational swimmer, and reached dry land without any unseemly +floundering. + +'It has been suggested to me, do you know,' she said when her own +works had been at last disposed of, 'that your "Illusion" would make +such an admirable play; the central motive really so dramatic. Of +course one would have to leave the philosophy out, and all the +beautiful reflections, but the story would be left. Have you ever +thought of dramatising it yourself, Mr. Ashburn?' + +Mark had not. 'Ah, well,' she said, 'if ever I have time again to give +to literature, I shall ask your permission to let me see what _I_ can +do with it. I have written some little charades for drawing-room +theatricals, you know, so I am not _quite_ without experience.' + +Mark, wondering inwardly how Holroyd would relish this proposal if he +were alive, said that he was sure the story would gain by her +treatment; and presently she proposed that they should go to the +further room and see 'how the young people were getting on,' which +Mark received with an immense relief, and followed her through the +_portière_ to the inner room, in which, as will be seen, an unexpected +stroke of good fortune was to befall him. + +They found the young people, with a married sister of Mrs. +Featherstone, sitting round a small table on which was a heap of +_cartes-de-visite_, as they used to be called for no very obvious +reason. + +Gilda Featherstone, a lively brunette, with the manner of a young lady +accustomed to her own way, looked up from the table to welcome Mark. +'You've caught us all at a very frivolous game, Mr. Ashburn. I hope +you won't be shocked. We've all had our feelings outraged at least +once, so we're going to stop now, while we're still on speaking +terms.' + +'But what is it?' said Mrs. Featherstone. 'It isn't cards, Gilda +dearest, is it?' + +'No, mother, not quite; very nearly though. Mr. Caffyn showed it us; +_he_ calls it "photo-nap."' + +'Let me explain, Mrs. Featherstone,' said Caffyn, who liked to drop in +at Grosvenor Place occasionally, where he was on terms of some +intimacy. 'I don't know if you're acquainted with the game of "nap"?' +Mrs. Featherstone shook her head, not too amiably, for she had been +growing alarmed of late by a habit her daughter had acquired of +mentioning or quoting this versatile young man whom her husband +persisted so blindly in encouraging. 'Ah!' said Caffyn, unabashed. +'Well, anyway, this is modelled on it. We take out a selection of +photographs, the oldest preferred, shuffle them, and deal round five +photographs to each player, and the ugliest card in each round takes +the trick.' + +'I call it a most ill-natured game,' said the aunt, who had seen an +old and unrecognised portrait of herself and the likenesses of several +of her husband's family (a plain one) voted the master-cards. + +'Oh, so much _must_ be said for it,' said Caffyn; 'it isn't a game to +be played everywhere, of course; but it gives great scope for the +emotions. Think of the pleasure of gaining a trick with the portrait +of your dearest friend, and then it's such a capital way of +ascertaining your own and others' precise positions in the beauty +scale, and all the plain people acquire quite a new value as +picture-cards.' + +He had played his own very cautiously, having found his amusement in +watching the various revelations of pique and vanity amongst the +others, and so could speak with security. + +'My brothers _all_ took tricks,' said one young lady, who had +inherited her mother's delicate beauty, while the rest of the family +resembled a singularly unhandsome father--which enabled her to speak +without very deep resentment. + +'So did poor dear papa,' said Gilda, 'but that was the one taken in +fancy dress, and he _would_ go as _Dante_.' + +'Nothing could stand against Gurgoyle,' observed Caffyn. 'He was a +sure ace every time. He'll be glad to know he was such a success. You +must tell him, Miss Featherstone.' + +'Now I won't have poor Mr. Gurgoyle made fun of,' said Mrs. +Featherstone, but with a considerable return of amiability. 'People +always tell me that with all his plainness he's the most amusing young +man in town, though I confess I never could see any signs of it +myself.' + +The fact was that an unlucky epigram by the Mr. Gurgoyle in question +at Mrs. Featherstone's expense, which of course had found its way to +her, had produced a coolness on her part, as Caffyn was perfectly well +aware. + +'"_Ars est celare artem_," as Mr. Bancroft remarks at the Haymarket,' +he said lightly. 'Gurgoyle is one of those people who is always put +down as witty till he has the indiscretion to try. _Then_ they put him +down some other way.' + +'But why is he considered witty then, if he isn't?' asked Gilda +Featherstone. + +'I don't know. I suppose because we like to think Nature makes these +compensations sometimes, but Gurgoyle must have put her out of temper +at the very beginning. She's done nothing in that way for _him_.' + +Mrs. Featherstone, although aware that the verdict on the absent +Gurgoyle was far from being a just one, was not altogether above being +pleased by it, and showed it by a manner many degrees more thawed than +that she had originally prescribed to herself in dealing with this +very ineligible young actor. + +'Mr. Ashburn,' said Miss Featherstone, after one or two glances in the +direction of Caffyn, who was absorbed in following up the advantage he +had gained with her mother, 'will you come and help me to put these +photos back? There are lots of Bertie's Cambridge friends here, and +you can tell me who those I don't know are.' + +So Mark followed her to a side table, and then came the stroke of good +fortune which has been spoken of; for, as he was replacing the +likenesses in the albums in the order they were given to him, he was +given one at the sight of which he could not avoid a slight start. It +was a _vignette_, very delicately and artistically executed, of a +girl's head, and as he looked, hardly daring to believe in such a +coincidence, he was almost certain that the pure brow, with the +tendrils of soft hair curling above it, the deep clear eyes, and the +mouth which for all its sweetness had the possibility of disdain in +its curves, were those of no other than the girl he had met months +ago, and had almost resigned himself never to meet again. + +His voice trembled a little with excitement as he said 'May I ask the +name of this lady?' + +'That is Mabel Langton. _I_ think she's perfectly lovely; don't you? +She was to have been at our dance the other night, and then you would +have seen her. But she couldn't come at the last moment.' + +'I think I have met Miss Langton,' said Mark, beginning to see now all +that he had gained by learning this simple surname. 'Hasn't she a +little sister called Dorothy?' + +'Dolly? Oh yes. Sweetly pretty child--terribly spoilt. I think she +will put dear Mabel quite in the shade by the time she comes out; her +features are so much more regular. Yes; I see you know _our_ Mabel +Langton. And now, _do_ tell me, Mr. Ashburn, because of course you can +read people's characters so clearly, you know, what do _you_ think of +Mabel, really and truly?' + +Miss Featherstone was fond of getting her views on the characters of +her friends revised and corrected for her by competent male opinion, +but it was sometimes embarrassing to be appealed to in this way, while +only a very unsophisticated person would permit himself to be entirely +candid, either in praise or detraction. + +'Well, really,' said Mark, 'you see, I have only met her once in my +life.' + +'Oh, but that must be quite enough for _you_, Mr. Ashburn! And Mabel +Langton is always such a puzzle to me. I never can quite make up my +mind if she is really as sweet as she seems. Sometimes I fancy I have +noticed--and yet I can't be sure--I've heard people say that she's +just the least bit, not exactly conceited, perhaps, but too inclined +to trust her own opinion about things and snub people who won't agree +with her. But she isn't, is she? I always say that is _quite_ a wrong +idea about her. Still perhaps---- Oh, wouldn't you like to know Mr. +Caffyn? He is very clever and amusing, you know, and has just gone on +the stage, but he's not as good there as we all thought he would be. +He's coming this way now.' Here Caffyn strolled leisurely towards +them, and the introduction was made. 'Of course you have heard of Mr. +Ashburn's great book, "Illusion"?' Gilda Featherstone said, as she +mentioned Mark's name. + +'Heard of nothing else lately,' said Caffyn. 'After which I am ashamed +to have to own I haven't read it, but it's the disgraceful truth.' + +Mark felt the danger of being betrayed by a speech like this into +saying something too hideously fatuous, over the memory of which he +would grow hot with shame in the night-watches, so he contented +himself with an indulgent smile, perhaps, in default of some +impossible combination of wit and modesty, his best available +resource. + +Besides, the new acquaintance made him strangely uneasy; he felt +warned to avoid him by one of those odd instincts which (although we +scarcely ever obey them) are surely given us for our protection; he +could not meet the cold light eyes which seemed to search him through +and through. + +'Mr. Ashburn and I were just discussing somebody's character,' said +Miss Featherstone, by way of ending an awkward pause. + +'Poor somebody!' drawled Caffyn, with an easy impertinence which he +had induced many girls, and Gilda amongst them, to tolerate, if not +admire. + +'You need not pity her,' said Gilda, indignantly; 'we were _defending_ +her.' + +'Ah!' said Caffyn, 'from one another.' + +'No, we were not; and if you are going to be cynical, and satirical, +and all that, you can go away. Well, sit down, then, and behave +yourself. What, must you go, Mr. Ashburn? Good-bye, then. Mr. Caffyn, +I want you to tell me what you _really_ think about----' + +Mark heard no more than this; he was glad to escape, to get away from +Caffyn's scrutiny. 'He looked as if he knew I was a humbug!' he +thought afterwards; and also to think at his leisure over this new +discovery, and all it meant for him. + +He knew her name now; he saw a prospect of meeting her at some time +or other in the house he had just left; but perhaps he might not even +have to wait for that. + +This little girl, whose childish letter he had tossed aside a few days +since in his blindness, who else could she be but the owner of the dog +after which he had clambered up the railway slope? And he had actually +been about to neglect her appeal! + +Well, he would write now. Who could say what might not come of it? At +all events, _she_ would read his letter. + +That letter gave Mark an infinite deal of trouble. After attentively +reading the little story to which it referred, he sat down to write, +and tore up sheet after sheet in disgust, for he had never given much +study to the childish understanding, with its unexpected deeps and +shallows, and found the task of writing down to it go much against the +grain. But the desire of satisfying a more fastidious critic than +Dolly gave him at last a kind of inspiration, and the letter he did +send, with some misgiving, could hardly have been better written for +the particular purpose. + +He was pleasantly reassured as to this a day or two later by another +little note from Dolly, asking him to come to tea at Kensington Park +Gardens on any afternoon except Monday or Thursday, and adding +(evidently by external suggestion) that her mother and sister would be +pleased to make his acquaintance. + +Mark read this with a thrill of eager joy. What he had longed for had +come to pass, then; he was to see her, speak with her, once more. At +least he was indebted to 'Illusion' for this result, which a few +months since seemed of all things the most unlikely. This time, +perhaps, she would not leave him without a word or sign, as when last +they met; he might be allowed to come again; even in time to know her +intimately. + +And he welcomed this piece of good fortune as a happy omen for the +future. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +IN THE SPRING. + + +Mark lost no time in obeying Dolly's summons, and it was with an +exhilaration a little tempered by a nervousness to which he was not +usually subject that he leaped into the dipping and lurching hansom +that was to carry him to Kensington Park Gardens. + +As Mark drove through the Park across the Serpentine, and saw the +black branches of the trees looking as if they had all been sprinkled +with a feathery green powder, and noticed the new delicacy in the +bright-hued grass, he hailed these signs as fresh confirmation of the +approach of summer--a summer that might prove a golden one for him. + +But as he drew nearer Notting Hill, his spirits sank again. What if +this opportunity were to collapse as hopelessly as the first? Mabel +would of course have forgotten him--would she let him drop +indifferently as before? He felt far from hopeful as he rang the bell. + +He asked for Miss Dorothy Langton, giving his name as 'Mr. Ernstone,' +and was shown into a little room filled with the pretty contrivances +which the modern young lady collects around her. He found Dolly there +alone, in a very stately and self-possessed mood. + +'You can bring up tea here, Champion,' she said, 'and some +tea-cake--_you_ like tea-cake of course,' she said to Mark, with +something of afterthought. 'Mother and Mabel are out, calling or +something,' she added, 'so we shall be quite alone. And now sit down +there in that chair and tell me everything you know about fairies.' + +Mark's heart sank--this was not at all what he had hoped for; but +Dolly had thrown herself back in her own chair, with such evident +expectation, and a persuasion that she had got hold of an authority on +fairy-lore, that he did not dare to expostulate--although in truth +his acquaintance with the subject was decidedly limited. + +'You can begin now,' said Dolly calmly, as Mark stared blankly into +his hat. + +'Well,' he said, 'what do you want to know about them?' + +'_All_ about them,' said Dolly, with the air of a little person +accustomed to instant obedience; Mark's letter had not quite dispelled +her doubts, and she wanted to be quite certain that such cases as that +of the sugar prince were by no means common. + +'Well,' said Mark again, clearing his throat, 'they dance round in +rings, you know, and live inside flowers, and play tricks with +people--that is,' he added, with a sort of idea that he must not +encourage superstition, 'they did once--of course there are no such +things now.' + +'Then how was it that that little girl you knew--who was not me--ate +one up?' + +'He was the last one,' said Mark. + +'But how did he get turned into sugar? Had he done anything wrong?' + +'That's how it was.' + +'What was it--he hadn't told a story, had he?' + +'It's exactly what he _had_ done,' said Mark, accepting this solution +gratefully; 'an _awful_ story!' + +'What was the story?' Dolly demanded at this, and Mark floundered on, +beginning to consider Dolly, for all her pretty looks and ways, a +decided little nuisance. + +'He--he said the Queen of the Fairies squinted,' he stammered in his +extremity. + +'Then it was she who turned him into sugar?' + +'Of course it was,' said Mark. + +'But you said he was the last fairy left!' persisted the terrible +Dolly. + +'Did I?' said Mark miserably; 'I mean the last but one--she was the +_other_.' + +'Then who was there to tell the story to?' Dolly cross-examined, and +Mark quailed, feeling that any more explanation would probably land +him in worse difficulties. + +'I don't think you know very much about it, after all,' she said with +severity. 'I suppose you put all you knew into the story. But you're +quite sure there was no fairy inside the figure _I_ ate, aren't you?' + +'Oh yes,' said Mark, 'I--I happen to know that.' + +'_That's_ all right, then,' said Dolly, with a little sigh of relief. +'Was that the only fairy story you know?' + +'Yes,' Mark hastened to explain, in deadly fear lest he might be +called upon for another. + +'Oh,' said Dolly, 'then we'd better have tea'--for the door had +opened. + +'It's not Champion after all,' she cried; 'it's Mabel. I never heard +you come back, Mabel.' + +And Mark turned to realise his dearest hopes and find himself face to +face once more with Mabel. + +She came in, looking even lovelier, he thought, in her fresh spring +toilette than in the winter furs she had worn when he had seen her +last, bent down to kiss Dolly, and then glanced at him with the light +of recognition coming into her grey eyes. + +'This is Mr. Ernstone, Mab,' said Dolly. + +The pink in Mabel's cheeks deepened slightly; the author of the book +which had stirred her so unusually was the young man who had not +thought it worth his while to see any more of them. Probably had he +known who had written to him, he would not have been there now, and +this gave a certain distance to her manner as she spoke. + +'We have met before, Mr. Ernstone,' she said, giving him her ungloved +hand. 'Very likely you have forgotten when and how, but I am sure +Dolly had not, had you, Dolly?' + +But Dolly had, having been too much engrossed with her dog on the day +of the breakdown to notice appearances, even of his preserver, very +particularly. '_When_ did I see him before, Mabel?' she whispered. + +'Oh, Dolly, ungrateful child! don't you remember who brought Frisk out +of the train for you that day in the fog?' But Dolly hung her head and +drooped her long lashes, twining her fingers with one of those sudden +attacks of awkwardness that sometimes seize the most self-possessed +children. 'You never thanked him then, you know,' continued Mabel; +'aren't you going to say a word to him now?' + +'Thank you very much for saving my dog,' murmured Dolly, very quickly +and without looking at him; when Mabel, seeing that she was not at her +ease, suggested that she should run and fetch Frisk to return thanks +in person, which Dolly accepted gladly as permission to escape. + + * * * * * + +Mark had risen, of course, at Mabel's entrance, and was standing at +one corner of the curtained mantelpiece; Mabel was at the other, +absently smoothing the fringe with delicate curves of her hand and +with her eyes bent on the rug at her feet. Both were silent for a few +moments. Mark had felt the coldness in her manner. 'She remembers how +shabbily she treated me,' he thought, 'and she's too proud to show +it.' + +'You must forgive Dolly,' said Mabel at last, thinking that if Mark +meant to be stiff and disagreeable, there was no need at least for the +interview to be made ridiculous. 'Children have short memories--for +faces only, I hope, not kindnesses. But if you had cared to be thanked +we should have seen you before.' + +'Rather cool that,' Mark thought. 'I am only surprised,' he said, +'that _you_ should remember it; you gave me more thanks than I +deserved at the time. Still, as I had no opportunity of learning your +name or where you lived--if you recollect we parted very suddenly, and +you gave me no permission----' + +'But I sent a line to you by the guard,' she said; 'I gave you our +address and asked you to call and see my mother, and let Dolly thank +you properly.' + +She was not proud and ungracious after all, then. He felt a great joy +at the thought, and shame, too, for having so misjudged her. 'If I had +ever received it,' he said, 'I hope you will believe that you would +have seen me before this; but I asked for news of you from that burly +old impostor of a guard, and he--he gave me no intelligible message' +(Mark remembered suddenly the official's extempore effort), 'and +certainly nothing in writing.' + +Mark's words were evidently sincere, and as she heard them, the +coldness and constraint died out of Mabel's face, the slight +misunderstanding between them was over. + +'After all, you are here, in spite of guards,' she said, with a gay +little laugh. 'And now we have even more to be grateful to you for.' +And then, simply and frankly, she told him of the pleasure 'Illusion' +had given her, while, at her gracious words, Mark felt almost for the +first time the full meanness of his fraud, and wished, as he had +certainly never wished before, that he had indeed written the book. + +But this only made him shrink from the subject; he acknowledged what +she said in a few formal words, and attempted to turn the +conversation, more abruptly than he had done for some time on such +occasions. Mabel was of opinion, and with perfect justice, that even +genius itself would scarcely be warranted in treating her approval in +this summary fashion, and felt slightly inclined to resent it, even +while excusing it to herself as the unintentional _gaucherie_ of an +over-modest man. + +'I ought to have remembered perhaps,' she said, with a touch of pique +in her voice, 'that you must long ago have tired of hearing such +things.' + +He had indeed, but he saw that his brusqueness had annoyed her, and +hastened to explain. 'You must not think that is so,' he said, very +earnestly; 'only, there is praise one cannot trust oneself to listen +to long----' + +'And it really makes you uncomfortable to be talked to about +"Illusion"?' said Mabel. + +'I will be quite frank, Miss Langton,' said Mark (and he really felt +that he must for his own peace of mind convince her of this); +'_really_ it does. Because, you see, I feel all the time--I hope, that +is--that I can do much better work in the future.' + +'And we have all been admiring in the wrong place? I see,' said Mabel, +with apparent innocence, but a rather dangerous gleam in her eyes. + +'Oh, I know it sounds conceited,' said Mark, 'but the real truth is, +that when I hear such kind things said about a work which--which gave +me so very little trouble to produce, it makes me a little +uncomfortable sometimes, because (you know how perversely things +happen sometimes), because I can't help a sort of fear that my next +book, to which I really am giving serious labour, may be utterly +unnoticed, or--or worse!' + +There was no possibility of mistaking this for mock-modesty, and +though Mabel thought such sensitiveness rather overstrained, she liked +him for it notwithstanding. + +'I think you need not fear that,' she said; 'but you shall not be made +uncomfortable any more. And you are writing another book? May I ask +you about that, or is that another indiscretion?' + +Mark was only too delighted to be able to talk about a book which he +really _had_ written; it was at least a change; and he plunged into +the subject with much zest. 'It deals with things and men,' he +concluded, 'on rather a larger scale than "Illusion" has done. I have +tried to keep it clear of all commonplace characters.' + +'But then it will not be quite so lifelike, will it?' suggested Mabel; +'and in "Illusion" you made even commonplace characters interesting.' + +'That is very well,' he said, a little impatiently, 'for a book which +does not aim at the first rank. It is easy enough to register exactly +what happens around one. Anybody who keeps a diary can do that. The +highest fiction should idealise.' + +'I'm afraid I prefer the other fiction, then,' said Mabel. 'I like to +sympathise with the characters, and you can't sympathise with an ideal +hero and heroine. I hope you will let your heroine have one or two +little weaknesses, Mr. Ernstone.' + +'Now you are laughing at me,' said Mark, more humbly. 'I must leave +you to judge between the two books, and if I can only win your +approval, Miss Langton, I shall prize it more than I dare to say.' + +'If it is at all like "Illusion----" Oh, I forgot,' Mabel broke off +suddenly. 'That is forbidden ground, isn't it? And now, will you come +into the drawing-room and be introduced to my mother? We shall find +some tea there.' + +Mrs. Langton was a little sleepy after a long afternoon of +card-leaving and call-paying, but she was sufficiently awake to be +gracious when she had quite understood who Mark was. + +'So very kind of you to write to my little daughter about such +nonsense,' she said. 'Of course I don't mean that the story itself was +anything of the kind, but little girls have such silly fancies--at +least mine seem to have. _You_, were just the same at Dolly's age, +Mabel.... Now _I_ never recollect worrying myself about such ideas.... +I'm sure I don't know how they get it. But I hear it is such a +wonderful book you have written, Mr. Ernstone. I've not read it yet. +My wretched health, you know. But really, when I think how clever you +must be, I feel quite afraid to talk to you. I always consider it must +require so _much_ cleverness and--and perseverance--you know, to write +_any_ book.' + +'Oh, Mabel, only think,' cried Dolly, now quite herself again, from +one of the window-seats, 'Frisk has run away again, and been out ever +since yesterday morning. I forgot that just now. So Mr. Ernstone can't +see him after all!' + +And Mabel explained to her mother that they had recognised in the +author of 'Illusion' the unknown rescuer of Dolly's dog. + +'You mustn't risk such a valuable life as yours is now any more,' said +Mrs. Langton, after purring out thanks which were hazily expressed, +owing to an imperfect recollection of the circumstances. 'You must be +more selfish after this, for other people's sakes.' + +'I'm afraid such consideration would not be quite understood,' said +Mark, laughing. + +'Oh, you must expect to be misunderstood, else there would be no merit +in it, would there?' said Mrs. Langton, not too lucidly. 'Dolly, my +pet, there's something scratching outside the door. Run and see what +it is.' + +Mark rose and opened the door, and presently a ridiculous little +draggled object, as black as a cinder, its long hair caked and clotted +with dried mud, shuffled into the room with the evident intention of +sneaking into a warm corner without attracting public notice--an +intention promptly foiled by the indignant Dolly. + +'O-oh!' she cried; 'it's Frisk. Look at him, everybody--_do_ look at +him.' + +The unhappy animal backed into the corner by the door with his eyes on +Dolly's, and made a conscience-stricken attempt to sit up and wave one +paw in deprecation, doubtless prepared with a plausible explanation of +his singular appearance, which much resembled that of 'Mr. Dolls' +returning to Jenny Wren after a long course of 'three-penn'orths.' + +'Aren't you ashamed of yourself?' demanded Dolly. '(Don't laugh, Mr. +Ernstone, _please_--it encourages him so.) Oh, I believe you're the +very worst dog in Notting Hill.' + +The possessor of that bad eminence sat and shivered, as if engaged in +a rough calculation of his chances of a whipping; but Dolly governed +him on these occasions chiefly by the moral sanction--an immunity he +owed to his condition. + +'And this,' said Dolly, scathingly, 'this is the dog you saved from +the train, Mr. Ernstone! There's gratitude! The next time he shall be +left to be killed--he's not worth saving!' + +Either the announcement or the suspense, according as one's estimate +of his intellectual powers may vary, made the culprit snuffle +dolefully, and after Dolly had made a few further uncomplimentary +observations on the general vileness of his conduct and the extreme +uncleanliness of his person, which he heard abjectly, he was dismissed +with his tail well under him, probably to meditate that if he did not +wish to rejoin his race altogether, he really would have to pull up. + +Soon after this sounds were heard in the hall, as of a hat being +pitched into a corner, and a bag with some heavy objects in it +slammed on a table to a whistling accompaniment. 'That's Colin,' said +Dolly, confidentially. 'Mother says he ought to be getting more repose +of manner, but he hasn't begun yet.' + +And soon after Colin himself made his appearance. 'Hullo, Mabel! +Hullo, mother! Yes, I've washed my hands and I've brushed my hair. +It's _all_ right, really. Well, Dolly. What, Mr. Ashburn here!' he +broke off, staring a little as he went up to shake hands with Mark. + +'I ought to have explained, perhaps,' said Mark. 'Ernstone is only the +name I write under. And I had the pleasure of having your son in my +form at St. Peter's for some time. Hadn't I, Colin?' + +'Yes, sir,' said Colin, shyly, still rather overcome by so unexpected +an apparition, and thinking this would be something to tell 'the +fellows' next day. + +Mabel laughed merrily. 'Mr. Ashburn, I wonder how many more people you +will turn out to be!' she said. 'If you knew how afraid I was of you +when I used to help Colin with his Latin exercises, and how angry when +you found me out in any mistakes! I pictured you as a very awful +personage indeed.' + +'So I am,' said Mark, 'officially. I'm sure your brother will agree to +that.' + +'I don't think he will,' said Mabel. 'He was so sorry when they moved +him out of your form, that you can't have been so very bad.' + +'I liked being in the Middle Third, sir,' said Colin, regaining +confidence. 'It was much better fun than old--I mean Mr. Blatherwick's +is. I wish I was back again--for _some_ things,' he qualified +conscientiously. + +When the time came to take his leave, Mrs. Langton asked for his +address, with a view to an invitation at no distant time. A young man, +already a sort of celebrity, and quite presentable on other accounts, +would be useful at dances, while he might serve to leaven some of her +husband's slightly heavy professional dinners. + +Mabel gave him her hand at parting with an air of entire friendliness +and good understanding which she did not usually display on so short +a probation. But she liked this Mr. Ashburn already, who on the last +time she had met him had figured as a kind of hero, who was the +'swell' master for whom, without having seen him, she had caught +something of Colin's boyish admiration, and who, lastly, had stirred +and roused her imagination through the work of his own. + +Perhaps, after all, he was a little conceited, but then it was not an +offensive conceit, but one born of a confidence in himself which was +fairly justified. She had not liked his manner of disparaging his +first work, and she rather distrusted his idealising theories; still, +she knew that clever people often find it difficult to do justice to +their ideas in words. He _might_ produce a work which would take rank +with the very greatest, and till then she could admire what he had +already accomplished. + +And besides he was good-looking--very good-looking; his dark eyes had +expressed a very evident satisfaction at being there and talking to +her--which of course was in his favour; his manner was bright and +pleasant: and so Mabel found it agreeable to listen to her mother's +praise of their departed visitor. + +'A very charming young man, my dear. You've only to look at him to see +he's a true genius; and so unaffected and pleasant with it all. Quite +an acquisition, really.' + +'_I_ found him, mother,' interrupted Dolly; 'he wouldn't have come but +for me. But I'm rather disappointed in him myself; he didn't seem to +care to talk to _me_ much; and I don't believe he knows much about +fairies.' + +'Don't be ungrateful, Dolly,' said Mabel. 'Who saved Frisk for you?' + +'Oh, _he_ did; I know all that; but not because he liked Frisk, or me +either. It was because--I don't know _why_ it was because.' + +'Because he is a good young man, I suppose,' said Mrs. Langton +instructively. + +'No, it wasn't that; he doesn't look so _very_ good; not so good as +poor Vincent did; more good than Harold, though. But he doesn't care +about dogs, and he doesn't care about me, and I don't care about +him!' concluded Dolly, rather defiantly. + +As for Mark, he left the house thoroughly and helplessly in love. As +he walked back to his rooms he found a dreamy pleasure in recalling +the different stages of the interview. Mabel's slender figure as she +stood opposite him by the mantelpiece, her reserve at first, and the +manner in which it had thawed to a frank and gracious interest; the +suspicion of a critical but not unkindly mockery in her eyes and tone +at times--it all came back to him with a vividness that rendered him +deaf and blind to his actual surroundings. He saw again the group in +the dim, violet-scented drawing-room, the handsome languid woman +murmuring her pleasant commonplaces, and the pretty child lecturing +the prodigal dog, and still felt the warm light touch of Mabel's hand +as it had lain in his for an instant at parting. + +This time, too, the parting was not without hope; he might look +forward to seeing her again after this. A summer of golden dreams and +fancies had indeed begun for him from that day, and as he thought +again that he owed these high privileges to 'Illusion,' events seemed +more than ever to be justifying an act which was fast becoming as +remote and unreproachful as acts will, when the dread of +discovery--that great awakener of conscience--is sleeping too. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +HAROLD CAFFYN MAKES A DISCOVERY. + + +Harold Caffyn had not found much improvement in his professional +prospects since we first made his acquaintance; his disenchantment was +in fact becoming complete. He had taken to the stage at first in +reliance on the extravagant eulogies of friends, forgetting that the +standard for amateurs in any form of art is not a high one, and he +was very soon brought to his proper level. A good appearance and +complete self-possession were about his sole qualifications, unless we +add the voice and manner of a man in good society, which are not by +any means the distinctive advantages that they were a few years ago. +The general verdict of his fellow-professionals was, 'Clever enough, +but no actor,' and he was without the sympathy or imagination to +identify himself completely with any character and feelings opposed to +his own; he had obtained one distinct success, and one only--at a +_matinée_, when a new comedy was presented in which a part of some +consequence had been entrusted to him. He was cast for a cool and +cynical adventurer, with a considerable dash of the villain in him, +and played it admirably, winning very favourable notices from the +press, although the comedy itself resulted as is not infrequent with +_matinées_, in a dismal fiasco. However, the _matinée_ proved for a +time of immense service to him in the profession, and even led to his +being chosen by his manager to represent the hero of the next +production at his own theatre--a poetical drama which had excited +great interest before its appearance--and if Caffyn could only have +made his mark in it, his position would have been assured from that +moment. But the part was one of rather strained sentiment, and he +could not, rather than would not, make it effective. In spite of +himself, his manner suggested rather than concealed any extravagances +in the dialogue, and, worse still, gave the impression that he was +himself contemptuously conscious of them; the consequence being that +he repelled the sympathies of his audience to a degree that very +nearly proved fatal to the play. After that unlucky first night the +part was taken from him, and his engagement, which terminated shortly +afterwards, was not renewed. + +Caffyn was not the man to overcome his deficiencies by hard and +patient toil; he had counted upon an easy life with immediate +triumphs, and the reality baffled and disheartened him. He might soon +have slid into the lounging life of a man about town, with a moderate +income, expensive tastes, and no occupation, and from that perhaps +even to shady and questionable walks of life. But he had an object +still in keeping his head above the social waters, and the object was +Mabel Langton. + +He had long felt that there was a secret antagonism on her side +towards himself, which at first he had found amusement in provoking to +an occasional outburst, but was soon piqued into trying to overcome +and disarm, and the unexpected difficulty of this had produced in him +a state of mind as nearly approaching love as he was capable of. + +He longed for the time when his wounded pride would be salved by the +consciousness that he had at last obtained the mastery of this wayward +nature, when he would be able to pay off the long score of slights and +disdains which he had come to exaggerate morbidly; he was resolved to +conquer her sooner or later in defiance of all obstacles, and he had +found few natures capable of resisting him long after he had set +himself seriously to subdue them. + +But Mabel had been long in showing any sign of yielding. For some time +after the loss of the 'Mangalore' she had been depressed and silent to +a degree which persuaded Caffyn that his old jealousy of Holroyd was +well-grounded, and when she recovered her spirits somewhat, while she +was willing to listen and laugh or talk to him, there was always the +suggestion of an armistice in her manner, and any attempt on his part +to lead the conversation to something beyond mere badinage was sure to +be adroitly parried or severely put down, as her mood varied. + +Quite recently, however, there had been a slight change for the +better; she had seemed more pleased to see him, and had shown more +sympathy and interest in his doings. This was since his one success at +the _matinée_, and he told himself triumphantly that she had at last +recognised his power; that the long siege was nearly over. + +He would have been much less complacent had he known the truth, which +was this. At the _matinée_ Mabel had certainly been at first surprised +almost to admiration by an unexpected display of force on Caffyn's +part. But as the piece went on, she could not resist an impression +that this was not acting, but rather an unconscious revelation of his +secret self; the footlights seemed to be bringing out the hidden +character of the man as though it had been written on him in +sympathetic ink. + +As she leaned back in the corner of the box he had sent them, she +began to remember little traits of boyish malice and cruelty. Had they +worked out of his nature, as such strains sometimes will, or was this +stage adventurer, cold-blooded, unscrupulous, with a vein of +diabolical humour in his malevolence, the real Harold Caffyn? + +And then she had seen the injustice of this and felt almost ashamed of +her thoughts, and with the wish to make some sort of reparation, and +perhaps the consciousness that she had not given him many +opportunities of showing her his better side, her manner towards him +had softened appreciably. + +Caffyn only saw the effects, and argued favourably from them. 'Now +that fellow Holroyd is happily out of the way,' he thought, 'she +doesn't care for anybody in particular. I've only to wait.' + +There were considerations other than love or pride which made the +marriage a desirable one to him. Mabel's father was a rich man, and +Mabel herself was entitled independently to a considerable sum on +coming of age. He could hardly do better for himself than by making +such a match, even from the pecuniary point of view. + +And so he looked about him anxiously for some opening more suitable to +his talent than the stage-door, for he was quite aware that at present +Mabel's father, whatever Mabel herself might think, would scarcely +consider him a desirable _parti_. + +Caffyn had been lucky enough to impress a business friend of his with +a firm conviction of his talents for business and management, and this +had led to a proposal that he should leave the stage and join him, +with a prospect of a partnership should the alliance prove a success. + +The business was a flourishing one, and the friend a young man who had +but recently succeeded to the complete control of it, while Caffyn had +succeeded somehow in acquiring a tolerably complete control of _him_. +So the prospect was really an attractive one, and he felt that now at +last he might consider the worst obstacles to his success with Mabel +were disposed of. + +He had plenty of leisure time on his hands at present, and thought he +would call at Kensington Park Gardens one afternoon, and try the +effect of telling Mabel of his prospects. She had been so cordial and +sympathetic of late that it would be strange if she did not express +some sort of pleasure, and it would be for him to decide then whether +or not his time had come to speak of his hopes. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. and Miss Langton were out, he was told at the door. 'Miss Dolly +was in,' added Champion, to whom Caffyn was well known. + +'Then I'll see Miss Dolly,' said Caffyn, thinking that he might be +able to pass the time until Mabel's return. 'In the morning-room is +she? All right.' + +He walked in alone, to find Dolly engaged in tearing off the postage +stamp from a letter. 'Hallo, Miss Juggins, what mischief are you up to +now?' he began, as he stood in the doorway. + +'It's not mischief at all,' said Dolly, hardly deigning to look up +from her occupation. 'What have you come in for, Harold?' + +'For the pleasure of your conversation,' said Caffyn. 'You know you +always enjoy a talk with me, Dolly.' (Dolly made a little mouth at +this.) 'But what are you doing with those scissors and that envelope, +if I'm not indiscreet in asking?' + +Dolly was in a subdued and repentant mood just then, for she had been +so unlucky as to offend Colin the day before, and he had not yet +forgiven her. It had happened in this way. It had been a half-holiday, +and Colin had brought home an especial friend of his to spend the +afternoon, to be shown his treasures and, in particular, to give his +opinion as an expert on the merits of Colin's collection of foreign +postage-stamps. + +Unhappily for Colin's purpose, however, Dolly had completely enslaved +the friend from the outset. Charmed by his sudden interest in the most +unboyish topics, she had carried him off to see her doll's house, and, +in spite of Colin's grumbling dissuasion, the base friend had gone +meekly. Worse still, he had remained up there listening to Dolly's +personal anecdotes and reminiscences and seeing Frisk put through his +performances, until it was too late to do anything like justice to the +stamp album, over which Colin had been sulkily fuming below, divided +between hospitality and impatience. + +Dolly had been perfectly guiltless of the least touch of coquetry in +thus monopolising the visitor, for she was not precocious in this +respect, and was merely delighted to find a boy who, unlike Colin, +would condescend to sympathise with her pursuits; but perhaps the boy +himself, a susceptible youth, found Dolly's animated face and eager +confidences more attractive than the rarest postal issues. + +When he had gone, Colin's pent-up indignation burst out on the +unsuspecting Dolly. She had done it on purpose. She knew Dickinson +major came to see his stamps. What did _he_ care about her rubbishy +dolls? And there she had kept him up in the nursery for hours wasting +his time! It was too bad of her, and so on, until she wept with grief +and penitence. + +And now she was seizing the opportunity of purchasing his forgiveness +by an act of atonement in kind, in securing what seemed to her to be +probably a stamp of some unknown value--to a boy. But she did not tell +all this to Caffyn. + +'Do you know about stamps--is this a rare one?' she said, and brought +the stamp she had removed to Caffyn. The postmark had obliterated the +name upon it. + +'Let's look at the letter,' said Caffyn; and Dolly put it in his +hand. + +He took it to the window, and gave a slight start. 'When did this +come?' he said sharply. + +'Just now,' said Dolly; 'a minute or two before you came. I heard the +postman, and I ran out into the hall to see the letters drop in the +box, and then I saw this one with the stamp, and the box wasn't +locked, so I took it out and tore the stamp off. Why do you look like +that, Harold? It's only for Mabel, and she won't mind.' + +Caffyn was still at the window; he had just received a highly +unpleasant shock, and was trying to get over it and adjust himself to +the facts revealed by what he held in his hand. + +The letter was from India, bore a Colombo postmark, and was in Vincent +Holroyd's hand, which Caffyn happened to know; if further proof were +required he had it by pressing the thin paper of the envelope against +the inclosure beneath, when several words became distinctly legible, +besides those visible already through the gap left by the stamp. Thus +he read, 'Shall not write again till you----' and lower down Holroyd's +full signature. + +And the letter had that moment arrived. He saw no other possible +conclusion than that, by some extraordinary chance, Holroyd had +escaped the fate which was supposed to have befallen him. He was +alive; a more dangerous rival after this than ever. This letter might +even contain a proposal! + +'No use speaking to Mabel after she has once seen this. Confound the +fellow! Why the deuce couldn't he stay in the sea? It's just my +infernal luck!' + +As he thought of the change this letter would work in his prospects, +and his own complete powerlessness to prevent it, the gloom and +perplexity on his face deepened. He had been congratulating himself on +the removal of this particular man as a providential arrangement made +with some regard to his own convenience. And to see him resuscitated, +at that time of all others, was hard indeed to bear. And yet what +could he do? + +As Caffyn stood by the window with Holroyd's letter in his hand, he +felt an insane temptation for a moment to destroy or retain it. Time +was everything just then, and even without the fragment he had been +able to read, he could, from his knowledge of the writer, conclude +with tolerable certainty that he would not write again without having +received an answer to his first letter. 'If I was only alone with it!' +he thought impatiently. But he was a prudent young man, and perfectly +aware of the consequences of purloining correspondence; and besides, +there was Dolly to be reckoned with--she alone had seen the thing as +yet. But then she _had_ seen it, and was not more likely to hold her +tongue about that than any other given subject. No, he could do +nothing; he must let things take their own course and be hanged to +them! + +His gloomy face filled Dolly with a sudden fear; she forgot her +dislike, and came timidly up to him and touched his arm. 'What's the +matter, Harold?' she faltered. 'Mabel won't be angry. I--I haven't +done anything _wrong_, have I, Harold?' + +He came out of his reverie to see her upturned face raised to his--and +started; his active brain had in that instant decided on a desperate +expedient, suggested by the sight of the trouble in her eyes. 'By +Jove, I'll try!' he thought; 'it's worth it--she's such a child--I may +manage it yet!' + +'Wrong!' he said impressively, 'it's worse than that. My poor Dolly, +didn't you really know what you were doing?' + +'N--no,' said Dolly; 'Harold, don't tease me--don't tell me what isn't +true ... it--it frightens me so!' + +'My dear child, what can I tell you? Surely you know that what you did +was stealing?' + +'Stealing!' echoed Dolly, with great surprised eyes. 'Oh, no, +Harold--not _stealing_. Why, of course I shall tell Mabel, and ask her +for the stamp afterwards--only if I hadn't torn it off first, she +might throw it away before I could ask, you know!' + +'I'm afraid it was stealing all the same,' said Caffyn, affecting a +sorrowfully compassionate tone; 'nothing can alter that now, Dolly.' + +'Mabel won't be angry with me for that, I know,' said Dolly; 'she will +see how it was really.' + +'If it was only Mabel,' said Caffyn, 'we should have no reason to +fear; but Mabel can't do anything for you, poor Dolly! It's the _law_ +that punishes these things. You know what law is?--the police, and the +judges.' + +The piteous change in the child's face, the dark eyes brimming with +rising tears, and the little mouth drawn and trembling, might have +touched some men; indeed, even Caffyn felt a languid compunction for +what he was doing. But his only chance lay in working upon her fears; +he could not afford to be sentimental just then, and so he went on, +carefully calculating each word. + +'Oh, I won't believe it,' cried Dolly, with a last despairing effort +to resist the effect his grave pity was producing; 'I can't. Harold, +you're trying to frighten me. I'm not frightened a bit. _Say_ you are +only in fun!' + +But Caffyn turned away in well-feigned distress. 'Do I look as if it +was fun, Dolly?' he asked, with an effective quiver in his low voice; +he had never acted so well as this before. 'Is that this morning's +paper over there?' he asked, with a sudden recollection, as he saw the +sheet on a little round wicker table. 'Fetch it, Dolly, will you?' + +'I must manage the obstinate little witch somehow,' he thought +impatiently, and turned to the police reports, where he remembered +that morning to have read the case of an unhappy postman who had +stolen stamps from the letters entrusted to him. + +He found it now and read it aloud to her. 'If you don't believe me,' +he added, 'look for yourself--you can read. Do you see now--those +stamps were marked. Well, isn't _this_ one marked?' + +'Oh, it is!' cried Dolly, 'marked all over! Yes, I do believe you now, +Harold. But what shall I do? I know--I'll tell papa--he won't let me +go to prison!' + +'Why, papa's a lawyer--you know that,' said Caffyn; 'he has to _help_ +the law--not hinder it. Whatever you do, I shouldn't advise you to +tell him, or he would be obliged to do his duty. You don't want to be +shut up for years all alone in a dark prison, do you, Dolly? And yet, +if what you've done is once found out, nothing can help you--not your +father, not your mamma--not Mabel herself--the law's too strong for +them all!' + +This strange and horrible idea of an unknown power into whose clutches +she had suddenly fallen, and from which even love and home were unable +to shield her, drove the poor child almost frantic; she clung to him +convulsively, with her face white as death, terrified beyond tears. +'Harold!' she cried, seizing his hand in both hers, 'you won't let +them! I--I can't go to prison, and leave them all. I don't like the +dark. I _couldn't_ stay in it till I was grown up, and never see Mabel +or Colin or anybody. Tell me what to do--only tell me, and I'll do +it!' + +Again some quite advanced scoundrels might have hesitated to cast so +fearful a shadow over a child's bright life, and the necessity annoyed +Caffyn to some extent, but his game was nearly won--there would not be +much more of it. + +'I mustn't _do_ anything for you,' he said; 'if I did my duty, I +should have to give you up to---- No, it's all right, Dolly, I should +never dream of doing that. But I can do no more. Still, if you choose, +you can help _yourself_--and I promise to say nothing about it.' + +'How do you mean?' said Dolly; 'if--if I stuck it together and left +it?' + +'Do you think that wouldn't be seen? It would, though! No, Dolly, if +anyone but you and I catches sight of that letter, it will all be +found out--must be!' + +'Do you mean?--oh, no, Harold, I couldn't _burn_ it!' + +There was a fire in the grate, for the morning, in spite of the +season, had been chilly. + +'Don't suppose _I_ advise you to burn it,' said Caffyn. 'It's a bad +business from beginning to end--it's wrong (at least it isn't right) +to burn the letter. Only--there's no other way, if you want to keep +out of prison. And if you make up your mind to burn it, Dolly, why you +can rely on me to keep the secret. _I_ don't want to see a poor +little girl shut up in prison if I can help it, _I_ can tell you. But +do as you like about it, Dolly; I mustn't interfere.' + +Dolly could bear it no more; she snatched the flimsy foreign paper, +tore it across and flung it into the heart of the fire. Then, as the +flames began to play round the edges, she repented, and made a wild +dart forward to recover the letter. 'It's Mabel's,' she cried; 'I'm +afraid to burn it--I'm afraid!' + +But Caffyn caught her, and held her little trembling hands fast in his +cool grasp, while the letter that Holroyd had written in Ceylon with +such wild secret hopes flared away to a speckled grey rag, and floated +lightly up the chimney. 'Too late now, Dolly!' he said, with a ring of +triumph in his voice. 'You would only have blistered those pretty +little fingers of yours, my child. And now,' he said, indicating the +scrap of paper which bore the stamp, 'if you'll take my advice, you'll +send that thing after the other.' + +For the sake of this paltry bit of coloured paper Dolly had done it +all, and now that must go!--she had not even purchased Colin's +forgiveness by her wrong--and this last drop in her cup was perhaps +the bitterest. She dropped the stamp guiltily between two red-hot +coals, watched that too as it burnt, and then threw herself into an +arm-chair and sobbed in passionate remorse. + +'Oh, why did I do it?' she wailed; 'why did you make me do it, +Harold?' + +'Come, Dolly, I like that,' said Caffyn, who saw the necessity for +having this understood at once. '_I_ made you do nothing, if you +please--it was all done before I came in. I may think you were very +sensible in getting rid of the letter in that way--I do--but you did +it of your own accord--remember that.' + +'I was quite good half an hour ago,' moaned the child, 'and now I'm a +wicked girl--a--a thief! No one will speak to me any more--they'll +send me to prison!' + +'Now don't talk nonsense,' said Caffyn, a little alarmed, not having +expected a child to have such strong feelings about anything. 'And +for goodness' sake don't cry like that--there's nothing to cry about +_now_.... You're perfectly safe as long as you hold your tongue. You +don't suppose I shall tell of you, do you?' (and it really was highly +improbable). 'There's nothing to show what you've done. And--and you +didn't mean to do anything bad, I know _that_, of course. You needn't +make yourself wretched about it. It's only the way the law looks at +stealing stamps, you know. Come, I must be off now; can't wait for +Mabel any longer. But I must see a smile before I go--just a little +one, Juggins--to thank me for helping you out of your scrape, eh?' +(Dolly's mouth relaxed in a very faint smile.) 'That's right--now +you're feeling jolly again; cheer up, you can trust me, you know.' And +he went out, feeling tolerably secure of her silence. + +'It's rough on her, poor little thing!' he soliloquised as he walked +briskly away; 'but she'll forget all about it soon enough--children +do. And what the deuce could I do? No, I'm glad I looked in just then. +Our resuscitated friend won't write again for a month or two--and by +that time it will be too late. And if this business comes out (which I +don't imagine it ever will) _I've_ done nothing anyone could lay hold +of. I was very careful about that. I must have it out with Mabel as +soon as I can now--there's nothing to be gained by waiting!' + +_Would_ Dolly forget all about it? She did not like Harold Caffyn, but +it never occurred to her to disbelieve the terrible things he had told +her. She was firmly convinced that she had done something which, if +known, would cut her off completely from home and sympathy and love; +she who had hardly known more than a five minutes' sorrow in her happy +innocent little life, believed herself a guilty thing with a secret. +Henceforth in the shadows there would lurk something more dreadful +even than the bogeys with which some foolish nursemaids people shadows +for their charges--the gigantic hand of the law, ready to drag her off +at any moment from all she loved. And there seemed no help for her +anywhere--for had not Harold said that if her father or anyone were +to know, they would be obliged to give her up to punishment. + +Perhaps if Caffyn had been capable of fully realising what a deadly +poison he had been instilling into this poor child's mind, he might +have softened matters a little more (provided his object could have +been equally well attained thereby), and that is all that can be said +for him. But, as it was, he only saw that he must make as deep an +impression as he could for the moment, and never doubted that she +would forget his words as soon as he should himself. + +But if there was some want of thought in the evil he had done, the +want of thought in this case arose from a constitutional want of +heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +A CHANGE OF FRONT. + + +'Well, Jane,' said Mr. Lightowler one evening, when he had invited +himself to dine and sleep at the house in Malakoff Terrace, 'I suppose +you haven't heard anything of that grand young gentleman of yours +yet?' + +The Ashburns, with the single exception of Trixie, had remained +obstinately indifferent to the celebrity which Mark had so suddenly +obtained; it did not occur to most of them indeed that distinction was +possible in the course he had taken. Perhaps many of Mahomet's +relations thought it a pity that he should abandon his excellent +prospects in the caravan business (where he was making himself so much +respected), for the precarious and unremunerative career of a prophet. + +Trixie, however, had followed the book's career with wondering +delight; she had bought a copy for herself, Mark not having found +himself equal to sending her one, and she had eagerly collected +reviews and allusions of all kinds, and tried hard to induce Martha +at least to read the book. + +Martha had coldly declined. She had something of her mother's hard, +unimaginative nature, and read but little fiction; and besides, having +from the first sided strongly against Mark, she would not compromise +her dignity now by betraying so much interest in his performances. +Cuthbert read the book, but in secret, and as he said nothing to its +discredit, it may be presumed that he could find no particular fault +with it. Mrs. Ashburn would have felt almost inclined, had she known +the book was in the house, to order it to be put away from among them +like an evil thing, so strong was her prejudice; and her husband, +whatever he felt, expressed no interest or curiosity on the subject. + +So at Mr. Lightowler's question, which was put more as a vent for his +own outraged feelings than any real desire for information, Mrs. +Ashburn's face assumed its grimmest and coldest expression as she +replied--'No, Solomon. Mark has chosen his own road--we neither have +nor expect to have any news of him. At this very moment he may be +bitterly repenting his folly and disobedience somewhere.' + +Upon which Cuthbert observed that he considered that extremely +probable, and Mr. Ashburn found courage to ask a question. 'I--I +suppose he hasn't come or written to _you_ yet, Solomon?' he said. + +'No, Matthew,' said his brother-in-law, 'he has not. I'd just like to +see him coming to me; he wouldn't come twice, I can tell him! No, I +tell you, as I told him, I've done with him. When a young man repays +all I've spent on him with base ingratitude like that, I wash my hands +of him--I say deliberately--I wash my 'ands. Why, he might have worked +on at his law, and I'd a' set him up and put him in the way of making +his living in a few years; made him a credit to all connected with +him, I would! But he's chosen to turn a low scribbler, and starve in a +garret, which he'll come to soon enough, and that's what I get for +trying to help a nephew. Well, it will be a lesson to me, I know +that. Young men have gone off since my young days; a lazy, selfish, +conceited lot they are, all of 'em.' + +'Not _all_, Solomon,' said his sister. 'I'm sure there are young men +still who--Cuthbert, _how_ long was it you stayed at the office after +hours to make up your books? Of his own free will, too, Solomon! And +_he's_ never had anyone to encourage him, or help him on, poor boy!' + +Mrs. Ashburn was not without hopes that her brother might be brought +to understand in time that the family did not end with Mark, but she +might have spared her pains just then. + +'Oh,' he said, with a rather contemptuous toss of the head, 'I wasn't +hinting. I've nothing partickler against him--_he's_ steady enough, I +dessay. One of the other kind's enough in a small family, in all +conscience! Ah, Jane, if ever a man was regularly taken in by a boy, I +was by his brother Mark--a bright, smart, clever young chap he was as +I'd wish to see. Give that feller an education and put him to a +profession, thinks I, and he'll be a credit to you some of these days. +And see what's come of it!' + +'It's very sad--very sad for all of us, I'm sure,' sighed Mrs. +Ashburn. + +At this, Trixie, who had been listening to it all with hot cheeks and +trembling lips, could hold out no longer. + +'You talk of Mark--Uncle and all of you,' she said, looking prettier +for her indignation, 'as if he was a disgrace to us all! You seem to +think he's starving somewhere in a garret, and unknown to everybody. +But he's nothing of the sort--he's famous already, whether you believe +it or not. You ought to be proud of him.' + +'Beatrix, you forget yourself,' said her mother; 'before your uncle, +too.' + +'I can't help it,' said Trixie; 'there's no one to speak up for poor +Mark but me, ma, and I must. And it's all quite true. I hear all about +books and things from--at the Art School where I go, and Mark's book +is being talked about _everywhere_! And you needn't be afraid of his +coming to you for money, Uncle, for I was told that Mark will be able +to get as much money as ever he likes for his next books; he will be +quite rich, and all just by writing! And nobody but you here seems to +think the worse of him for what he has done! I'll show you what the +papers say about him presently. Why, even _your_ paper, ma, the +"Weekly Horeb," has a long article praising Mark's book this week, so +I should think it can't be so very wicked. Wait a minute, and you +shall see!' + +And Trixie burst impetuously out of the room to fetch the book in +which she had pasted the reviews, leaving the others in a rather +crestfallen condition, Uncle Solomon especially looking straight in +front of him with a fish-like stare, being engaged in trying to +assimilate the very novel ideas of a literary career which had just +been put before him. + +Mrs. Ashburn muttered something about Trixie being always headstrong +and never given to serious things, but even she was a little shaken by +the unexpected testimony of her favourite oracle, the 'Horeb.' + +'Look here, Uncle,' said Trixie, returning with the book and laying it +down open before him. 'See what the ---- says, and the ----; oh, and +all of them!' + +'_I_ don't want to see 'em,' he said, sulkily pushing the book from +him. 'Take the things away, child; who cares what they say? They're +all at the same scribbling business themselves; o' course they'd crack +up one another.' + +But he listened with a dull, glazed look in his eyes, and a grunt now +and then, while she read extracts aloud, until by-and-by, in spite of +his efforts to repress it, a kind of hard grin of satisfaction began +to widen his mouth. + +'Where's this precious book to be got?' he said at last. + +'Are you so sure he's disgraced you, _now_, Uncle?' demanded Trixie +triumphantly. + +'Men's praise is of little value,' said Mrs. Ashburn, harshly. 'Your +uncle and we look at what Mark has done from the Christian's +standpoint.' + +'Well, look here, y' know. Suppose we go into the matter now; let's +talk it out a bit,' said Uncle Solomon, coming out of a second brown +study. 'What 'ave you got against Mark?' + +'What have I got against him, Solomon?' echoed his sister in supreme +amazement. + +'Yes; what's he done to set you all shaking your heads at?' + +'Why, surely there's no need to tell you? Well, first there's his +ingratitude to _you_, after all you've done for him!' + +'Put me out of the question!' said Mr. Lightowler, with a magnanimous +sweep of his hand, 'I can take care of myself, I should 'ope. What _I_ +want to get at is what he's done to _you_. What do _you_ accuse the +boy of doing, Matthew, eh?' + +Poor little Mr. Ashburn seemed completely overwhelmed by this sudden +demand on him. 'I? oh, I--well, Jane has strong views, you know, +Solomon, decided opinions on these subjects, and--and so have I!' he +concluded feebly. + +'Um,' said Mr. Lightowler, half to himself, 'shouldn't a' thought that +was what's the matter with _you_! Well, Jane, then I come back to you. +What's he done? Come, he hasn't robbed a church, or forged a cheque, +has he?' + +'If you wish me to tell you what you know perfectly well already, he +has, in defiance of what he knows I feel on this subject, connected +himself with a thing I strongly disapprove of--a light-minded +fiction.' + +'Now you know, Jane, that's all your confounded--I'm speaking to you +as a brother, you know--your confounded narrer-minded nonsense! +Supposing he has written a "light-minded fiction," as you call it, +where's the harm of it?' + +'With the early training you received together with me, Solomon, I +wonder you can ask! You know very well what would have been thought of +reading, to say nothing of writing, a novel in our young days. And it +cuts me to the heart to think that a son of mine should place another +stumbling-block in the hands of youth.' + +'Stumbling grandmother!' cried Mr. Lightowler. 'In our young days, as +you say, we didn't go to playhouses, and only read good and improving +books, and a dull time we 'ad of it! I don't read novels myself now, +having other things to think about. But the world's gone round since +then, Jane. Even chapel-folk read these light-minded fictions +nowadays, and don't seem to be stumblin' about more than usual.' + +'If they take no harm, their own consciences must be their guide; but +I've a right to judge for myself as well as they, I think, Solomon.' + +'Exactly, but not for them too--that's what _you're_ doin', Jane. Who +the dickens are you, to go about groaning that Mark's a prodigal son, +or a lost sheep, or a goat, or one of those uncomplimentary animals, +all because he's written a book that everyone else is praising? Why +are you to be right and all the rest of the world wrong, I'd like to +know? Here you've gone and hunted the lad out of the house, without +ever consulting _me_ (who, I think, Jane, I _do_ think, have acted so +as to deserve to be considered and consulted in the matter), and all +for what?' + +'I'm sure, Solomon,' said Mrs. Ashburn, with one or two hard sniffs +which were her nearest approach to public emotion; 'I'm sure I never +expected this from you, and you were quite as angry with Mark as any +of us.' + +'Because I didn't know all--I was kep' in the dark. From what you said +I didn't know but what he'd written some rubbish which wouldn't keep +him in bread and cheese for a fortnight, and leave him as unknown as +it found him. Naterally I didn't care about _that_, when I'd hoped +he'd be a credit to me. But it appears he _is_ being a credit to +me--he's making his fortune, getting famous, setting the upper circles +talking of him. I thought Sir Andrew, up at the Manor House, was +a-chaffing me the other day when he began complimenting me on my +nephew, and I answered him precious short; but I begin to think now as +he meant it, and I went and made a fool of myself! All I ever asked of +Mark was to be a credit to me, and so long as he goes and is a credit +to me, what do I care how he does it? Not _that_!' + +At sentiments of such unhoped-for breadth, Trixie was so far carried +away with delight and gratitude as to throw her arms round her uncle's +puffy red neck, and bestow two or three warm kisses upon him. 'Then +you won't give him up after all, will you, Uncle?' she cried; '_you_ +don't think him a disgrace to you!' + +Uncle Solomon looked round him with the sense that he was coming out +uncommonly well. 'There's no narrermindedness about _me_, Trixie, my +girl,' he said; 'I never have said, nor I don't say now, that I have +given your brother Mark up; he chose not to take the advantages I +offered him, and I don't deny feeling put out by it. But what's done +can't be helped. I shall give a look into this book of his, and if I +see nothing to disapprove of in it, why I shall let him know he can +still look to his old uncle if he wants anything. I don't say more +than that at present. But I do think, Jane, that you've been too 'ard +on the boy. We can't be all such partickler Baptists as _you_ are, yer +know!' + +'I'm glad to hear you say that, Solomon,' quavered Mr. Ashburn; +'because I said as much to Jane (if you recollect my mentioning it, my +dear?) at the time; but she has decided views, and she thought +otherwise.' + +The unfortunate Jane, seeing herself deserted on all sides, began to +qualify, not sorry in her inmost heart to be able to think more +leniently, since the 'Weekly Horeb' sanctioned it, of her son's act of +independence. + +'I may have acted on imperfect knowledge,' she said; 'I may have been +too hasty in concluding that Mark had only written some worldly and +frivolous love-tale to keep minds from dwelling on higher subjects. If +so, I'm willing to own it, and if Mark was to come to me----' + +But Mr. Lightowler did not care to lose his monopoly of magnanimity in +this way. 'That comes too late now, Jane,' he said; 'he won't come +back to you now, after the way you've treated him. You've taken your +line, and you'll have to keep to it. But he shan't lose by that while +_I_ live--or afterwards, for that matter--he was always more of a son +to me than ever you made of him!' + +And when he went to bed, after some elaboration of his views on the +question, he left the family, with one exception, to the highly +unsatisfactory reflection that they had cut themselves off from all +right to feel proud and gratified at Mark's renown, and that the +breach between them was too wide now to be bridged. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +IN WHICH MARK MAKES AN ENEMY AND RECOVERS A FRIEND. + + +Mark's fame was still increasing, and he began to have proofs of this +in a pleasanter and more substantial form than empty compliment. He +was constantly receiving letters from editors or publishers inviting +him to write for them, and offering terms which exceeded his highest +expectations. Several of these proposals--all the more tempting ones, +in fact--he accepted at once; not that he had anything by him in +manuscript just then of the kind required from him, but he felt a +vague sense of power to turn out something very fine indeed, long +before the time appointed for the fulfilment of his promises. + +But, so far, he had not done any regular literary work since his +defection: he was still at St. Peter's, which occupied most of his +time, but somehow, now that he could devote his evenings without +scruple to the delights of composition, those delights seemed to have +lost their keenness, and besides, he had begun to go out a great deal. + +He had plenty of time before him, however, and his prospects were +excellent; he was sure of considerable sums under his many agreements +as soon as he had leisure to set to work. There could be no greater +mistake than for a young writer to flood the market from his +inkstand--a reflection which comforted Mark for a rather long and +unexpected season of drought. + +Chilton and Fladgate had begun to sound him respecting a second book, +but Mark could not yet decide whether to make his _coup_ with 'One +Fair Daughter' or 'Sweet Bells Jangled.' At first he had been +feverishly anxious to get a book out which should be legitimately his +own as soon as possible, but now, when the time had come, he hung +back. + +He did not exactly feel any misgivings as to their merits, but he +could not help seeing that with every day it was becoming more and +more difficult to put 'Illusion' completely in the shade, and that if +he meant to effect this, he could afford to neglect no precautions. +New and brilliant ideas, necessitating the entire reconstruction of +the plots, were constantly occurring to him, and he set impulsively to +work, shifting and interpolating, polishing and repolishing, until he +must have invested his work with a dazzling glitter--and yet he could +not bring himself to part with it. + +He was engaged in this manner one Wednesday afternoon in his rooms, +when he heard a slow heavy step coming up the stairs, followed by a +sharp rap at the door of his bedroom, which adjoined his sitting-room. +He shouted to the stranger to come in, and an old gentleman entered +presently by the door connecting the two rooms, in whom he recognised +Mr. Lightowler's irascible neighbour. He stood there for a few moments +without a word, evidently overcome by anger, which Mark supposed was +due to annoyance at having first blundered into the bedroom. 'It's old +Humpage,' he thought. 'What can he want with _me_?' The other found +words at last, beginning with a deadly politeness. 'I see I am in the +presence of the right person,' he began. 'I have come to ask you a +plain question.' Here he took something from his coat-tail pocket, and +threw it on the table before Mark--it was a copy of 'Illusion.' 'I am +told you are in the best position to give me information on the +subject. Will you kindly give me the name--the _real_ name--of the +author of this book? I have reasons, valid reasons for requiring it.' +And he glared down at Mark, who had a sudden and disagreeable +sensation as if his heart had just turned a somersault. Could this +terrible old person have detected him, and if so what would become of +him? + +Instinct rather than reason kept him from betraying himself by words. +'Th-that's a rather extraordinary question, sir,' he gasped faintly. + +'Perhaps it is,' said the other; 'but I've asked it, and I want an +answer.' + +'If the author of the book,' said Mark, 'had wished his real name to +be known, I suppose he would have printed it.' + +'Have the goodness not to equivocate with me, sir. It's quite useless, +as you will understand when I tell you that I happen to _know_'--(he +repeated this with withering scorn)--'I happen to know the name of the +real author of this--this precious production. I had it, let me tell +you, on very excellent authority.' + +'Who told you?' said Mark, and his voice seemed to him to come from +down stairs. Had Holroyd made a confidant of this angry old gentleman? + +'A gentleman whose relation I think you have the privilege to be, sir. +Come, you see _I_ know you, Mr.--Mr. Cyril Ernstone,' he sneered. 'Are +you prepared to deny it?' + +Mark drew a long sweet breath of relief. What a fright he had had! +This old gentleman evidently supposed he had unearthed a great +literary secret; but why had it made him so angry? + +'Certainly not,' he replied, firm and composed again now. 'I _am_ Mr. +Cyril Ernstone. I'm very sorry if it annoys you.' + +'It _does_ annoy me, sir. I have a right to be annoyed, and you know +the reason well enough!' + +'Do you know,' said Mark languidly, 'I'm really afraid I don't.' + +'Then I'll tell you, sir. In this novel of yours you've put a +character called--wait a bit--ah, yes, called Blackshaw, a retired +country solicitor, sir.' + +'Very likely,' said Mark, who had been getting rather rusty with +'Illusion' of late. + +'_I'm_ a retired country solicitor, sir! You've made him a man of low +character; you show him up all through the book as perpetually mixing +in petty squabbles, sir; on one occasion you actually allow him to get +drunk Now what do you mean by it?' + +'Good heavens,' said Mark, with a laugh, 'you don't seriously mean to +tell me you consider all this personal?' + +'I do very seriously mean to tell you so, young gentleman,' said Mr. +Humpage, showing his teeth with a kind of snarl. + +'There are people who will see personalities in a proposition of +Euclid,' said Mark, now completely himself again, and rather amused by +the scene; 'I should think you must be one of them, Mr. Humpage. Will +it comfort you if I let you know that I--that this book was written +months before I first had the pleasure of seeing you.' + +'No, sir, not at all. That only shows me more clearly what I knew +already. That there has been another hand at work here. I see that +uncle of yours behind your back here.' + +'Do you though?' said Mark. 'He's not considered literary as a general +rule.' + +'Oh, he's quite literary enough to be libellous. Just cast your eye +over this copy. Your uncle sent this to me as a present, the first +work of his nephew. I thought at first he was trying to be friendly +again, till I opened the book! Just look at it, sir!' And the old man +fumbled through the leaves with his trembling hands. 'Here's a passage +where your solicitor is guilty of a bit of sharp practice--underlined +by your precious uncle! And here he sets two parties by the +ears--underlined by your uncle, in red ink, sir; and it's like that +all through the book. _Now_ what do you say?' + +'What _can_ I say?' said Mark, with a shrug. 'You must really go and +fight it out with my uncle; if he is foolish enough to insult you, +that's not exactly a reason for coming here to roar at _me_.' + +'You're as bad as he is, every bit. I had him up at sessions over that +gander, and he hasn't forgotten it. You had a hand in that affair, +too, I remember. Your victim, sir, was never the same bird +again--you'll be pleased to hear that--never the same bird again!' + +'Very much to its credit, I'm sure,' said Mark. 'But oblige me by not +calling it _my_ victim. I don't suppose you'll believe me, but the one +offence is as imaginary as the other.' + +'I _don't_ believe you, sir. I consider that to recommend yourself to +your highly respectable uncle, you have deliberately set yourself to +blacken my character, which may bear comparison with your own, let me +tell you. No words can do justice to such baseness as that!' + +'I agree with you. If I had done such a thing no words could; but as I +happen to be quite blameless of the least idea of hurting your +feelings, I'm beginning to be rather tired of this, you see, Mr. +Humpage.' + +'I'm going, sir, I'm going. I've nearly said my say. You have not +altered my opinion in the least. I'm not blind, and I saw your face +change when you saw me. You were _afraid_ of me. You know you were. +What reason but one could you have for that?' + +Of course Mark could have explained even this rather suspicious +appearance, but then he would not have improved matters very much; and +so, like many better men, he had to submit to be cruelly +misunderstood, when a word might have saved him, although in his case +silence was neither quixotic nor heroic. + +'I can only say again,' he replied in his haughtiest manner, 'that +when this book was written, I had never seen you, nor even heard of +your existence. If you don't believe me, I can't help it.' + +'You've got your own uncle and your own manner to thank for it if I +don't believe you, and I don't. There are ways of juggling with words +to make them cover anything, and from all I know of you, you are +likely enough to be apt at that sort of thing. I've come here to tell +you what I think of you, and I mean to do it before I go. You've +abused such talents as you've been gifted with, sir; gone out of your +way to attack a man who never did you any harm. You're a hired +literary assassin--that's my opinion of you! I'm not going to take any +legal proceeding against you--I'm not such a fool. If I was a younger +man, I might take the law, in the shape of a stout horse-whip, into my +own hands; as it is, I leave you to go your own way, unpunished by me. +Only, mark my words--you'll come to no good. There's a rough sort of +justice in this world, whatever may be said, and a beginning like +yours will bring its own reward. Some day, sir, you'll be found out +for what you are! That's what I came to say!' + +And he turned on his heel and marched downstairs, leaving Mark with a +superstitious fear at his heart at his last words, and some annoyance +with Holroyd for having exposed him to this, and even with himself for +turning craven at the first panic. + +'I must look up that infernal book again!' he thought. 'Holroyd may +have libelled half London in it for all I know.' + +Now it may be as well to state here that Vincent Holroyd was as +guiltless as Mark himself of any intention to portray Mr. Humpage in +the pages of 'Illusion'; he had indeed heard of him from the Langtons, +but the resemblances in the imaginary solicitor to Dolly's godfather +were few and trivial enough, and, like most of such half-unconscious +reminiscences, required the aid of a malicious dulness to pass as +anything more than mere coincidences. + +But the next day, while Mark was thinking apprehensively of 'Illusion' +as a perfect mine of personalities, the heavy steps were heard again +in the passage and up the staircase; he sighed wearily, thinking that +perhaps the outraged Mr. Humpage had remembered something more +offensive, and had called again to give him the benefit of it. + +However, this time the visitor was Mr. Solomon Lightowler, who stood +in the doorway with what he meant to be a reassuring smile on his +face--though, owing to a certain want of flexibility in his uncle's +features, Mark misunderstood it. + +'Oh, it's you, is it?' he said bitterly. 'Come in, Uncle, _come_ in. +You undertook when I saw you last never to speak to me again, but _I_ +don't mind if you don't. I had a thorough good blackguarding yesterday +from your friend Humpage, so I've got my hand in. Will you curse me +sitting down or standing? The other one stood!' + +'No, no, it ain't that, my boy. I don't want to use 'ard words. I've +come to say, let bygones be bygones. Mark, my boy, I'm _proud_ of +yer!' + +'What, of a literary man! My dear uncle, you can't be well--or you've +lost money.' + +'I'm much as usual, thanky, and I haven't lost any money that I know +of, and--and I _mean_ it, Mark, I've read your book.' + +'I know you have--so has Humpage,' said Mark. + +Uncle Solomon chuckled. 'You made some smart 'its at 'Umpage,' he +said. 'When I first saw there was a country solicitor in the book, I +said to myself, "That's goin' to be 'Umpage," and you 'ad him fine, I +_will_ say that. I never thought to be so pleased with yer.' + +'You need not have shown your pleasure by sending him a marked copy.' + +'I was afraid he wouldn't see it if I didn't,' explained Mr. +Lightowler, 'and I owed him one over that gander, which he summonsed +me for, and got his summons dismissed for his trouble. But I've not +forgotten it. P'r'aps it was going rather far to mark the places; but +there, I couldn't 'elp it.' + +'Well, I suppose you know that amounts to libel?' said Mark, either +from too hazy a recollection of the law on the subject of +'publication' or the desire to give his uncle a lesson. + +'Libel! Why, I never wrote anything--only underlined a passage 'ere +and there. You don't call that libelling!' + +'A judge might, and, any way, Uncle, it's deuced unpleasant for _me_. +He was here abusing me all the afternoon--when I never had any idea of +putting the hot-headed old idiot into a book. It's too bad--it really +is!' + +''Umpage won't law me--he's had enough of that. Don't you be afraid, +and don't show yourself poor-spirited. You've done me a good turn by +showing up 'Umpage as what I believe him to be--what's the good of +pretending you never meant it--to me? You don't know how pleased +you've made me. It's made a great difference in _your_ prospects, +young man, I can tell yer!' + +'So you told me at the "Cock,"' said Mark. + +'I don't mean that way, this time. I dessay I spoke rather 'asty then; +I didn't know what sort of littery line you were going to take up +with, but if you go on as you've begun, you're all right. And when I +have a nephew that makes people talk about him and shows up them that +makes themselves unpleasant as neighbours, why, what I say is, Make +the most of him! And that brings me to what I've come about. How are +you off in the matter o' money, hey?' + +Mark was already beginning to feel rather anxious about his expenses. +His uncle's cheque was by this time nearly exhausted, his salary at +St. Peter's was not high and, as he had already sent in his +resignation, that source of income would dry up very shortly. He had +the money paid him for 'Illusion,' but that of course he could not +use; he had not sunk low enough for that, though he had no clear ideas +what to do with it. He would receive handsome sums for his next two +novels, but that would not be for some time, and meanwhile his +expenses had increased with his new life to a degree that surprised +himself, for Mark was not a young man of provident habits. + +So he gave his uncle to understand that, though he expected to be paid +some heavy sums in a few months, his purse was somewhat light at +present. + +'Why didn't you come to me?' cried his uncle; 'you might a' known _I_ +shouldn't have stinted you. You've never found me near with you. And +now you're getting a big littery pot, and going about among the nobs +as I see your name with, why, you must keep up the position you've +made--and you shall too! You're quite right to drop the +schoolmastering, since you make more money with your scribbling. Your +time's valuable now. Set to and scribble away while you're the +fashion; make your 'ay while the sun shines, my boy. I'll see yer +through it. I want you to do me credit. I want everyone to know that +you're not like some of these poor devils, but have got a rich old +uncle at your back. You let 'em know that, will yer?' + +And, quite in the manner of the traditional stage uncle, he produced +his cheque book and wrote a cheque for a handsome sum, intimating that +that would be Mark's quarterly allowance while he continued to do him +credit, and until he should be independent of it. Mark was almost too +astounded for thanks at first by such very unexpected liberality, and +something, too, in the old man's coarse satisfaction jarred on him and +made him ashamed of himself. But he contrived to express his gratitude +at last. + +'It's all right,' said Uncle Solomon; 'I don't grudge it yer. You just +go on as you've begun.' ('I hope that doesn't mean "making more hits +at Humpage,"' thought Mark.) 'You thought you could do without me, but +you see you can't; and look here, make a friend of me after this, d'ye +hear? Don't do nothing without my advice. I'm a bit older than you +are, and p'r'aps I can give you a wrinkle or two, even about littery +matters, though you mayn't think it. You needn't a' been afraid your +uncle would cast you off, Mark--so long as you're doing well. As I +told your mother the other day, there's nothing narrerminded about me, +and if you feel you've a call to write, why, I don't think the worse +of you for it. I'm not _that_ kind of man.' + +And after many more speeches of this kind, in the course of which he +fully persuaded himself, and very nearly his nephew, that his views +had been of this broad nature from the beginning, and were entirely +uninfluenced by events, he left Mark to think over this new turn of +fortune's wheel, by which he had provoked a bitter foe and regained a +powerful protector, without deserving one more than the other. + +He thought lightly enough of the first interview now; it was cheaply +bought at the price of the other. 'And after all,' he said to himself, +'what man has no enemies?' + +But only those whose past is quite stainless, or quite stained, can +afford to hold their enemies in calm indifference, and although Mark +never knew how old Mr. Humpage's enmity was destined to affect him, it +was not without influence on his fortunes. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +A DINNER PARTY. + + +Mrs. Langton did not forget Mark; and before many days had gone by +since his call, he received an invitation to dine at Kensington Park +Gardens on a certain Saturday, to which he counted the days like a +schoolboy. The hour came at last, and he found himself in the pretty +drawing-room once more. There were people there already; a stout judge +and his pretty daughter, a meek but eminent conveyancer with a +gorgeous wife, and a distinguished professor with a bland subtle +smile, a gentle voice and a dangerous eye. Other guests came in +afterwards, but Mark hardly saw them. He talked a little to Mrs. +Langton, and Mrs. Langton talked considerably to him during the first +few minutes after his entrance, but his thoughts kept wandering, like +his eyes, to Mabel as she moved from group to group in her character +of supplementary hostess, for Mrs. Langton's health did not allow her +to exert herself on these occasions. + +Mabel was looking very lovely that evening, in some soft light dress +of pale rose, with a trail of pure white buds and flowers at her +shoulder. Mark watched her as she went about, now listening with +pretty submission to the gorgeous woman in the ruby velvet and the +diamond star, who was laying down some 'little new law' of her own, +now demurely acknowledging the old judge's semi-paternal compliments, +audaciously rallying the learned professor, or laughing brightly at +something a spoony-looking, fair-haired youth was saying to her. + +Somehow she seemed to Mark to be further removed than ever from him; +he was nothing to her amongst all these people; she had not even +noticed him yet. He began to be jealous of the judge, and the +professor too, and absolutely to hate the spoony youth. + +But she came to him at last. Perhaps she had seen him from the first, +and felt his dark eyes following her with that pathetic look they had +whenever things were not going perfectly well with him. She came now, +and was pleased to be gracious to him for a few minutes, till dinner +was announced. + +Mark heard it with a pang. Now they would be separated, of course; he +would be given to the ruby woman, or that tall, keen-faced girl with +the _pince-nez_; he would be lucky if he got two minutes' conversation +with Mabel in the drawing-room later on. But he waited for +instructions resignedly. + +'Didn't papa tell you?' she said; 'you are to take me in--if you +will?' If he would! He felt a thrill as her light fingers rested on +his arm; he could scarcely believe his own good fortune, even when he +found himself seated next to her as the general rustle subsided, and +might accept the delightful certainty that she would be there by his +side for the next two hours at least. + +He forgot to consult his _menu_; he had no very distinct idea of what +he ate or drank, or what was going on around him, at least as long as +Mabel talked to him. They were just outside the radius of the big +centre lamp, and that and the talk around them produced a sort of +semi-privacy. + +The spoony young man was at Mabel's right hand, to be sure, but he +had been sent in with the keen-faced young lady who came from Girton, +where it was well known that the marks she had gained in one of the +great Triposes under the old order, would--but for her sex--have +placed her very high indeed in the class list. Somebody had told the +young man of this, and, as he was from Cambridge too, but had never +been placed anywhere except in one or two walking races at Fenner's, +it had damped him too much for conversation just yet. + +'Have you been down to Chigbourne lately?' Mabel asked Mark suddenly, +and her smile and manner showed him that she remembered their first +meeting. He took this opportunity of disclaiming all share in the +treatment of the unfortunate gander, and was assured that it was quite +unnecessary to do so. + +'I wish your uncle, Mr. Humpage, thought with you,' he said ruefully, +'but he has quite made up his mind that I am a villain of the deepest +dye;' and then, encouraged to confide in her, he told the story of the +old gentleman's furious entry and accusation. + +Mabel looked rather grave. 'How could he get such an idea into his +head?' she said. + +'I'm afraid _my_ uncle had something to do with that,' said Mark, and +explained Mr. Lightowler's conduct. + +'It's very silly of both of them,' she said; 'and then to drag _you_ +into the quarrel, too! You know, old Mr. Humpage is not really my +uncle--only one of those relations that sound like a prize puzzle when +you try to make them out. Dolly always calls him Uncle Anthony--he's +her godfather. But I wish you hadn't offended him, Mr. Ashburn, I do +really. I've heard he can be a very bitter enemy. He has been a very +good friend to papa; I believe he gave him almost the very first brief +he ever had; and he's kind to all of us. But it's dangerous to offend +him. Perhaps you will meet him here some day,' she added, 'and then we +may be able to make him see how mistaken he has been.' + +'How kind of you to care about it!' said he, and his eyes spoke his +gratitude for the frank interest she had taken in his fortunes. + +'Of course I care,' said Mabel, looking down as she spoke. 'I can't +bear to see anyone I like and respect--as I do poor Uncle +Anthony--persist in misjudging _anybody_ like that.' + +Mark had hoped more from the beginning of this speech than the +conclusion quite bore out, but it was delightful to hear her talking +something more than society nothings to him. However, that was ended +for the present by the sudden irruption of the spoony young man into +the conversation; he had come out very shattered from a desperate +intellectual conflict with the young lady from Girton, to whom he had +ventured on a remark which, as he made it, had seemed to him likely to +turn out brilliant. 'You know,' he had announced solemnly, 'opinions +may differ, but in these things I must say I don't think the +exception's _always_ the rule--eh? don't you find that?' And his +neighbour replied that she thought he had hit upon a profound +philosophical truth, and then spoilt it by laughing. After which the +young man, thinking internally 'it _sounded_ all right, wonder if it +was such bosh as she seems to think,' had fled to Mabel for sanctuary +and plunged into an account of his University disasters. + +'I should have floored my "General" all right, you know,' he said, +'only I went in for too much poetry.' + +'Poetry?' echoed Mabel, with a slight involuntary accent of surprise. + +'Rhymes, you know, not regular poetry!' + +'But, Mr. Pidgely, I don't quite see; why can't you floor generals +with rhymes which are not regular poetry? Are they so particular in +the army?' + +'It isn't an army exam.; it's at Cambridge; and the rhymes are all the +chief tips done into poetry--like "Paley" rhymes, y' know. Paley +rhymes give you, for instance, all the miracles or all the parables +right off in about four lines of gibberish, and you learn the +gibberish and then you're all right. I got through my Little-go that +way, but I couldn't the General. Fact is, my coach gave me too _many_ +rhymes!' + +'And couldn't you recollect the--the tips without rhymes?' + +'Couldn't remember _with_ 'em,' he said. 'I could have corked down the +verses all right enough, but the beggars won't take them. I forgot +what they were all about, so I had to show up blank papers. And I'd +stayed up all one Long too!' + +'Working?' asked Mabel, with some sympathy. + +'Well--and cricketing,' he said ingenuously. 'I call it a swindle.' + +'He talks quite a dialect of his own,' thought Mabel surprised. +'Vincent didn't. I wonder if Mr. Ashburn can.' + +Mr. Ashburn, after a short period of enforced silence spent in +uncharitable feelings respecting fair-haired Mr. Pidgely, had been +suddenly attacked by the lady on his left, a plump lady with queer +comic inflections in her voice, the least touch of brogue, and a +reputation for daring originality. + +'I suppose now,' she began, 'ye've read the new book they're talking +so much about--this "Illusion"? And h'wat's your private opinion? I +wonder if I'll find a man with the courage to agree with me, for _I_ +said when I'd come to the last page, "Well, they may say what they +like, but I never read such weary rubbish in all me life," and I never +did!' + +Mark laughed--he could not help it--but it was a laugh of real +enjoyment, without the slightest trace of pique or wounded vanity in +it. 'I'll make a confession,' he said. 'I do think myself that the +book has been luckier than it deserves--only, as the--the man who +wrote it is a--a very old friend of mine--you see, I mustn't join in +abusing it.' + +Mabel heard this and liked Mark the better for it. 'I suppose he +couldn't do anything else very well without making a scene,' she +thought, 'but he did it very nicely. I hope that woman will find out +who he is though; it will be a lesson to her!' Here Mabel was not +quite fair, perhaps, for the lady had a right to her opinion, and +anything is better than humbug. But she was very needlessly pitying +Mark for having to listen to such unpalatable candour, little dreaming +how welcome it was to him, or how grateful he felt to his critic. When +Mark was free again, after an animated discussion with his candid +neighbour, in which each had amused the other and both were on the way +to becoming intimate, he found the spoony youth finishing the +description of a new figure he had seen in a _cotillon_. 'You all sit +down on chairs, don't you know,' he was saying, 'and then the rest +come through doors;' and Mabel said, with a spice of malice (for she +was being excessively bored), that that must be very pretty and +original. + +Mr. Langton was chatting ponderously at his end of the table, and Mrs. +Langton was being interested at hers by an account the judge's lady +was giving of a _protégé_ of hers, an imbecile, who made his living by +calling neighbours who had to be up early. + +'Perhaps it's prejudice,' said Mrs. Langton, 'but I do _not_ think I +should like to be called by an _idiot_; he might turn into a maniac +some day. They do quite suddenly at times, don't they?' she added, +appealing to the professor, 'and that wouldn't be _nice_, you know, if +he did. What _would_ you do?' she inquired generally. + +'Shouldn't get up,' said a rising young barrister. + +'_I_ should--under the bed, and scream,' said the lively young lady he +had taken down. And so for some minutes that end of the table applied +itself zealously to solving the difficult problem of the proper course +to take on being called early by a raving maniac. + +Meanwhile Mabel had succeeded in dropping poor Mr. Pidgely and +resuming conversation with Mark; this time on ordinary topics--pictures, +books, theatres, and people (especially people); he talked well, and +the sympathy between them increased. + +Then as the dessert was being taken round, Dolly and Colin came in. +'_I've_ had ices, Mabel,' said the latter confidentially in her ear +as he passed her chair on his way to his mother; but Dolly stole +quietly in and sat down by her father's side without a word. + +'Do you notice any difference in my sister Dolly?' Mabel asked Mark, +with a little anxious line on her forehead. + +'She is not looking at all well,' said Mark, following the direction +of her glance. There certainly was a change in Dolly; she had lost all +her usual animation, and sat there silent and constrained, leaving the +delicacies with which her father had loaded her plate untouched, and +starting nervously whenever he spoke to her. When good-natured Mr. +Pidgely displayed his one accomplishment of fashioning a galloping pig +out of orange-peel for her amusement, she seemed almost touched by his +offering, instead of slightly offended, as the natural Dolly would +have been. + +'I don't think she is ill,' said Mabel, 'though I was uneasy about +that at first. Fräulein and I fancy she must be worrying herself about +something, but we can't get her to say what it is, and I don't like to +tease her; very likely she is afraid of being laughed at if she tells +anybody. But I do so wish I could find out; children can make +themselves so terribly wretched over mere trifles sometimes.' + +But the hour of 'bereavement,' as Mr. Du Maurier calls it, had come; +gloves were being drawn on, the signal was given. Mr. Pidgely, after +first carefully barricading the path on his side of the table with his +chair, opened the door, and the men, left to themselves, dropped their +hypocritical mask of resigned regret as the handle turned on Mrs. +Langton's train, and settled down with something very like relief. + +Mark, of course, could not share this, though it is to be feared that +even he found some consolation in his cigarette; the sound of Mabel's +voice had not ceased to ring in his ears when her father took him by +the arm and led him up to be introduced to the professor, who was +standing before a picture. The man of science seemed at first a +little astonished at having an ordinary young man presented to him in +this way, but when his host explained that Mark was the author of the +book of which the professor had been speaking so highly, his manner +changed, and he overwhelmed him with his courtly compliments, while +the other guests gathered gradually nearer, envying the fortunate +object of so marked a distinction. + +But the object himself was horribly uncomfortable; for it appeared +that the professor in reading 'Illusion' had been greatly struck by a +brilliant simile drawn from some recent scientific discoveries with +which he had had some connection, and had even discovered in some +passages what he pronounced to be the germ of a striking theory that +had already suggested itself to his own brain, and he was consequently +very anxious to find out exactly what was in Mark's mind when he +wrote. Before Mark knew where he was, he found himself let in for a +scientific discussion with one of the leading authorities on the +subject, while nearly everyone was listening with interest for his +explanation. His forehead grew damp and cold with the horror of the +situation--he almost lost his head, for he knew very little about +science. Thanks, however, to his recent industry, he kept some +recollection of the passages in question, and without any clear idea +of what he was going to say, plunged desperately into a long and +complicated explanation. He talked the wildest nonsense, but with such +confidence that everyone in the room but the professor was impressed. +Mark had the mortification of seeing, as the great man heard him out +with a quiet dry smile, and a look in his grey eyes which he did not +at all like, that he was found out. But the professor only said at the +end, 'Well, that's very interesting, Mr. Ashburn, very interesting +indeed--you have given me a really considerable insight into +your--ah--mental process.' And for the rest of the evening he talked +to his host. As he drove home with his wife that night, however, his +disappointment found vent: 'Never been so taken in in my life,' he +remarked; 'I did think from his book that that young Ernstone and I +would have something in common; but I tried him but got nothing out +of him but rubbish; probably got the whole thing up out of some +British Association speech and forgotten it! I hate your shallow +fellows, and 'pon my word I felt strongly inclined to show him up, +only I didn't care to annoy Langton!' + +'I'm glad you didn't, dear,' said his wife; 'I don't think +dinner-parties are good places to show people up in, and really Mr. +Ernstone, or Ashburn, whatever his name is, struck me as being so very +charming--perhaps you expected too much from him.' + +'H'm, I shall know better another time,' he said. + +But the incident, even as it was, left Mark with an uncomfortable +feeling that his evening had somehow been spoilt, particularly as he +did not succeed in getting any further conversation with Mabel in the +drawing-room afterwards to make him forget the unpleasantness. Vincent +Holroyd's work was still proving itself in some measure an avenger of +his wrongs. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +DOLLY'S DELIVERANCE. + + +About a week after the dinner recorded in the last chapter, Mark +repaired to the house in Kensington Park Gardens to call as in duty +bound, though, as he had not been able to find out on what afternoon +he would be sure of finding Mrs. Langton at home, he was obliged to +leave this to chance. He was admitted, however--not by the stately +Champion, but by Colin, who had seen him from the window and hastened +to intercept him. + +'Mabel's at home, somewhere,' he said, 'but will you come in and speak +to Dolly first? She's crying awfully about something, and she won't +tell me what. Perhaps she'd tell you. And do come, sir, please; it's +no fun when she's like that, and she's always doing it now!' For Colin +had an unlimited belief, founded as he thought on experience, in the +persuasive powers of his former master. + +Mark had his doubts as to the strict propriety of acceding to this +request--at all events until it had been sanctioned by some higher +authority than Colin--but then he remembered Mabel's anxiety on the +night of the dinner; if he could only set this child's mind at ease, +would not that excuse any breach of conventionality--would it not win +a word of gratitude from her sister? He could surely take a little +risk and trouble for such a reward as that; and so, with his usual +easy confidence, he accepted a task which was to cost him dear enough. +'You'd better leave me to manage this, young man,' he said at the +door. 'Run off to your sister Mabel and explain things, tell her where +I am and why, you know.' And he went into the library alone. Dolly was +crouching there in an arm-chair, worn out by sobbing and the weight of +a terror she dared not speak of, which had broken her down at last. +Mark, who was good-natured enough in his careless way, was touched by +the utter abandonment of her grief; for the first time he began to +think it must be something graver than a mere childish trouble, and, +apart from all personal motives, longed sincerely to do something, if +he could, to restore Dolly to her old childish self. He forgot +everything but that, and the unselfish sympathy he felt gave him a +tact and gentleness with which few who knew him best would have +credited him. Gradually, for at first she would say nothing, and +turned away in lonely hopelessness, he got her to confess that she was +very unhappy; that she had done something which she must never, never +tell to anybody. + +Then she started up with a flushed face and implored him to go away +and leave her. '_Don't_ make me tell you!' she begged piteously. 'Oh, +I know you mean to be kind, I _do_ like you now--only I can't tell +you, really. Please, _please_ go away--I'm so afraid of telling you.' + +'But why?' said Mark. 'I'm not very good myself, Dolly--you need not +be afraid of me.' + +'It isn't that,' said Dolly, with a shudder; 'but _he_ said if I told +anyone they would have to send me to prison.' + +'Who dared to tell you a wicked lie like that?' said Mark indignantly, +all the manhood in him roused by the stupid cruelty of it. 'It wasn't +Colin, was it, Dolly?' + +'No, not Colin; it was Harold--Harold Caffyn. Oh, Mr. Ashburn,' she +said, with a sudden gleam of hope, 'wasn't it _true_? He said papa was +a lawyer, and would have to help the law to punish me----' + +'The infernal scoundrel!' muttered Mark to himself, but he saw that he +was getting to the bottom of the mystery at last. 'So he told you +that, did he?' he continued; 'did he say it to tease you, Dolly?' + +'I don't know. He often used to tease, but never like that before, and +I _did_ do it--only I never never meant it.' + +'Now listen to me, Dolly,' said Mark. 'If all you are afraid of is +being sent to prison, you needn't think any more about it. You can +trust me, can't you? You know I wouldn't deceive you. Well, I tell you +that you can't have done anything that you would be sent to prison +for--that's all nonsense. Do you understand? Harold Caffyn said that +to frighten you. No one in the world would ever dream of sending you +to prison, whatever you'd done. Are you satisfied now?' + +Rather to Mark's embarrassment, she threw her arms round his neck in a +fit of half-hysterical joy and relief. 'Tell me again,' she cried; +'you're _sure_ it's true--they can't send me to prison? Oh, I don't +care now. I am so glad you came--so glad. I _will_ tell you all about +it now. I want to!' + +But some instinct kept Mark from hearing this confession; he had +overcome the main difficulty--the rest was better left in more +delicate hands than his, he thought. So he said, 'Never mind about +telling me, Dolly; I'm sure it wasn't anything very bad. But suppose +you go and find Mabel, and tell her; then you'll be quite happy +again.' + +'Will _you_ come too?' asked Dolly, whose heart was now completely +won. + +So Mark and she went hand-in-hand to the little boudoir at the back of +the house where they had had their first talk about fairies, and found +Mabel in her favourite chair by the window; she looked round with a +sudden increase of colour as she saw Mark. + +'I mustn't stay,' he said, after shaking hands. 'I ought not to come +at all, I'm afraid, but I've brought a young lady who has a most +tremendous secret to confess, which she's been making herself, and you +too, unhappy about all this time. She has come to find out if it's +really anything so very awful after all.' + +And he left them together. It was hard to go away after seeing so +little of Mabel, but it was a sacrifice she was capable of +appreciating. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +A DECLARATION--OF WAR. + + +On the morning of the day which witnessed Dolly's happy deliverance +from the terrors which had haunted her so long, Mabel had received a +note from Harold Caffyn. He had something to say to her, he wrote, +which could be delayed no longer--he could not be happy until he had +spoken. If he were to call some time the next morning, would she see +him--alone? + +These words she read at first in their most obvious sense, for she had +been suspecting for some time that an interview of this kind was +coming, and even felt a little sorry for Harold, of whom she was +beginning to think more kindly. So she wrote a few carefully worded +lines, in which she tried to prepare him as much as possible for the +only answer she could give, but before her letter was sent Dolly had +told her story of innocent guilt. + +Mabel read his note again and tore up her reply with burning cheeks. +She _must_ have misunderstood him--it could not be _that_; he must +have felt driven to repair by confession the harm he had done. And +she wrote instead--'I shall be very willing to hear anything you may +have to say,' and took the note herself to the pillar-box on the hill. + +Harold found her answer on returning late that night to his room, and +saw nothing in it to justify any alarm. 'It's not precisely gushing,' +he said to himself, 'but she couldn't very well say more just yet. I +think I am pretty safe.' So the next morning he stepped from his +hansom to the Langtons' door, leisurely and coolly enough. Perhaps his +heart was beating a little faster, but only with excitement and +anticipation of victory, for after Mabel's note he could feel no +serious doubts. + +He was shown into the little boudoir looking out on the square, but +she was not there to receive him--she even allowed him to wait a few +minutes, which amused him. 'How like a woman!' he thought. 'She can't +resist keeping me on the tenterhooks a little, even now.' There was a +light step outside, she had come at last, and he started to his feet +as the door opened. 'Mabel!' he cried--he had meant to add 'my +darling'--but something in her face warned him not to appear too sure +of her yet. + +She was standing at some distance from him, with one hand lightly +resting on a little table; her face was paler than usual, she seemed +rather to avoid looking at him, while she did not offer to take his +outstretched hand. Still he was not precisely alarmed by all this. +Whatever she felt, she was not the girl to throw herself at any +fellow's head; she was proud and he must be humble--for the present. + +'You had something to say to me--Harold?' With what a pretty shy +hesitation she spoke his name now, he thought, with none of the +sisterly frankness he had found so tantalising; and how delicious she +was as she stood there in her fresh white morning dress. There was a +delightful piquancy in this assumed coldness of hers--a woman's dainty +device to delay and heighten the moment of surrender! He longed to +sweep away all her pretty defences, to take her to his arms and make +her own that she was his for ever. But somehow he felt a little +afraid of her; he must proceed with caution. 'Yes,' he said, 'there is +something I must say to you--you will give me a hearing, Mabel, won't +you?' + +'I told you I would hear you. I hope you will say something to make me +think of you differently.' + +He did not understand this exactly, but it did not sound precisely +encouraging. + +'I hoped you didn't think me a very bad sort of fellow,' he said. And +then, as she made no answer, he plunged at once into his declaration. +He was a cold lover on the stage, but practice had at least given him +fluency, and now he was very much in earnest--he had never known till +then all that she was to him: there was real passion in his voice, and +a restrained power which might have moved her once. + +But Mabel heard him to the end only because she felt unable to stop +him without losing control over herself. She felt the influence of his +will, but it made her the more thankful that she had so powerful a +safeguard against it. + +He finished and she still made no response, and he began to feel +decidedly awkward; but when at last she turned her face to him, +although her eyes were bright, it was not with the passion he had +hoped to read there. + +'And it really was that, after all!' she said bitterly. 'Do you know, +I expected something very different.' + +'I said what I feel. I might have said it better perhaps,' he +retorted, 'but at least tell me what you expected me to say, and I +will say that.' + +'Yes, I will tell you. I expected an explanation.' + +'An explanation!' he repeated blankly; 'of what?' + +'Is there nothing you can remember which might call for some excuse if +you found I had heard of it? I will give you every chance, Harold. +Think--is there nothing?' + +Caffyn had forgotten the stamp episode as soon as possible, as a +disagreeable expedient to which he had been obliged to resort, and +which had served its end, and so he honestly misunderstood this +question. + +'Upon my soul, no,' he said earnestly. 'I don't pretend to have been +any better than my neighbours, but since I began to think of you, I +never cared about any other woman. If you've been told any silly +gossip----' + +Mabel laughed, but not merrily. 'Oh, it is not _that_--really it did +not occur to me to be jealous at any time--especially now. Harold, +Dolly has told me everything about that letter,' she added, as he +still looked doubtful. + +He understood now at all events, and took a step back as if to avoid a +blow. _Everything!_ his brain seemed dulled for an instant by those +words; he thought that he had said enough to prevent the child from +breathing a syllable about that unlucky letter, and now Mabel knew +'everything!' + +But he recovered his power of thought almost directly, feeling that +this was no time to lose his head. 'I suppose I'm expected to show +some emotion,' he said lightly; 'it's evidently something quite too +terrible. But I'm afraid _I_ want an explanation this time.' + +'I think not, but you shall have it. I know that you came in and found +that poor child tearing off the stamp from some old envelope of mine, +and had the wickedness to tell her she had been stealing. Do you deny +it?' + +'Some old envelope!' The worst of Caffyn's fear vanished when he heard +that. She did not know that it contained an unread letter then; she +did not guess--how could she, when Dolly herself did not know +it--where the letter had come from. He might appease her yet! + +Caffyn's first inference, it may be said, was correct; in Dolly's mind +her guilt had consisted in stealing a marked stamp, and her hurried +and confused confession had, quite innocently and unconsciously, left +Mabel ignorant of the real extent and importance of what seemed to her +a quite imaginary offence. + +'Deny it!' he said, 'of course not; I remember joking her a little +over something of the sort. Is _that_ all this tremendous indignation +is about--a joke?' + +'A joke!' she said indignantly; 'you will not make anyone but +yourself merry over jokes like that. You set to work deliberately to +frighten her; you did it so thoroughly that she has been wretched for +days and days, ill and miserable with the dread of being sent to +prison. You _did_ threaten her with a prison, Harold; you told her she +must even be afraid of her own father--of all of us.... Who can tell +what she has been suffering, all alone, my poor little Dolly! And you +dare to call that a joke!' + +'I never thought she would take it all so literally,' he said. + +'Oh, you are not stupid, Harold; only a cruel fool could have thought +he was doing no harm. And you have seen her since again and again; you +must have noticed how changed she was, and yet you had no pity on her! +Can't you really see what a thing you have been doing? Do you often +amuse yourself in that way, and with children?' + +'Hang it, Mabel,' said Caffyn uneasily, 'you're very hard on me!' + +'Why were you hard on my darling Dolly?' Mabel demanded. 'What had she +done to you--how could you find pleasure in torturing her? Do you hate +children--or only Dolly?' + +He made a little gesture of impatient helplessness. 'Oh, if you mean +to go on asking questions like that--' he said, 'of course I don't +hate your poor little sister. I tell you I'm sorry she took it +seriously--very sorry. And--and, if there's anything I can do to make +it up to her somehow; any--any amends, you know----' + +The hardship, as he felt at the time, of his peculiar position was +that it obliged him to offer such a lame excuse for his treatment of +Dolly. Without the motive he had had for his conduct, it must seem +dictated by some morbid impulse of cruelty--whereas, of course, he had +acted quite dispassionately, under the pressure of a necessity--which, +however, it was impossible to explain to Mabel. + +'I suppose "amends" mean caramels or chocolates,' said Mabel; +'chocolates to compensate for making a child shrink for days from +those who loved her! She was fretting herself ill, and we could do +nothing for her: a very little more and it might have killed her. +Perhaps your sense of humour would have been satisfied by that? If it +had not been for a friend--almost a stranger--who was able to see what +we were all blind to, that a coward had been practising on her fears, +we might never have guessed the truth till--till it was too late!' + +'I see now,' he said; 'I thought there must be someone at the bottom +of this; someone who, for purposes of his own, has contrived to put +things in the worst light for me. If you can condescend to listen to +slanderers, Mabel, I shall certainly not condescend to defend myself.' + +'Oh, I will tell you his name,' she said, 'and then even you will have +to own that he had no motive for doing what he did but natural +goodness and kindness. I doubt even if he has ever met you in his +life; the man who rescued our Dolly from what you had made her is Mr. +Mark Ashburn, the author of 'Illusion' (her expression softened +slightly, from the gratitude she felt, as she spoke his name, and +Caffyn noted it). 'If you think he would stoop to slander _you_---- But +what is the use of talking like that? You have owned it all. No +slander could make it any worse than it is!' + +'If you think as badly of me as that,' said Caffyn, who had grown +deadly pale, 'we can meet no more, even as acquaintances.' + +'That would be my own wish,' she replied. + +'Do you mean,' he asked huskily, 'that--that everything is to be over +between us? Has it really come to that, Mabel?' + +'I did not know that there ever was anything between us, as you call +it,' she said. 'But of course, after this, friendship is impossible. +We cannot help meeting. I shall not even tell my mother of this, for +Dolly's sake, and so this house will still be open to you. But if you +force me to protect Dolly or myself, you will come here no more.' + +Her scornful indifference only filled him with a more furious desire +to triumph over it; he had felt so secure of her that morning, and now +she had placed this immeasurable distance between them. He had never +felt the full power of her beauty till then, as she stood there with +that haughty pose of the head and the calm contempt in her eyes; he +had seen her in most moods--playfully perverse, coldly civil, and +unaffectedly gracious and gentle--and in none of them had she made his +heart ache with the mad passion that mastered him now. + +'It shall not end like this!' he said violently; 'I won't let you make +a mountain of a molehill in this way, Mabel, because it suits you to +do so. You have no right to judge me by what a child chooses to +imagine I said!' + +'I judge you by the effects of what you did say. I can remember very +well that you had a cruel tongue as a boy--you are quite able to +torture a child with it still.' + +'It is your tongue that is cruel!' he retorted; 'but you shall be just +to me. I love you, Mabel--whether you like it or not--you shall not +throw me off like this. Do you hear? You liked me well enough before +all this! I will force you to think better of me; you shall own it +one day. No, I'm mad to talk like this--I only ask you to forgive +me--to let me hope still!' + +He came forward as he spoke and tried to take her hands, but she put +them quickly behind her. 'Don't dare to come nearer!' she said; 'I +thought I had made you feel something of what I think of you. What can +I say more? Hope! do you think I could ever trust a man capable of +such deliberate wickedness as you have shown by that single action?--a +kind of malice that I hardly think can be human. No, you had better +not hope for that. As for forgiving you, I can't even do that now; +some day, perhaps, when Dolly has quite forgotten, I may be able to +forget too, but not till then. Have I made you understand yet? Is that +enough?' + +Caffyn was still standing where she had checked his advance; his face +was very grey and drawn, and his eyes were fixed on the Eastern rug at +his feet. He gave a short savage laugh. 'Well, yes,' he said, 'I +think perhaps I _have_ had enough at last. You have been kind enough +to put your remarks very plainly. I hope, for your own sake, I may +never have a chance of making you any return for all this.' + +'I hope so too,' she said; 'I think you would use it.' + +'Thanks for your good opinion,' he said, as he went to the door. 'I +shall do my best, if the time comes, to deserve it.' + +She had never faltered during the whole of this interview. A righteous +anger had given her courage to declare all the scorn and indignation +she felt. But now, as the front door closed upon him, the strength +that had sustained her so long gave way all at once; she sank +trembling into one of the low cushioned chairs, and presently the +reaction completed itself in tears, which she had not quite repressed +when Dolly came in to look for her. + +'Has he gone?' she began; and then, as she saw her sister's face, +'Mabel! Harold hasn't been bullying _you_?' + +'No, darling, no,' said Mabel, putting her arms round Dolly's waist. +'It's silly of me to cry, isn't it? for Harold will not trouble either +of us again after this.' + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile Harold was striding furiously down the other side of the +hill in the direction of Kensal Green, paying very little heed where +his steps might be leading him, in the dull rage which made his brain +whirl. + +Mabel's soft and musical voice, for it had not ceased to be that, even +when her indignation was at its highest, rang still in his ears. He +could not forget her bitter scornful speeches; they were lashing and +stinging him to the soul. + +He had indeed been hoist with his own petard; the very adroitness with +which he had contrived to get rid of an inconvenient rival had only +served to destroy his own chances for ever. + +He knew that never again would Mabel suffer him to approach her on the +old friendly footing--it would be much if she could bring herself to +treat him with ordinary civility--he had lost her for ever, and hated +her accordingly from the bottom of his heart. 'If I can ever humble +you as you have humbled me to-day, God help you, my charming Mabel!' +he said to himself. 'To think that that little fool of a child should +have let out everything, at the very moment when I had the game in my +own hands! I have to thank that distinguished novelist, Mr. Mark +Ashburn, for that, though; _he_ must trouble himself to put his spoke +in my wheel, must he? I shan't forget it. I owe you one for that, my +illustrious friend, and you're the sort of creditor I generally _do_ +pay in the long run.' + +Only one thing gave him a gleam--not of comfort, precisely, but gloomy +satisfaction; his manoeuvre with the letter had at least succeeded +in keeping Holroyd apart from Mabel. 'He's just the fellow to think +he's jilted, and give her up without another line,' he thought; +'shouldn't wonder if he married out there. Miss Mabel won't have +_everything_ her own way!' + +He walked on, past the huge gasometers and furnaces of the Gas +Company, and over the railway and canal bridges, to the Harrow Road, +when he turned mechanically to the right. His eyes saw nothing--neither +the sluggish barges gliding through the greasy black stream on his +right, nor the doleful string of hearses and mourning coaches which +passed him on their way to or from the cemetery. It was with some +surprise that, as he began to take note of his surroundings again, he +found himself in Bayswater, and not far from his own rooms. He thought +he might as well return to them as not, and as he reached the terrace +in which he had taken lodgings, he saw a figure coming towards him +that seemed familiar, and in whom, as he drew nearer, he recognised +his uncle, Mr. Antony Humpage. He was in no mood to talk about +indifferent topics just then, and if his respected uncle had only had +his back instead of his face towards him, Caffyn would have made no +great effort to attract his attention. As it was, he gave him the +heartiest and most dutiful of welcomes. 'You don't mean to say you've +actually been looking me up?' he began; 'how lucky that I came up +just then--another second or two and I should have missed you. Come +in, and let me give you some lunch?' + +'No, my boy, I can't stay long. I was in the neighbourhood on +business, and I thought I'd see if you were at home. I won't come up +again now, I must get back to my station. I waited for some time in +those luxurious apartments of yours, you see, thinking you might come +in. Suppose you walk a little way back with me, eh? if you've no +better engagement.' + +'Couldn't have a better one,' said Caffyn, inwardly chafing; but he +always made a point of obliging his uncle, and for once he had no +reason to consider his time thrown away. For, as they walked on +together in the direction of the Edgware Road, where the old gentleman +intended to take the Underground to King's Cross, Mr. Humpage, after +some desultory conversation on various subjects, said suddenly, 'By +the way, you know a good many of these writing fellows, Harold--have +you ever come across one called Mark Ashburn?' + +'I've met him once,' said Caffyn, and his brows contracted. 'Wrote +this new book, "Illusion," didn't he?' + +'Yes, he did--confound him!' said the other warmly, and then launched +into the history of his wrongs. 'Perhaps I oughtn't to say it at my +age,' he concluded, 'but I hate that fellow!' + +'Do you though?' said Caffyn with a laugh; 'it's a singular +coincidence, but so do I.' + +'There's something wrong about him, too,' continued the old man; 'he's +got a secret.' + +('So have most of us!' thought his nephew.) 'But what makes you think +so?' he asked aloud, and waited for the answer with some interest. + +'I saw it in the fellow's face; no young man with a clear record ever +has such a look as he had when I came in. He was green with fear, sir; +perfectly green!' + +'Is that all?' and Caffyn was slightly disappointed. 'You know, I +don't think much of that. He might have taken you for a dun, or an +indignant parent, or something of that sort; he may be one of those +nervous fellows who start at anything, and you came there on purpose +to give him a rowing, didn't you?' + +'Don't talk to me,' said the old man impatiently; 'there's not much +nervousness about _him_--he's as cool and impudent a rascal as ever I +saw when he's nothing to fear. It was guilt, sir, guilt. You remember +that picture of the Railway Station, and the look on the forger's face +when the detectives lay hold of him at the carriage door? I saw that +very look on young Ashburn's face before I'd spoken a dozen words.' + +'What were the words?' said Caffyn. 'Proceed, good uncle, as we say in +our profession; you interest me much!' + +'I'm sure I forget what I said--I was out of temper, I remember that. +I think I began by asking him for the real name of the author of the +book.' + +Again Caffyn was disappointed. 'Of course he was in a funk then; he +knew he had put you into it. So you say at least; I've not read the +book myself.' + +'It wasn't that at all, I tell you,' persisted the old man +obstinately; 'you weren't there, and I was. D'ye think I don't know +better than you? He's not the man to care for that. When he found what +I'd really come about he was cool enough. No, no, he's robbed, or +forged, or something, at some time or other, take my word for it--and +I only hope I shall live to see it brought home to him!' + +'I hope it will _find_ him at home when it is,' said Caffyn; 'these +things generally find the culprits "out" in more senses than one, to +use an old Joe Miller. He would look extremely well in the Old Bailey +dock. But this is Utopian, Uncle.' + +'Well--we shall see. I turn off here, so good-bye. If you meet that +libelling scoundrel again, you remember what I've told you.' + +'Yes, I will,' thought Caffyn as he walked back alone. 'I must know +more of my dear Ashburn; and if there happens to be a screw loose +anywhere in my dear Ashburn's past, I shall do my humble best to give +it a turn or two. It's a charming amusement to unmask the perfidious +villain, as I suppose I must call myself after to-day, but it was +hardly safe to do it if he has his reasons for wearing a domino +himself. If I could only think that excellent uncle of mine had not +found a mare's nest! And if I can only put that screw on!' + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +A PARLEY WITH THE ENEMY. + + +Mr. Fladgate was one of those domestically inclined bachelors who are +never really at ease in rooms or chambers, and whose tastes lead them, +as soon as they possess the necessary means, to set up a substantial +and well-regulated household of their own. He had a large +old-fashioned house in the neighbourhood of Russell Square, where he +entertained rather frequently in a solid unpretentious fashion. At his +Sunday dinners especially, one or two of the minor celebrities of the +day were generally to be met, and it was to one of these gatherings +that Mark was invited, as one of the natural consequences of the +success of 'Illusion.' He found himself, on arriving, in company with +several faces familiar to him from photographs, and heard names +announced which were already common property. There were some there +who had been famous once and were already beginning to be forgotten, +others now obscure who were destined to be famous some day, and a few, +and these by no means the least gifted, who neither had been nor would +be famous at any time. There were two or three constellations of some +magnitude on this occasion, surrounded by a kind of 'milky way' of +minor stars, amongst which the bar, the studios, and the stage were +all more or less represented. + +Mark, as a rising man who had yet to justify a first success, occupied +a position somewhere between the greater and lesser division, and Mr. +Fladgate took care to make him known to many of the leading men in +the room, by whom he found himself welcomed with cordial +encouragement. + +Presently, when he had shifted for a moment out of the nearest focus +of conversation, his host, who had been 'distributing himself,' as the +French say, amongst the various knots of talkers, came bustling up to +him. 'Er--Mr. Ashburn,' he began, 'I want you to know a very clever +young fellow here--known him from a boy--he's on the stage now, and +going to surprise us all some of these days. You'll like him. Come +along and I'll introduce him to you; he's very anxious to know _you_.' +She let fall her hands and looked at him eagerly, but he did not pursue +the subject. + +“Tell me, how did I come here, Nanea?” + +“Nahoon and his companions carried you, _Inkoos_.” + +“Indeed, I begin to be thankful to the leopard that struck me down. +Well, Nahoon is a brave man, and he has done me a great service. I +trust that I may be able to repay it—to you, Nanea.” + + +This was the first meeting of Nanea and Hadden; but, although she did +not seek them, the necessities of his sickness and of the situation +brought about many another. Never for a moment did the white man waver +in his determination to get into his keeping the native girl who had +captivated him, and to attain his end he brought to bear all his powers +and charm to detach her from Nahoon, and win her affections for +himself. He was no rough wooer, however, but proceeded warily, weaving +her about with a web of flattery and attention that must, he thought, +produce the desired effect upon her mind. Without a doubt, indeed, it +would have done so—for she was but a woman, and an untutored one—had it +not been for a simple fact which dominated her whole nature. She loved +Nahoon, and there was no room in her heart for any other man, white or +black. To Hadden she was courteous and kindly but no more, nor did she +appear to notice any of the subtle advances by which he attempted to +win a foothold in her heart. For a while this puzzled him, but he +remembered that the Zulu women do not usually permit themselves to show +feeling towards an undeclared suitor. Therefore it became necessary +that he should speak out. + +His mind once made up, he had not to wait long for an opportunity. He +was now quite recovered from his hurts, and accustomed to walk in the +neighbourhood of the kraal. About two hundred yards from Umgona’s huts +rose a spring, and thither it was Nanea’s habit to resort in the +evening to bring back drinking-water for the use of her father’s +household. The path between this spring and the kraal ran through a +patch of bush, where on a certain afternoon towards sundown Hadden took +his seat under a tree, having first seen Nanea go down to the little +stream as was her custom. A quarter of an hour later she reappeared +carrying a large gourd upon her head. She wore no garment now except +her moocha, for she had but one mantle and was afraid lest the water +should splash it. He watched her advancing along the path, her hands +resting on her hips, her splendid naked figure outlined against the +westering sun, and wondered what excuse he could make to talk with her. +As it chanced fortune favoured him, for when she was near him a snake +glided across the path in front of the girl’s feet, causing her to +spring backwards in alarm and overset the gourd of water. He came +forward, and picked it up. + +“Wait here,” he said laughing; “I will bring it to you full.” + +“Nay, _Inkoos_,” she remonstrated, “that is a woman’s work.” + +“Among my people,” he said, “the men love to work for the women,” and +he started for the spring, leaving her wondering. + +Before he reached her again, he regretted his gallantry, for it was +necessary to carry the handleless gourd upon his shoulder, and the +contents of it spilling over the edge soaked him. Of this, however, he +said nothing to Nanea. + +“There is your water, Nanea, shall I carry it for you to the kraal?” + +“Nay, _Inkoos_, I thank you, but give it to me, you are weary with its +weight.” + +“Stay awhile, and I will accompany you. Ah! Nanea, I am still weak, and +had it not been for you I think that I should be dead.” + +“It was Nahoon who saved you—not I, _Inkoos_.” + +“Nahoon saved my body, but you, Nanea, you alone can save my heart.” + +“You talk darkly, _Inkoos_.” + +“Then I must make my meaning clear, Nanea. I love you.” + +She opened her brown eyes wide. + +“You, a white lord, love me, a Zulu girl? How can that be?” + +“I do not know, Nanea, but it is so, and were you not blind you would +have seen it. I love you, and I wish to take you to wife.” + +“Nay, _Inkoos_, it is impossible. I am already betrothed.” + +“Ay,” he answered, “betrothed to the king.” + +“No, betrothed to Nahoon.” + +“But it is the king who will take you within a week; is it not so? And +would you not rather that I should take you than the king?” + +“It seems to be so, _Inkoos_, and I would rather go with you than with +the king, but most of all I desire to marry Nahoon. It may be that I +shall not be able to marry him, but if that is so, at least I will +never become one of the king’s women.” + +“How will you prevent it, Nanea?” + +“There are waters in which a maid may drown, and trees upon which she +can hang,” she answered with a quick setting of the mouth. + +“That were a pity, Nanea, you are too fair to die.” + +“Fair or foul, yet I die, _Inkoos_.” + +“No, no, come with me—I will find a way—and be my wife,” and he put his +arm about her waist, and strove to draw her to him. + +Without any violence of movement, and with the most perfect dignity, +the girl disengaged herself from his embrace. + +“You have honoured me, and I thank you, _Inkoos_,” she said quietly, +“but you do not understand. I am the wife of Nahoon—I belong to Nahoon; +therefore, I cannot look on any other man while Nahoon lives. It is not +our custom, _Inkoos_, for we are not as the white women, but ignorant +and simple, and when we vow ourselves to a man, we abide by that vow +till death.” + +“Indeed,” said Hadden; “and so now you go to tell Nahoon that I have +offered to make you my wife.” + +“No, _Inkoos_, why should I tell Nahoon your secrets? I have said ‘nay’ +to you, not ‘yea,’ therefore he has no right to know,” and she stooped +to lift the gourd of water. + +Hadden considered the situation rapidly, for his repulse only made him +the more determined to succeed. Of a sudden under the emergency he +conceived a scheme, or rather its rough outline. It was not a nice +scheme, and some men might have shrunk from it, but as he had no +intention of suffering himself to be defeated by a Zulu girl, he +decided—with regret, it is true—that having failed to attain his ends +by means which he considered fair, he must resort to others of more +doubtful character. + +“Nanea,” he said, “you are a good and honest woman, and I respect you. +As I have told you, I love you also, but if you refuse to listen to me +there is nothing more to be said, and after all, perhaps it would be +better that you should marry one of your own people. But, Nanea, you +will never marry him, for the king will take you; and, if he does not +give you to some other man, either you will become one of his +‘sisters,’ or to be free of him, as you say, you will die. Now hear me, +for it is because I love you and wish your welfare that I speak thus. +Why do you not escape into Natal, taking Nahoon with you, for there as +you know you may live in peace out of reach of the arm of Cetywayo?” + +“That is my desire, _Inkoos_, but Nahoon will not consent. He says that +there is to be war between us and you white men, and he will not break +the command of the king and desert from his army.” + +“Then he cannot love you much, Nanea, and at least you have to think of +yourself. Whisper into the ear of your father and fly together, for be +sure that Nahoon will soon follow you. Ay! and I myself with fly with +you, for I too believe that there must be war, and then a white man in +this country will be as a lamb among the eagles.” + +“If Nahoon will come, I will go, _Inkoos_, but I cannot fly without +Nahoon; it is better I should stay here and kill myself.” + +“Surely then being so fair and loving him so well, you can teach him to +forget his folly and to escape with you. In four days’ time we must +start for the king’s kraal, and if you win over Nahoon, it will be easy +for us to turn our faces southwards and across the river that lies +between the land of the Amazulu and Natal. For the sake of all of us, +but most of all for your own sake, try to do this, Nanea, whom I have +loved and whom I now would save. See him and plead with him as you know +how, but as yet do not tell him that I dream of flight, for then I +should be watched.” + +“In truth, I will, _Inkoos_,” she answered earnestly, “and oh! I thank +you for your goodness. Fear not that I will betray you—first would I +die. Farewell.” + +“Farewell, Nanea,” and taking her hand he raised it to his lips. + + +Late that night, just as Hadden was beginning to prepare himself for +sleep, he heard a gentle tapping at the board which closed the entrance +to his hut. + +“Enter,” he said, unfastening the door, and presently by the light of +the little lantern that he had with him, he saw Nanea creep into the +hut, followed by the great form of Nahoon. + +“_Inkoos_,” she said in a whisper when the door was closed again, “I +have pleaded with Nahoon, and he has consented to fly; moreover, my +father will come also.” + +“Is it so, Nahoon?” asked Hadden. + +“It is so,” answered the Zulu, looking down shamefacedly; “to save this +girl from the king, and because the love of her eats out my heart, I +have bartered away my honour. But I tell you, Nanea, and you, White +Man, as I told Umgona just now, that I think no good will come of this +flight, and if we are caught or betrayed, we shall be killed every one +of us.” + +“Caught we can scarcely be,” broke in Nanea anxiously, “for who could +betray us, except the _Inkoos_ here——” + +“Which he is not likely to do,” said Hadden quietly, “seeing that he +desires to escape with you, and that his life is also at stake.” + +“That is so, Black Heart,” said Nahoon, “otherwise I tell you that I +should not have trusted you.” + +Hadden took no notice of this outspoken saying, but until very late +that night they sat there together making their plans. + + +On the following morning Hadden was awakened by sounds of violent +altercation. Going out of his hut he found that the disputants were +Umgona and a fat and evil-looking Kaffir chief who had arrived at the +kraal on a pony. This chief, he soon discovered, was named Maputa, +being none other than the man who had sought Nanea in marriage and +brought about Nahoon’s and Umgona’s unfortunate appeal to the king. At +present he was engaged in abusing Umgona furiously, charging him with +having stolen certain of his oxen and bewitched his cows so that they +would not give milk. The alleged theft it was comparatively easy to +disprove, but the wizardry remained a matter of argument. + +“You are a dog, and a son of a dog,” shouted Maputa, shaking his fat +fist in the face of the trembling but indignant Umgona. “You promised +me your daughter in marriage, then having vowed her to that +_umfagozan_—that low lout of a soldier, Nahoon, the son of Zomba—you +went, the two of you, and poisoned the king’s ear against me, bringing +me into trouble with the king, and now you have bewitched my cattle. +Well, wait, I will be even with you, Wizard; wait till you wake up in +the cold morning to find your fence red with fire, and the slayers +standing outside your gates to eat up you and yours with spears——” + +At this juncture Nahoon, who till now had been listening in silence, +intervened with effect. + +“Good,” he said, “we will wait, but not in your company, Chief Maputa. +_Hamba!_ (go)——” and seizing the fat old ruffian by the scruff of his +neck, he flung him backwards with such violence that he rolled over and +over down the little slope. + +Hadden laughed, and passed on towards the stream where he proposed to +bathe. Just as he reached it, he caught sight of Maputa riding along +the footpath, his head-ring covered with mud, his lips purple and his +black face livid with rage. + +“There goes an angry man,” he said to himself. “Now, how would it be——” +and he looked upwards like one seeking an inspiration. It seemed to +come; perhaps the devil finding it open whispered in his ear, at any +rate—in a few seconds his plan was formed, and he was walking through +the bush to meet Maputa. + +“Go in peace, Chief,” he said; “they seem to have treated you roughly +up yonder. Having no power to interfere, I came away for I could not +bear the sight. It is indeed shameful that an old and venerable man of +rank should be struck into the dirt, and beaten by a soldier drunk with +beer.” + +“Shameful, White Man!” gasped Maputa; “your words are true indeed. But +wait a while. I, Maputa, will roll that stone over, I will throw that +bull upon its back. When next the harvest ripens, this I promise, that +neither Nahoon nor Umgona, nor any of his kraal shall be left to gather +it.” + +“And how will you manage that, Maputa?” + +“I do not know, but I will find a way. Oh! I tell you, a way shall be +found.” + +Hadden patted the pony’s neck meditatively, then leaning forward, he +looked the chief in the eyes and said:— + +“What will you give me, Maputa, if I show you that way, a sure and +certain one, whereby you may be avenged to the death upon Nahoon, whose +violence I also have seen, and upon Umgona, whose witchcraft brought +sore sickness upon me?” + +“What reward do you seek, White Man?” asked Maputa eagerly. + +“A little thing, Chief, a thing of no account, only the girl Nanea, to +whom as it chances I have taken a fancy.” + +“I wanted her for myself, White Man, but he who sits at Ulundi has laid +his hand upon her.” + +“That is nothing, Chief; I can arrange with him who ‘sits at Ulundi.’ +It is with you who are great here that I wish to come to terms. Listen: +if you grant my desire, not only will I fulfil yours upon your foes, +but when the girl is delivered into my hands I will give you this rifle +and a hundred rounds of cartridges.” + +Maputa looked at the sporting Martini, and his eyes glistened. + +“It is good,” he said; “it is very good. Often have I wished for such a +gun that will enable me to shoot game, and to talk with my enemies from +far away. Promise it to me, White Man, and you shall take the girl if I +can give her to you.” + +“You swear it, Maputa?” + +“I swear it by the head of Chaka, and the spirits of my fathers.” + +“Good. At dawn on the fourth day from now it is the purpose of Umgona, +his daughter Nanea, and Nahoon, to cross the river into Natal by the +drift that is called Crocodile Drift, taking their cattle with them and +flying from the king. I also shall be of their company, for they know +that I have learned their secret, and would murder me if I tried to +leave them. Now you who are chief of the border and guardian of that +drift, must hide at night with some men among the rocks in the shallows +of the drift and await our coming. First Nanea will cross driving the +cows and calves, for so it is arranged, and I shall help her; then will +follow Umgona and Nahoon with the oxen and heifers. On these two you +must fall, killing them and capturing the cattle, and afterwards I will +give you the rifle.” + +“What if the king should ask for the girl, White Man?” + +“Then you shall answer that in the uncertain light you did not +recognise her and so she slipped away from you; moreover, that at first +you feared to seize the girl lest her cries should alarm the men and +they should escape you.” + +“Good, but how can I be sure that you will give me the gun once you are +across the river?” + +“Thus: before I enter the ford I will lay the rifle and cartridges upon +a stone by the bank, telling Nanea that I shall return to fetch them +when I have driven over the cattle.” + +“It is well, White Man; I will not fail you.” + +So the plot was made, and after some further conversation upon points +of detail, the two conspirators shook hands and parted. + +“That ought to come off all right,” reflected Hadden to himself as he +plunged and floated in the waters of the stream, “but somehow I don’t +quite trust our friend Maputa. It would have been better if I could +have relied upon myself to get rid of Nahoon and his respected uncle—a +couple of shots would do it in the water. But then that would be murder +and murder is unpleasant; whereas the other thing is only the delivery +to justice of two base deserters, a laudable action in a military +country. Also personal interference upon my part might turn the girl +against me; while after Umgona and Nahoon have been wiped out by +Maputa, she _must_ accept my escort. Of course there is a risk, but in +every walk of life the most cautious have to take risks at times.” + +As it chanced, Philip Hadden was correct in his suspicions of his +coadjutor, Maputa. Even before that worthy chief reached his own kraal, +he had come to the conclusion that the white man’s plan, though +attractive in some ways, was too dangerous, since it was certain that +if the girl Nanea escaped, the king would be indignant. Moreover, the +men he took with him to do the killing in the drift would suspect +something and talk. On the other hand he would earn much credit with +his majesty by revealing the plot, saying that he had learned it from +the lips of the white hunter, whom Umgona and Nahoon had forced to +participate in it, and of whose coveted rifle he must trust to chance +to possess himself. + + +An hour later two discreet messengers were bounding across the plains, +bearing words from the Chief Maputa, the Warden of the Border, to the +“great Black Elephant” at Ulundi. + + + + +CHAPTER V +THE DOOM POOL + + +Fortune showed itself strangely favourable to the plans of Nahoon and +Nanea. One of the Zulu captain’s perplexities was as to how he should +lull the suspicions and evade the vigilance of his own companions, who +together with himself had been detailed by the king to assist Hadden in +his hunting and to guard against his escape. As it chanced, however, on +the day after the incident of the visit of Maputa, a messenger arrived +from no less a person than the great military Induna, Tvingwayo ka +Marolo, who afterwards commanded the Zulu army at Isandhlwana, ordering +these men to return to their regiment, the Umcityu Corps, which was to +be placed upon full war footing. Accordingly Nahoon sent them, saying +that he himself would follow with Black Heart in the course of a few +days, as at present the white man was not sufficiently recovered from +his hurts to allow of his travelling fast and far. So the soldiers +went, doubting nothing. + +Then Umgona gave it out that in obedience to the command of the king he +was about to start for Ulundi, taking with him his daughter Nanea to be +delivered over into the _Sigodhla_, and also those fifteen head of +cattle that had been _lobola’d_ by Nahoon in consideration of his +forthcoming marriage, whereof he had been fined by Cetywayo. Under +pretence that they required a change of veldt, the rest of his cattle +he sent away in charge of a Basuto herd who knew nothing of their +plans, telling him to keep them by the Crocodile Drift, as there the +grass was good and sweet. + +All preparations being completed, on the third day the party started, +heading straight for Ulundi. After they had travelled some miles, +however, they left the road and turning sharp to the right, passed +unobserved of any through a great stretch of uninhabited bush. Their +path now lay not far from the Pool of Doom, which, indeed, was close to +Umgona’s kraal, and the forest that was called Home of the Dead, but +out of sight of these. It was their plan to travel by night, reaching +the broken country near the Crocodile Drift on the following morning. +Here they proposed to lie hid that day and through the night; then, +having first collected the cattle which had preceded them, to cross the +river at the break of dawn and escape into Natal. At least this was the +plan of his companions; but, as we know, Hadden had another programme, +whereon after one last appearance two of the party would play no part. + +During that long afternoon’s journey Umgona, who knew every inch of the +country, walked ahead driving the fifteen cattle and carrying in his +hand a long travelling stick of black and white _umzimbeet_ wood, for +in truth the old man was in a hurry to reach his journey’s end. Next +came Nahoon, armed with a broad assegai, but naked except for his +moocha and necklet of baboon’s teeth, and with him Nanea in her white +bead-bordered mantle. Hadden, who brought up the rear, noticed that the +girl seemed to be under the spell of an imminent apprehension, for from +time to time she clasped her lover’s arm, and looking up into his face, +addressed him with vehemence, almost with passion. + +Curiously enough, the sight touched Hadden, and once or twice he was +shaken by so sharp a pang of remorse at the thought of his share in +this tragedy, that he cast about in his mind seeking a means to unravel +the web of death which he himself had woven. But ever that evil voice +was whispering at his ear. It reminded him that he, the white _Inkoos_, +had been refused by this dusky beauty, and that if he found a way to +save him, within some few hours she would be the wife of the savage +gentleman at her side, the man who had named him Black Heart and who +despised him, the man whom he had meant to murder and who immediately +repaid his treachery by rescuing him from the jaws of the leopard at +the risk of his own life. Moreover, it was a law of Hadden’s existence +never to deny himself of anything that he desired if it lay within his +power to take it—a law which had led him always deeper into sin. In +other respects, indeed, it had not carried him far, for in the past he +had not desired much, and he had won little; but this particular flower +was to his hand, and he would pluck it. If Nahoon stood between him and +the flower, so much the worse for Nahoon, and if it should wither in +his grasp, so much the worse for the flower; it could always be thrown +away. Thus it came about that, not for the first time in his life, +Philip Hadden discarded the somewhat spasmodic prickings of conscience +and listened to that evil whispering at his ear. + +About half-past five o’clock in the afternoon the four refugees passed +the stream that a mile or so down fell over the little precipice into +the Doom Pool; and, entering a patch of thorn trees on the further +side, walked straight into the midst of two-and-twenty soldiers, who +were beguiling the tedium of expectancy by the taking of snuff and the +smoking of _dakka_ or native hemp. With these soldiers, seated on his +pony, for he was too fat to walk, waited the Chief Maputa. + +Observing that their expected guests had arrived, the men knocked out +the _dakka_ pipe, replaced the snuff boxes in the slits made in the +lobes of their ears, and secured the four of them. + +“What is the meaning of this, O King’s soldiers?” asked Umgona in a +quavering voice. “We journey to the kraal of U’Cetywayo; why do you +molest us?” + +“Indeed. Wherefore then are your faces set towards the south? Does the +Black One live in the south? Well, you will journey to another kraal +presently,” answered the jovial-looking captain of the party with a +callous laugh. + +“I do not understand,” stammered Umgona. + +“Then I will explain while you rest,” said the captain. “The Chief +Maputa yonder sent word to the Black One at Ulundi that he had learned +of your intended flight to Natal from the lips of this white man, who +had warned him of it. The Black One was angry, and despatched us to +catch you and make an end of you. That is all. Come on now, quietly, +and let us finish the matter. As the Doom Pool is near, your deaths +will be easy.” + +Nahoon heard the words, and sprang straight at the throat of Hadden; +but he did not reach it, for the soldiers pulled him down. Nanea heard +them also, and turning, looked the traitor in the eyes; she said +nothing, she only looked, but he could never forget that look. The +white man for his part was filled with a fiery indignation against +Maputa. + +“You wicked villain,” he gasped, whereat the chief smiled in a sickly +fashion, and turned away. + +Then they were marched along the banks of the stream till they reached +the waterfall that fell into the Pool of Doom. + +Hadden was a brave man after his fashion, but his heart quailed as he +gazed into that abyss. + +“Are you going to throw me in there?” he asked of the Zulu captain in a +thick voice. + +“You, White Man?” replied the soldier unconcernedly. “No, our orders +are to take you to the king, but what he will do with you I do not +know. There is to be war between your people and ours, so perhaps he +means to pound you into medicine for the use of the witch-doctors, or +to peg you over an ant-heap as a warning to other white men.” + +Hadden received this information in silence, but its effect upon his +brain was bracing, for instantly he began to search out some means of +escape. + +By now the party had halted near the two thorn trees that hung over the +waters of the pool. + +“Who dives first,” asked the captain of the Chief Maputa. + +“The old wizard,” he replied, nodding at Umgona; “then his daughter +after him, and last of all this fellow,” and he struck Nahoon in the +face with his open hand. + +“Come on, Wizard,” said the captain, grasping Umgona by the arm, “and +let us see how you can swim.” + +At the words of doom Umgona seemed to recover his self-command, after +the fashion of his race. + +“No need to lead me, soldier,” he said, shaking himself loose, “who am +old and ready to die.” Then he kissed his daughter at his side, wrung +Nahoon by the hand, and turning from Hadden with a gesture of contempt +walked out upon the platform that joined the two thorn trunks. Here he +stood for a moment looking at the setting sun, then suddenly, and +without a sound, he hurled himself into the abyss below and vanished. + +“That was a brave one,” said the captain with admiration. “Can you +spring too, girl, or must we throw you?” + +“I can walk my father’s path,” Nanea answered faintly, “but first I +crave leave to say one word. It is true that we were escaping from the +king, and therefore by the law we must die; but it was Black Heart here +who made the plot, and he who has betrayed us. Would you know why he +has betrayed us? Because he sought my favour, and I refused him, and +this is the vengeance that he takes—a white man’s vengeance.” + +“_Wow!_” broke in the chief Maputa, “this pretty one speaks truth, for +the white man would have made a bargain with me under which Umgona, the +wizard, and Nahoon, the soldier, were to be killed at the Crocodile +Drift, and he himself suffered to escape with the girl. I spoke him +softly and said ‘yes,’ and then like a loyal man I reported to the +king.” + +“You hear,” sighed Nanea. “Nahoon, fare you well, though presently +perhaps we shall be together again. It was I who tempted you from your +duty. For my sake you forgot your honour, and I am repaid. Farewell, my +husband, it is better to die with you than to enter the house of the +king’s women,” and Nanea stepped on to the platform. + +Here, holding to a bough of one of the thorn trees, she turned and +addressed Hadden, saying:— + +“Black Heart, you seem to have won the day, but me at least you lose +and—the sun is not yet set. After sunset comes the night, Black Heart, +and in that night I pray that you may wander eternally, and be given to +drink of my blood and the blood of Umgona my father, and the blood of +Nahoon my husband, who saved your life, and whom you have murdered. +Perchance, Black Heart, we may yet meet yonder—in the House of the +Dead.” + +Then uttering a low cry Nanea clasped her hands and sprang upwards and +outwards from the platform. The watchers bent their heads forward to +look. They saw her rush headlong down the face of the fall to strike +the water fifty feet below. A few seconds, and for the last time, they +caught sight of her white garment glimmering on the surface of the +gloomy pool. Then the shadows and mist-wreaths hid it, and she was +gone. + +“Now, husband,” cried the cheerful voice of the captain, “yonder is +your marriage bed, so be swift to follow a bride who is so ready to +lead the way. _Wow!_ but you are good people to kill; never have I had +to do with any who gave less trouble. You——” and he stopped, for mental +agony had done its work, and suddenly Nahoon went mad before his eyes. + +With a roar like that of a lion the great man cast off those who held +him and seizing one of them round the waist and thigh, he put out all +his terrible strength. Lifting him as though he had been an infant, he +hurled him over the edge of the cliff to find his death on the rocks of +the Pool of Doom. Then crying:— + +“Black Heart! your turn, Black Heart the traitor!” he rushed at Hadden, +his eyes rolling and foam flying from his lips, as he passed striking +the chief Maputa from his horse with a backward blow of his hand. Ill +would it have gone with the white man if Nahoon had caught him. But he +could not come at him, for the soldiers sprang upon him and +notwithstanding his fearful struggles they pulled him to the ground, as +at certain festivals the Zulu regiments with their naked hands pull +down a bull in the presence of the king. + +“Cast him over before he can work more mischief,” said a voice. But the +captain cried out, “Nay, nay, he is sacred; the fire from Heaven has +fallen on his brain, and we may not harm him, else evil would overtake +us all. Bind him hand and foot, and bear him tenderly to where he can +be cared for. Surely I thought that these evil-doers were giving us too +little trouble, and thus it has proved.” + +So they set themselves to make fast Nahoon’s hands and wrists, using as +much gentleness as they might, for among the Zulus a lunatic is +accounted holy. It was no easy task, and it took time. + +Hadden glanced around him, and saw his opportunity. On the ground close +beside him lay his rifle, where one of the soldiers had placed it, and +about a dozen yards away Maputa’s pony was grazing. With a swift +movement, he seized the Martini and five seconds later he was on the +back of the pony, heading for the Crocodile Drift at a gallop. So +quickly indeed did he execute this masterly retreat, that occupied as +they all were in binding Nahoon, for half a minute or more none of the +soldiers noticed what had happened. Then Maputa chanced to see, and +waddled after him to the top of the rise, screaming:— + +“The white thief, he has stolen my horse, and the gun too, the gun that +he promised to give me.” + +Hadden, who by this time was a hundred yards away, heard him clearly, +and a rage filled his heart. This man had made an open murderer of him; +more, he had been the means of robbing him of the girl for whose sake +he had dipped his hands in these iniquities. He glanced over his +shoulder; Maputa was still running, and alone. Yes, there was time; at +any rate he would risk it. + +Pulling up the pony with a jerk, he leapt from its back, slipping his +arm through the rein with an almost simultaneous movement. As it +chanced, and as he had hoped would be the case, the animal was a +trained shooting horse, and stood still. Hadden planted his feet firmly +on the ground and drawing a deep breath, he cocked the rifle and +covered the advancing chief. Now Maputa saw his purpose and with a yell +of terror turned to fly. Hadden waited a second to get the sight fair +on his broad back, then just as the soldiers appeared above the rise he +pressed the trigger. He was a noted shot, and in this instance his +skill did not fail him; for, before he heard the bullet tell, Maputa +flung his arms wide and plunged to the ground dead. + +Three seconds more, and with a savage curse, Hadden had remounted the +pony and was riding for his life towards the river, which a while later +he crossed in safety. + + + + +CHAPTER VI +THE GHOST OF THE DEAD + + +When Nanea leapt from the dizzy platform that overhung the Pool of +Doom, a strange fortune befell her. Close in to the precipice were many +jagged rocks, and on these the waters of the fall fell and thundered, +bounding from them in spouts of spray into the troubled depths of the +foss beyond. It was on these stones that the life was dashed out from +the bodies of the wretched victims who were hurled from above. But +Nanea, it will be remembered, had not waited to be treated thus, and as +it chanced the strong spring with which she had leapt to death carried +her clear of the rocks. By a very little she missed the edge of them +and striking the deep water head first like some practised diver, she +sank down and down till she thought that she would never rise again. +Yet she did rise, at the end of the pool in the mouth of the rapid, +along which she sped swiftly, carried down by the rush of the water. +Fortunately there were no rocks here; and, since she was a skilful +swimmer, she escaped the danger of being thrown against the banks. + +For a long distance she was borne thus till at length she saw that she +was in a forest, for trees cut off the light from the water, and their +drooping branches swept its surface. One of these Nanea caught with her +hand, and by the help of it she dragged herself from the River of Death +whence none had escaped before. Now she stood upon the bank gasping but +quite unharmed; there was not a scratch on her body; even her white +garment was still fast about her neck. + +But though she had suffered no hurt in her terrible voyage, so +exhausted was Nanea that she could scarcely stand. Here the gloom was +that of night, and shivering with cold she looked helplessly to find +some refuge. Close to the water’s edge grew an enormous yellow-wood +tree, and to this she staggered—thinking to climb it, and seek shelter +in its boughs where, as she hoped, she would be safe from wild beasts. +Again fortune befriended her, for at a distance of a few feet from the +ground there was a great hole in the tree which, she discovered, was +hollow. Into this hole she crept, taking her chance of its being the +home of snakes or other evil creatures, to find that the interior was +wide and warm. It was dry also, for at the bottom of the cavity lay a +foot or more of rotten tinder and moss brought there by rats or birds. +Upon this tinder she lay down, and covering herself with the moss and +leaves soon sank into sleep or stupor. + +How long Nanea slept she did not know, but at length she was awakened +by a sound as of guttural human voices talking in a language that she +could not understand. Rising to her knees she peered out of the hole in +the tree. It was night, but the stars shone brilliantly, and their +light fell upon an open circle of ground close by the edge of the +river. In this circle there burned a great fire, and at a little +distance from the fire were gathered eight or ten horrible-looking +beings, who appeared to be rejoicing over something that lay upon the +ground. They were small in stature, men and women together, but no +children, and all of them were nearly naked. Their hair was long and +thin, growing down almost to the eyes, their jaws and teeth protruded +and the girth of their black bodies was out of all proportion to their +height. In their hands they held sticks with sharp stones lashed on to +them, or rude hatchet-like knives of the same material. + +Now Nanea’s heart shrank within her, and she nearly fainted with fear, +for she knew that she was in the haunted forest, and without a doubt +these were the _Esemkofu_, the evil ghosts that dwelt therein. Yes, +that was what they were, and yet she could not take her eyes off +them—the sight of them held her with a horrible fascination. But if +they were ghosts, why did they sing and dance like men? Why did they +wave those sharp stones aloft, and quarrel and strike each other? And +why did they make a fire as men do when they wish to cook food? More, +what was it that they rejoiced over, that long dark thing which lay so +quiet upon the ground? It did not look like a head of game, and it +could scarcely be a crocodile, yet clearly it was food of some sort, +for they were sharpening the stone knives in order to cut it up. + +While she wondered thus, one of the dreadful-looking little creatures +advanced to the fire, and taking from it a burning bough, held it over +the thing that lay upon the ground, to give light to a companion who +was about to do something to it with the stone knife. Next instant +Nanea drew back her head from the hole, a stifled shriek upon her lips. +She saw what it was now—it was the body of a man. Yes, and these were +no ghosts; they were cannibals of whom when she was little, her mother +had told her tales to keep her from wandering away from home. + +But who was the man they were about to eat? It could not be one of +themselves, for his stature was much greater. Oh! now she knew; it must +be Nahoon, who had been killed up yonder, and whose dead body the +waters had brought down to the haunted forest as they had brought her +alive. Yes, it must be Nahoon, and she would be forced to see her +husband devoured before her eyes. The thought of it overwhelmed her. +That he should die by order of the king was natural, but that he should +be buried thus! Yet what could she do to prevent it? Well, if it cost +her her life, it should be prevented. At the worst they could only kill +and eat her also, and now that Nahoon and her father were gone, being +untroubled by any religious or spiritual hopes and fears, she was not +greatly concerned to keep her own breath in her. + +Slipping through the hole in the tree, Nanea walked quietly towards the +cannibals—not knowing in the least what she should do when she reached +them. As she arrived in line with the fire this lack of programme came +home to her mind forcibly, and she paused to reflect. Just then one of +the cannibals looked up to see a tall and stately figure wrapped in a +white garment which, as the flame-light flickered on it, seemed now to +advance from the dense background of shadow, and now to recede into it. +The poor savage wretch was holding a stone knife in his teeth when he +beheld her, but it did not remain there long, for opening his great +jaws he uttered the most terrified and piercing yell that Nanea had +ever heard. Then the others saw her also, and presently the forest was +ringing with shrieks of fear. For a few seconds the outcasts stood and +gazed, then they were gone this way and that, bursting their path +through the undergrowth like startled jackals. The _Esemkofu_ of Zulu +tradition had been routed in their own haunted home by what they took +to be a spirit. + +Poor _Esemkofu!_ they were but miserable and starving bushmen who, +driven into that place of ill omen many years ago, had adopted this +means, the only one open to them, to keep the life in their wretched +bodies. Here at least they were unmolested, and as there was little +other food to be found amid that wilderness of trees, they took what +the river brought them. When executions were few in the Pool of Doom, +times were hard for them indeed—for then they were driven to eat each +other. That is why there were no children. + +As their inarticulate outcry died away in the distance, Nanea ran +forward to look at the body that lay on the ground, and staggered back +with a sigh of relief. It was not Nahoon, but she recognised the face +for that of one of the party of executioners. How did he come here? Had +Nahoon killed him? Had Nahoon escaped? She could not tell, and at the +best it was improbable, but still the sight of this dead soldier lit +her heart with a faint ray of hope, for how did he come to be dead if +Nahoon had no hand in his death? She could not bear to leave him lying +so near her hiding-place, however; therefore, with no small toil, she +rolled the corpse back into the water, which carried it swiftly away. +Then she returned to the tree, having first replenished the fire, and +awaited the light. + +At last it came—so much of it as ever penetrated this darksome den—and +Nanea, becoming aware that she was hungry, descended from the tree to +search for food. All day long she searched, finding nothing, till +towards sunset she remembered that on the outskirts of the forest there +was a flat rock where it was the custom of those who had been in any +way afflicted, or who considered themselves or their belongings to be +bewitched, to place propitiatory offerings of food wherewith the +_Esemkofu_ and _Amalhosi_ were supposed to satisfy their spiritual +cravings. Urged by the pinch of starvation, to this spot Nanea +journeyed rapidly, and found to her joy that some neighbouring kraal +had evidently been in recent trouble, for the Rock of Offering was +laden with cobs of corn, gourds of milk, porridge and even meat. +Helping herself to as much as she could carry, she returned to her +lair, where she drank of the milk and cooked meat and mealies at the +fire. Then she crept back into the tree, and slept. + +For nearly two months Nanea lived thus in the forest, since she could +not venture out of it—fearing lest she should be seized, and for a +second time taste of the judgment of the king. In the forest at least +she was safe, for none dared enter there, nor did the _Esemkofu_ give +her further trouble. Once or twice she saw them, but on each occasion +they fled from her presence—seeking some distant retreat, where they +hid themselves or perished. Nor did food fail her, for finding that it +was taken, the pious givers brought it in plenty to the Rock of +Offering. + +But, oh! the life was dreadful, and the gloom and loneliness coupled +with her sorrows at times drove her almost to insanity. Still she lived +on, though often she desired to die, for if her father was dead, the +corpse she had found was not the corpse of Nahoon, and in her heart +there still shone that spark of hope. Yet what she hoped for she could +not tell. + + +When Philip Hadden reached civilised regions, he found that war was +about to be declared between the Queen and Cetywayo, King of the +Amazulu; also that in the prevailing excitement his little adventure +with the Utrecht store-keeper had been overlooked or forgotten. He was +the owner of two good buck-waggons with spans of salted oxen, and at +that time vehicles were much in request to carry military stores for +the columns which were to advance into Zululand; indeed the transport +authorities were glad to pay £90 a month for the hire of each waggon +and to guarantee the owners against all loss of cattle. Although he was +not desirous of returning to Zululand, this bait proved too much for +Hadden, who accordingly leased out his waggons to the Commissariat, +together with his own services as conductor and interpreter. + +He was attached to No. 3 column of the invading force, which it may be +remembered was under the immediate command of Lord Chelmsford, and on +the 20th of January, 1879, he marched with it by the road that runs +from Rorke’s Drift to the Indeni forest, and encamped that night +beneath the shadow of the steep and desolate mountain known as +Isandhlwana. + +That day also a great army of King Cetywayo’s, numbering twenty +thousand men and more, moved down from the Upindo Hill and camped upon +the stony plain that lies a mile and a half to the east of Isandhlwana. +No fires were lit, and it lay there in utter silence, for the warriors +were “sleeping on their spears.” + +With that _impi_ was the Umcityu regiment, three thousand five hundred +strong. At the first break of dawn the Induna in command of the Umcityu +looked up from beneath the shelter of the black shield with which he +had covered his body, and through the thick mist he saw a great man +standing before him, clothed only in a moocha, a gaunt wild-eyed man +who held a rough club in his hand. When he was spoken to, the man made +no answer; he only leaned upon his club looking from left to right +along the dense array of innumerable shields. + +“Who is this _Silwana_ (wild creature)?” asked the Induna of his +captains wondering. + +The captains stared at the wanderer, and one of them replied, “This is +Nahoon-ka-Zomba, it is the son of Zomba who not long ago held rank in +this regiment of the Umcityu. His betrothed, Nanea, daughter of Umgona, +was killed together with her father by order of the Black One, and +Nahoon went mad with grief at the sight of it, for the fire of Heaven +entered his brain, and mad he has wandered ever since.” + +“What would you here, Nahoon-ka-Zomba?” asked the Induna. + +Then Nahoon spoke slowly. “My regiment goes down to war against the +white men; give me a shield and a spear, O Captain of the king, that I +may fight with my regiment, for I seek a face in the battle.” + +So they gave him a shield and a spear, for they dared not turn away one +whose brain was alight with the fire of Heaven. + + +When the sun was high that day, bullets began to fall among the ranks +of the Umcityu. Then the black-shielded, black-plumed Umcityu arose, +company by company, and after them arose the whole vast Zulu army, +breast and horns together, and swept down in silence upon the doomed +British camp, a moving sheen of spears. The bullets pattered on the +shields, the shells tore long lines through their array, but they never +halted or wavered. Forward on either side shot out the horns of armed +men, clasping the camp in an embrace of steel. Then as these began to +close, out burst the war cry of the Zulus, and with the roar of a +torrent and the rush of a storm, with a sound like the humming of a +billion bees, wave after wave the deep breast of the _impi_ rolled down +upon the white men. With it went the black-shielded Umcityu and with +them went Nahoon, the son of Zomba. A bullet struck him in the side, +glancing from his ribs, he did not heed; a white man fell from his +horse before him, he did not stab, for he sought but one face in the +battle. + +He sought—and at last he found. There, among the waggons where the +spears were busiest, there standing by his horse and firing rapidly was +Black Heart, he who had given Nanea his betrothed to death. Three +soldiers stood between them, one of them Nahoon stabbed, and two he +brushed aside; then he rushed straight at Hadden. + +But the white man saw him come, and even through the mask of his +madness he knew Nahoon again, and terror took hold of him. Throwing +away his empty rifle, for his ammunition was spent, he leaped upon his +horse and drove his spurs into its flanks. Away it went among the +carnage, springing over the dead and bursting through the lines of +shields, and after it came Nahoon, running long and low with head +stretched forward and trailing spear, running as a hound runs when the +buck is at view. + +Hadden’s first plan was to head for Rorke’s Drift, but a glance to the +left showed him that the masses of the Undi barred that way, so he fled +straight on, leaving his path to fortune. In five minutes he was over a +ridge, and there was nothing of the battle to be seen, in ten all +sounds of it had died away, for few guns were fired in the dread race +to Fugitive’s Drift, and the assegai makes no noise. In some strange +fashion, even at this moment, the contrast between the dreadful scene +of blood and turmoil that he had left, and the peaceful face of Nature +over which he was passing, came home to his brain vividly. Here birds +sang and cattle grazed; here the sun shone undimmed by the smoke of +cannon, only high up in the blue and silent air long streams of +vultures could be seen winging their way to the Plain of Isandhlwana. + +The ground was very rough, and Hadden’s horse began to tire. He looked +over his shoulder—there some two hundred yards behind came the Zulu, +grim as Death, unswerving as Fate. He examined the pistol in his belt; +there was but one undischarged cartridge left, all the rest had been +fired and the pouch was empty. Well, one bullet should be enough for +one savage: the question was should he stop and use it now? No, he +might miss or fail to kill the man; he was on horseback and his foe on +foot, surely he could tire him out. + +A while passed, and they dashed through a little stream. It seemed +familiar to Hadden. Yes, that was the pool where he used to bathe when +he was the guest of Umgona, the father of Nanea; and there on the knoll +to his right were the huts, or rather the remains of them, for they had +been burnt with fire. What chance had brought him to this place, he +wondered; then again he looked behind him at Nahoon, who seemed to read +his thoughts, for he shook his spear and pointed to the ruined kraal. + +On he went at speed for here the land was level, and to his joy he lost +sight of his pursuer. But presently there came a mile of rocky ground, +and when it was past, glancing back he saw that Nahoon was once more in +his old place. His horse’s strength was almost spent, but Hadden +spurred it forward blindly, whither he knew not. Now he was travelling +along a strip of turf and ahead of him he heard the music of a river, +while to his left rose a high bank. Presently the turf bent inwards and +there, not twenty yards away from him, was a Kaffir hut standing on the +brink of a river. He looked at it, yes, it was the hut of that accursed +_inyanga_, the Bee, and standing by the fence of it was none other than +the Bee herself. At the sight of her the exhausted horse swerved +violently, stumbled and came to the ground, where it lay panting. +Hadden was thrown from the saddle but sprang to his feet unhurt. + +“Ah! Black Heart, is it you? What news of the battle, Black Heart?” +cried the Bee in a mocking voice. + +“Help me, mother, I am pursued,” he gasped. + +“What of it, Black Heart, it is but by one tired man. Stand then and +face him, for now Black Heart and White Heart are together again. You +will not? Then away to the forest and seek shelter among the dead who +await you there. Tell me, tell me, was it the face of Nanea that I saw +beneath the waters a while ago? Good! bear my greetings to her when you +two meet in the House of the Dead.” + +Hadden looked at the stream; it was in flood. He could not swim it, so +followed by the evil laugh of the prophetess, he sped towards the +forest. After him came Nahoon, his tongue hanging from his jaws like +the tongue of a wolf. + +Now he was in the shadow of the forest, but still he sped on following +the course of the river, till at length his breath failed, and he +halted on the further side of a little glade, beyond which a great tree +grew. Nahoon was more than a spear’s throw behind him; therefore he had +time to draw his pistol and make ready. + +“Halt, Nahoon,” he cried, as once before he had cried; “I would speak +with you.” + +The Zulu heard his voice, and obeyed. + +“Listen,” said Hadden. “We have run a long race and fought a long +fight, you and I, and we are still alive both of us. Very soon, if you +come on, one of us must be dead, and it will be you, Nahoon, for I am +armed and as you know I can shoot straight. What do you say?” + +Nahoon made no answer, but stood still at the edge of the glade, his +wild and glowering eyes fixed on the white man’s face and his breath +coming in short gasps. + +“Will you let me go, if _I_ let _you_ go?” Hadden asked once more. “I +know why you hate me, but the past cannot be undone, nor can the dead +be brought to earth again.” + +Still Nahoon made no answer, and his silence seemed more fateful and +more crushing than any speech; no spoken accusation would have been so +terrible in Hadden’s ear. He made no answer, but lifting his assegai he +stalked grimly toward his foe. + +When he was within five paces Hadden covered him and fired. Nahoon +sprang aside, but the bullet struck him somewhere, for his right arm +dropped, and the stabbing spear that he held was jerked from it +harmlessly over the white man’s head. But still making no sound, the +Zulu came on and gripped him by the throat with his left hand. For a +space they struggled terribly, swaying to and fro, but Hadden was +unhurt and fought with the fury of despair, while Nahoon had been twice +wounded, and there remained to him but one sound arm wherewith to +strike. Presently forced to earth by the white man’s iron strength, the +soldier was down, nor could he rise again. + +“Now we will make an end,” muttered Hadden savagely, and he turned to +seek the assegai, then staggered slowly back with starting eyes and +reeling gait. For there before him, still clad in her white robe, a +spear in her hand, stood the spirit of Nanea! + +“Think of it,” he said to himself, dimly remembering the words of the +_inyanga_, “when you stand face to face with the ghost of the dead in +the Home of the Dead.” + +There was a cry and a flash of steel; the broad spear leapt towards him +to bury itself in his breast. He swayed, he fell, and presently Black +Heart clasped that great reward which the word of the Bee had promised +Him. + + +“Nahoon! Nahoon!” murmured a soft voice, “awake, it is no ghost, but +I—Nanea—I, your living wife, to whom my _Ehlose_[*] has given it me to +save you.” + +[*] Guardian Spirit. + + +Nahoon heard and opened his eyes to look and his madness left him. + +“Welcome, wife,” he said faintly, “now I will live since Death has +brought you back to me in the House of the Dead.” + + +To-day Nahoon is one of the Indunas of the English Government in +Zululand, and there are children about his kraal. It was from the lips +of none other than Nanea his wife that the teller of this tale heard +its substance. + +The Bee also lives and practises as much magic as she dares under the +white man’s rule. On her black hand shines a golden ring shaped like a +snake with ruby eyes, and of this trinket the Bee is very proud. + + + + + + + +The Irish Twins, by Lucy Fitch Perkins. + +________________________________________________________________________ +In this short book the author conveys a very good image of the lives of +Irish country children at the end of the nineteenth century. The images +drawn by the very talented author are also very good. There is just +enough of the Irish manner of speech to convey the flavour of the way +the twins and their relatives would have spoken, had they done so in +English. Of course in reality it is likely that such children would +have spoken in the Irish language, instead of just occasionally using +an Irish word. But the book not only has a good story-line, but also +conveys to its target audience, American children, something of the +background of their Irish compatriots. It is supposed to be a Grade V +reader, and, published in 1913, is the third of the Twins series. + +There is one blunder, as Kathleen, the daughter of the Earl of Elsmore, +is referred to as Lady Kathleen. Her father would have had to be a Duke +or a Marquess for that address to be correct. Her actual title does not +sound so good, so perhaps Perkins can be forgiven for this solecism. +________________________________________________________________________ +THE IRISH TWINS, BY LUCY FITCH PERKINS. + + + +CHAPTER ONE. + +GRANNIE MALONE AND THE TWINS. + +One day of the world, when it was young summer in Ireland, old Grannie +Malone sat by her fireplace knitting. She was all alone, and in her lap +lay a letter. + +Sometimes she took the letter in her hands, and turned it over and over, +and looked at it. Then she would put it down again with a little sigh. + +"If I but had the learning," said Grannie Malone to herself, "I could be +reading Michael's letters without calling in the Priest, and 'tis long +since he passed this door. 'Tis hard work waiting until some one can +tell me what at all is in it." + +She stooped over and put a bit of peat on the fire, and because she had +no one else to talk to, she talked to the tea-kettle. "There now," she +said to it, "'tis a lazy bit of steam that's coming out of the nose of +you! I'll be wanting my tea soon, and no water boiling." + +She lifted the lid and peeped into the kettle. "'Tis empty entirely!" +she cried, "and a thirsty kettle it is surely, and no one but myself to +fetch and carry for it!" + +She got up slowly, laid her knitting and the letter on the chair, took +the kettle off the hook, and went to the door. + +There was but one door and one window in the one little room of her +cabin, so if the sun had not been shining brightly it would have been +quite dark within. + +But the upper half of the door stood open, and the afternoon sun slanted +across the earthen floor and brightened the dishes that stood on the old +dresser. It even showed Grannie Malone's bed in the far end of the +room, and some of her clothes hanging from the rafters overhead. + +There was little else in the room to see, except her chair, a wooden +table, and a little bench by the fire, a pile of peat on the hearth, and +a bag of potatoes in the corner. Grannie Malone opened the lower half +of the door and stepped out into the sunshine. Some speckled hens that +had been sunning themselves on the doorstep fluttered out of the way, +and then ran after her to the well. "Shoo--get along with you!" cried +Grannie Malone. She flapped her apron at them. "'Tis you that are +always thinking of something to eat! Sure, there are bugs enough in +Ireland, without your always being at my heels to be fed! Come now,-- +scratch for your living like honest hens, and I'll give you a sup of +water if it's dry you are." The well had a stone curb around it, and a +bucket with a rope tied to it stood on the curb. Grannie let the bucket +down into the well until she heard it strike the fresh spring water with +a splash. Then she pulled and pulled on the rope. The bucket came up +slowly and water spilled over the sides as Grannie lifted it to the +curb. + +She poured some of the water into the dish for the hens, filled her +kettle, and then straightened her bent back, and stood looking at the +little cabin and the brown bog beyond. + +"Sure, it's old we all are together," she said to herself, nodding her +head. "The old cabin with the rain leaking through the thatch of a wet +day, and the old well with moss on the stones of it. And the hens +themselves, too old to cook, and too old to be laying,--except on the +doorstep in the sunshine, the creatures!--But 'tis home, thanks be to +God." + +She lifted her kettle and went slowly back into the house. The hens +followed her to the door, but she shut the lower half of it behind her +and left them outside. + +She went to the fireplace and hung the kettle on the hook, blew the +coals to a blaze with a pair of leaky bellows, and sat down before the +fire once more to wait for the water to boil. + +She knit round and round her stocking, and there was no sound in the +room but the click-click of her needles, and the tick-tick of the clock, +and the little purring noise of the fire on the hearth. + +Just as the kettle began to sing, there was a squawking among the hens +on the doorstep, and two dark heads appeared above the closed half of +the door. + +A little girl's voice called out, "How are you at all, Grannie Malone?" + +And a little boy's voice said, "We've come to bring you a sup of milk +that Mother sent you." + +Grannie Malone jumped out of her chair and ran to the door. "Och, if +it's not the McQueen Twins--the two of them!" she cried. "Bless your +sweet faces! Come in, Larry and Eileen! You are as welcome as the +flowers of spring. And how is your Mother, the day? May God spare her +to her comforts for long years to come!" She swung the door open as she +talked, took the jug from Eileen's hand, and poured the milk into a jug +of her own that stood on the dresser. + +"Sure, Mother is well. And how is yourself, Grannie Malone?" Eileen +answered, politely. + +"Barring the rheumatism and the asthma, and the old age in my bones, I'm +doing well, thanks be to God," said Grannie Malone. "Sit down by the +fire, now, till I wet a cup of tea and make a cakeen for you! And +indeed it's yourselves can read me a letter from my son Michael, that's +in America! It has been in the house these three days waiting for some +one with the learning to come along by." + +She ran to the chair and picked up the letter. The Twins sat down on a +little bench by the fireplace, and Grannie Malone put the letter in +their hands. + +"We've not got _all_ the learning yet," Larry said. "We might not be +able to read it." + +"You can try," said Grannie Malone. + +Then she opened the letter, and a bit of folded green paper with +printing on it fell out. "God bless the boy," she cried, "there's one +of those in every letter he sends me! 'Tis money that is! Can you make +out the figures on it, now?" + +Larry and Eileen looked it over carefully. "There it is, hiding in the +corner," said Larry. He pointed to a "5" on the green paper. + +"Five pounds it is!" said Grannie Malone. "Sure it's a fortune! Oh, +it's himself is the good son to me! What does the letter say?" + +The Twins spread the sheet open and studied it, while Grannie hovered +over them, trembling with excitement. + +"Sure, that's _Dear_, isn't it?" said Eileen, pointing to the first +word. + +"Sure," said Larry; "letters always begin like that." + +"Dear G-r-a-n-n-i-e," spelt Eileen. "What could that be but Grannie?" + +"'Tis from my grandson, young Patrick, then," cried Grannie. "Indeed, +he's but the age of yourselves! How old are you at all?" + +"We're seven," said the Twins. + +"Patrick might be eight," said his Grandmother, "but surely the clever +children like yourselves and the two of you together should be able to +make it out. There's but one of Patrick, and there should be more +learning between the two of you than in one alone, even though he is a +bit older! Try now." + +Larry and Eileen tried. This was the letter. It was written in a large +staggery hand. + +"Will you listen to that now!" cried Grannie Malone. "Is it taking me +back to America, he'd be! 'Tis a terrible journey altogether, and a +strange country at the end of it, for me to be laying my old bones in! +But I'd be a proud woman to see my own son, in any country of the world, +and he an alderman!" + +There was a letter from Michael himself in the envelope also, but the +Twins could not read that, however much they tried. + +So Grannie was obliged to put the two letters and the green paper under +the clock over the fireplace, to wait until the Priest should pass that +way. + + + +CHAPTER TWO. + +THE TEA-PARTY. + +"Sure, this is a fine day for me, altogether," said Grannie Malone as +she got out her bit of flour to make the cake. "I can wait for the +letter from himself, the way I know they're in health, and have not +forgotten their old Mother. Troth, we'll have a bit of a feast over it +now," she said to the Twins. "While I'm throwing the cakeen together do +you get some potatoes from the bag, Eileen, and put them down in the +ashes, and you, Larry, stir up the fire a bit, and keep the kettle full. +Sure, 'tis singing away like a bird this instant minute! Put some +water in it, avic, and then shut up the hens for me." + +Eileen ran to the potato bag in the corner and took out four good-sized +potatoes. "There's but three of us," she said to herself, "but Larry +will surely be wanting two, himself." + +She got down on her knees and buried the potatoes in the burning peat. +Then she took a little broom that stood near by, and tidied up the +hearth. + +Larry took the kettle to the well for more water. He slopped a good +deal of it as he came back. It made great spots of mud, for there was +no wooden floor--only hard earth with flat stones set in it. + +"Arrah now, Larry, you do be slopping things up the equal of a +thunderstorm," Eileen said to him. + +"Never you mind that, now, Larry," said Grannie Malone. "It might have +been that the kettle leaked itself, and no fault of your own at all! +Sure, a bit of water here or there does nobody any harm." + +She hung the tea-kettle on the hook over the fire again. Then she +brought the cakeen and put it into a small iron baking-kettle, and put a +cover over it. She put turf on top of the cover. "'Twill not be long +until it's baked," said Grannie, "and you can be watching it, Eileen, +while I set out the table." + +She pulled a little wooden table out before the fire, put three plates +and three cups on it, some salt, and the jug of milk. Meanwhile Larry +was out trying to shut the hens into the little shelter beside the +house. But he couldn't get them all in. One old speckled hen ran round +the house to the door. Larry ran after her. The hen flew up on top of +the half-door. She was very much excited. "Cut-cut-cut," she squawked. + +"Cut-cut yourself now!" cried Grannie Malone. + +She ran toward the door, waving her spoon. "Shoo along out of this with +your bad manners!" she cried. + +Just that minute Larry came up behind the hen and tried to catch her by +the legs. + +"Cut-cut-cut-a-cut," squawked old Speckle; and up she flew, right over +Grannie's head, into the rafters! Then she tucked herself cozily down +to go to sleep. + +"Did you ever see the likes of that old Speckle, now?" cried Grannie +Malone. She ran for the broom. "Sure she must be after thinking I was +lonesome for a bit of company! Do you think I'd be wanting you at all, +you silly, when I have the Twins by me?" she said to the hen. She shook +the broom at her, but old Speckle wasn't a bit afraid of Grannie; she +didn't move. + +Then Grannie Malone put the broom under her and tried to lift her from +her perch, but old Speckle had made up her mind to stay. So she flew +across to another rafter, and lit on Grannie Malone's black coat that +she wore to Mass on Sundays. She thought it a pleasant warm place and +sat down again. + +"Bad luck to you for an ill-favoured old thief!" screamed Grannie. "Get +off my Sunday cloak with your muddy feet! It's ruined you'll have me +entirely!" + +She shook the cloak. Then old Speckle, squawking all the way, flew over +to Grannie's bed! She ran the whole length of it. She left a little +path clear across the patchwork quilt. Larry stood in one corner of the +room waving his arms. Eileen was flapping her apron in another, while +Grannie Malone chased old Speckle with the broom. At last, with a final +squawk, she flew out of the door, and ran round to the shelter where the +other hens were, and went in as if she thought home was the best place +for a hen after all. Larry shut her in. + +As soon as the hen was out of the house, Eileen screamed, "I smell +something burning!" + +"'Tis the cakeen," cried Grannie. + +She and Eileen flew to the fireplace. Eileen got there first. She +knocked the cover off the little kettle with the tongs, and out flew a +cloud of smoke. + +"Och, murder! 'Tis destroyed entirely!" poor Grannie groaned. + +"I'll turn it quick," said Eileen. + +She was in such a hurry she didn't wait for a fork or stick or anything! +She took right hold of the little cakeen, and lifted it out of the +kettle with her hand! + +The little cake was hot! "Ow! Ow!" shrieked Eileen, and she dropped it +right into the ashes! Then she danced up and down and sucked her +fingers. + +"The Saints help us! The cakeen is bewitched," wailed poor Grannie. +She picked it up, and tossed it from one hand to the other, while she +blew off the ashes. + +Then she dropped it, burned side up, into the kettle once more, clapped +on the cover, and set it where it would cook more slowly. + +When that was done, she looked at Eileen's fingers. "It's not so bad at +all, mavourneen, praise be to God," she said. "Sure, I thought I had +you killed entirely, the way you screamed!" + +"Eileen is always burning herself," said Larry. "Mother says 'tis only +when she's burned up altogether that she'll learn to keep out of the +fire at all!" + +"'Twas all the fault of that disgraceful old hen," Grannie Malone said. +"Sure, I'll have to be putting manners on her! She's no notion of +behaviour at all, at all. Reach the sugar bowl, Larry, avic, and sit +down by the table and rest your bones. I'll have the tea ready for you +in a minute. Sit you down, too, Eileen, while I get the potatoes." She +took the tongs and drew out the potatoes, blew off the ashes, and put +them on the table. Then she poured the boiling water over the +tea-leaves, and set the tea to draw, while she took the cakeen from the +kettle. + +"'Tis not burned so much, after all," she said, as she looked it over. +"Sure, we can shut our eyes when we eat it." + +She drew her own chair up to the table; the Twins sat on the bench on +the other side. Grannie Malone crossed herself, and then they each took +a potato, and broke it open. They put salt on it, poured a little milk +into the skin which they held like a cup, and it was ready to eat. + +Grannie poured the tea, and they had milk and sugar in it. The little +cakeen was broken open and buttered, and, "Musha, 'tis fit for the Queen +herself," said Larry, when he had taken his first bite. + +And Eileen said, "Indeed, ma'am, it's a grand cook you are entirely." + +"Sure, I'd need to be a grand cook with the grand company I have," +Grannie answered politely, "and with the fine son I have in America to +be sending me a fortune in every letter! 'Tis a great thing to have a +good son, and do you be that same to your Mother, the both of you, for +'tis but one Mother that you'll get in all the world, and you've a right +to be choice of her." + +"Sure, I'll never at all be a good son to my Mother," laughed Eileen. + +"Well, then," said Grannie, "you can be a good daughter to her, and +that's not far behind. Whist now, till I tell you the story of the +Little Cakeen, and you'll see that 'tis a good thing entirely to behave +yourselves and grow up fine and respectable, like the lad in the tale. +It goes like this now:--" + +"It was once long ago in old Ireland, there was living a fine, clean, +honest, poor widow woman, and she having two sons [Note 1], and she +fetched the both of them up fine and careful, but one of them turned out +bad entirely. And one day she says to him, says she:-- + +"`I've given you your living as long as ever I can, and it's you must go +out into the wide world and seek your fortune.' + +"`Mother, I will,' says he. + +"`And will you take a big cake with my curse, or a little cake with my +blessing?' says she. + +"`A big cake, sure,' says he. + +"So she baked a big cake and cursed him, and he went away laughing! By +and by, he came forninst a spring in the woods, and sat down to eat his +dinner off the cake, and a small, little bird sat on the edge of the +spring. + +"`Give me a bit of your cake for my little ones in the nest,' said she; +and he caught up a stone and threw at her. + +"`I've scarce enough for myself,' says he, and she being a fairy, put +her beak in the spring and turned it black as ink, and went away up in +the trees. And whiles he looked for a stone for to kill her, a fox went +away with his cake! + +"So he went away from that place very mad, and next day he stopped, very +hungry, at a farmer's house, and hired out for to tend the cows. + +"`Be wise,' says the farmer's wife, `for the next field is belonging to +a giant, and if the cows get into the clover, he will kill you dead as a +stone.' + +"But the bad son laughed and went out to watch the cows; and before +noontime he went to sleep up in the tree, and the cows all went in the +clover. And out comes the giant and shook him down out of the tree and +killed him dead, and that was the end of the bad son. + +"And the next year the poor widow woman says to the good son:-- + +"`You must go out into the wide world and seek your fortune, for I can +keep you no longer,' says the Mother. + +"`Mother, I will,' says he. + +"`And will you take a big cake with my curse or a little cake with my +blessing?' + +"`A little cake,' says he. + +"So she baked it for him and gave him her blessing, and he went away, +and she a-weeping after him fine and loud. And by and by he came to the +same spring in the woods where the bad son was before him, and the +small, little bird sat again on the side of it. + +"`Give me a bit of your cakeen for my little ones in the nest,' says +she. + +"`I will,' says the good son, and he broke her off a fine piece, and she +dipped her beak in the spring and turned it into sweet wine; and when he +bit into his cake, sure, it was turned into fine plum-cake entirely; and +he ate and drank and went on light-hearted. And next day he comes to +the farmer's house. + +"`Will ye tend the cows for me?' says the farmer. + +"`I will,' says the good son. + +"`Be wise,' says the farmer's wife, `for the clover-field beyond is +belonging to a giant, and if you leave in the cows, he will kill you +dead.' + +"`Never fear,' says the good son, `I don't sleep at my work.' + +"And he goes out in the field and lugs a big stone up in the tree, and +then sends every cow far out in the clover-fields and goes back again to +the tree! And out comes the giant a-roaring, so you could hear the +roars of him a mile away, and when he finds the cow-boy, he goes under +the tree to shake him down, but the good little son slips out the big +stone, and it fell down and broke the giant's head entirely. So the +good son went running away to the giant's house, and it being full to +the eaves of gold and diamonds and splendid things. + +"So you see what fine luck comes to folks that is good and honest! And +he went home and fetched his old Mother, and they lived rich and +contented, and died very old and respected." + +"Do you suppose your son Michael killed any giants in America, the way +he got to be an Alderman?" asked Eileen, when Grannie had finished her +story. + +"I don't rightly know that," Grannie answered. "Maybe it wasn't just +exactly giants, but you can see for yourself that he is rich and +respected, and he with a silk hat, and riding in a procession the same +as the Lord-Mayor himself!" + +"Did you ever see a giant or a fairy or any of the good little people +themselves, Grannie Malone?" Larry asked. + +"I've never exactly seen any of them with my own two eyes," she +answered, "but many is the time I've talked with people and they having +seen them. There was Mary O'Connor now,--dead long since, God rest her. +She told me this tale herself, and she sitting by this very hearth. +Wait now till I wet my mouth with a sup of tea in it, and I'll be +telling you the tale the very same way she told it herself." + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. Adapted from "Marygold House," in _Play-Days_, by Sarah Orne +Jewett. + + + +CHAPTER THREE. + +THE TALE OF THE LEPRECHAUN. + +Grannie reached for the teapot and poured herself a cup of tea. As she +sipped it, she said to the twins, "Did you ever hear of the Leprechauns? +Little men they are, not half the bigness of the smallest baby you ever +laid your two eyes on. Long beards they have, and little pointed caps +on the heads of them. + +"And it's forever making the little brogues (shoes) they are, and you +can hear the tap-tap of their hammers before you ever get sight of them +at all. And the gold and silver and precious things they have hidden +away would fill the world with treasures. + +"But they have the sharpness of the new moon, that's sharp at both ends, +and no one can get their riches away from them at all. They do be +saying that if you catch one in your two hands and never take your eyes +off him, you can make him give up his money. + +"But they've the tricks of the world to make you look the other way, the +Leprechauns have. And then when you look back again, faith, they're +nowhere at all!" + +"Did Mary O'Connor catch one?" asked Eileen. + +"Did she now!" cried Grannie. "Listen to this. One day Mary O'Connor +was sitting in her bit of garden, with her knitting in her hand, and she +was watching some bees that were going to swarm. + +"It was a fine day in June, and the bees were humming, and the birds +were chirping and hopping, and the butterflies were flying about, and +everything smelt as sweet and fresh as if it was the first day of the +world. + +"Well, all of a sudden, what did she hear among the bean-rows in the +garden but a noise that went tick-tack, tick-tack, just for all the +world as if a brogue-maker was putting on the heel of a pump! + +"`The Lord preserve us,' says Mary O'Connor; `what in the world can that +be?' + +"So she laid down her knitting, and she went over to the beans. Now, +never believe me, if she didn't see sitting right before her a bit of an +old man, with a cocked hat on his head and a dudeen (pipe) in his mouth, +smoking away! He had on a drab-coloured coat with big brass buttons on +it, and a pair of silver buckles on his shoes, and he working away as +hard as ever he could, heeling a little pair of pumps! + +"You may believe me or not, Larry and Eileen McQueen, but the minute she +clapped her eyes on him, she knew him for a Leprechaun. + +"And she says to him very bold, `God save you, honest man! That's hard +work you're at this hot day!' And she made a run at him and caught him +in her two hands! + +"`And where is your purse of money?' says she. + +"`Money!' says he; `money is it! And where on top of earth would an old +creature like myself get money?' says he. + +"`Maybe not on top of earth at all, but _in_ it,' says she; and with +that she gave him a bit of a squeeze. `Come, come,' says she. `Don't +be turning your tricks upon an honest woman!' + +"And then she, being at the time as good-looking a young woman as you'd +find, put a wicked face on her, and pulled a knife from her pocket, and +says she, `If you don't give me your purse this instant minute, or show +me a pot of gold, I'll cut the nose off the face of you as soon as +wink.' + +"The little man's eyes were popping out of his head with fright, and +says he, `Come with me a couple of fields off, and I'll show you where I +keep my money!' + +"So she went, still holding him fast in her hand, and keeping her two +eyes fixed on him without so much as a wink, when, all of a sudden, what +do you think? + +"She heard a whiz and a buzz behind her, as if all the bees in the world +were humming, and the little old man cries out, `There go your bees +a-swarming and a-going off with themselves like blazes!' + +"She turned her head for no more than a second of time, but when she +looked back there was nothing at all in her hand. + +"He slipped out of her fingers as if he were made of fog or smoke, and +sorrow a bit of him did she ever see after." [Note 1.] + +"And she never got the gold at all," sighed Eileen. + +"Never so much as a ha'penny worth," said Grannie Malone. + +"I believe I'd rather get rich in America than try to catch Leprechauns +for a living," said Larry. + +"And you never said a truer word," said Grannie. "'Tis a poor living +you'd get from the Leprechauns, I'm thinking, rich as they are." + +By this time the teapot was empty, and every crumb of the cakeen was +gone, and as Larry had eaten two potatoes, just as Eileen thought he +would, there was little left to clear away. + +It was late in the afternoon. The room had grown darker, and Grannie +Malone went to the little window and looked out. + +"Now run along with yourselves home," she said, "for the sun is nearly +setting across the bog, and your Mother will be looking for you. Here, +put this in your pocket for luck." She gave Larry a little piece of +coal. "The Good Little People will take care of good children if they +have a bit o' this with them," she said; "and you, Eileen, be careful +that you don't step in a fairy ring on your way home, for you've a light +foot on you like a leaf in the wind, and `The People' will keep you +dancing for dear knows how long, if once they get you." + +"We'll keep right in the boreen (road), won't we, Larry? Good-bye, +Grannie," said Eileen. + +The Twins started home. Grannie Malone stood in her doorway, shading +her eyes with her hand, and looking after them until a turn in the road +hid them from sight. Then she went into her little cabin and shut the +door. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. Adapted from Thomas Keightley's _Fairy Mythology_. + + + +CHAPTER FOUR. + +THE TINKERS. + +After Larry and Eileen had gone around the turn in the road there were +no houses in sight for quite a long distance. + +On one side of the road stretched the brown bog, with here and there a +pool of water in it which shone bright in the colours of the setting +sun. It was gay, too, with patches of yellow buttercups, of primroses, +and golden whins. The whins had been in bloom since Easter, for Larry +and Eileen had gathered the yellow flowers to dye their Easter eggs. On +the other side of the road the land rose a little, and was so covered +with stones that it seemed as if there were no earth left for things to +grow in. Yet the mountain fern took root there and made the rocks gay +with its green fronds. + +The sun was so low that their shadows stretched far across the bogland +beside them as the Twins trudged along. + +Three black ravens were flying overhead, and a lark was singing its +evening song. + +Eileen looked up in the sky. "There's the ghost of a moon up there! +Look, Larry," she said. + +Larry looked up. There floating high above them, was a pale, pale moon, +almost the colour of the sky itself. "It looks queer and lonesome up +there," he said, "and there's no luck at all in three ravens flying. +They'll be putting a grudge on somebody's cow, maybe. I wonder where +the little lark does be hiding herself." + +Larry was still looking up in the sky for the little lark, when Eileen +suddenly seized his arm. "Whist, Larry," she whispered. "Look before +you on the road!" + +Larry stopped stock-still and looked. A man was coming toward them. +The man was still a long way off, but they could see that he carried +something on his back. And beside the road, not so far away from where +the Twins stood, there was a camp, like a gypsy camp. + +"'Tis the Tinkers!" whispered Larry. He took Eileen's hand and pulled +her with him behind a heap of stones by the road. Then they crept along +very quietly and climbed over the wall into a field. + +From behind the wall they could peep between the stones at the Tinkers' +Camp without being seen. + +The Twins were afraid of Tinkers. Everybody is in Ireland, because the +Tinkers wander around over the country without having any homes +anywhere. + +They go from house to house in all the villages mending the pots and +pans, and often they steal whatever they can lay their hands on. + +At night they sleep on the ground with only straw for a bed, and they +cook in a kettle over a camp-fire. + +The Twins were so badly scared that their teeth chattered. + +Eileen was the first to say anything. + +"However will we g-g-g-get home at all?" she whispered. "They've a dog +with them, and he'll b-b-b-bark at us surely. Maybe he'll bite us!" + +They could see a woman moving about through the Camp. She had a fire +with a kettle hanging over it. There were two or three other people +about, and some starved-looking horses. The dog was lying beside the +fire, and there was a baby rolling about on the ground. A little pig +was tied by one hind leg to a thorn-bush. + +"If the dog comes after us," said Larry, "I'd drop a stone on him, out +of a tree, just the way the good son did in the story, and kill him +dead." + +"But there's never a tree anywhere about," said Eileen. "Sure, that is +no plan at all." + +"That's a true word," said Larry, when he had looked all about for a +tree, and found none. "We'll have to think of something else." + +Then he thought and thought. "We might go back to Grannie's," he said +after a while. + +"That would be no better," Eileen whispered, "for, surely, our Mother +would go crazy with worrying if we didn't come home, at all, and we +already so late." + +"Well, then," Larry answered, "we must just bide here until it's dark, +and creep by, the best way we can. Anyway, I've the piece of coal in my +pocket, and Grannie said no harm would come to us at all, and we having +it." + +Just then the man, who had been coming up the road, reached the Camp. +The dog ran out to meet him, barking joyfully. The man came near the +fire and threw the bundle off his shoulder. It was two fat geese, with +their legs tied together! + +"The Saints preserve us," whispered Eileen, "if those aren't our own two +geese! Do you see those black feathers in their wings?" + +"He's the thief of the world," said Larry. + +He forgot to be frightened because he was so angry, and he spoke right +out loud! He stood up and shook his fist at the Tinker. His head +showed over the top of the wall. Eileen jerked him down. + +"Whist now, Larry darling," she begged. "If the dog sees you once he'll +tear you to pieces." + +Larry dropped behind the wall again, and they watched the Tinker's wife +loosen the string about the legs of the geese, and tie them by a long +cord to the bush, beside the little pig. Then all the Tinker people +gathered around the pot and began to eat their supper. + +The baby and the dog were on the ground playing together. The Twins +could hear the shouts of the baby, and the barks of the dog. + +It was quite dusk by this time, but the moon grew brighter and brighter +in the sky, and the flames of the Tinkers' fire glowed more and more +red, as the night came on. + +"Sure, it isn't going to get real dark at all," whispered Larry. + +"Then we'd better be going now," said Eileen, "for the Tinkers are +eating their supper, and their backs are towards the road, and we'll +make hardly a taste of noise with our bare feet." + +They crept along behind the rocks, and over the wall. "Now," whispered +Larry, "slip along until we're right beside them, and then run like the +wind!" + +The Twins took hold of hands. They could hear their hearts beat. They +walked softly up the road. + +The Tinkers were still laughing and talking; the baby and the dog kept +on playing. + +The Twins were almost by, when all of a sudden, the geese stood up. +"Squawk, squawk," they cried. "Squawk, squawk." + +"Whatever is the matter with you, now?" said the Tinker's wife to the +geese. "Can't you be quiet?" The dog stopped romping with the baby, +sniffed the air, and growled. "Lie down," said the woman; "there's a +bone for your supper." She threw the dog a bone. He sprang at it and +began to gnaw it. + +Larry and Eileen had crouched behind a rock the minute the geese began +to squawk. "I believe they know us," whispered Eileen. + +They waited until everything was quiet again. Then Larry whispered, +"Run now, and if you fall, never wait to rise but run till we get to Tom +Daly's house!" + +Then they ran! The soft pat-pat of their bare feet on the dirt road was +not heard by the Tinkers, and soon another turn in the road hid them +from view, but, for all that, they ran and ran, ever so far, until some +houses were in sight. + +They could see the flicker of firelight in the windows of the nearest +house. It was Tom Daly's house. They could see Tom's shadow as he sat +at his loom, weaving flax into beautiful white linen cloth. They could +hear the clack! clack! of his loom. It made the Twins feel much safer +to hear this sound and see Tom's shadow, for Tom was a friend of theirs, +and they often went into his house and watched him weave his beautiful +linen, which was so fine that the Queen herself used it. Up the road, +in the window of the last house of all, a candle shone. + +"Sure, Mother is watching for us," said Larry. "She's put a candle in +the window." + +They went on more slowly now, past Tom Daly's, past the Maguires' and +the O'Briens' and several other houses on the way, and when they were +quite near their own home Larry said, "Sure, I'll never travel again +without a bit of coal in my pocket. Look at all the danger we've been +in this night, and never the smallest thing happening to us." + +And Eileen said, "Indeed, musha, 'tis well we're the good children! +Sure, the Good Little People would never at all let harm come to the +likes of us, just as Grannie said." + + + +CHAPTER FIVE. + +THE TWINS GET HOME. + +When they were nearly home, the Twins saw a dark figure hurrying down +the road, and as it drew near, their Mother's voice called to them, "Is +it yourselves, Larry and Eileen, and whatever kept you till this hour? +Sure, you've had me distracted entirely with wondering what had become +of you at all! And your Dada sits in the room with a lip on him as long +as to-day and to-morrow!" + +The Twins both began to talk at once. Their mother clapped her hands +over her ears. + +"Can't you hold your tongues and speak quietly now--one at a time like +gentlemen and ladies?" she said. "Come in to your father and tell him +all about it." + +The Twins each took one of her hands, and they all three hurried into +the house. They went into the kitchen. Their Father was sitting by the +chimney, with his feet up, smoking his pipe when they came in. He +brought his feet to the floor with a thump, and sat up straight in his +chair. + +"Where have you been, you Spalpeens?" he said. "It's nine o'clock this +instant minute." + +The Twins both began again to talk. Their Mother flew about the kitchen +to get them a bite of supper. + +"Come now," said the Father, "I can't hear myself at all with the noise +of you. Do you tell the tale, Larry." + +Then Larry told them about the cakeen, and the silk hat, and Michael +Malone, and the Tinkers, while his Mother said, "The Saints preserve +us!" every few words, and Eileen interrupted to tell how brave Larry had +been--"just like the good son in Grannie Malone's tale, for all the +world." + +But when they came to the geese part of the story, the Father said, +"Blathers," and got up and hurried out to the place where the fowls were +kept, in the yard behind the house. + +In a few minutes he came in again. "The geese are gone," he said, "and +that's the truth or I can't speak it!" + +"Bad luck to the thieves, then," cried the Mother. "The back of my hand +to them! Sure, I saw a rough, scraggly man with a beard on him like a +rick of hay, come along this very afternoon, and I up the road talking +with Mrs Maguire! I never thought he'd make that bold, to carry off +geese in the broad light of day! And me saving them against +Christmastime, too!" + +"Wait till I get that fellow where beating is cheap, and I'll take the +change out of him!" said the Father. + +Eileen began to cry and Larry's lip trembled. + +"Come here now, you poor dears," their Mother said. "Sit down on the +two creepeens by the fire, and have a bite to eat before you go to bed. +Indeed, you must be starved entirely, with the running, and the fright, +and all. I'll give you a drink of cold milk, warmed up with a sup of +hot water through it, and a bit of bread, to comfort your stomachs." + +While the Twins ate the bread and drank the milk, their Father and +Mother talked about the Tinkers. "Sure, they are as a frost in spring, +and a blight in harvest," said Mrs McQueen. "I wonder wherever they +got the badness in them the way they have." + +"I've heard said it was a Tinker that led Saint Patrick astray when he +was in Ireland," said Mr McQueen. "I don't know if it's true or not, +but the tale is that he was brought here a slave, and that it would take +a hundred pounds to buy his freedom. One day, when he was minding the +sheep on the hills, he found a lump of silver, and he met a Tinker and +asked him the value of it. + +"`Wirra,' says the Tinker, `'tis naught but a bit of solder. Give it to +me!' But Saint Patrick took it to a smith instead, and the smith told +him the truth about it, and Saint Patrick put a curse on the Tinkers, +that every man's face should be against them, and that they should get +no rest at all but to follow the road." + +"Some say they do be walking the world forever," said Mrs McQueen, "and +I never in my life met any one that had seen a Tinker's funeral." + +"There'll maybe be one if I catch the Tinker that stole the geese!" Mr +McQueen said grimly. + +Mrs McQueen laughed. "It's the fierce one you are to talk," she said, +"and you that good-natured when you're angry that you'd scare not even a +fly! Come along now to bed with you," she added to the Twins. "There +you sit with your eyes dropping out of your heads with sleep." + +She helped them undress and popped them into their beds in the next +room; then she barred the door, put out the candle, covered the coals in +the fireplace, and went to bed in the room on the other side of the +kitchen. Last of all, Mr McQueen knocked the ashes from his pipe +against the chimney-piece, and soon everything was quiet in their +cottage, and in the whole village of Ballymora where they lived. + + + +CHAPTER SIX. + +HOW THEY WENT TO THE BOG. + +The next morning when the Twins woke up, the sun was shining in through +the one little square window in the bedroom, and lay in a bright patch +of yellow on the floor. Eileen sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. Then +she stuck her head out between the curtains of her bed. "Is it to-day +or to-morrow? I don't know," she said. + +Larry sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. He peeped out from his +curtains. "It isn't yesterday, anyway," he said, "and glad I am for +that. Do you mind about the Tinkers, Eileen?" + +"I do so," said Eileen, "and the geese." + +Their Mother heard them and came to the door. "Sure, I thought I'd let +you sleep as late as ever you liked," she said, "for there's no school +to-day, but you're awake and clacking, so how would you like to go with +your Dada to the bog to cut turf? Himself will put a bit of bread in +his pocket for you, and you can take a sup of milk along." + +"Oh, wirra!" cried Eileen. "What have we done but left the milk-jug at +Grannie Malone's!" + +"You can take the milk in the old brown jug, then," said the Mother, +"and come along home by way of Grannie's, and get the jug itself. I'd +like your Father to get a sight of the Tinkers' Camp, and maybe of that +thief of the world that stole the geese on us." + +It didn't take the Twins long to dress. They wore few clothes, and no +shoes and stockings, and their breakfast of bread and potatoes was soon +eaten. The Mother had already milked the cow, and when they had had a +drink of fresh milk they were ready to start. + +Mr McQueen was at the door with "Colleen," the donkey, and when Larry +and Eileen came out, he put them both on Colleen's back, and they +started down the road toward the bog. + +When they came to the place where the Tinkers' Camp should be, there was +no camp there at all! They looked east and west, but no sign of the +Tinkers did they see. + +"If it were not for the two geese gone, I'd think you had been +dreaming!" said Mr McQueen to the Twins. + +"Look there, then," said Larry. "Sure, there's the black mark on the +ground where their fire was!" + +The Twins slid off Colleen's back, and ran to the spot where the camp +had been. There, indeed, was the mark of a fire, and near by were some +wisps of straw. There were the marks of horses' feet, too, and Eileen +found a white goose feather by the thorn-bush, and a piece of broken +rope. + +"They were here surely," Mr McQueen said, "and far enough away they are +by this time, no doubt. It's likely the police were after them." + +They went back to the road, and the Twins got up again on Colleen's +back, and soon they had reached the near end of the bog. + +Mr McQueen stopped. "I'll be cutting the turf here," he said, "and the +two of you can go on to Grannie Malone's with the donkey, and bring back +the jug with yourselves. Get along with you," and he gave the donkey a +slap. + +The Twins and the donkey started along the road. Everything went well +until Colleen spied a tuft of green thistles, on a high bank beside the +road. Colleen loved thistles, and she made straight for them. The +first thing the Twins knew they were sliding swiftly down the donkey's +back, while Colleen stood with her fore feet high on the bank and her +hind feet in the road. + +Larry, being behind, landed first, with Eileen on top of him. She +wasn't hurt a bit, but she was a little scared. "Sure, Larry, but +you're the soft one to fall on," she said as she rolled over and picked +herself up. + +"I may be soft to fall on," said Larry, "but I'm the easier squashed for +that! Look at me now! It's out of shape I am entirely, with the print +of yourself on me!" + +Then--"Whatever will we do with Colleen?" Eileen said. "She's got her +nose in the thistles and we'll never be able to drag her away from +them." + +They pulled on the halter, but Colleen refused to budge. Larry got up +on the bank and pushed her. He even pulled her backward by the tail! +Colleen didn't seem to mind it at all. She kept right on eating the +thistles. + +At last Larry said, "You go on with yourself to Grannie Malone's for the +jug, Eileen, and I'll stay here until she finishes the thistles." + +So he sat down by the road on a stone and Eileen trotted off to +Grannie's. + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN. + +THE BOG. + +When Eileen got back with the jug, she found Larry still sitting beside +the road. He was talking with a freckled-faced boy, and Colleen's head +was still in the thistles. + +"The top of the morning to you, Dennis Maguire," Eileen called to the +freckled boy when she saw him. "And does it take the two of you to +watch one donkey at his breakfast? Come along and let's play in the +bog!" + +"But however shall we leave Colleen? She might run away on us," said +Larry. + +"She's tethered by hunger fast enough," said Eileen. "Ropes would not +drag her away. But you could throw her halter over a stone, to be +sure." + +Larry slipped the halter over a stone, they set the milk-jug in a safe +place, and the three children ran off into the bog. + +The bogland was brown and dark. Tufts of coarse grass grew here and +there, and patches of yellow gorse. There were many puddles, and +sometimes there were deep holes, where the turf had been cut out. + +Mr McQueen was a thrifty man, and got his supply of turf early in the +season. He would cut it out in long black blocks, like thick mud, and +leave it in the sun to dry. When it was quite dry he would carry it +home on Colleen's back, pile it in a high turf-stack near the kitchen +door, and it would burn in the fireplace all winter. + +The children were barefooted, so they played in the puddles as much as +ever they liked. + +By and by Eileen said, "Let's play we are Deirdre and the sons of +Usnach." + +"And who were they, indeed?" said Dennis. + +"It was Grannie told us about them," said Eileen, "and sure it's the +sorrowfullest story in Ireland." + +"Then let's not be playing it," said Dennis. + +"But there's Kings in it, and lots of fighting!" + +"Well, then, it might not be so bad, at all. Tell the rest of it," +Dennis answered. + +"Well, then," Eileen began, "there once was a high King of Emain, and +his name was Conchubar [pronounced _Connor_]. And one time when he was +hunting out in the fields, he heard a small little cry, crying. And he +followed the sound of it, and what should he find, but a little baby +girl, lying alone in the field!" + +"Well, listen to that now," said Dennis. + +"He did so," Eileen went on; "and he loved the child and took her to his +castle, and had her brought up fine and careful, intending for to marry +her when she should be grown up. And he hid her away, with only an old +woman to take care of her, in a beautiful house far in the mountain, for +he was afraid she'd be stolen away from him. + +"And she had silver dishes and golden cups, and everything fine and +elegant, and she the most beautiful creature you ever laid your two eyes +on." + +"Sure, I don't see much fighting in the tale, at all," said Dennis. + +"Whist now, and I'll come to it," Eileen answered. + +"One day when Deirdre had grown to be a fine big girl, she looks out of +the window, and she sees Naisi [pronounced _Naysha_] going along by with +his two brothers, the three of them together, they having been hunting +in the mountain. And the minute she slaps her eyes on Naisi, `There,' +says she, `is the grandest man in the width of the world, and I'll be +wife to no man but him,' says she. + +"So she calls in the sons of Usnach, though the old woman is scared to +have her, and she tells Naisi she's going to marry him. + +"And Naisi says, says he, `I'll never be one to refuse a lady, but +there'll be murder the day Conchubar finds it out!' says he. + +"So they went away that same night, and the old woman fair distraught +with fear. Soon along comes Conchubar to see Deirdre, for to marry her. +And he had many men with him. When he finds Deirdre gone, `It's that +Naisi,' says he, `that stole her away.' And he cursed him. And all his +men and himself went out for to chase Naisi and his two brothers. But +they never caught up with them at all for ten years, and Naisi and +Deirdre living all the time as happy as two birds in the springtime." + +"No fighting at all yet," said Dennis, "and ten years gone by. Musha, +indeed, 'tis not much of a tale at all." + +"There was fighting enough when the years were up," Eileen said. "The +men of Conchubar pursued them up hill and down dale, and when they +finally caught them, there was fighting that made the ground red with +the blood spilled. + +"And when Naisi and his brothers were all caught together, and Conchubar +was after killing them, sure, didn't Deirdre put an end to herself +entirely, and the four of them were buried together in one grave." + +"But however will we play it at all?" said Larry. + +"Listen, now," said Eileen. "I'll be Deirdre, of course. You can just +be Naisi, Larry, and Dennis can be Conchubar, and he after us, and we +running as fast as ever we can, to get away from him. You must give us +a start, Dennis." + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT. + +"DIDDY." + +Larry and Eileen took hold of hands, and began running as fast as they +could. They jumped from one tuft of grass to another. Dennis came +splashing through the puddles after them. He had almost caught them, +when all of a sudden, Larry stopped and listened. + +"What's that now?" he said. Eileen and Dennis listened too. They heard +a faint squealing sound. + +They looked all around. There was nothing in sight but the brown bog, +and the stones, and the blue hills far beyond. They were a little bit +scared. + +"Do you suppose it might be a Leprechaun?" Eileen whispered. + +"'Tis a tapping noise they make; not a crying noise at all," Larry +answered. + +"Maybe it's a Banshee," Dennis said. "They do be crying about sometimes +before somebody is going to die." + +"'Tis no Banshee whatever," Eileen declared. "They only cry at night." + +They heard the squealing sound again. + +"'Tis right over there," cried Eileen, pointing to a black hole in the +bog where turf had been cut out. "Indeed, and it might be a beautiful +baby like Deirdre herself! Let's go and see." + +They crept up to the bog-hole, and peeped over the edge. The hole was +quite deep and down in the bottom of it was a little pig! Dennis rolled +over on the ground beside the bog-hole and screamed with laughter. + +"Sure, 'tis the beautiful child entirely!" he said. + +"'Tis the little pig the Tinkers had!" cried Eileen. + +"It broke the rope and ran away with itself," shouted Larry. + +"However will we get it out?" said Eileen. "The hole is too deep +entirely!" + +"The poor little thing is nearly destroyed with hunger," Larry said. +"I'll go down in the hole and lift her out." + +"However will you get out yourself, then, Larry darling?" cried Eileen. + +"The two of you can give me your hands," said Larry, "and I'll be up in +no time." + +Then Larry jumped down into the hole. He caught the little pig in his +arms. The little pig squealed harder than ever and tried to get away, +but Larry held it up as high as he could. + +Eileen and Dennis reached down and each got hold of one of the pig's +front feet. "Now then for you!" cried Larry. + +He gave the pig a great shove. He shoved so hard that Eileen and Dennis +both fell over backwards into a puddle! But they held tight to the pig, +and there the three of them were together, rolling in the bog with the +pig on top of them! + +"Hold her, hold her!" shrieked Larry. By standing on tiptoe his nose +was just above the edge of the bog-hole, so he could see them. + +"I've got her," Eileen cried. "Run back for the bit of rope the Tinkers +left, Dennis, and tie her, hard and fast!" + +Dennis ran for the rope while Eileen sat on the ground and held the +little pig in her arms. The little pig squealed and kicked and tried +every minute to get away. She kicked even after her hind legs were tied +together. But Eileen held on! + +"You'll have to get Larry out alone, Dennis, while I never let go of +this pig," cried Eileen, breathlessly. "She's that wild, she'll be +running away with herself on her two front legs, alone." + +Dennis reached down, and took both of Larry's hands and pulled and +pulled until he got him out. + +Larry was covered with mud from the bog-hole, and Eileen and Dennis were +wet and muddy from falling into the puddle. + +But they had the pig! + +"Sure, she is a beautiful little pig, and we'll call her Deirdre, +because we found her in the bog just in the same way as Conchubar +himself," said Larry. + +"Indeed, Deirdre was too beautiful altogether to be naming a pig after +her," Eileen said. + +"Isn't she a beautiful little pig, then?" Larry answered. + +"Well, maybe we might be calling her `Diddy,' for short, and no offence +to herself at all," Eileen agreed. + +The poor little pig was so tired out with struggling, and so hungry, +that she was fairly quiet while Dennis carried her on his shoulder to +the road. Eileen walked behind Dennis and fed her with green leaves. + +She was so quiet that Larry said: "We'll tie the rope to one of Diddy's +hind legs, and she'll run home herself in front of us." + +So when they reached the road he and Dennis tied the rope securely to +Diddy's left hind leg and set her down. + +They found Colleen asleep, standing up. + +Larry woke her. Then he said, "Eileen, come now, you take the jug, and +get on Colleen's back. Dennis can lead her, and I'll drive the pig +myself." + +But Diddy was feeling better after her rest. She made up her mind she +didn't like the plan. She squealed and tried to get away. Once she +turned quickly and ran between Larry's legs and tripped him up. But she +was a tired little pig, and so it was not long before, somehow, they got +her back to where Mr McQueen was working. + +He hadn't heard them coming, though what with the pig squealing, and the +children all speaking at once, they made noise enough. But Mr McQueen +had his head down digging, and he was in a bog-hole besides, so when +they came up right beside him, with the pig, he almost fell over with +astonishment. + +He stopped his work and leaned on his clete, while they told him all +about the pig, and how they found it, and got it out of the hole, and +how the Tinkers must have lost it. And when they were all done, he only +said, "The Saints preserve us! We'll take it home to Herself and let +her cosset it up a bit!" + +So the children hurried off to take the pig to their Mother without even +stopping to eat their bit of lunch. Mr McQueen came, too. + +When they got home, they found Mrs McQueen leaning on the farmyard +fence. When she saw them coming with the pig, she ran out to meet them. + +"Wherever did you find the fine little pig?" she cried. Then she threw +up her hands. "Look at the mud on you!" she said. + +Then the Twins and Dennis told the story all over again, and Mrs +McQueen took the little pig in her apron. "The poor little thing!" she +said. "Its heart is beating that hard, you'd think its ribs would burst +themselves. I'll get it some milk right away this minute when once +you've looked in the yard." + +Mr McQueen and Dennis and the Twins went to the fence. There in the +yard were the two geese with the black feathers in their wings! "Faith, +and the luck is all with us this day," said Mr McQueen. "However did +you get them back at all?" + +"'Twas this way, if you'll believe me," said Mrs McQueen. She +scratched the little pig's back with one hand as she talked. "I was +just after churning my butter when what should I see looking in the door +but that thief of a Tinker with the beard like a rick of hay! Thinks I +to myself, sure, my butter will be bewitched and never come at all with +the bad luck of a stranger, and he a Tinker, coming in the house! + +"But he comes in and gives one plunge to the dasher for luck and to +break the spell, and says he, very civil, `Would you be wanting to buy +any fine geese to-day?' + +"My heart was going thumpity-thump, but I says to him, `I might look at +them, maybe,' and with that I go to the door, for the sake of getting +him out of it, and if there weren't our own two geese, with the legs of +them tied together!" + +"The impudence of that!" cried Mr McQueen. "Get along with your tale, +woman! Surely you never paid the old thief for your own two geese!" + +"Trust me!" replied Mrs McQueen. "I'm coming around to the point of my +tale gradual, like an old goat grazing around its tethering stump! I +says to him, `They look well enough, but I'm wishful to see them +standing up on their own two legs. That one looks as if it might be a +bit lame, and the cord so tight on it! And meanwhile, will you be +having a bit of a drink on this hot day?' + +"Then I gave him a sup of milk, in a mug, and with that he thanks me +kindly, loosens the cord, and sets the geese up on their legs for me to +see. In a minute of time I stood between him and the geese, and `Shoo!' +says I to them, and to him I says, `Get along with you before I call the +man working behind the house to put an end to your thieving entirely!' + +"And upon that he went in great haste, taking the mug along with him, +but it was cracked anyway!" + +"Woman, woman, but you've the clever tongue in your head," said Mr +McQueen with admiration. + +"'Tis mighty lucky we have," said Mrs McQueen, "for it's little else +women have in this world to help themselves with!" + +Then she put the little pig down in the empty pig-pen in the farmyard +and went to fetch it some milk. + + + +CHAPTER NINE. + +THE SECRET. + +Mr McQueen was a good farmer, but at the time he lived in Ireland, +farmers could not own their farms. + +The land was all owned by rich landlords, who did not do any work +themselves. These landlords very often lived away in England or France, +and did not know much about how the poor people lived at home, or how +hard they had to work to get the money for the rent of their farms. + +Sometimes, when they did know, they didn't care. What they wanted was +all the money they could get, so they could live in fine houses and wear +beautiful clothes, and go where they pleased, without doing any work. + +When the landlords were away, they had agents to collect the rents for +them. + +The business of these agents was to get all the rent money they could, +and they made life very hard for the farmers. + +Sometimes when the farmers couldn't pay all the rent, the agent would +turn them out of their houses. This was called "evicting" them. The +farm that Mr McQueen lived on, as well as the village and all the +country roundabout, was owned by the Earl of Elsmore, who lived most of +the year in great style in England. The agent who collected rents was +Mr Conroy. Nobody liked Mr Conroy very much, but everybody was afraid +of him, because he could do so much to injure them. + +So one morning when Mr McQueen came back very early from his +potato-field, he was not glad to see Mr Conroy's horse standing near +his door, and Mr Conroy himself, leaning on the farmyard fence, looking +at the fowls. + +"How are you, McQueen?" said Mr Conroy, when Mr McQueen came up. + +"Well enough, Mr Conroy," said Mr McQueen. + +"And you're doing well with the farm, too, it seems," said Mr Conroy. +"Those are good-looking fowls you have, and the pig is fine and fat. +How many cows have you, now?" + +"Two, and a heifer," said Mr McQueen. + +"You drained that field over by the bog this year, didn't you, and have +it planted to turnips?" went on Mr Conroy. "I'm glad to see you so +prosperous, McQueen. Of course, now, the farm is worth more than it was +when you first took it, and so you'll not be surprised that I'm raising +the rent on you." + +"If the farm is worth more, 'tis my work that has made it so," said Mr +McQueen, "and I shouldn't be punished for that. The house is none too +good at all, and the place is not worth more. Last year was the drought +and all manner of bad luck, and next year may be no better. Truly, Mr +Conroy, if you press me, I don't know how I can scrape more together +than I'm paying now." + +"Well, then," said Mr Conroy. "You must just find a way, for this is +one of the best farms about here, and you should pay as much as any +one." + +"You can't get money by shaking a man with empty pockets," said Mr +McQueen. + +But Mr Conroy only laughed and said: + +"You'll have five pounds in yours when next rent-day comes around, or +'twill be the worse for you. You wouldn't like to be evicted, I'm +sure." + +Then he mounted his horse and rode away. + +Mr McQueen went into the house with a heavy heart, and told his wife +the bad news. + +"Faith," said Mrs McQueen, "I'd not be in that man's shoes for all you +could offer. It's grinding down the faces of the poor he is, and that +at the telling of some one else! Not even his badness is his own! He +does as he's bid." + +"He gets fat on it," said Mr McQueen. + +"Faith, we'll get along somehow," said Mrs McQueen. "We always have, +though 'tis true it's been scant fare we've had now and again." + +Mr McQueen didn't answer. He went back to his work in the fields. +Mrs McQueen got the Twins started off to school, with their lunch in a +little tin bucket, and began her washing, but she did not sing at her +work that day as she sometimes did. + +Larry and Eileen knew that something was wrong, though their Father and +Mother had not said anything to them about it. + +They had seen Mr Conroy talking with their Father in the yard. "And +it's never a sign of anything good to see Mr Conroy," Eileen said. + +Larry was thinking the same thing, for he said:-- + +"When I'm a man, I'm going to be rich, and then I'll give you and Mother +and Dada a fine house, and fine clothes, and things in plenty." + +"However will you get the money?" asked Eileen. + +"Oh! Giants or something," Larry answered, "or maybe being an +Alderman." + +"Blathers!" said Eileen. "I've a better plan in my head. You know Dada +and Mother said we could have Diddy for our very own, because we found +her ourselves." + +"I do," said Larry. + +"Well, then," said Eileen, "I know it's about the rent they are +bothered, for it always is the rent that bothers them. Now, when the +Fair-time comes we'll coax Dada to let us take Diddy to the Fair. +She'll be nice and fat by that time, and we'll sell her, and give the +money to Dada for the rent!" + +"Sure, it will be hard parting with Diddy, that's been like one of our +own family since the day we found her crying in the bog," said Larry. + +"Indeed, and it will," said Eileen, "but we think more of our parents +than of a pig, surely." + +"But however will we get her to the Fair to sell her?" said Larry. + +"We'll get Dada to take her for us, but we'll never tell him we mean the +money to go for the rent until we put it in his hands," Eileen answered, +"and we won't tell any one else at all. It's a Secret." + +"I'd like to be telling Dennis, maybe," said Larry. + +"We can tell Dennis and Grannie Malone, but no one else at all," Eileen +agreed. + + + +CHAPTER TEN. + +SCHOOL. + +By this time they had reached the schoolhouse. The Schoolmaster was +standing in the door calling the children to come in. + +He was a tall man dressed in a worn suit of black. He wore glasses on +his nose, and carried a stick in his hand. + +The schoolhouse had only one room, with four small windows, and Larry +hung his cap and Eileen her shawl, on nails driven into the wall. + +The schoolroom had benches for the children to sit on, with long desks +in front of them. On the wall hung a printed copy of the Ten +Commandments. At one side there was a fireplace, but, as it was summer, +there was no fire in it. + +The Master rapped on his desk, which was in the front of the room, and +the children all hurried to their seats. Larry sat on one side of the +room, with the boys. Eileen sat on the other, with the girls. + +The Master called the roll. There were fifteen boys and thirteen girls. +When the roll was called and the number marked down on a slate in front +of the school, the Master said, "First class in reading." + +All the little boys and girls of the size of Larry and Eileen came +forward and stood in a row. There were just three of them: Larry and +Eileen and Dennis. + +"Larry, you may begin," said the Master. + +Larry read the first lines of the lesson. They were, "To do ill is a +sin. + +"Can you run far?" + +Larry wondered who it was that had done ill, and if he were running away +because of it, and who stopped him to ask, "Can you run far?" He was +thinking about it when Eileen read the next two sentences. + +They were, "Is he friend or foe? + +"Did you hurt your toe?" + +This did not seem to Larry to clear the mystery. + +"Next!" called the Master. + +Dennis stood next. He read, "He was born in a house on the hill. + +"Is rice a kind of corn? + +"Get me a cork for the ink jar." + +Just at this point the Master went to the open door to drive away some +chickens that wanted to come in, and as Dennis had not been told to stop +he went right on. Dennis was eight, and he could read quite fast if he +kept his finger on the place. This is what he read:-- + +"The morn is the first part of the day. + +"This is my son, I hope you will like him. + +"Sin not, for God hates sin. + +"Can a worm walk? + +"No, it has no feet, but it can creep. + +"Did you meet Fred in the street? + +"Weep no more." + +By this time the chickens were frightened away and Dennis was nearly out +of breath. + +The Master came back. Then Eileen had a turn. They could almost say +the lessons by heart, they knew them so well. + +After the reading-lesson they went back to their benches, and studied in +loud whispers, but Larry was thinking of something else. He drew a pig +with a curly tail on his slate--like this-- + +He held it up for Dennis to see. He wanted to tell him about Diddy and +the Fair, but the Master saw what he had done. "Come here, Larry +McQueen, and bring your slate," he said. "Sure, I'll teach you better +manners. Get up on this stool now, and show yourself." He put a large +paper dunce-cap on Larry's head, and made him sit up on a stool before +the whole school! + +The other children laughed, all but Eileen. She hid her face on her +desk, and two little tears squeezed out between her fingers. But Larry +didn't cry. He pretended he didn't care at all. He sat there for what +seemed a very long time, while other children recited other lessons in +reading, and grammar, and arithmetic. The Master gave him this poem to +learn by heart:-- + + "I thank the Goodness and the Grace + That on my birth have smiled, + And made me in these Christian days, + A happy English child." + +Larry wondered why he was called an English child, when he knew he was +Irish. And he wasn't so sure either about the "Christian days"; but he +learned it and said it to the teacher before he got down off the stool. +It seemed to him that it was about three days before noontime came. At +last they were dismissed, and the Twins went out with the other children +into the schoolyard to eat their luncheon. Dennis ate his with them, +and Larry told him the Secret. + +After lunch they went back into the dark, smoky little schoolroom for +more lessons, and when three o'clock came, how glad they were to go +dancing out into the sunshine again, and walk home along the familiar +road, with the air sweet about them, and the little birds singing in the +fields. + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN. + +THE FAIR. + +For many weeks Eileen and Larry kept the Secret. They told no one but +Dennis and Grannie Malone, and they both promised they would never, +never tell. + +Mr McQueen worked hard--early and late--over his turnips and cabbages +and potatoes, and Larry and Eileen helped by feeding the pig and +chickens, and driving the cows along the roadsides, where they could get +fresh sweet grass to eat. + +One evening Mr McQueen said to his wife. "Rent-day comes soon, and +next week will be the Fair." + +Larry and Eileen heard him say it. They looked at each other and then +Eileen went to her Father and said, "Dada, will you take Larry and me to +the Fair with you? We want to sell our pig." + +"_You_ sell your pig!" cried Mr McQueen. "You mean you want to sell it +_yourselves_?" + +"You can help us," Eileen answered; "but it's our pig and we want to +sell it, don't we, Larry?" + +Larry nodded his head up and down very hard with his mouth tight shut. +He was so afraid the Secret would jump out of it! + +"Well, I never heard the likes of that!" said McQueen. He slapped his +knee and laughed. + +"We've got it all planned," said Eileen. She was almost ready to cry +because her Father laughed at her. "We've fed the pig and fed her, +until she's so fat she can hardly walk, and we are going to wash her +clean, and I have a ribbon to tie on her ear. Diddy will look so fine +and stylish, I'm sure some one will want to buy her!" + +Mrs McQueen was just setting away a pan of milk. She stopped with the +pan in her hand. + +"Leave them go," she said. + +Mr McQueen smoked awhile in silence. At last he said:-- + +"It's your own pig, and I suppose you can go, but you'll have a long day +of it." + +"The longer the better," said the Twins. + +All that week they carried acorns, and turnip-tops, and everything they +could find that was good for pigs to eat, and fed them to Diddy, and she +got fatter than ever. + +The day before the Fair, they took the scrubbing-pail and the broom, and +some water, and scrubbed her until she was all pink and clean. Then +they put her in a clean place for the night, and went to bed early so +they would be ready to get up in the morning. + +When the first cock crowed, before daylight the next morning, Eileen's +eyes popped wide open in the dark. The cock crowed again. +_Cock-a-doodle-doo_! + +"Wake up, Larry darling," cried Eileen from her bed. "The morn is upon +us, and we are not ready for the Fair." + +Larry bounded out of bed, and such a scurrying around as there was to +get ready! Mrs McQueen was already blowing the fire on the hearth in +the kitchen into a blaze, and the kettle was on to boil. The Twins wet +their hair and their Mother parted it and then they combed it down tight +on the sides of their heads. But no matter how much they wet their +hair, the wind always blew it about their ears again in a very little +while. They put on their best clothes, and then they were ready for +breakfast. + +Mr McQueen was up long before the Twins. He had harnessed Colleen and +had loaded the pig into the cart somehow, and tied her securely. This +must have been hard work, for Diddy had made up her mind she wasn't +going to the Fair. + +Mr McQueen had found room, too, for some crocks of butter, and several +dozen eggs carefully packed in straw. + +When breakfast was over, Mrs McQueen brought a stick with notches cut +in it and gave it to Mr McQueen. + +She explained what each notch meant. "There's one notch, and a big one, +for selling the pig," she said, "and mind you see that the Twins get a +good price for the creature. And here's another for selling the butter +and eggs. And this is a pound of tea for Grannie Malone. She's been +out of tea this week past, and she with no one to send. And this notch +is for Mrs Maguire's side of bacon that you're to be after bringing her +with her egg money, which is wrapped in a piece of paper in your inside +pocket, and by the same token don't you be losing it. + +"And for myself, there's so many things I'm needing, that I've put all +these small notches close together. There's yarn for stockings for the +Twins, and some thread for myself, to make crochet, that might turn me a +penny in my odd moments, and a bit of flour, and some yellow meal. Now +remember that you forget nothing of it all!" Mr McQueen shook his head +sadly. "Faith, there's little pleasure in going to the Fair with so +many things on my mind," he said. + +The sun was just peeping over the distant hills, when Colleen started up +the road, pulling the cart with Diddy in it, squealing "like a dozen of +herself" Mrs McQueen said. Mr McQueen led the donkey, and Larry and +Eileen followed on foot. They had on shoes and stockings, and Eileen +had on a clean apron and a bright little shawl, so they looked quite +gay. + +They walked miles and miles, beside bogs, and over hills, along country +roads bordered by hedgerows or by stone walls. At last they saw the +towers of the Castle which belonged to the Earl of Elsmore. It was on +top of a high hill. + +The towers stood up strong and proud against the sky. Smoke was coming +out of the chimneys. + +"Do you suppose the Earl himself is at home?" Eileen asked her Father. + +"'Tis not unlikely," Mr McQueen answered. "He comes home sometimes +with parties of gentlemen and ladies for a bit of shooting or fishing." + +"Maybe he'll come to the Fair," Eileen said to Larry. + +"Sure, he'd never miss anything so grand as the Fair and he being in +this part of the world," said Larry. + +Some distance from the Castle they could see a church spire, and the +roofs of the town, and nearer they saw a little village of stalls +standing in the green field, like mushrooms that had sprung up +overnight. + +"The Fair! The Fair!" cried the Twins. + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE. + +HOW THEY SOLD THE PIG. + +Although they had come so far, they were among the earliest at the Fair. +People were hurrying to and fro, carrying all sorts of goods and +arranging them for sale on counters in little stalls, around an open +square in the centre of the grounds. + +Cattle were being driven to their pens, horses were being brushed and +curried, sheep were bleating, cows were lowing, and even the hens and +ducks added their noise to the concert. Diddy herself squealed with all +her might. + +Larry and Eileen had never seen so many people together before in all +their lives. + +They had to think very hard about the Secret in order not to forget +everything but the beautiful things they saw in the different stalls. + +There were vegetables and meats, and butter and eggs. There were hats +and caps. There were crochet-work, and bed-quilts, and shawls with +bright borders, spread out for people to see. + +There were hawkers going about with trays of things to eat, pies and +sweets, toffee and sugar-sticks. This made the Twins remember that they +were dreadfully hungry after their long walk, but they didn't have +anything to eat until quite a while after that, because they had so much +else to do. They followed their Father to the corner where the pigs +were. A man came to tell them where to put Diddy. + +"You can talk with these two farmers," said Mr McQueen. He brought the +Twins forward. "It's their pig." + +Then Larry and Eileen told the man about finding Diddy in the bog, and +that their Father had said they could have her for their own, and so +they had come to the Fair to sell her. + +"And whatever will you do with all the money?" asked the man. + +The Twins _almost_ told! The Secret was right on the tip end of their +tongues, but they clapped their hands over their mouths, quickly, so it +didn't get out. + +The man laughed. "Anyway, it's a fine pig, and you've a right to get a +good price for her," he said. And he gave them the very best pen of all +for Diddy. + +When she was safely in the pen, Eileen and Larry tied the red ribbon, +which Eileen had brought in her pocket, to Diddy's ear, and another to +her tail. Diddy looked very gay. + +When the Twins had had a bite to eat, they stood up before Diddy's pen, +where the man told them to, and Diddy stood up on her hind legs with her +front feet on the rail, and squealed. Larry and Eileen fed her with +turnip-tops. + +There were a great many people in the Fairgrounds by that time. They +were laughing and talking, and looking at the things in the different +booths. Every single one of them stopped to look at Diddy and the +Twins, because the Twins were the very youngest farmers in the whole +Fair. + +Everybody was interested, but nobody offered to buy, and the Twins were +getting discouraged when along came some farmers with ribbons in their +hands. They were the Judges! + +The Twins almost held their breath while the Judges looked Diddy over. +Then the head man said, "That's a very fine pig, and young. She is a +thoroughbred. Wherever did you get her, Mr McQueen?" + +Mr McQueen just said, "Ask them!" pointing to the Twins. + +The Twins were very much scared to be talking to the Judges, but they +told about the Tinkers and how they found Diddy in the bog, and the +Judges nodded their heads and looked very wise, and finally the chief +one said, "Faith, there's not her equal in the whole Fair! She gets the +blue ribbon, or I'm no Judge." + +All the other men said the same. Then they gave the blue ribbon to the +Twins, and Eileen tied it on Diddy's other ear! Diddy did not seem to +like being dressed up. She wiggled her ears and squealed. + +Just then there was the gay sound of a horn. _Tara, tara, tara_! it +sang, and right into the middle of the Fairground drove a great tally-ho +coach, with pretty young ladies and fine young gentlemen riding on top +of it. + +Everybody turned away from Diddy and the Twins to see this grand sight! + +The footman jumped down and helped down the ladies, while the driver, in +livery, stood beside the horses' heads with his hand on their bridles. + +Then all the young gentlemen and ladies went about the Fair to see the +sights. + +"'Tis a grand party from the Castle," said Mr McQueen to the Twins. +"And sure, that's the Earl's daughter, the Lady Kathleen herself, with +the pink roses on her hat! I haven't seen a sight of her since she was +a slip of a girl, the size of yourselves." + +Lady Kathleen and her party came by just at that moment, and when she +saw Diddy with her ribbons and the Twins beside her, the Lady Kathleen +stopped. + +The Twins could hardly take their eyes off her sweet face and her pretty +dress, and the flowered hat, but she asked them all sorts of questions, +and finally they found themselves telling her the story of how they +found the pig. + +"And what is your pig's name?" said Lady Kathleen. + +"Sure, ma'am, it's Deirdre, but we call her Diddy for short," Eileen +answered. + +All the young gentlemen and ladies laughed. The Twins didn't like to be +laughed at--they were almost ready to cry. + +"And why did you call her Deirdre?" asked Lady Kathleen. + +"It was because of finding her in the bog all alone with herself, the +same as Deirdre when she was a baby and found by the high King of +Emain," Eileen explained. + +"A very good reason, and it's the finest story in Ireland," said Lady +Kathleen. "I'm glad you know it so well, and she is such a fine pig +that I'm going to buy her from you myself." + +All the young ladies seemed to think this very funny, indeed. But Lady +Kathleen didn't laugh. She called one of the footmen. He came running. +"Do you see that this pig is sent to the Castle when the Fair is over," +she said. + +"I will, your Ladyship," said the footman. Then Lady Kathleen took out +her purse. "What is the price of your pig?" she said to the Twins. + +They didn't know what to say, but the Judge, who was standing near, +said, "She is a high-bred pig, your Ladyship, and worth all of three +pounds." + +"Three pounds it is, then," said the Lady Kathleen. She opened her +purse and took out three golden sovereigns. + +She gave them to the Twins and then almost before they found breath to +say, "Thank you, ma'am," she and her gay company had gone on to another +part of the Fair. The Judge made a mark on Diddy's back to show that +she had been sold. + +The Twins gave the three golden sovereigns to their Father to carry for +them, and he put them in the most inside pocket he had, for safe +keeping! Then while he stayed to sell his butter and eggs, and to do +his buying, the Twins started out to see the Fair by themselves. + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN. + +WHAT THEY SAW. + +The first person they stopped to watch was a Juggler doing tricks. It +was quite wonderful to see him keep three balls in the air all at the +same time, or balance a pole on the end of his nose. But when he took +out a frying-pan from behind his stall, and said to the Twins, who were +standing right in front of him, "Now, I'll be after making you a bit of +an omelet without any cooking," their eyes were fairly popping out of +their heads with surprise. + +The Juggler broke an egg into the frying-pan. Then he clapped on the +cover, waved the pan in the air, and lifted the cover again. Instead of +an omelet there in the frying-pan was a little black chicken crying +"Peep, peep," as if it wanted its mother! + +The Juggler looked very much surprised himself, and the Twins were +simply astonished. + +"Will you see that now!" Larry whispered to Eileen. "Sure, if only Old +Speckle could be learning that trick, 'twould save her a deal of +sitting." + +"Indeed, then, 'tis magic," Eileen answered back, "and there's no luck +in that same! Do you come away now, Larry McQueen, or he might be +casting his spells on yourself and turning you into something else +entirely, a goat maybe, or a Leprechaun!" + +This seemed quite likely to Larry, too, so they slipped hurriedly out +under the elbows of the crowd just as the Juggler was in the very act of +finding a white rabbit in the crown of his hat. They never stopped +running until they found themselves in the middle of a group of people +in a distant part of the Fairgrounds. + +This crowd had gathered around a rough-looking man with a bundle of +papers under his arm. He was waving a leaflet in the air and shouting, +"Ladies and Gentlemen--Whist now till I sing you a song of Old Ireland. +'Tis the Ballad of the Census Taker!" Then he began to sing in a voice +as loud as a clap of thunder. This was the first verse of the song:-- + + "_Oh_, they're taking of the Census + In the country and the town. + _Have_ your children got the measles? + _Are_ your chimneys tumbling down?" + +Every one seemed to think this a very funny song and at the end of the +second verse they all joined in the chorus. The Ballad Singer sang +louder than all the rest of the people put together. + +"Musha, the roars of him are like the roars of a giant," Eileen said to +Larry. "Indeed, I'm fearing he'll burst himself with the noise that's +in him." + +The moment the song ended, the Ballad Singer passed the hat, and the +crowd began to melt away. "There you go, now," cried the Singer, +"lepping away on your two hind legs like scared rabbits! Come along +back now, and buy the Ballad of `The Peeler and the Goat.' Sure, 'tis a +fine song entirely and one you'll all be wanting to sing yourselves when +once you've heard it." He seized a young man by the arm. "Walk up and +buy a ballad now," he said to him. "Troth, you've the look of a fine +singer yourself, and dear knows what minute you may be needing one, and +none handy. Come now, buy before 'tis too late." + +The young man turned very red. "I don't think I'll be wanting any +ballads," he said, and tried to pull away. + +"You don't think!" shouted the Ballad Singer. "Of course, you don't +think, you've nothing whatever to do it with!" + +The crowd laughed. The poor young man bought a ballad. + +"There now," cried the Singer, "you're the broth of a boy after all! +Who'll be after buying the next one off of me?" + +His eyes lighted on the Twins. They shook in their shoes. "He'll be +clapping one of them on us next," Larry said to Eileen. "We'd best be +going along;" and they crept out of the crowd just as he began to roar +out a new song. + +An old woman, with a white cap and a shawl over her head and a basket on +her arm, smiled at them as they slipped by. She jerked her thumb over +her shoulder at the Ballad Singer. "Melodious is the closed mouth," she +said. + +"Indeed, ma'am, I've often heard my Mother say so," Eileen answered +politely. She curtsied to the old woman. + +The old woman looked pleased. "Will you come along with me out of the +sound of this--the both of you?" she said. "And I'll take you to hear +things that will keep the memory of Ireland green while there's an +Irishman left in the world." + +She led them to a raised platform some distance away. Over the platform +there floated a white flag with a green harp on it. The old woman +pointed to it. "Do you remember the old harp of Tara?" she said to the +Twins. "'Tis nowhere else at all now but on the flag, but time was, +long, long years ago, when the harp itself was played on Tara's hill. +And in those days there were poets to praise Ireland, and singers to +sing her songs. And here they will be telling of those days, and +singing those songs. Come and listen. 'Tis a Feis [pronounced _faysh_] +they're having, and prizes given for the best tale told, or the best +song sung." + +The old woman and the Twins made their way to the platform and sat down +on a bench near the edge of it. Many other people were sitting or +standing about. An old man stood up on the platform. He told the story +of Cuchulain [pronounced _Koohoolin_]--the "Hound of Culain"--and how he +fought all the greatest warriors of the world on the day he first took +arms. + +When he had finished, another man took his place and told the story of +Deirdre and Naisi, and another told the fate of the four children of Lir +that were turned into four beautiful swans by their cruel stepmother. + +And when the stories were finished a prize was given for the best one, +and the Twins were glad that it was for the story of Deirdre, for that +tale was like an old friend to them. + +After that there was music, and the dances of old Ireland--the reel and +the lilt. And when last of all came the Irish jig, the old woman put +her basket down on the ground. + +"Sure, the music is like the springtime in my bones," she said to the +Twins. "Be-dad, I'd the foot of the world on me when I was a girl and I +can still shake one with the best of them, if I do say it myself." + +She put her hands on her hips and began to dance! The music got into +everybody else's bones, too, and soon everybody around the platform, and +on it, too,--old and young, large and small,--was dancing gayly to the +sound of it. + +The Twins danced with the rest, and they were having such a good time +that they might have forgotten to go home at all if all of a sudden, +Larry hadn't shaken Eileen's arm and said, "Look there!" + +"Where?" Eileen said. "There!" said Larry. "The rough man with the +brown horse." + +The moment Eileen saw the man with the brown horse she took Larry's hand +and they both ran as fast as they could back to their Father. + +"We saw the Tinker!" they cried the moment they saw Mr McQueen. + +"Then we'd as well be starting home," said Mr McQueen. "I'd rather not +be meeting the gentleman on the road after dark." He got Colleen and +put her into the cart once more. Then he and the Twins had something to +eat. They bought a ginger cake shaped like a rabbit, and another like a +man from one of the hawkers, and they bought some sugar-sticks, too, and +these, with what they had brought from home, made their supper. + +Then Mr McQueen brought out his notched stick. "We've sold the pig," +he said, with his finger on the first notch, "and the butter and eggs +was the second notch." Then he went over all the other notches. "And +besides all else I've bought Herself a shawl," he said to the Twins. + +The Twins wanted to get home because the Secret was getting so big +inside of them, they knew they couldn't possibly hold it in much longer, +and they didn't want to let it out until they were at home and could +tell their Father and Mother both at the same time. So they said +good-bye to Diddy, and Eileen took off the ribbons and kept them to +remember her by. Then they hurried away. + +It was after dark when at last they drove into the yard. Mrs McQueen +came running to the door to greet them and hear all about the Fair. + +Eileen and Larry told her about the prize, and about Lady Kathleen +buying the pig, and about seeing the Tinker, while their Father was +putting up Colleen. + +Then when he came in with all his bundles, and took the three golden +sovereigns out of his pocket, to show to the Mother, the Twins couldn't +keep still another minute. "It's for you! To pay the rent!" they +cried. + +The Father and Mother looked at each other. "Now, what are they at +all," said Mrs McQueen, "but the best children in the width of the +world? Wasn't I after telling you that we'd make it out somehow? And +to think of her being a thoroughbred like that, and we never knowing it +at all." She meant the pig! + +But Mr McQueen never said a word. He just gave Larry and Eileen a +great hug. Then Mr McQueen went over all the errands with his wife, +and last of all he brought out the shawl. "There, old woman," he said, +"is a fairing for you!" + +"The Saints be praised for this day!" cried Mrs McQueen. "The rent +paid, and me with a fine new shawl the equal of any in the parish." + +It was a happy family that went to bed in the little farmhouse that +night. Only Mrs McQueen didn't sleep well. She got up a number of +times in the night to be sure there were no Tinkers prowling about. +"For one can't be too careful with so much money in the house," she said +to herself. + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN. + +SUNDAY. + +The next Sunday all the McQueen family went to Mass and Mrs McQueen +wore her new shawl. The chapel was quite a distance away, and as they +walked and all the neighbours walked, too, they had a pleasant time +talking together along the way. + +Dennis and the Twins walked together, and Larry and Eileen told Dennis +all about the Fair, and about selling the pig to the Lady Kathleen, and +"Begorra," said Dennis, "but that little pig was after bringing you all +the luck in the world, wasn't she?" All the other boys and girls wanted +to hear about it. Most of them had never been to a Fair. So Eileen and +Larry talked all the way to church, and that was two miles and a half of +talk, the shortest way you could go. + +Just as they neared the church, what should they see but Grannie Malone, +coming in grandeur, riding on a jaunting-car! Beside her was a big man +with a tall hat on his head. + +"'Tis her son Michael, back from the States!" cried the Twins. "He said +in a letter he was coming." + +They ran as fast as they could to reach the church door in time to see +them go in. Everybody else stopped, too, they were so surprised, and +everybody said to everybody else, "Well, for dear's sake, if that's not +Michael Malone come back to see his old Mother!" + +And then they whispered among themselves, "Look at the grand clothes on +him, and the scarf pin the bigness of a ha'penny piece, and the hat! +Sure, America must be the rich place entirely." + +And when Michael got out of the cart and helped out his old Mother, +there were many hands held out for him to shake, and many old neighbours +for him to greet. + +"This is a proud day for you, Grannie Malone," said Mrs McQueen. + +"It is," said Grannie, "and a sad day, too, for he's after taking me +back to America, and 'tis likely I'll never set my two eyes on old +Ireland again, when once the width of the sea comes between us." + +She wiped her eyes as she spoke. Then the bell rang to call the people +into the chapel. It was little the congregation heard of the service +that day, for however much they tried they couldn't help looking at the +back of Michael's head and at Grannie's bonnet. + +And afterward, when all the people were outside the church door, Grannie +Malone said to different old friends of Michael, "Come along to my house +this afternoon, and listen to Himself telling about the States!" + +That afternoon when the McQueens had finished their noon meal, the whole +family walked up the road to Grannie's house. There were a good many +people there before them. Grannie's little house was full to the door. +Michael stood by the fireplace, and as the McQueens came in he was +saying, "It's the truth I'm telling you! There are over forty States in +the Union, and many of them bigger than the whole of Ireland itself! +There are places in it where you could travel as far as from Dublin to +Belfast without ever seeing a town at all; just fields without stones or +trees lying there begging for the plough, and sorrow a person to give it +them!" + +"Will you listen to that now?" said Grannie. + +"And more than that, if you'll believe me," Michael went on, "there do +be places in America where they _give away_ land, let alone buying it! +Just by going and living on it for a time and doing a little work on it, +you can get one hundred and sixty acres of land, for your own, mind +you!" + +"The Saints preserve us, but that might be like Heaven itself, if I may +make bold to say so," said Mrs Maguire. + +"You may well say that, Mrs Maguire," Michael answered, "for there, +when a man has bent his back, and put in sweat and labour to enrich the +land, it is not for some one else he does it, but for himself and his +children. Of course, the land that is given away is far from big +cities, and it's queer and lonely sometimes on the distant farms, for +they do not live in villages, as we do, but each farmhouse is by itself +on its own land, and no neighbours handy. So for myself, I stayed in +the big city." + +"You seem to have prospered, Michael," said Mr McQueen. + +"I have so," Michael answered. "There are jobs in plenty for the +willing hands. Sure, no Irishman would give up at all when there's +always something new to try. And there's always somebody from the old +sod there to help you if the luck turns on you. Do you remember Patrick +Doran, now? He lived forninst the blacksmith shop years ago. Well, +Patrick is a great man. He's a man of fortune, and a good friend to +myself. One year when times were hard, and work not so plenty, I lost +my job, and didn't Patrick help me to another the very next week? Not +long after that Patrick ran for Alderman, and myself and many another +like me, worked hard for to get him elected, and since then I've been in +politics myself. First Patrick got me a job on the police force, and +then I was Captain, and since then, by one change and another, if I do +say it, I'm an Alderman myself!" + +"It's wonderful, sure," Mr Maguire said, when Michael had finished, +"but I'm not wishful for to change. Sure, old Ireland is good enough +for me, and I'd not be missing the larks singing in the spring in the +green fields of Erin, and the smell of the peat on the hearth in winter. +It's queer and lonesome I'd be without these things, and that's the +truth." + +He threw his head back and began to sing. Everybody joined in and sang, +too. This is the song they sang:-- + + "Old Ireland you're my jewel sure, + My heart's delight and glory, + Till Time shall pass his empty glass + Your name shall live in story. + + "And this shall be the song for me, + The first my heart was learning, + When first my tongue its accents flung, + Old Ireland, you're my darling! + + "From Dublin Bay to Cork's Sweet Cove, + Old Ireland, you're my darling + My darling, my darling, + From Dublin Bay to Cork's Sweet Cove; + Old Ireland, you're my darling." + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN. + +MR MCQUEEN MAKES UP HIS MIND. + +Michael sang with the others. And when the song was ended, he said, +"'Tis a true word, Mr Maguire, that there's no place like old Ireland; +and you'll not find an Irishman anywhere in America that wouldn't put +the man down that said a word against her. But what with the landlords +taking every shilling you can scrape together and charging you higher +rent whenever you make a bit of an improvement on your farm, there's no +chance at all to get on in the world. And with the children, God bless +them, coming along by sixes and dozens, and little for them to do at +home, and no place to put them when they grow up, sure, it's well to go +where they've a better chance. + +"Look at the schools now! If you could see the school that my Patrick +goes to, you'd never rest at all until your children had the same! +Sure, the schoolhouses are like palaces over there, and as for learning, +the children pick it up as a hen does corn!" + +"And are there no faults with America, whatever?" Mr McQueen said to +Michael. + +"There do be faults with her," Michael answered, "and I'll never be the +man to say otherwise. There's plenty of things to be said about America +that would leave you thinking 'tis a long way this side of Heaven. But +whatever it is that's wrong, 'tis the people themselves that make it so, +and by the same token it is themselves that can cure the trouble when +they're so minded. It's not like having your troubles put down on you +by the people that's above you, and that you can't reach at all for to +be correcting them! All I say is there's a better chance over there for +yourself and the children." + +The Twins and Dennis and the other young people were getting tired of +sitting still by this time, and when Michael stopped talking about +America they jumped up. The children ran outdoors and played tag around +Grannie's house, and the older people stayed inside. + +By and by Grannie came to the door and called them. "Come in, every one +of you," she cried, "and have a fine bit of cake with currants in it! +Sure, Michael brought the currants and all the things for to make it +yesterday, thinking maybe there'd be neighbours in. And maybe 'tis the +last bit of cake I'll be making for you at all, for 'tis but two weeks +now until we start across the water." She wiped her eyes on her apron. + +Mr McQueen was very quiet as he walked home with Mrs McQueen and the +Twins. And that evening, after the children were in bed, he sat for a +long time silent, with his pipe in his mouth. His pipe went out and he +did not notice it. By and by he said to Mrs McQueen, "I've made up my +mind--" + +"The Lord save us! To what?" said Mrs McQueen. + +"To go to America," said Mr McQueen. + +Mrs McQueen hid her face in her hands and rocked back and forth and +cried. "To be leaving the place I was born, and where my father and +mother were born before me, and all the neighbours, and this old house +that's been home since ever I married you--'twill break the heart in my +body," she said. + +"I like that part of it no better than yourself," said Mr McQueen, "but +when I think of the years to come, and Larry and Eileen growing up to +work as hard as we have worked without getting much at all, and think of +the better chance altogether they'll have over there, sure, I can't be +thinking of the pain, but only of the hope there is in it for them." + +"I've seen this coming ever since the children told us about Grannie +Malone's letter," said Mrs McQueen. "'Tis Michael has put this in your +head." + +"'Tis not Michael alone," said Mr McQueen; "'tis also other things. +To-morrow I pay Conroy the rent money. And it will take all that the +pig brought and all I've been able to rake and scrape myself, and +nothing left over at all. And there's but ourselves and the Twins, and +the year has not been a bad one. We have had the pig, which we wouldn't +be having another year. And what would it be like if there were more of +us to feed, and no more pigs to be found in the bog like manna from +Heaven, to be helping us out?" + +"Sure, if it's for the children," sobbed Mrs McQueen, "I'd go anywhere +in the world, and that you know well." + +"I do know it," said Mr McQueen. "And since we're going at all, let it +be soon. We'll go with Grannie and Michael." + +"In two weeks' time?" cried Mrs McQueen. + +"We will so," said Mr McQueen. "I've no debts behind me, and we can +sell the cows and hens, and take with us whatever we need from the +house. Michael Malone will lend me the money and find me a job when we +get there. The likes of this chance will never befall us again, and +faith, we'll take it." + +"Did he tell you so?" asked Mrs McQueen. + +"He did, indeed." + +"Well, then, I've no other word to say, and if it must be done, the +sooner the better," said Mrs McQueen. + +That night she lay awake a long time. She was planning just what they +should take with them to their new home, and trying to think what the +new home would be like. + + + +CHAPTER SIXTEEN. + +MR MCQUEEN PAYS THE RENT. + +The next morning Mr McQueen went to Mr Conroy and paid the rent. Then +he said, "This is the last rent I'll be paying you, Mr Conroy!" + +Mr Conroy was surprised. "What do you mean by that?" he said. + +"I mean that I'm going to leave old Ireland," said Mr McQueen. + +"Well, now!" cried Mr Conroy. "To think of a sensible man like +yourself leaving a good farm to go off, dear knows where! And you not +knowing what you'll do when you get there as like as any way! I thought +you had better sense, McQueen." + +"It's because of my better sense that I'm going," said Mr McQueen. +"Faith, do you think I'd be showing the judgment of an old goat to stay +where every penny I can get out of the land I have to pay back in rent? +I'm going to America where there'll be a chance for myself." + +"I thought Michael Malone would be sowing the seeds of discontent in +this parish, with his silk hats and his grand talk," said Mr Conroy +angrily, "but I didn't think you were the fish to be caught with fine +words!" + +"If the seeds of discontent have been sown in this parish, Terence +Conroy," said Mr McQueen, "'tis you and the likes of you that have +ploughed and harrowed the ground ready for them! Do you think we're +wishful to be leaving our old homes and all our friends? But 'tis you +that makes it too hard entirely for people to stay. And I can tell you +that if you keep on with others as you have with me, raising the rent +when any work is done to improve the farm, you'll be left in time with +no tenants at all. And then where will you be yourself, Terence +Conroy?" + +Mr Conroy's face was red with anger, but he said, "While I'm not +needing you to teach me my duty, I will say this, McQueen. You're a +good farmer, and I hate to see you do a foolish thing for yourself. If +you'll stay on the farm, I'll not raise the rent on you." + +"You're too late, altogether," said Mr McQueen; "and as you said +yourself I'm not the fish to be caught with fine words. I know better +than to believe you. I'll be sailing from Queenstown in two weeks' +time." + +And with that he stalked out of the room and slammed the door, leaving +Mr Conroy in a very bad state of mind. + +All that Larry and Eileen could remember of the next two weeks was a +queer jumble of tears and good-byes, of good wishes and blessings, and +strange, strange feelings they had never had before. Their Mother went +about with a white face and red eyes, and their Father was very silent +as he packed the few household belongings they were to take with them to +their new home. + +At last the great day came. The McQueens got up very early that +morning, ate their potatoes and drank their tea from a few cracked and +broken dishes which were to be left behind. Then, when they had tidied +up the hearth and put on their wraps ready to go, Mrs McQueen brought +some water to quench the fire on the hearth. She might almost have +quenched it with her tears. And as she poured the water upon the ashes +she crooned this little song [see Note 1] sadly to herself:-- + + "Vein of my heart, from the lone mountain + The smoke of the turf will die. + And the stream that sang to the young children + Run down alone from the sky-- + On the doorstone, grass--and the + Cloud lying + Where they lie + In the old country." + +Mr McQueen and the Twins stood still with their bundles in their hands +until she had finished and risen from her knees, then they went quietly +out the door, all four together, and closed it after them. + +Mrs McQueen stooped to gather a little bunch of shamrock leaves which +grew by the doorstone, and then the McQueen family was quite, quite +ready for the long journey. + +Mr Maguire had bought Colleen and the cows, and he was to have the few +hens that were left for taking the McQueen family to the train. + +Larry and Eileen saw him coming up the road, "Here comes Mr Maguire +with the cart!" they cried, "and Dennis is driving the jaunting-car with +Michael and Grannie on it." + +They soon reached the little group by the roadside, and then the luggage +was loaded into the cart. Mrs McQueen got up with Grannie on one side +of the jaunting-car and Eileen sat between them. Michael and Mr +McQueen were on the other side with Larry. The small bags and bundles +were put in the well of the jaunting-car. + +"Get up!" cried Dennis, and off they started. Mrs McQueen looked back +at the old house, and cried into her new shawl. Grannie was crying, +too. But Michael said, "Wait until you see your new home, and sure, +you'll be crying to think you weren't in it before!" And that cheered +them up again, and soon a turn in the road hid the old house from their +sight forever. + +The luggage was heavy, and Colleen was slow. So it took several hours +to reach the railroad. It took longer, too, because all the people in +the village ran out of their houses to say good-bye. When they passed +the schoolhouse, the Master gave the children leave to say good-bye to +the Twins. He even came out to the road himself and shook hands with +everybody. + +But for all that, when the train came rattling into the station, there +they all were on the platform in a row ready to get on board. When it +stopped, the guard jumped down and opened the door of a compartment. He +put Grannie in first, then Mrs McQueen and the Twins. They were +dreadfully afraid the train would start before Mr McQueen and Michael +and all the luggage were on board. + +It was the first time Grannie had ever seen a train, or the Twins +either. But at last they were all in, and the guard locked the door. +Larry and Eileen looked out of the window and waved their hands to Mr +Maguire and Dennis. The engine whistled, the wheels began to turn, and +above the noise the Twins heard Dennis call out to them, "Sure, I'll be +coming along to America myself some day." + +"We'll be watching for you," Eileen called back. + +Then they passed the station, and were soon racing along over the open +fields at what seemed to poor Grannie a fearful rate of speed. + +"Murder! murder!" she screamed. "Is it for this I left my cabin? To be +broken in bits on the track like a piece of old crockery! Wirra, wirra, +why did I ever let myself be persuaded at all? Ochanee, but it is +Himself has the soothering tongue in his mouth to coax his old Mother +away for to destroy her entirely!" + +Michael laughed and patted her arm, and "Whist now," he said, "sure, I'd +never bring you where harm would come to you, and that you know well. +Look out of the window, for 'tis the last you'll be seeing of old +Ireland." + +Grannie dried her eyes, but still she clung to Michael's arm, and when +the train went around a curve she crossed herself and told her beads as +fast as she could. + +The Twins were not frightened. They were busy seeing things. And +besides, Larry had Grannie's piece of coal in his pocket. From the +window they caught glimpses of distant blue hills, and of lakes still +more blue. They passed by many a brown bog, and many a green field with +farmers and farmers' wives working in them. The hillsides were blue +with blossoming flax, and once they passed a field all spread with white +linen bleaching in the sun. + +They flew by little towns with queer names, like Ballygrady and +Ballylough, and once when they were quite near Cork they saw the towers +of Blarney Castle. + +At last the train rattled into a great station. There was so much noise +from puffing engines and rumbling trucks and shouting men, that the +Twins could only take hold of their Mother's hands and keep close behind +their Father as he followed Michael, with Grannie clinging to him, to +another train. Then there were more flying fields, and a city and more +fields still, until they reached Queenstown. + +The next thing they knew they were walking across a gangplank and on to +a boat. The Twins had never seen anything larger than a rowboat before, +and this one looked very big to them, though it was only a lighter. +This lighter was to carry luggage and passengers from the dock to the +great steamer lying outside the harbour in the deep water of the main +channel. + +When they were all safely on board the lighter, and Michael had counted +their bundles to be sure they had not lost anything, the Twins and their +Father and Mother, with Michael and Grannie, stood by the deck rail and +looked back at the dock. It was crowded with people running to and fro. +There were groups of other emigrants like themselves, surrounded by +great piles of luggage--waiting for the next lighter, for one boat would +not carry all who wanted to go. + +There were many good-byes being said and many tears falling, and in the +midst of all the noise and confusion the sailors were loading tons of +barrels and bags and boxes and trunks on board the ship. + +There was no friend to see them off, but when they saw people crying all +about them, the Twins cried a little, too, for sympathy, and even Mr +McQueen's eyes were red along the rims. + +At last the gangplanks were drawn in, and the cables thrown off. The +screws began to churn the green water into white foam, and the boat +moved slowly out of the harbour. + +The Twins and their Father and Mother, with Grannie and Michael, stood +by the rail for a long time, and watched the crowd on the pier until it +grew smaller and smaller, and at last disappeared entirely from sight +around a bend in the Channel. + +They stood there until the lighter reached the great ship that was +waiting to take them across the water to a new world. + +And when at last they were safely on board, and the lighters had gone +back empty into the harbour, they stood on the wide deck of the ship, +with their faces turned toward Ireland, until all they could see of it +in the gathering dusk was a strip of dark blue against the eastern sky, +with little lights in cottage windows twinkling from it like tiny stars. + +Then they turned their faces toward the bright western sky. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. Copyright of this poem by Herbert Trench, held by John Lane. + + + +CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. + +TWENTY YEARS AFTER. + +In the middle of one of the busiest crossings in Chicago, there stands a +big man in a blue uniform. His eyes are blue, and there are wrinkles in +the corners of them, the marks of many smiles. + +On his head is a blue cap, and under the edge of the cap you catch a +glimpse of dark hair. There are bands of gold braid on his sleeve, and +on his breast is a large silver star. + +He is King of the Crossing. When he blows his whistle, all the +street-cars and automobiles and carriages--even if it were the carriage +of the Mayor himself--stop stock-still. Then he waves his white-gloved +hands and the stream of people pours across the street. + +If there is a very small boy among them, the King of the Crossing +sometimes lays a big hand on his shoulder and goes with him to the curb. +And he has been known to carry a small girl across on his shoulder and +set her safely down on the other side. + +When the people are all across, he goes back to the middle of the street +once more, and blows twice on his little whistle. + +Then all the wheels that have been standing as still as if they had gone +to sleep suddenly wake up, and go rolling down the street, while those +that have just been turning stop and wait while the big man helps more +people over the crossing the other way. + +All day long the King of the Crossing stands there, blowing his whistle, +waving his white-gloved hands, and turning the stream of people up first +one street, then the other. + +Everybody minds him. If everybody didn't, they might get run over and +wake up in a hospital. Oh, he must be minded, the King of the Crossing, +or nobody would be safe! + +When the long day is over, he looks up the street and sees another big +man coming. This man wears a blue uniform, too, and a silver star, and +when the hands on the big clock at the corner point to five, he steps +into the place of the King of the Crossing and reigns in his stead. + +Then the King jumps on to the platform of a passing street-car, and by +and by, when it has gone several miles, he jumps off again, and walks up +the street to a little house that's as neat as neat can be. + +It stands back from the street in a little green yard. The house is +painted white, and the front door is green. But he doesn't go to the +front door. He goes round by the sidewalk to the kitchen door, and +there he doesn't even knock. + +He opens the door and walks right in. Through the open door comes the +smell of something good cooking, and he sees a plump woman with blue +eyes that have smile wrinkles in the corners, just like his own, and +crinkly dark hair, just like his own, too, bending over the stove. She +is just tasting the something that smells so good, with a spoon. + +When she sees the big man in the door she tastes so quickly that she +burns her tongue! But she can use it just the same even if it is +burned. + +She runs to the big man and says, "And is that yourself, now, Larry +darling? Sure, I'm that glad to see you, I've scalded myself with the +soup!" + +The big man has just time to say, "Sure, Eileen, you were always a great +one for burning yourself. Do you remember that day at Grannie +Malone's"--when out into the kitchen tumble a little Larry and a little +Eileen, and a Baby. They have heard his voice, and they fall upon the +King of the Crossing as if he weren't a King at all--but just a plain +ordinary Uncle. + +They take off his cap and rumple his hair. They get into his pockets +and find some peppermints there. And the Baby even tries to get the +silver star off his breast to put into her mouth. + +"Look at that now," cries Uncle Larry. "Get along with you! Is it +trying to take me off the Force, you are? Sure, that star was never +intended by the City for you to cut your teeth on." + +"She'll poison herself with the things she's always after putting in her +mouth," cries the Mother. She seizes the Baby and sets her in a safe +corner by herself, gives her a spoon and says, "There now--you can be +cutting your teeth on that." + +And when the children have quite worn Uncle Larry out, he sits upon the +floor, where they have him by this time, and runs his fingers through +his hair, which is standing straight up, and says to the Mother, "Sure, +Eileen, when you and I were children on the old sod, we were never such +spalpeens as the likes of these! They have me destroyed entirely, and +me the biggest policeman on the Force! Is it American they are, or +Irish, I want to know?" + +"It's Irish-American we are," shouts little Larry. + +"And with the heft of both countries in your fists," groans big Larry. + +And then the Mother, who has been laying the table, meanwhile, +interferes. "Come off of your poor Uncle," she says, "and be eating +your soup, like gentlemen and ladies. It's getting cold on you waiting +for you to finish your antics. Your poor Uncle Larry won't come near +you at all, and you all the time punishing him like that." + +And then the Baby, still sucking her spoon, is lifted into her high +chair. A chair is placed for Uncle Larry, and they all eat their soup +around the kitchen table, just as the very last rays of the summer sun +make long streaks of light across the kitchen floor. + +"Where's Dennis?" says Uncle Larry, while the children are quiet for a +moment. + +"Oh, it's Himself is so late that I feed the children and put them to +bed before he gets home at all," says the Mother. "It's little he sees +of them except of a Sunday." + +"It's likely he'll live the longer for that," says Uncle Larry. He +looks reproachfully at the children and rubs his head. + +And then--"Mother, tell us, what kind of a boy was Uncle Larry when you +and he were Twins and lived in Ireland," says little Eileen. + +"The best in the width of the world," says her Mother promptly. +"Weren't you, Larry? Speak up and tell them now." + +And Uncle Larry laughs and says, "Sure, I was too good entirely! It +wouldn't be modest to tell you the truth about myself." + +"Tell us about Mother, then," says little Eileen. "Was she the best in +the width of the world, too?" + +"Sure, I'll never be telling tales on my only twin sister," says Uncle +Larry, "beyond telling you that there was many another in green old +Ireland just like her, whatever kind she was. But I can't stay here +wearing out my tongue! Look out the window! The chickens have gone to +roost, and the sun is down. So get along with you to your beds." + +When he had gone, and the children were in bed, and the house quiet, the +Mother sat down by the light in the kitchen with a basket of mending +beside her. + +And while she darned and mended and waited for Himself to come home, she +remembered and remembered about when she was little Eileen, herself, and +the King of the Crossing was just her twin brother Larry. + +And this book is what she remembered. + +THE END. + + + +APPENDIX. + +SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS. + +Like the author's earlier books--"The Dutch Twins" and "The Japanese +Twins"--this reader aims to foster a kindly feeling and a deserved +respect for a country whose children have come to form a numerous +portion of our own population. + +To arouse the children's interest and thus to make the reading of this +story most valuable as a school exercise, it is suggested that at the +outset the children be allowed to look at the pictures in the book in +order to get acquainted with "Larry" and "Eileen" and with the scenes +illustrating their home life and surroundings. + +During the reading, point out Ireland on a map of the world or on a +globe, and tell the children something about the unique character of the +country, thus connecting this supplementary reading material with the +work in geography. + +The text is so simply written that any fourth or fifth grade child can +read it without much preparation. In the fourth grade it may be well to +have the children read it first in a study period in order to work out +the pronunciation of the more difficult words. In the fifth grade the +children can usually read it at sight, without the preparatory study. +Give little attention to the expressions in dialect. Let the children +read them naturally and they will enhance the dramatic effect of the +story. The possibilities in the story for dramatisation and for +language and constructive work will be immediately apparent. + +In connection with the reading of the book, teachers should read or tell +to the children stories of Irish life and from Irish folk-lore; for +example, "The Story of the Little Rid Hin," "The Dagda's Harp," and "The +Tailor and the Three Beasts," in Sara Cone Bryant's _Stories to Tell to +Children_; and "Billy Beg and his Bull," in the same author's _How to +Tell Stories to Children_. Material which may readily be adapted to +this use will be found in Johnston and Spencer's _Ireland's Story_. Let +the children bring to class postcards and other pictures of scenes in +Ireland. + +The unique illustrations in "The Irish Twins" should be much used, both +in the reading of the story and in other ways. Children will enjoy +sketching some of them; their simple treatment makes them especially +useful for this purpose. + +The book is printed on paper which will take water colour well, and +where books are individually owned some of the sketches could be used +for colouring in flat washes. They also afford suggestions for action +sketching by the children. + +An excellent oral language exercise would be for the children, after +they have read the story, to take turns telling the story from the +illustrations; and a good composition exercise would be for each child +to select the illustration that he would like to write upon, make a +sketch of it, and write the story in his own words. + +These are only a few of the many ways that will occur to resourceful +teachers for making the book a valuable as well as an enjoyable exercise +in reading. + + + + + + + + + + + + * * * * * + + +-----------------------------------------------------------+ + | Transcriber's Note: | + | | + | Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has | + | been preserved. | + | | + | Superscripted text is marked with ^{} for example: S^{ce} | + | | + | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For | + | a complete list, please see the end of this document. | + | | + +-----------------------------------------------------------+ + + + * * * * * + + + + +HOME LIFE IN +GERMANY + + +BY +MRS. ALFRED SIDGWICK + + + + +The Chautauqua Press +CHAUTAUQUA, NEW YORK +MCMXII + + + + +_First Published May 1908_ +_Second Edition June 1908_ +_Third Edition 1912_ + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAP. PAGE + + I. INTRODUCTORY 1 + + II. CHILDREN 7 + + III. SCHOOLS 15 + + IV. THE EDUCATION OF THE POOR 28 + + V. THE BACKFISCH 36 + + VI. THE STUDENT 47 + + VII. RIEHL ON WOMEN 59 + + VIII. THE OLD AND THE NEW 68 + + IX. GIRLHOOD 78 + + X. MARRIAGES 92 + + XI. THE HOUSEHOLDER 103 + + XII. HOUSEWIVES 113 + + XIII. HOUSEWIVES (_continued_) 123 + + XIV. SERVANTS 138 + + XV. FOOD 153 + + XVI. SHOPS AND MARKETS 167 + + XVII. EXPENSES OF LIFE 177 + +XVIII. HOSPITALITY 196 + + XIX. GERMAN SUNDAYS 205 + + XX. SPORTS AND GAMES 217 + + XXI. INNS AND RESTAURANTS 225 + + XXII. LIFE IN LODGINGS 237 + +XXIII. SUMMER RESORTS 250 + + XXIV. PEASANT LIFE 267 + + XXV. HOW THE POOR LIVE 286 + + XXVI. BERLIN 297 + +XXVII. ODDS AND ENDS 307 + +Translations of foreign words and phrases in this book will be found +in the Appendix at the back of the volume. + + + + +HOME LIFE IN GERMANY + + + + +CHAPTER I + +INTRODUCTORY + + +I was once greatly impressed by a story of an officer in the German +army, who told his English hostess that he knew the position of every +blacksmith's forge in Yorkshire. I wondered at the time how many +officers in the English army had learned where to find the +blacksmiths' forges in Pomerania. But those are bygone days. Most of +us know more about Germany now than we do about our own country.[1] We +go over there singly and in batches, we see their admirable public +institutions, we visit their factories, we examine their Poor Laws, we +walk their hospitals, we look on at their drill and their manoeuvres, +we follow each twist and turn of their politics, we watch their +birth-rate, we write reams about their navy, and we can explain to any +one according to our bias exactly what their system of Protection does +for them. We are often sufficiently ignorant to compare them with the +Japanese, and about once a month we publish a weighty book concerning +various aspects of their flourishing empire. + +Some of these books I have read with ardent and respectful interest; +and always as I read, my own little venture seemed to wither and +vanish in the light of a profounder knowledge and a wider judgment +than I shall ever attain. For I have not visited workhouses and +factories, I know little more about German taxes than about English +ones, and I have no statistics for the instruction and entertainment +of the intelligent reader. I can take him inside a German home, but I +can give him no information about German building laws. I know how +German women spend their days, but I know as little about the exact +function of a Bürgermeister as about the functions of a Mayor. In +short, my knowledge of Germany, like my knowledge of England, is based +on a series of life-long, unclassified, more or less inchoate +impressions, and the only excuse I have for writing about either +country I find in my own and some other people's trivial minds. + +When I read of a country unknown or only slightly known, I like to be +told all the insignificant trifles that make the common round of life. +It is assuredly desirable that the great movements should be watched +and described for us; but we want pictures of the people in their +homes, pictures of them at rest and at play, as well as engaged in +those public works that make their public history. For no reason in +the world I happen to be interested in China, but I am still waiting +for just the gossip I want about private life there. We have Pierre +Loti's exquisite dream pictures of his deserted palace at Pekin, and +we have many useful and expert accounts of the roads, mines, railways, +factories, laws, politics, and creeds of the Celestial Empire. But the +book I ask for could not be written by anyone who was not of Chinese +birth, and it would probably be written by a woman. It might not have +much literary form or value, but it would enter into those minutiæ of +life that the masculine traveller either does not see or does not +think worth notice. The author of such a small-beer chronicle must +have been intimate from childhood with the Chinese point of view, +though her home and her friends were in a foreign land. She would +probably not know much about her ancestral laws and politics, but she +would have known ever since she could hear and speak just what Chinese +people said to each other when none but Chinese were by, what they +ate, what they wore, how they governed their homes, the relationship +between husband and wife, parents and children, master and servant; in +what way they fought the battle of life, how they feasted and how they +mourned. If circumstances took her over and over again to different +parts of China for long stretches of time, she would add to her +traditions and her early atmosphere some experience of her race on +their own soil and under their own sun. What she could tell us would +be of such small importance that she would often hesitate to set it +down; and again, she would hesitate lest what she had to say should be +well known already to those amongst her readers who had sojourned in +her father's country. She would do well, I think, to make some picture +for herself of the audience she could hope to entertain, and to fix +her mind on these people while she wrote her book. She would know that +in the country of her adoption there were some who never crossed their +own seas, and others who travelled here and there in the world but did +not visit China or know much about its people. She would write for the +ignorant ones, and not for any others; and she would of necessity +leave aside all great issues and all vexed questions. Her picture +would be chiefly, too, a picture of the nation's women; for though +they have on the whole no share in political history, they reckon +with the men in any history of domestic life and habit. + +Germans often maintain that their country is more diverse than any +other, and on that account more difficult to describe: a country of +many races and various rules held loosely together by language and +more tightly of late years by the bond of empire. But the truth +probably is, that in our country we see and understand varieties, +while in a foreign one we chiefly perceive what is unlike ourselves +and common to the people we are observing. For from the flux and +welter of qualities that form a modern nation certain traits survive +peculiar to that nation: specialities of feature, character, and +habit, some seen at first sight, others only discovered after long and +intimate acquaintance. It is undoubtedly true that no one person can +be at home in every corner of the German Empire, or of any other +empire. + +There are many Germanys. The one we hear most of in England nowadays +is armed to the teeth, set wholly on material advancement, in a +dangerously warlike mood, hustling us without scruple from our place +in the world's markets, a model of municipal government and +enterprise, a land where vice, poverty, idleness, and dirt are all +unknown. We hear so much of this praiseworthy but most unamiable +_Wunderkind_ amongst nations, that we generally forget the Germany we +know, the Germany still there for our affection and delight, the dear +country of quaint fancies, of music and of poetry. That Germany has +vanished, the wiseacres say, the dreamy unworldly German is no more +with us, it is sheer sentimental folly to believe in him and to waste +your time looking for him. But how if you know him everywhere, in the +music and poetry that he could not have given us if they had not +burned within him, and in the men and women who have accompanied you +as friends throughout life,--how if you still find him whenever you go +to Germany? Not, to be sure, in the shape of the wholly unpractical +fool who preceded the modern English myth; but, for instance, in some +of the mystical plays that hold his stage, in many of his toys and +pictures, and above all in the kindly, lovable, clever people it is +your pleasure to meet there. You may perhaps speak with all the more +conviction of this attractive Germany if you have never shut your eyes +and ears to the Germany that does not love us, and if you have often +been vexed and offended by the Anglophobia that undoubtedly exists. +This Germany makes more noise than the friendly element, and it is +called into existence by a variety of causes not all important or +political. It flourished long before the Transvaal War was seized as a +convenient stick to beat us with. In some measure the Anglicised +Germans who love us too well are responsible, for they do not always +love wisely. They deny their descent and their country, and that +justly offends their compatriots. I do not believe that the Englishman +breathes who would ever wish to call himself anything but English; +while it is quite rare for Germans in England, America, or France to +take any pride in their blood. The second generation constantly denies +it, changes its name, assures you it knows nothing of Germany. They +have not the spirit of a Touchstone, and in so far they do their +country a wrong. + +In another more material sense, too, there are many Germanys, so that +when you write of one corner you may easily write of ways and food and +regulations that do not obtain in some other corner, and it is +obviously impossible to remind the reader in every case that the part +is not the whole. Wine is dear in the north, but it has sometimes +been so plentiful in the south that barrels to contain it ran short, +and anyone who possessed an empty one could get the measure of wine it +would hold in exchange. Every town and district has its special ways +of cooking. There is great variety in manner of life, in +entertainments, and in local law. There are Protestant and Catholic +areas, and there are areas where Protestants, Catholics, and Jews live +side by side. The peasant proprietor of Baden is on a higher level of +prosperity and habit than the peasant serf of Eastern Prussia; and the +Jews on the Russian frontier, those strange Oriental figures in a +special dress and wearing earlocks and long beards, have as little in +common with the Jews of Mannheim or Frankfort as with the Jews of the +London Stock Exchange. It would, in fact, be impossible for any one +person to enter into every shade and variety of German life. You can +only describe the side you know, and comment on the things you have +seen. So you bring your mite to the store of knowledge which many have +increased before you, and which many will add to again. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] Throughout the book, although I am of German parentage, I have +spoken of England as my country and of the English as my +country-people. I was born and bred in England, and I found it more +convenient for purposes of expression to belong to one country than to +both. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +CHILDREN + + +In Germany the storks bring the children. "I know the pond in which +all the little children lie waiting till the storks come to take them +to their parents," says the mother stork in Andersen's story. "The +stork has visited the house," people say to each other when a child is +born; and if you go to a christening party you will find that the +stork has come too: in sugar on a cake, perhaps, or to be handed round +in the form of ice cream. Most of the kindly intimate little jests +about babies have a stork in them, and a stranger might easily blunder +by presenting an emblem of the bird where it would not be welcome. The +house on which storks build is a lucky one, and people regret the +disappearance of their nests from the large towns. + +When the baby has come it is not allowed out of doors for weeks. Air +and sunlight are considered dangerous at first, and so is soap and +even an immoderate use of water. For eight weeks it lies day and night +in the _Steckkissen_, a long bag that confines its legs and body but +not its arms. The bag is lined with wadding, and a German nurse, who +was showing me one with great pride, assured me that while a child's +bones were soft it was not safe to lift it in any other way. These +bags are comparatively modern, and have succeeded the swaddling +clothes still used in some parts of Germany. They are bandages +wrapping the child round like a mummy, and imprisoning its arms as +well as its legs. A German doctor told me that as these _Wickelkinder_ +had never known freedom they did not miss it; but he seemed to approve +of the modern compromise that leaves the upper limbs some power of +movement. + +Well-to-do German mothers rarely nurse their children. When you ask +why, you hear of nerves and anæmia, and are told that at any rate in +cities women find it impossible. I have seen it stated in a popular +book about Germany that mothers there are little more than "aunts" to +their children; and the _Steckkissen_ and the foster-mother were about +equally blamed for this unnatural state of affairs. From our point of +view there is not a word to be said in favour of the _Steckkissen_, +but it really is impossible to believe that a bag lined with wadding +can undermine a mother's affection for her child. Your German friends +will often show you a photograph of a young mother holding her baby in +her arms, and the baby, if it is young enough, will probably be in its +bag. But unless you look closely you will take the bag for a long +robe, it hangs so softly and seems so little in the mother's way. It +will be as dainty as a robe too, and when people have the means as +costly; for you can deck out your bag with ribbons and laces as easily +as your robe. The objection to foster-mothers has reality behind it, +but the evils of the system are well understood, and have been much +discussed of late. Formerly every mother who could afford it hired one +for her child, and peasant women still come to town to make money in +this way. But the practice is on the wane, now that doctors order +sterilised milk. The real ruler of a German nursery is the family +doctor. He keeps his eye on an inexperienced mother, calls when he +sees fit, watches the baby's weight, orders its food, and sees that +its feet are kept warm. + +A day nursery in the English sense of the word is hardly known in +Germany. People who can afford it give up two rooms to the small fry, +but where the flat system prevails, and rents are high, this is seldom +possible. One room is usually known as the _Kinderstube_, and here the +children sleep and play. But it must be remembered that rooms are big, +light, and high in Germany, and that such a _Kinderstube_ will not be +like a night nursery in a small English home. Besides, directly +children can walk they are not as much shut up in the nursery as they +are in England. The rooms of a German flat communicate with each +other, and this in itself makes the segregation to which we are used +difficult to carry out. During the first few days of a sojourn with +German friends, you are constantly reminded of a pantomime rally in +which people run in and out of doors on all sides of the stage; and if +they have several lively children you sometimes wish for an English +room with one door only, and that door kept shut. Even when you pay a +call you generally see the children, and possibly the nurse or the +_Mamsell_ with them. But a typical middle-class German family +recognises no such foreign body as a nurse. It employs one maid of all +work, who helps the housewife wherever help is needed, whether it is +in the kitchen or the nursery. The mother spends her time with her +children, playing with them when she has leisure, cooking and ironing +and saving for them, and for her husband all through her busy day. +Modern Germans like to tell you that young women no longer devote +themselves to these simple duties, but if you use your eyes you will +see that most women do their work as faithfully as ever. There is an +idle, pleasure-loving, money-spending element in Germany as there is +in other countries, and it makes more noise than the steady bulk of +the nation, and is an attractive target there as here for the darts of +popular preachers and playwrights. But it is no more preponderant in +Germany than in England. On the whole, the German mother leaves her +children less to servants than the English mother does, and in some +way works harder for them. That is to say, a German woman will do +cooking and ironing when an Englishwoman of the same class would +delegate all such work to servants. This is partly because German +servants are less efficient and partly because fewer servants are +employed. + +The fashionable nurses in Germany are either English or peasant girls +in costume. It is considered smart to send out your baby with a young +woman from the Spreewald if you live in Berlin, or from one of the +Black Forest valleys if you live in the duchy of Baden. In some +quarters of Berlin you see the elaborate skirts and caps of the +Spreewald beside every other baby-carriage, but it is said that these +girls are chiefly employed by the rich Jews, and you certainly need to +be as rich as a Jew to pay their laundry bills. The young children of +the poor are provided for in Berlin, as they are in other cities, by +crêches, where the working mother can leave them for the day. Several +of these institutions are open to the public at certain times, and +those I have seen were well kept and well arranged. + +The women of Germany have not thrown away their knitting needles yet, +though they no longer take them to the concert or the play as they did +in a less sophisticated age. Children still learn to knit either at +school or at home, and if their mother teaches them she probably makes +them a marvellous ball. She does this by winding the wool round little +toys and small coins, until it hides as many surprises as a Christmas +stocking, and is as much out of shape; but the child who wants the +treasures in the stocking has to knit for them, and the faster she +secures them the faster she is learning her lesson. The mother, +however, who troubles about knitting is not quite abreast of her +times. The truly modern woman flies at higher game; with the solemnity +and devotion of a Mrs. Cimabue Brown she cherishes in her children a +love of Art. Her watchword is _Die Kunst im Leben des Kindes_, or Art +in the Nursery, and she is assisted by men who are doing for German +children of this generation what Walter Crane and others did for +English nurseries twenty-five years ago. You can get enchanting +nursery pictures, toys, and decorations in Germany to-day, and each +big city has its own school of artists who produce them: friezes where +the birds and beasts beloved of children solemnly pursue each other; +grotesque wooden manikins painted in motley; mysterious landscapes +where the fairy-tales of the world might any day come true. Dream +pictures these are of snow and moonlight, marsh and forest, the real +Germany lying everywhere outside the cities for those who have eyes to +see. Even the toy department in an ordinary shop abounds in treasures +that never seem to reach England: queer cheap toys made of wood, and +not mechanical. It must be a dull child who is content with a +mechanical toy, and it is consoling to observe that most children +break the mechanism as quickly as possible and then play sensibly with +the remains. Many of the toys known to generations of children seemed +to be as popular as ever, and quite unchanged. You still find the old +toy towns, for instance, with their red roofed coloured houses and +green curly trees, toys that would tell an imaginative child a story +every time they were set up. It is to be hoped they never will change, +but in this sense I have no faith in Germany. The nation is so +desperately intent on improvement that some dreadful day it will +improve its toys. Indeed, I have seen a trade circular threatening +some such vandalism; and in the last Noah's ark I bought Noah and his +family had changed the cut of their clothes. So the whole ark had lost +some of its charm. + +Everyone who is interested in children and their education, and who +happens to be in Berlin, goes to see the _Pestalozzi Fröbel Haus_, the +great model Kindergarten where children of the working classes are +received for fees varying from sixpence to three shillings a month, +according to the means of the parents. There are large halls in which +the children drill and sing, and there are classrooms in which twelve +to sixteen children are taught at a time. Every room has some live +birds or other animals and some plants that the children are trained +to tend; the walls are decorated with pictures and processions of +animals, many painted and cut out by the children themselves, and +every room has an impressive little rod tied with blue ribbons. But +the little ones do not look as if they needed a rod much. They are +cheerful, tidy little people, although many of them come from poor +homes. In the middle of the morning they have a slice of rye bread, +which they eat decorously at table on wooden platters. They can buy +milk to drink with the bread for 5 pf., and they dine in school for 10 +pf. They play the usual Kindergarten games in the usual systematised +mechanical fashion, and they study Nature in a real back garden, where +there are real dejected-looking cocks and hens, a real cow, and a +lamb. What happens to the lamb when he becomes a sheep no one tells +you. Perhaps he supplies mutton to the school of cookery in connection +with the Kindergarten. Some of the children have their own little +gardens, in which they learn to raise small salads and hardy flowers. +There are carpentering rooms for the boys, and both boys and girls are +allowed in the miniature laundry, where they learn how to wash, +starch, and iron doll's clothes. You may frequently see them engaged +in this business, apparently without a teacher; but, as a matter of +fact, the children are always under a teacher's eye, even when they +are only digging in a sand heap or weeding their plots of ground. Each +child has a bath at school once a week, and at first the mothers are +uneasy about this part of the programme, lest it should give their +child cold. But they soon learn to approve it, and however poor they +are they do their utmost to send a child to school neatly shod and +clad. + +As a rule German children of all classes are treated as children, and +taught the elementary virtue of obedience. _Das Recht des Kindes_ is a +new cry with some of the new people, but nevertheless Germany is one +of the few remaining civilised countries where the elders still have +rights and privileges. I heard of an Englishwoman the other day who +said that she had never eaten the wing of a chicken, because when she +was young it was always given to the older people, and now that she +was old it was saved for the children. If she lived in Germany she +would still have a chance, provided she kept away from a small loud +set, who in all matters of education and morality would like to turn +the world upside down. In most German homes the noisy, spoilt American +child would not be endured for a moment, and the little tyrant of a +French family would be taught its place, to the comfort and advantage +of all concerned. I have dined with a large family where eight young +ones of various ages sat at an overflow table, and did not disturb +their elders by a sound. It was not because the elders were harsh or +the young folk repressed, but because Germany teaches its youth to +behave. The little girls still drop you a pretty old-fashioned curtsey +when they greet you; just such a curtsey as Miss Austen's heroines +must have made to their friends. The little boys, if you are staying +in the house with them, come and shake hands at unexpected +times,--when they arrive from school, for instance, and before they go +out for a walk. At first they take you by surprise, but you soon learn +to be ready for them. They play many of the same games as English +children, and I need hardly say that they are brought up on the same +fairy stories, because many of our favourites come from Germany. The +little boys wear sensible carpenters' aprons indoors, made of leather +or American cloth; and the little girls still wear bib aprons of black +alpaca. Their elders do not play games with them as much as English +people do with their children. They are expected to entertain and +employ themselves; and the immense educational value of games, the +training they are in temper, skill, and manners, is not understood or +admitted in Germany as it is here. The Kindergarten exercises are not +competitive, and do not teach a child to play a losing game with +effort and good grace. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +SCHOOLS + + +German children go to day schools. This is not to say that there are +no boarding schools in Germany; but the prevailing system throughout +the empire is a system of day schools. The German mother does not get +rid of her boys and girls for months together, and look forward to the +holidays as a time of uproar and enjoyment. She does not wonder +anxiously what changes she will see in them when they come back to +her. They are with her all the year round,--the boys till they go to a +university, the girls till they marry. Any day in the streets of a +German city you may see troops of children going to school, not with a +maid at their heels as in Paris, but unattended as in England. They +have long tin satchels in which they carry their books and lunch, the +boys wear peaked caps, and many children of both sexes wear +spectacles. + +Except at the Kindergarten, boys and girls are educated separately and +differently in Germany. In some rare cases lately some few girls have +been admitted to a boys' _Gymnasium_, but this is experimental and at +present unusual. It may be found that the presence of a small number +in a large boys' school does not work well. In addition to the +elementary schools, there are four kinds of Public Day School for +boys in Germany, and they are all under State supervision. There is +the _Gymnasium_, the _Real-Gymnasium_, the _Ober-Real-Schule_, and the +_Real-Schule_. Until 1870 the Gymnasiums were the only schools that +could send their scholars to the universities; a system that had +serious disadvantages. It meant that in choosing a child's school, +parents had to decide whether at the end of his school life he was to +have a university education. Children with no aptitude for scholarship +were sent to these schools to receive a scholar's training; while boys +who would have done well in one of the learned professions could not +be admitted to a university, except for science or modern languages, +because they had not attended a Gymnasium. + +A boy who has passed through one of these higher schools has had +twelve years' education. He began Latin at the age of ten, and Greek +at thirteen. He has learned some French and mathematics, but no +English unless he paid for it as an extra. His school years have been +chiefly a preparation for the university. If he never reaches the +higher classes he leaves the Gymnasium with a stigma upon him, a +record of failure that will hamper him in his career. The higher +official posts and the professions will be closed to him; and he will +be unfitted by his education for business. This at least is what many +thoughtful Germans say of their classical schools; and they lament +over the unsuitable boys who are sent to them because their parents +want a professor or a high official in the family. It is considered +more sensible to send an average boy to a _Real-Gymnasium_ or to an +_Ober-Real Schule_, because nowadays these schools prepare for the +university, and any boy with a turn for scholarship can get the +training he needs. The _Ober-Real Schule_ professedly pays most +attention to modern languages; and it is, in fact, only since 1900 +that their boys are received at a university on the classical side. +They still prepare largely for technical schools and for a commercial +career. + +At a _Real-Schule_, the fourth grade of higher school, the course only +lasts six years. They do not prepare for the Abiturienten examination, +and their scholars cannot go from them to a university. They prepare +for practical life, and they admit promising boys from the elementary +schools. A boy who has been through any one of these higher schools +successfully need only serve in the army for one year; and that in +itself is a great incentive to parents to send their children. A +_Real-Schule_ in Prussia only costs a hundred marks a year, and a +_Gymnasium_ a hundred and thirty-five marks. In some parts of Germany +the fees are rather higher, in some still lower. The headmasters of +these schools are all university men, and are themselves under State +supervision. In an entertaining play called _Flachsmann als Erzieher_ +the headmaster had not been doing his duty, and has allowed the school +to get into a bad way. The subordinates are either slack or +righteously rebellious, and the children are unruly. The State +official pays a surprise visit, discovers the state of things, and +reads the Riot Act all round. The wicked headmaster is dismissed, the +eager young reformer is put in his place, the slackers are warned and +given another chance.... Blessed be St. Bureaukrazius ... says the +genial old god out of a machine, when by virtue of his office he has +righted every man's wrongs. The school in the play must be an +elementary one, for children and teachers are of both sexes, but a +master at a _Gymnasium_ told me that the picture of the official visit +was not exaggerated in its importance and effect. There was +considerable excitement in Germany over the picture of the evil +headmaster, his incompetent staff, and the neglected children; and I +was warned before I saw the play that I must not think such a state of +affairs prevailed in German schools. The warning was quite +unnecessary. An immoral, idle, and ignorant class of men could not +carry on the education of a people as it is carried on throughout the +German Empire to-day. + +I have before me the Annual Report of a _Gymnasium_ in Berlin, and it +may interest English people to see how many lessons the teachers in +each subject gave every week. There were thirty teachers in the +school. + + LESSONS + SUBJECT PER WEEK + + Religion 31 + German 42 + Latin 112 + Greek 72 + French 36 + History and Geography 44 + Mathematics and Arithmetic 56 + Natural History 10 + Physics 20 + Hebrew 4 + Law 1 + Writing 6 + Drawing 18 + Singing 12 + Gymnasium 27 + Swimming 8-½ + Handfertigkeit 3 + ---- + 502-½ lessons + +The headmaster took Latin for seven hours every week, and Greek for +three hours. A professor who came solely for religious teaching came +for ten hours every week. But most of the masters taught from sixteen +to twenty-four hours, while one who is down for reading, writing, +arithmetic, gymnastics, German, singing, and _Natur_ could not get +through all he had to do in less than thirty hours. On looking into +the hours devoted to each subject by the various classes, you find +that the lowest class had three hours religious instruction every +week, and the other classes two hours. There were 407 boys in the +school described as _Evangelisch_, 47 Jews, and 23 Catholics; but in +Germany parents can withdraw their children from religious instruction +in school, provided they satisfy the authorities that it is given +elsewhere. The two highest classes had lessons on eight chapters of +St. Paul's Epistle to the Romans, on the Epistle to the Philippians, +and on the confessions of St. Augustine. Some classes were instructed +in the Gospel according to St. John, and the little boys learned Bible +History. So Germans are not without orthodox theological teaching in +their early years, whatever opinions they arrive at in their +adolescence. + +Every boy in the school spent two or three hours each week on German +composition, and, like boys in other countries, handled themes they +could assuredly not understand, probably, like other boys, without a +scruple or a hesitation. + +"Why does the ghost of Banquo appear to Macbeth, and not the ghost of +Duncan?" + +"How are the unities of time, place, and action treated in Schiller's +ballads?" + +"Discuss the antitheses in Lessing's Laokoon." + +"What can you say about the representation of concrete objects in +Goethe's _Hermann and Dorothea_?" + +These examples are taken at random from a list too long to quote +completely; but no one need be impressed by them. Boys perform +wonderful feats of this kind in England too. However, I once heard a +German professor say that the English boy outdid the German in +_gesunder Menschenverstand_ (sound common sense), but that the German +wins in the race when it comes to the abstract knowledge (_Wissen_) +that he and his countryfolk prize above all the treasures of the +earth. No one who knows both countries can doubt for a single moment +that the professor was right, and that he stated the case as fairly as +it can be stated. In an emergency or in trying circumstances the +English boy would be readier and more self-reliant: but when you meet +him where entertainment is wanted rather than resource, his ignorance +will make you open your eyes. This, at any rate, is the kind of story +told and believed of Englishmen in Germany. A student who was working +at science in a German university had been there the whole winter, and +though the city possessed many fine theatres he had only visited a +variety show. At last his friends told him that it was his duty to go +to the _Schauspielhaus_ and see a play by Goethe or Schiller. "Goethe! +Schiller!" said my Englishman, "_Was ist das?_" + +The education of girls in Germany is in a transition state at present. +Important changes have been made of late years, and still greater +ones, so the reformers say, are pending. Formerly, if a girl was to be +educated at all she went to a _Höhere Töchterschule_, or to a private +school conducted on the same lines, and, like the official +establishment, under State supervision. When she had finished with +school she had finished with education, and began to work at the +useful arts of life, more especially at the art of cooking. What she +had learned at school she had learned thoroughly, and it was +considered in those days quite as much as was good for her. The +officials who watched and regulated the education of boys had nothing +to do with girls' schools. These were left to the staff that managed +elementary schools, and kept on much the same level. Girls learned +history, geography, elementary arithmetic, two modern languages, and a +great deal of mythology. The scandalous ignorance of mythology +displayed by Englishwomen still shocks the right-minded German. If a +woman asked for more than this because she was going to earn her +bread, she spent three years in reading for an examination that +qualified her for one of the lower posts in the school. The higher +posts were all in the hands of men. Of late years women have been able +to prepare for a teacher's career at one of the Teachers' Seminaries, +most of which were opened in 1897. + +More than forty years ago the English princess in Berlin was not +satisfied with what was done in Germany for the education of women; +and one of the many monuments to her memory is the Victoria Lyceum. +This institution was founded at her suggestion by Miss Archer, an +English lady who had been teaching in Berlin for some years, and who +was greatly liked and respected there. At first it only aimed at +giving some further education to girls who had left school, and it was +not easy to get men of standing to teach them. But as it was the +outcome of a movement with life in it the early difficulties were +surmounted, and its scope and usefulness have grown since its +foundation thirty-eight years ago. It is not a residential college, +and it has no laboratories. During the winter it still holds courses +of lectures for women who are not training for a definite career; but +under its present head, Fräulein von Cotta, the chief work of the +Victoria Lyceum has become the preparation of women for the _Ober +Lehrerin_ examination. This is a State examination that can only be +passed five years after a girl has qualified as _Lehrerin_, and two +of these five years must have been spent in teaching at a German +school. To qualify as _Lehrerin_, a girl must have spent three years +at a Seminary for teachers after she leaves school, and she usually +gets through this stage of her training between the ages of fifteen +and eighteen. Therefore a woman must have three years special +preparation for a subordinate post and eight years for a higher post +in a German girls' school. + +The whole question of women's education is in a ferment in Germany at +present, and though everyone interested is ready to talk of it, +everyone tells you that it is impossible to foresee exactly what +reforms are coming. There are to be new schools established, _Lyceen_ +and _Ober-Lyceen_, and _Ober-Lyceen_ will prepare for matriculation. +When girls have matriculated from one of these schools they will be +ready for the university, and will work for the same examinations as +men. Baden was the first German State that allowed women to +matriculate at its universities. It did so in 1900, and in 1903 +Bavaria followed suit. In 1905 there were eighty-five women at the +universities who had matriculated in Germany; but there are hundreds +working at the universities without matriculating first. At present +the professors are free to admit women or to exclude them from their +classes; but the right of exclusion is rarely exercised. Before long +it will presumably be a thing of the past. + +An Englishwoman residing at Berlin, and engaged in education, told me +that in her opinion no German woman living had done as much for her +countrywomen as Helene Lange, the president of the _Allgemeine +deutsche Frauenverein_. Nineteen years ago she began the struggle that +is by no means over, the struggle to secure a better education for +women and a greater share in its control. In English ears her aim +will sound a modest one, but English girls' schools are not entirely +in the hands of men, with men for principals and men to teach the +higher classes. She began in 1887 by publishing a pamphlet that made a +great sensation, because it demanded, what after a mighty tussle was +conceded, women teachers for the higher classes in girls' schools, and +for these women an academic education. In 1890 she founded, together +with Auguste Schmidt and Marie Loeper-Housselle, the _Allgemeine +deutsche Lehrerinnen-Verein_, which now has 80 branches and 17,000 +members. But the pluckiest thing she did was to fight Prussian +officialdom and win. In 1889 she opened _Real-Kurse für Mädchen und +Frauen_, classes where women could work at subjects not taught in +girls' schools, Latin for instance, and advanced mathematics; for the +State in Germany has always decided how much as well as how little +women may learn. It would not allow people as ignorant as Squeers to +keep a school because it offered an easy livelihood. It organised +women's education carefully and thoroughly in the admirable German +way; but it laid down the law from A to Z, which is also the German +way. When, therefore, Helene Lange opened her classes for women, the +officials came to her and said that she was doing an illegal thing. +She replied that her students were not schoolgirls under the German +school laws, but grown-up women free to learn what they needed and +desired. The officials said that an old law of 1837 would empower them +to close the classes by force if Helene Lange did not do so of her own +accord. After some reflection and in some anxiety she decided to go on +with them. By this time public opinion was on her side and came to her +assistance; for public opinion does count in Germany even with the +officials. The classes went on, and were changed in 1893 to +_Gymnasialkurse_. In 1896 the first German women passed the +Abiturienten examination, the difficult examination young men of +eighteen pass at the end of a nine years' course in one of the +classical schools. Even to-day you may hear German men argue that +women should not be admitted to universities because they have had no +classical training. Helene Lange was the first to prove that even +without early training women can prepare themselves for an academic +career. Her experiment led to the establishment of _Gymnasialkurse_ in +many German cities; and even to the admission of girls in some few +cases to boys' Gymnasium schools. + +To-day Helene Lange and her associates are contending with the +schoolmasters, who desire to keep the management of girls' schools in +their own hands. She calls the _Höhere Töchterschule_ the failure of +German school organisation, and she says that the difference of view +taken by men and women teachers as to the proper work of girls' +schools makes it most difficult to come to an understanding. +Consciously or not, men form an ideal of what they want and expect of +women, and try to educate them up to it; while women think of the +claims life may make on a girl, and desire the full development of her +powers. "The Higher Daughter," she says, "must vanish, and her place +must be taken by the girl who has been thoroughly prepared for life, +who can stand on her own feet if circumstances require it, or who +brings with her as housewife the foundations of further +self-development, instead of the pretentiousness of the half +educated." In one of her many articles on the subject of school reform +she points to three directions where reform is needed. What she says +about the teaching of history is so characteristic of her views and of +the modern movement in Germany, that I think the whole passage is +worth translation:-- + + "All those subjects that help to make a woman a better + citizen must be taken more seriously," she says. "It can no + longer be the proper aim of history teaching to foster and + strengthen in women a sentimental attachment to her country + and its national character: its aim must be to give her the + insight that will enable her to understand the forces at + work, and ultimately play an active part in them. Many + branches of our social life await the work of women, civic + philanthropy to begin with; and as our public life becomes + more and more constitutional, it demands from the individual + both a ripe insight into the good of the community and a + living sense of duty in regard to its destiny; and, on the + other hand, the foundations of this insight and sense of duty + must be in our times more and more laid by the mother, since + the father is often entirely prevented by his work from + sharing in the education of his children. Therefore, both on + her own account and in consideration of the task before her, + a woman just as much as a man should understand and take a + practical interest in public life, and it is the business of + the school to see that she does so. Over and over again those + who are trying to reform girls' schools insist that history + teaching should lead the student to understand the present + time; that it should recognise those economic conditions on + which the history of the world, especially in our day, + depends in so great a measure; that it should pay attention + not only to dates and events, but also to the living process + of civilisation, since it is only from the latter inquiry + that we can arrive at the principles of individual effort in + forwarding social life." + +Nowadays in Germany Helene Lange is considered one of the +"Moderates," but it will be seen from the above quotation that she has +travelled far from the old ideals which invested women with many +beautiful qualities, but not with the sense and knowledge required of +useful public citizens. She proceeds in the same article to say that +scientific and mathematical teaching should reach a higher standard in +girls' schools; and thirdly, that certain branches of psychology, +physiology, and hygiene should receive greater attention, because a +woman is a better wife and mother when she fulfils her duties with +understanding instead of by mere instinct. Nor will education on this +higher plane deprive women of any valuable feminine virtues if it is +carried out in the right way. But to this end women must direct it, +and in great measure take it into their own hands. She would not shut +men out of girls' schools, but she would place women in supreme +authority there, and give them the lion's share of the work. + +It seems to the English onlooker that this contest can only end in one +way, and that if the women of Germany mean to have the control of +girls' schools they are bound to get it. Some of the evils of the +present system lie on the surface. "It is a fact," said a +schoolmaster, speaking lately at a conference,--"it is a fact that a +more intimate, spiritual, and personal relationship is developed +between a schoolgirl and her master than between a schoolgirl and her +mistress." This remark, evidently made in good faith, was received +with hilarity by a large mixed audience of teachers; and when one +reflects on the unbridled sentiment of some "higher daughters" one +sees where it must inevitably find food under the present anomalous +state of things. But the schoolmaster's argument is the argument +brought forward by many men against the reforms desired by Helene +Lange and her party. They insist that girls would deteriorate if they +were withdrawn throughout their youth from masculine scholarship and +masculine authority in school. They talk of the emasculation of the +staff as a future danger. They do not seem to talk of their natural +reluctance to cede important posts to women, but this must, of course, +strengthen their pugnacity and in some cases colour their views. + +Meanwhile many parents prefer to send their daughters to one of the +private schools that have a woman at the head, and where most of the +teaching is done by women; or to a _Stift_, a residential school of +the conventual type, which may be either Protestant or Catholic. A +girl who had spent some years at a well-known Protestant _Stift_ +described her school life to me as minutely as possible, and it +sounded so like the life in a good English boarding-school thirty +years ago that it is difficult to pick out points of differences. That +only means, of course, that the differences were subtle and not +apparent in rules and time-tables. The girls wore a school uniform, +were well fed and taught, strictly looked after, taken out for walks +and excursions, allowed a private correspondence, shown how to mend +their clothes, made to keep their rooms tidy, encouraged in piety and +decorum. In these strenuous times it sounds a little old-fashioned, +and as a matter of fact a school of this kind fits a girl for a +sheltered home but not for the open road. For everyone concerned about +the education of women the interesting spectacle in Germany to-day is +the campaign being carried on by Helene Lange and her party, the +support they receive from the official as well as from the unofficial +world, and the progress they make year by year to gain their ends. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE EDUCATION OF THE POOR + + +There are no people in the world who need driving to school less than +the Germans. There are no people in the world who set so high a value +on knowledge. In the old days, when they lived with Jove in the +clouds, they valued knowledge solely for its own sake, and did not +trouble much about its practical use in the world. It is absurd to +say, as people often do now, that this spirit is dead in the nation. +You cannot be long in the society of Germans without recognising that +it survives wherever the stress of modern life leaves room for it. You +see that when a German makes money his sons constantly enter the +learned and the artistic professions with his full approval, though +they are most unlikely to make a big income in this way. You are told +by people who work amongst the poor, that parents will make any +sacrifices year after year in order to send a boy to one of the higher +schools. You know that the Scotsmen who live on oatmeal while they +acquire learning have their counterparts in the German universities, +where many a student would not dine at all if private or organised +charity did not give him a dinner so many days a week. Sometimes you +have heard it said of such and such a great German, that he was so +poor when he was young that he had to accept these free dinners given +in every German university town to penniless students. The fact would +be remembered, but it would never count against a man in Germany. The +dollar is not almighty there. + +To say, therefore, that education is compulsory throughout the empire +is not to say that it is unpopular. A teacher in an elementary school +was once telling me how particular the authorities were that every +child, even the poorest, should come to school properly clothed and +shod. "For instance," she said, "if a child comes to school in +house-shoes he is sent straight home again." "But do the parents mind +that?" I asked from my English point of view, for the teacher was +speaking of people who in England would live in slums and care little +whether their children were educated or not. But in Germany even the +poorest of the poor do care, and to refuse a child admission to school +is an effective punishment. At any rate, you may say this of the +majority. No doubt if school was not compulsory the dregs of the +nation would slip out of the net, especially in those parts of the +empire where the prevalent character is shiftless and easy going. +"When you English think that we hold the reins too tight, it is +because you do not understand what a mixed team we have to drive," a +north German said to me. "We should not get on, we should not hold +together long, if our rule was slack and our attention careless." + +At the last census only one in 10,000 could not read or write, and +these dunces were all Slavs. But how even a Slav born under the eye of +the Eagle can remain illiterate is a mystery. In 1905 there were +59,348 elementary schools in the empire, and their organisation is as +elaborate and well planned as the organisation of the army. In Berlin +alone there are 280. All the teachers at these schools have been +trained to teach at special seminaries, and have passed State +examinations that qualify them for their work. In Germany many men and +women, entitled both by class and training to teach in the higher +grade schools, have taken up work in the elementary ones from choice. +I know one lady whose certificates qualify her to teach in a _Höhere +Töchterschule_ and who elects to teach a large class of backward +children in a _Volkschule_. Her ambition is to teach those children +described in Germany as _nicht völlig normal_: children we should +describe as "wanting." She says that her backward children repay her +for any extra trouble they give by their affection and gratitude. She +knows the circumstances of every child in her class, and where there +is real need she can get help from official sources or from +philanthropic organisations, because a teacher's recommendation +carries great weight in Germany. This lady gets up every day in summer +at a quarter past five, in order to be in school by seven. Her school +hours are from seven to eleven in summer, and from eight till twelve +in winter; but she has a great deal of work to prepare and correct +after school. Her salary is raised with every year of service, and +when she is past work she will be entitled to a State pension of +thirty pounds. + +Children have to attend school from the age of six and to stay till +they are fourteen; and in their school years they are not allowed to +work at a trade without permission. They do not learn foreign +languages, but they are thoroughly grounded in German, and they +receive religious instruction. Of course, they learn history, +geography, and arithmetic. In the new schools every child is obliged +to have a warm bath every week, but it is not part of a teacher's +duties to superintend it. Probably the women who clean the school +buildings do so. In the old schools, where there are no bathrooms, +the children are given tickets for the public bathing establishments. +The State does not supply free food, but there are philanthropic +societies that supply those children who need it with a breakfast of +bread and milk in winter. Everyone connected with German schools says +that no child would apply for this if his parents were not destitute, +and one teacher told me a story of the headmaster's boy being found, +to his father's horror and indignation, seated with the starving +children and sharing their free lunch. He had brought his own lunch +with him, but it was his first week at school, and he thought that a +dispensation of bread and milk in the middle of the morning was part +of the curriculum. + +School books are supplied to children too poor to buy them, and it +seems that no trouble is given by applications for this kind of relief +by people not entitled to it. Gymnastics are compulsory for both boys +and girls in the lower classes, and choral singing is taught in every +school. Teachers must all be qualified to accompany singing on the +violin. Most of the elementary schools in Prussia are free. Some few +charge sixpence a month. A child can even have free teaching in its +own home if it is able to receive instruction, but not to attend +school. Medical inspection is rigorously carried out in German +elementary schools. The doctor not only watches the general health of +the school, but he registers the height, weight, carriage, state of +nourishment, and vaccination marks of each child on admission; the +condition of the eyes and ears and any marked constitutional tendency +he can discover. Every child is examined once a month, when necessary +once a fortnight. In this way weak or wanting children are weeded out, +and removed to other surroundings, the short-sighted and the deaf are +given places in the schoolroom to suit them. The system protects the +child and helps the teacher, and has had the best results since it was +introduced into Prussia in 1888. + +Attendance at continuation schools is now compulsory on boys and girls +for three years after leaving the elementary school, where they have +had eight years steady education. They must attend from four to six +hours weekly; instruction is free, and is given in the evening, when +the working day is over. Certain classes of the community are free, +but about 30,000 students attend these schools in Berlin. The subjects +taught are too many to enumerate. They comprise modern languages, +history, law, painting, music, mathematics, and various domestic arts, +such as ironing and cooking. More boys than girls attend these +schools, as girls are more easily exempt. It is presumably not +considered so necessary for them as for their brothers to continue +their education after the age of fourteen. + +One of the most interesting experiments being made in Germany at +present is the "open air" school, established for sickly children +during the summer months. The first one was set up by the city of +Charlottenberg at the suggestion of their _Schulrat_ and their school +doctor, and it is now being imitated in other parts of Germany. From +Charlottenberg the electric cars take you right into the pine forest, +far beyond the last houses of the growing city. The soil here is loose +and sandy, and the air in summer so soft that it wants strength and +freshness. But as far out as this it is pure, and the medical men must +deem it healing, for they have set up three separate ventures close +together amongst the pine trees. One belongs to the Society of the Red +Cross, and here sick and consumptive women come with their children +for the day, and are waited on by the Red Cross sisters. We saw some +of them lying about on reclining chairs, and some, less sickly, were +playing croquet. The second establishment is for children who are not +able to do any lessons, children who have been weeded out by the +school doctor because they are backward and sickly. There are a +hundred and forty children in this school, and there is a crêche with +twenty beds attached to it for babies and very young children. One +airy room with two rows of neat beds was for rickety children. + +The third and largest of the settlements was the _Waldschule_, open +every day, Sundays included, from the end of April to the middle of +October, and educating two hundred and forty delicate children chosen +from the elementary schools of Charlottenberg. We arrived there just +as the children were going to sit down to their afternoon meal of +bread and milk, and each child was fetching its own mug hanging on a +numbered hook. The meals in fine weather are taken at long tables in +the open air. When it rains they are served in big shelters closed on +three sides. Dotted about the forest there were mushroom-shaped +shelters with seats and tables beneath them, sufficient cover in +slight showers; and there were well lighted, well aired class-rooms, +where the children are taught for twenty-five minutes at a time. + +All the buildings are on the Doecker system, and were manufactured by +Messrs. Christoph & Unmark of Niesky. This firm makes a speciality of +schools and hospitals, built in what we should call the bungalow +style. Of course, this style exactly suits the needs of the school in +the forest. There is not a staircase in the place, there is no danger +of fire, no want of ventilation, and very little work for housemaids +or charwomen. The school furniture is simple and carefully planned. +Some of it was designed by Richard Riemerschmid of Munich, the +well-known artist. + +Each child has two and a half hours' work each day; all who are strong +enough do gymnastics, and all have baths at school. Each child has its +own locker and its own numbered blanket for use out of doors on damp +or chilly days. The doctor visits the school twice a week, and the +weight of each child is carefully watched. The busy sister who +superintends the housekeeping and the hygienic arrangements seemed to +know how much each child had increased already; and she told us what +quantities of food were consumed every day. The kitchen and larder +were as bright and clean as such places always are in Germany. When +the children arrive in the morning at half-past seven they have a +first breakfast of _Griesbrei_. At ten o'clock they have rolls and +butter. Their dinner consists of one solid dish. The day we were there +it had been pork and cabbage, a combination Germans give more +willingly to delicate children than we should; the next day it was to +be _Nudelsuppe_ and beef. At four o'clock they have bread and milk, +and just before they go home a supper like their early breakfast of +milk-soup, and bread. 260 litres of milk are used every day, 50 to 60 +lbs. of meat, 2 cwts. potatoes, 30 big rye loaves, 280 rolls, and when +spinach, for instance, is given, 80 lbs. of spinach. We asked whether +the children paid, and were told that those who could afford it paid +from 25 to 45 pf. a day. The school is kept open throughout the summer +holidays, but no work is done then, and two-thirds of the teachers are +away. Although the children are at play for the greater part of the +day in term time, and all day in the holidays, the headmaster told us +that they gave no trouble. There was not a dirty or untidy child to be +seen, nor one with rough manners. They are allowed to play in the +light, sandy soil of the forest, much as English children play at the +seaside, and we saw the beginning of an elaborate chain of fortresses +defended by toy guns and decorated with flowers. We heard a lesson in +mental arithmetic given in one of the class-rooms, the boys sitting on +one side of the room and the girls on the other; and we found that +these young sickly children were admirably taught and well advanced +for their age. To be a teacher in one of these open-air schools is +hard work, because the strain is never wholly relaxed. All day long, +and a German day is very long, the children must be watched and +guarded, sheltered from changes in the weather and prevented from +over-tiring themselves. Many of them come from poor cramped homes, and +to spend the whole summer in the forest more at play than at work +makes them most happy. I met Germans who did not approve of the +_Waldschule_ who considered it a fantastic extravagant experiment, too +heavy for the rate-payers to bear. This is a side of the question that +the rate-payers must settle for themselves; but there is no doubt +about the results of the venture on the children sent to school in the +forest. They get a training that must shape their whole future, moral +and physical, a training that changes so many unsound citizens into +sound ones every year for the German Empire. If the rate-payers can +survive the strain it seems worth while. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE BACKFISCH + + +The word is untranslatable, though my dictionary translates it. +Backfisch, m. fried fish; young girl; says the dictionary. In Germany +a woman does not arrive at her own gender till she marries and becomes +somebody's _Frau_. Woman in general, girl, and miss are neuter; and +the fried-fish girl is masculine. But if one little versed in German +wished to tell you that he liked a fried sole, and said _Ich liebe +einen Backfisch_, it might lead to misunderstandings. The origin of +the word in this application is dubious. Some say it means fish that +are baked in the oven because they are too small to fry in pans; but +this does not seem a sensible explanation to anyone who has seen +white-bait cooked. Others say it means fish the anglers throw back +into the water because they are small. At any rate, the word used is +to convey an impression of immaturity. A _Backfisch_ is what English +and American fashion papers call a "miss." You may see, too, in German +shop windows a printed intimation that special attention is given to +_Backfisch Moden_. It is a girl who has left school but has not cast +off her school-girl manners; and who, according to her nation and her +history, will require more or less last touches. + +Miss Betham-Edwards tells us that a French girl is taught from +babyhood to play her part in society, and that the exquisite grace +and taste of Frenchwomen are carefully developed in them from the +cradle. An English girl begins her social education in the nursery, +and is trained from infancy in habits of personal cleanliness and in +what old-fashioned English people call "table manners." An +Englishwoman, who for many years lived happily as governess in a +German country house, told me how on the night of her arrival she +tried out of politeness to eat and drink as her hosts did; and how the +mistress of the house confided to her later that she had disappointed +everyone grievously. There were daughters in the family, and they were +to learn to behave at table in the English way. That was why the +father, arriving from Berlin, had on his own initiative brought them +an English governess; for the English are admitted by their +continental friends to excel in this special branch of manners, while +their continental enemies charge them with being "ostentatiously" well +groomed and dainty. The truth is, that if you have lived much with +both English and Germans, and desire to be fair and friendly to both +races, you find that your generalisations will not often weigh on one +side. The English child learns to eat with a fork rather than with a +spoon, and never by any chance to put a knife in its mouth, or to +touch a bone with its fingers. The German child learns that it must +never wear a soiled or an unmended garment or have untidy hair. I have +known a German scandalised by the slovenly wardrobe of her well-to-do +English pupil, and I have heard English people say that to hear +Germans eat soup destroyed their appetite for dinner. English girls +are not all slovens, and nowadays decently bred Germans behave like +other people at table. But untidiness is commoner in England than in +Germany, and you may still stumble across a German any day who, +abiding by old customs, puts his knife in his mouth and takes his +bones in his hands. He will not only do these things, but defend them +vociferously. In that case you are strongly advised not to eat a dish +of asparagus in his company. + +Your modern German _Backfisch_ may be a person of finish and wide +culture. You may find that she insists on her cold tub every morning, +and is scandalised by your offer of hot water in it. She has seen +Salome as a play and heard Salome as an opera. She has seen plays by +G.B.S. both in Berlin and London. She does not care to see Shakespeare +in London, because, as she tells you, the English know nothing about +him. Besides, he could not sound as well in English as in German. She +has read Carlyle, and is now reading Ruskin. She adores Byron, but +does not know Keats, Shelley, or Rossetti. Tennyson she waves +contemptuously away from her, not because she has read him, but +because she has been taught that his poetry is "bourgeois." Her +favourite novels are _Dorian Gray_ and _Misunderstood_. She dresses +with effect and in the height of fashion, she speaks French and +English fluently, she has travelled in Italy and Switzerland, she +plays tennis well, she can ride and swim and skate, and she would +cycle if it was not out of fashion. In fact, she can do anything, and +she knows everything, and she has been everywhere. Your French and +English girls are ignorant misses in comparison with her, and you say +to yourself as you watch her and humbly listen to her opinions, +delivered without hesitation and expressed without mistakes: "Where is +the German _Backfisch_ of yesteryear?" + +"Did you ever read _Backfischchen's Leiden und Freuden_?" you say to +her; for the book is in its 55th edition, and you have seen German +girls devouring it only last week; German girls of a different type, +that is, from your present glittering companion. + +"That old-fashioned inferior thing," she says contemptuously. "I +believe my mother had it. That is not literature." + +You leave her to suppose you could not have made that discovery for +yourself, and you spend an amusing hour over the story again, for +there are occasions when a book that is not "literature" will serve +your purpose better than a masterpiece. The little book has +entertained generations of German girls, and is presumably accepted by +them, just as _Little Women_ is accepted in America or _The Daisy +Chain_ in England. The picture was always a little exaggerated, and +some of its touches are now out of date; yet as a picture of manners +it still has a value. It narrates the joys and sorrows of a young girl +of good family who leaves her country home in order to live with an +aunt in Berlin, a facetious but highly civilised aunt who uses a large +quantity of water at her morning toilet. All the stages of this toilet +are minutely described, and all the mistakes the poor countrified +_Backfisch_ makes the first morning. She actually gets out of bed +before she puts on her clothes, and has to be driven behind the bed +curtains by her aunt's irony. This is an incident that is either out +of date or due to the genius and imagination of the author, for I have +never seen bed curtains in Germany. However, Gretchen is taught to +perform the early stages of her toilet behind them, and then to wash +for the first time in her life in a basin full of water. She is +sixteen. Her aunt presents her with a sponge, and observes that the +civilisation of a nation is judged by the amount of soap it uses. "In +much embarrassment I applied myself to this unaccustomed task," +continues the ingenuous _Backfisch_, "and I managed it so cleverly +that everything around me was soon swimming. To make matters worse, I +upset the water-jug, and now the flood spread to the washstand, the +floor, the bed curtains, even to my clothes lying on the chair. If +only this business of dressing was over," she sighs as she is about to +brush her teeth, with brushes supplied by her aunt. But it is by no +means over. She is just going to slip into a dressing-gown, cover her +unbrushed hair with a cap, and so proceed to breakfast, when this +exacting aunt stops her: actually desires her to plait and comb her +hair at this hour of the morning, and to put on a tidy gown. +Gretchen's gown is extremely untidy, and on that account I will not +admit that the portrait is wholly lifelike. In fact, the author has +summed up the sins of all the _Backfisch_ tribe, and made a single +_Backfisch_ guilty of them. But caricature, if you know how to allow +for it, is instructive. Mr. Stiggins is a caricature, yet he stands +for failings that exist among us, though they are never displayed +quite so crudely. "Go and brush your nails," says the aunt to the +niece when the girl attempts to kiss her hand; and the _Backfisch_ +uses a nail-brush for the first time in her life. + +Then the two ladies sit down to breakfast. Gretchen fills the cups too +full, soaks her roll in her coffee, and drinks out of her saucer. Her +aunt informs her that "coffee pudding" is not polite, and can only be +allowed when they are by themselves; also that she must not drink out +of the saucer. "But we children always did it at home," says Gretchen. +"I can well believe it," says the aunt. "_Everything is permitted to +children._" The italics are mine. + +An aunt who has such ideas about the education of the young is +naturally not surprised when at dinner-time she has to admonish her +niece not to wipe her mouth with her hand, not to speak with her +mouth full, to eat her soup quietly, to keep her elbows off the table, +not to put her fingers in her plate or her knife in her mouth, and not +to take her chicken into her hands on ceremonial occasions. + +"My treasure," says the aunt, "as you know, we are going to dinner +with the Dunkers to-morrow. Be good enough not to take your chicken +into your hands. Here at home I don't object to it, but the really +correct way is to separate the meat from the bone with the knife and +fork." + +And presently Flossie entered, tripping, shrugging up her shoulders and +throwing back her mane, and wonderfully innocent. + +"This is Flossie, who is always late," Albert introduced her to Hilda. + +"Am I really?" said Flossie, in a very low, soft voice, with a bright +and apparently frightened smile. + +Dark Flossie was of Amy’s age and supposed to be Amy’s particular +friend. She was the daughter of young Clara’s music mistress. The +little girl’s prestige in the Benbow house was due to two causes. First +she was graceful and rather stylish in movement--qualities which none of +the Benbow children had, though young Clara was pretty enough; and +second her mother had rather more pupils than she could comfortably +handle, and indeed sometimes refused a pupil. + +Flossie with her physical elegance was like a foreigner among the +Benbows. She had a precocious demeanour. She shook hands and embraced +like a woman, and she gave her birthday gift to Bert as if she were +distributing a prize. It was a lead-pencil, with a patent sharpener. +Bert would have preferred a bicycle, but the patent sharpener made an +oasis in his day. His father pointed out to him that as the pencil was +already sharpened he could not at present use the sharpener. Amy +thereupon furtively passed him the stump of a pencil to operate upon, +and then his mother told him that he had better postpone his first +sharpening until he got into the garden, where bits of wood would not be +untidy. Flossie carefully settled her very short white skirts on a +chair, smiling all the time, and enquired about two brothers whom she +had been told were to be among the guests. Albert informed her with +solemnity that these two brothers were both down with measles, and that +Auntie Hamps and Auntie Hilda had come to make up for their absence. + +"Poor things!" murmured Flossie sympathetically. + +Hilda laughed, and Flossie screwing up her eyes and shrugging up her +shoulders laughed too, as if saying: "You and I alone understand me." + +"What a pretty flower!" Flossie exclaimed, in her low soft voice, +indicating the flower in the vase in front of Amy. + +"There’s half a crumb left," said Albert, passing the cake-plate to +Flossie carefully. "We thought we’d better keep it for you, though we +don’t reckon to keep anything for little girls that come late." + +"Amy," whispered her mother, leaning towards the fat girl. "Wouldn’t it +be nice of you to give your flower to Flossie?" Amy started. + +"I don’t want to," she whispered back, flushing. + +The flower was a gift to Amy from Bert, out of the birthday bunch +presented to him by Rupert. Mysterious relations existed between Bert +and the benignant, acquiescent Amy. + +"Oh! Amy!" her mother protested, still whispering, but shocked. + +Tears came into Amy’s eyes. These tears Amy at length wiped away, and, +straightening her face, offered the flower with stiff outstretched arm +to her friend Flossie. And Flossie smilingly accepted it. + +"It _is_ kind of you, you darling!" said Flossie, and stuck the flower +in an interstice of her embroidered pinafore. + +Amy, gravely lacking in self-control, began to whimper again. + +"That’s my good little girl!" muttered Clara to her, exhibiting pride in +her daughter’s victory over self, and rubbed the child’s eyes with her +handkerchief. The parents were continually thus "bringing up" their +children. Hilda pressed her lips together. + +Immediately afterwards it was noticed that Flossie was no longer eating. + +"I’ve had quite enough, thank you," said she in answer to +expostulations. + +"No jam, even? And you’ve not finished your tea!" + +"I’ve had quite enough, thank you," said she, and folded up her napkin. + +"Please, father, can we go and play in the garden now?" Bert asked. + +Albert looked at his wife. + +"Yes, I think they might," said Clara. "Go and play nicely." They all +rose. + +"Now quietly, qui-etly!" Albert warned them. + +And they went from the room quietly, each in his own fashion,--Flossie +like a modest tsarina, young Clara full of virtue and holding Rupert by +the hand, Amy lumpily, tiny Lucy as one who had too soon been robbed of +the privilege of being the youngest, and Bert in the rear like a +criminal who is observed in a suspicious act. And Albert blew out wind, +as if getting rid of a great weight. + + + + IV + + +"Finished your greengage, auntie?" asked Clara, after the pause which +ensued while the adults were accustoming themselves to the absence of +the children. + +And it was Maggie who answered, rather eagerly: + +"No, she hasn’t. She’s left it to the tender mercies of that Maria. +She wouldn’t let me stay, and she wouldn’t stay herself." + +These were almost the first words, save murmurings as to cups of tea, +quantities of sugar and of milk, etc., that the taciturn Maggie had +uttered since Hilda’s arrival. She was not sulky, she had merely been +devoting herself and allowing herself to be exploited, in the vacuous +manner customary to her,--and listening receptively--or perhaps not even +receptively--offering no remark. Save that the smooth-working mechanism +of the repast would have creaked and stopped at her departure, she might +have slipped from the room unnoticed as a cat. But now she spoke as one +capable of enthusiasm and resentment on behalf of an ideal. To her it +was scandalous that greengage jam should be jeopardised for the sake of +social pleasures, and suddenly it became evident she and her auntie had +had a difference on the matter. + +Mrs. Hamps said stoutly and defiantly, with grandeur: + +"Well, I wasn’t going to have my eldest grand-nephew’s twelfth birthday +party interfered with for any jam." + +"Hear, hear!" said Hilda, liking the terrific woman for an instant. + +But mild Maggie was inflexible. + +Clara, knowing that in Maggie very slight symptoms had enormous +significance, at once changed the subject. Albert went to the back +window, whence by twisting his neck he could descry a corner of the +garden. + +Said Clara, smiling: + +"I hear you’re going to have some _musical evenings_, Hilda ... on +Sunday nights." + +Malice and ridicule were in Clara’s tone. On the phrase "musical +evenings" she put a strange disdainful emphasis, as though a musical +evening denoted something not only unrighteous but snobbish, +new-fangled, and absurd. Yet envy also was in her tone. + +Hilda was startled. + +"Ah! Who told you that?" + +"Never mind! I heard," said Clara darkly. + +Hilda wondered where the Benbows, from whom seemingly naught could be +concealed, had in fact got this tit-bit of news. By tacit consent she +and Edwin had as yet said nothing to anybody except the Orgreaves, who +alone, with Tertius Ingpen and one or two more intimates, were invited, +or were to be invited, to the first evening. Relations between the +Orgreaves and the Benbows scarcely existed. + +"We’re having a little music on Sunday night," said Hilda, as it were +apologetically, and scorning herself for being apologetic. Why should +she be apologetic to these base creatures? But she couldn’t help it; +the public opinion of the room was too much for her. She even added: +"We’re hoping that old Mrs. Orgreave will come. It will be the first +time she’s been out in the evening for ever so long." The name of Mrs. +Orgreave was calculated by Hilda to overawe them and stop their mouths. + +No name, however, could overawe Mrs. Hamps. She smiled kindly, and with +respect for the caprices of others; she spoke in a tone exceptionally +polite,--but what she said was: "I’m sorry ... I’m sorry." + +The deliverance was final. Auntie Hamps was almost as deeply moved +about the approaching desecration of the Sabbath as Maggie had been +about the casual treatment of jam. In earlier years she would have said +a great deal more--just as in earlier years she would have punctuated +Bert’s birthday mouthfuls with descants upon the excellence of his +parents and moral exhortations to himself; but Auntie Hamps was growing +older, and quieter, and "I’m sorry ... I’m sorry" meant much from her. + +Hilda became sad, disgusted, indignant, moody. The breach which +separated her and Edwin from the rest of the family was enormous, as +might be seen in the mere fact that they had never for a moment +contemplated asking anybody in the family to the musical evening, nor +had the family ever dreamed of an invitation. It was astonishing that +Edwin should be so different from the others. But after all, was he? +She could see in him sometimes bits of Maggie, of Clara, and even of the +Unspeakable. She was conscious of her grievances against Edwin. Among +these was that he never, or scarcely ever, praised her. At moments, +when she had tried hard, she felt a great need of praise. But Edwin +would watch her critically, with the damnable grim detachment of the +Five Towns towards a stranger or a returned exile. + +As she sat in the stuffy dining-room of the Benbows, surrounded by +hostilities and incomprehensions, she had a sensation of unreality, or +at any rate of a vast mistake. Why was she there? Was she not tied by +intimate experience to a man at that very instant in prison? (She had a +fearful vision of him in prison,--she, sitting there in the midst of +Maggie, Clara, and Auntie Hamps!) Was she not the mother of an +illegitimate boy? Victimised or not, innocent or not, she, a guest at +Bert’s intensely legitimate birthday fête, was the mother of an +illegitimate boy. Incredible! She ought never to have married into the +Clayhangers, never to have come back to this cackling provincial +district. All these people were inimical towards her,--because she +represented the luxury and riches and worldly splendour of the family, +and because her illegitimate boy had tempted the heir of the Benbows to +blasphemous wickedness, and because she herself had tempted a weak Edwin +to abandon chapel and to desecrate the Sabbath, and again because she, +without a penny of her own, had stepped in and now represented the +luxury and riches and worldly splendour of the family. And all the +family’s grievances against Edwin were also grievances against her. +Once, long ago, when he was yet a bachelor, and had no hope of Hilda, +Edwin had prevented his father, in dotage, from lending a thousand +pounds to Albert upon no security. The interference was unpardonable, +and Hilda would not be pardoned for it. + +Such was marriage into a family. Such was family life.... Yes, she +felt unreal there, and also unsafe. She had prevaricated about George +and the penknife; and she had allowed Clara to remain under the +impression that her visit to the house was a birthday visit. Auntie +Hamps and destiny, between them, would lay bare all this lying. The +antipathy against her would increase. But let it increase never so +much, it still would not equal Hilda’s against the family, as she +thrilled to it then. Their narrow ignorance, their narrow self-conceit, +their detestation of beauty, their pietism, their bigotry--revolted her. +In what century had they been living all those years? Was this married +life? Had Albert and Clara ever felt a moment of mutual passion? They +were nothing but parents, eternally preoccupied with "oughts" and "ought +nots" and forbiddances and horrid reluctant permissions. They did not +know what joy was, and they did not want anybody else to know what joy +was. Even on the outskirts of such a family, a musical evening on a +Sunday night appeared a forlorn enterprise. And all the families in all +the streets were the same. Hilda was hard enough on George sometimes, +but in that moment she would have preferred George to be a thoroughly +bad rude boy and to go to the devil, and herself to be a woman abandoned +to every licence, rather than that he and she should resemble Clara and +her offspring. All her wrath centred upon Clara as the very symbol of +what she loathed. + +"Hello!" cried the watchful Albert from the window. "What’s happening, I +wonder?" + +In a moment Rupert ran into the room, and without a word scrambled on +his mother’s lap, absolutely confident in her goodness and power. + +"What’s amiss, tuppenny?" asked his father. + +"Tired," answered Rupert, with a faint, endearing smile. + +He laid himself close against his mother’s breast, and drew up his +knees, and Clara held his body in her arms, and whispered to him. + +"Amy ’udn’t play with me," he murmured. + +"Wouldn’t she? Naughty Amy!" + +"Mammy tired too," he glanced upwards at his mother’s eyes in sympathy. + +And immediately he was asleep. Clara kissed him, bending her head down +and with difficulty reaching his cheek with her lips. + +Auntie Hamps enquired fondly: + +"What does he mean--’mother tired too’?" + +"Well," said Clara, "the fact is some of ’em were so excited they +stopped my afternoon sleep this afternoon. I always do have my nap, you +know,"--she looked at Hilda. "In here! When this door’s closed they +know mother mustn’t be disturbed. Only this afternoon Lucy or Amy--I +don’t know which, and I didn’t enquire too closely--forgot.... He’s +remembered it, the little Turk." + +"Is he asleep?" Hilda demanded in a low voice. + +"Fast. He’s been like that lately. He’ll play a bit, and then he’ll +stop, and say he’s tired, and sometimes cry, and he’ll come to me and be +asleep in two jiffs. I think he’s been a bit run down. He said he had +toothache yesterday. It was nothing but a little cold; they’ve all had +colds; but I wrapped his face up to please him. He looked so sweet in +his bandage, I assure you I didn’t want to take it off again. No, I +didn’t.... I wonder why Amy wouldn’t play with him? She’s such a +splendid playmate--when she likes. Full of imagination! Simply full of +it!" + +Albert had approached from the window. + +With an air of important conviction, he said to Hilda: + +"Yes, Amy’s imagination is really remarkable." As no one responded to +this statement, he drummed on the table to ease the silence, and then +suddenly added: "Well, I suppose I must be getting on with my dictionary +reading! I’m only at S; and there’s bound to be a lot of words under +U--beginning with _un_, you know. I saw at once there would be." He +spoke rather defiantly, as though challenging public opinion to condemn +his new dubious activity. + +"Oh!" said Clara. "Albert’s quite taken up with missing words +nowadays." + +But instead of conning his dictionary, Albert returned to the window, +drawn by his inexhaustible paternal curiosity, and he even opened the +window and leaned out, so that he might more effectively watch the +garden. And with the fresh air there entered the high, gay, inspiriting +voices of the children. + +Clara smiled down at the boy sleeping in her lap. She was happy. The +child was happy. His flushed face, with its expression of loving +innocence, was exquisitely touching. Clara’s face was full of proud +tenderness. Everybody gazed at the picture with secret and profound +pleasure. Hilda wished once more that George was only two and a half +years old again. George’s infancy, and her early motherhood, had been +very different from all this. She had never been able to shut a +dining-room door, or any other door, as a sign that she must not be +disturbed. And certainly George had never sympathetically remarked that +she was tired.... She was envious.... And yet a minute ago she had been +execrating the family life of the Benbows. The complexity of the tissue +of existence was puzzling. + + + + V + + +When Albert brought his head once more into the room he suddenly +discovered the stuffiness of the atmosphere, and with the large, free +gestures of a mountaineer and a sanitarian threw open both windows as +wide as possible. The bleak wind from the moorlands surged in, +fluttering curtains, and lowering the temperature at a run. + +"Won’t Rupert catch cold?" Hilda suggested, chilled. + +"He’s got to be hardened, Rupert has!" Albert replied easily. "Fresh +air! Nothing like it! Does ’em good to feel it!" + +Hilda thought: + +"Pity you didn’t think so a bit earlier!" + +Her countenance was too expressive. Albert divined some ironic thought +in her brain, and turned on her with a sort of parrying jeer: + +"And how’s the great man getting along?" + +In this phrase, which both he and Clara employed with increasing +frequency, Albert let out not only his jealousy of, but his respect for, +the head of the family. Hilda did not like it, but it flattered her on +Edwin’s behalf, and she never showed her resentment of the attitude +which prompted it. + +"Edwin? Oh, he’s all right. He’s working." She put a slight emphasis +on the last pronoun, in order revengefully to contrast Edwin’s industry +with Albert’s presence during business hours at a children’s birthday +party. "He said to me as he went out that he must go and earn something +towards Maggie’s rent." She laughed softly. + +Clara smiled cautiously; Maggie smiled and blushed a little; Albert did +not commit himself; only Auntie Hamps laughed without reserve. + +"Edwin will have his joke," said she. + +Although Hilda had audaciously gone forth that afternoon with the +express intention of opening negotiations, on her own initiative, with +Maggie for the purchase of the house, she had certainly not meant to +discuss the matter in the presence of the entire family. But she was +seized by one of her characteristic impulses, and she gave herself up to +it with the usual mixture of glee and apprehension. She said: + +"I suppose you wouldn’t care to sell us the house, would you, Maggie?" + +Everybody became alert, and as it grew apparent that the company was +assisting at the actual birth of a family episode or incident, a +peculiar feeling of eager pleasure spread through the room, and the +appetite for history-making leapt up. + +"Indeed I should!" Maggie answered, with a deepening flush, and all were +astonished at her decisiveness, and at the warmth of her tone. "I never +wanted the house. Only it was arranged that I should have it, so of +course I took it." The long-silent victim was speaking. Money was +useless to her, for she was incapable of turning it into happiness; but +she had her views on finance and property, nevertheless; and though in +all such matters she did as she was told, submissively accepting the +decisions of brother or brother-in-law as decrees of fate, yet she was +quite aware of the victimhood. The assemblage was surprised and even a +little intimidated by her mild outburst. + +"But you’ve got a very good tenant, Maggie," said Auntie Hamps +enthusiastically. + +"She’s got a very good tenant, admitted!" Albert said judicially and +almost sternly. "But she’d never have any difficulty in finding a very +good tenant for that house. That’s not the point. The point is that +the investment really isn’t remunerative. Maggie could do much better +for herself than that. Very much better. Why, if she went the right +way about it she could get ten per cent on her money! I know of +things.... And I bet she doesn’t get three and a half per cent clear +from the house. Not three and a half." He glanced reproachfully at +Hilda. + +"Do you mean the rent’s too low?" Hilda questioned boldly. + +He hesitated, losing courage. + +"I don’t say it’s too low. But Maggie perhaps took the house over at +too big a figure." + +Maggie looked up at her brother-in-law. + +"And whose fault was that?" she asked sharply. The general surprise was +intensified. No one could understand Maggie. No one had the wit to +perceive that she had been truly annoyed by Auntie Hamps’s negligence in +regard to jam, and was momentarily capable of bitterness. "Whose fault +was that?" she repeated. "You and Clara and Edwin settled it between +you. You yourself said over and over again it was a fair figure." + +"I thought so at the time! I thought so at the time!" said Albert +quickly. "We all acted for the best." + +"I’m sure you did," murmured Auntie Hamps. + +"I should think so, indeed!" murmured Clara, seeking to disguise her +constraint by attentions to the sleeping Rupert. + +"Is Edwin thinking of buying, then?" Albert asked Hilda in a quiet, +studiously careless voice. + +"We’ve discussed it," responded Hilda. + +"Because if he is, he ought to take it over at the price Mag took it at. +She oughtn’t to lose on it. That’s only fair." + +"I’m sure Edwin would never do anything unfair," said Auntie Hamps. + +Hilda made no reply. She had already heard the argument from Edwin, and +Albert now seemed to her more tedious and unprincipled than usual. Her +reason admitted the force of the argument as regards Maggie, but +instinct opposed it. + +Nevertheless she was conscious of sudden sympathy for Maggie, and of a +weakening of her prejudice against her. + +"Hadn’t we better be going, Auntie?" Maggie curtly and reproachfully +suggested. "You know quite well that jam stands a good chance of being +ruined." + +"I suppose we had," Auntie Hamps concurred with a sigh, and rose. + +"I shall be able to carry out my plan," thought Hilda, full of wisdom +and triumph. And she saw Edwin, owner of the house, with his wild +lithographic project scotched. And the realisation of her own sagacity +thus exercised on behalf of those she loved, made her glad. + +At the same moment, just as Albert was recommencing his flow, the door +opened and Edwin entered. He had glimpsed the children in the garden +and had come into the house by the back way. There were cries of +stupefaction and bliss. Both Albert and Clara were unmistakably +startled and flattered. Indeed, several seconds elapsed before Albert +could assume the proper grim, casual air. Auntie Hamps rejoiced and sat +down again. Maggie disclosed no feeling, and she would not sit down +again. Hilda had a serious qualm. She was obliged to persuade herself +that in opening the negotiations for the house she had not committed an +enormity. She felt less sagacious and less dominant. Who could have +dreamt that Edwin would pop in just then? It was notorious, it was even +a subject of complaint, that he never popped in. In reply to enquiries +he stammered in his customary hesitating way that he happened to be in +the neighbourhood on business and that it had occurred to him, etc., +etc. In short, there he was. + +"Aren’t you coming, Auntie?" Maggie demanded. + +"Let me have a look at Edwin, child," said Auntie Hamps, somewhat +nettled. "How set you are!" + +"Then I shall go alone," said Maggie. + +"Yes. But what about this house business?" Albert tried to stop her. + +He could not stop her. Finance, houses, rents, were not real to her. +She owned but did not possess such things. But the endangered jam was +real to her. She did not own it, but she possessed it. She departed. + +"What’s amiss with her to-day?" murmured Mrs. Hamps. "I must go too, or +I shall be catching it; my word I shall!" + +"What house business?" Edwin asked. + +"Well," said Albert. "I like that! Aren’t you trying to buy her house +from her? We’ve just been talking it over." + +Edwin glanced swiftly at Hilda, and Hilda knew from the peculiar +constrained, almost shamefaced, expression on his features, that he was +extremely annoyed. He gave a little nervous laugh. + +"Oh! Have ye?" he muttered. + + + + VI + + +Although Edwin discussed the purchase of the house quite calmly with +Albert, and appeared to regard it as an affair practically settled, +Hilda could perceive from a single gesture of his in the lobby as they +were leaving, that his resentment against herself had not been +diminished by the smooth course of talking. Nevertheless she was +considerably startled by his outburst in the street. + +"It’s a pity Maggie went off like that," she said quietly. "You might +have fixed everything up immediately." + +Then it was that he turned on her, glowering angrily. + +"Why on earth did you go talking about it, without telling me first?" he +demanded, furious. + +"But it was understood, dear----" She smiled, affecting not to perceive +his temper, and thereby aggravating it. + +He almost shouted: + +"Nothing of the kind! Nothing of the kind!" + +"Maggie was there. I just happened to mention it." Hilda was still +quite placid. + +"You went down on purpose to tell her, so you needn’t deny it. Do you +take me for a fool?" + +Her placidity was undiminished. + +"Of course I don’t take you for a fool, dear. I assure you I hadn’t the +slightest idea you’d be annoyed." + +"Yes, you had. I could see it on your face when I came in. Don’t try +to stuff me up. You go blundering into a thing, without the least +notion--without the least notion! I’ve told you before, and I tell you +again--I won’t have you interfering in my business affairs. You know +nothing of business. You’ll make my life impossible. All you women are +the same. You will poke your noses in. There’ll have to be a clear +understanding between you and me on one or two points, before we go much +further." + +"But you told me I could mention it to her." + +"No, I didn’t." + +"You did, Edwin. Do be just." + +"I didn’t say you could go and plunge right into it at once. These +things have to be thought out. Houses aren’t bought like that. A house +isn’t a pound of tea, and it isn’t a hat." + +"I’m very sorry." + +"No, you aren’t. And you know jolly well you aren’t. Your scheme was +simply to tie my hands." + +She knew the truth of this, and her smile became queer. Nevertheless +the amiable calm which she maintained astonished even herself. She was +not happy, but certainly she was not unhappy. She had got, or she was +going to get, what she wanted; and here was the only fact important to +her; the means by which she had got it, or was going to get it, were +negligible now. It cost her very little to be magnanimous. She +wondered at Edwin. Was this furious brute the timid, worshipping boy +who had so marvellously kissed her a dozen years earlier--before she had +fallen into the hands of a scoundrel? Were these scenes what the +exquisite romance of marriage had come to? ... Well, and if it was so, +what then? If she was not happy she was elated, and she was +philosophic, and she had the terrific sense of realities of some of her +sex. She was out of the Benbow house; she breathed free, she had +triumphed, and she had her man to herself. He might be a brute--the +Five Towns (she had noticed as a returned exile) were full of brutes +whose passions surged and boiled beneath the phlegmatic surface--but he +existed, and their love existed. And a peep into the depth of the +cauldron was exciting.... The injustice or the justice of his behaviour +did not make a live question. + +Moreover, she did not in truth seriously regard him as a brute. She +regarded him as an unreasonable creature, something like a baby, to be +humoured in the inessentials of a matter of which the essentials were +now definitely in her favour. His taunt that she went blundering into a +thing, and that she knew naught of business, amused her. She knew her +own business, and knew it profoundly. The actual situation was a proof +of that. As for abstract principles of business, the conventions and +etiquette of it--her lips condescendingly curled. After all, what had +she done to merit this fury? Nothing! Nothing! What could it matter +whether the negotiations were begun instantly or in a week’s or a +month’s time? (Edwin would have dilly-dallied probably for three +months, or six). She had merely said a few harmless words, offered a +suggestion. And now he desired to tear her limb from limb and eat her +alive. It was comical! Impossible for her to be angry, in her triumph! +It was too comical! She had married an astounding personage.... But she +had married him. He was hers. She exulted in the possession of him. +His absurd peculiarities did not lower him in her esteem. She had a +perfect appreciation of his points, including his general wisdom. But +she was convinced that she had a special and different and superior kind +of wisdom. + +"And a nice thing you’ve let Maggie in for!" Edwin broke out afresh +after a spell of silent walking. + +"Let Maggie in for?" she exclaimed lightly. + +"Albert ought never to have known anything of it until it was all +settled. He will be yarning away to her about how he can use her money +for her, and what he gets hold of she’ll never see again,--you may bet +your boots on that. If you’d left it to me I could have fixed things up +for her in advance. But no! In you must go! Up to the neck! And ruin +everything!" + +"Oh!" she said reassuringly. "You’ll be able to look after Maggie all +right." + +He sniffed, and settled down into embittered disgust, quickening +somewhat his speed up the slope of Acre Lane. + +"Please don’t walk so fast, Edwin," she breathed, just like a nice +little girl. "I can’t keep up with you." + +In spite of his enormous anger he could not refuse such a request. She +was getting the better of him again. He knew it; he could see through +the devices. With an irritated swing of his body he slowed down to suit +her. + +She had a glimpse of his set, gloomy, savage, ruthless face, the lower +lip bulging out. Really it was grotesque! Were they grown up, he and +she? She smiled almost self-consciously, fearing that passers-by might +notice his preposterous condition. All the way up Acre Lane and across +by St. Luke’s Churchyard into Trafalgar Road they walked thus side by +side in silence. By strange good luck they did not meet a single +acquaintance, and as Edwin had a latchkey, no servant had to come and +open the door and behold them. + +Edwin, throwing his hat on the stand, ran immediately upstairs. Hilda +passed idly into the drawing-room. She was glad to be in her own +drawing-room again. It was a distinguished apartment, after Clara’s. +There lay the Dvorak music on the piano.... The atmosphere seemed full +of ozone. She rang for Ada and spoke to her with charming friendliness +about Master George. Master George had returned from an informal +cricket match in the Manor Fields, and was in the garden. Yes, Ada had +seen to his school-clothes. Everything was in order for the new term +shortly to commence. But Master George had received a blow from the +cricket-ball on his shin, which was black and blue.... Had Ada done +anything to the shin? No, Master George would not let her touch it, but +she had been allowed to see it.... Very well, Ada.... There was +something beatific about the state of being mistress of a house. +Without the mistress, the house would simply crumble to pieces. + +Hilda went upstairs; she was apprehensive, but her apprehensiveness was +agreeable to her.... No, Edwin was not in the bedroom.... She could +hear him in the bathroom. She tried the door. It was bolted. He always +bolted it. + +"Edwin!" + +"What is it?" + +He opened the door. He was in his shirt sleeves and had just finished +with the towel. She entered, and shut the door and bolted it. And then +she began to kiss him. She kissed him time after time, on his cheek so +damp and fresh. + +"Poor dear!" she murmured. + +She knew that he could not altogether resist those repeated kisses. +They were more effective than the best arguments or the most graceful +articulate surrenders. Thus she completed her triumph. But whether the +virtue of the kisses lay in their sensuousness or in their sentiment, +neither he nor she knew. And she did not care.... She did not kiss him +with abandonment. There was a reserve in her kisses, and in her smile. +Indeed she went on kissing him rather sternly. Her glance, when their +eyes were very close together, was curious. It seemed to imply: "We are +in love. And we love. I am yours. You are mine. Life is very fine +after all. I am a happy woman. But still--_each is for himself in this +world_, and that’s the bedrock of marriage as of all other +institutions." Her sense of realities again! And she went on kissing, +irresistibly. + +"Kiss me." + +And he had to kiss her. + +Whereupon she softened to him, and abandoned herself to the emanations +of his charm, and her lips became almost liquid as she kissed him again; +nevertheless there was still a slight reserve in her kisses. + +At tea she chattered like a magpie, as the saying is. Between her and +George there seemed to be a secret instinctive understanding that Edwin +had to be humoured, enlivened, drawn into talk,--for although he had +kissed her, his mood was yet by no means restored to the normal. He +would have liked to remain, majestic, within the tent of his soul. But +they were too clever for him. Then, to achieve his discomfiture, +entered Johnnie Orgreave, with a suggestion that they should all +four--Edwin, Hilda, Janet, and himself--go to the theatre at Hanbridge +that night. Hilda accepted the idea instantly. Since her marriage, her +appetite for pleasure had developed enormously. At moments she was +positively greedy for pleasure. She was incapable of being bored at the +theatre, she would sooner be in the theatre of a night than out of it. + +"Oh! Do let’s go!" she cried. + +Edwin did not want to go, but he had to concur. He did not want to be +pleasant to Johnnie Orgreave or to anybody, but he had to be pleasant. + +"Be on the first car that goes up after seven fifteen," said Johnnie as +he was departing. + +Edwin grunted. + +"You understand, Teddy? The first car that goes up after seven +fifteen." + +"All right! All right!" + +Blithely Hilda went to beautify herself. And when she had beautified +herself and made herself into a queen of whom the haughtiest +master-printer might be proud, she despatched Ada for Master George. +And Master George had to come to her bedroom. + +"Let me look at that leg," she said. "Sit down." + +Devious creature! During tea she had not even divulged that she had +heard of the damaged shin. Master George was taken by surprise. He sat +down. She knelt, and herself unloosed the stocking and exposed the +little calf. The place was black and blue, but it had a healthy look. + +"It’s nothing," she said. + +And then, all in her splendid finery, she kissed the dirty discoloured +shin. Strange! He was only two years old and just learning to talk. + +"Now then, missis! Here’s the tram!" Edwin yelled out loudly, roughly, +from below. He would have given a sovereign to see her miss the car, +but his inconvenient sense of justice forced him to warn her. + +"Coming! Coming!" + +She kissed Master George on the mouth eagerly, and George seemed, +unusually, to return the eagerness. She ran down the darkening stairs, +ecstatic. + +In the dusky road, Edwin curtly signalled to the vast ascending +steam-car, and it stopped. Those were in the old days, when people did +what they liked with the cars, stopping them here and stopping them +there according to their fancy. The era of electricity and fixed +stopping-places, and soulless, conscienceless control from London had +not set in. Edwin and Hilda mounted. Two hundred yards further on the +steam-tram was once more arrested, and Johnnie and Janet joined them. +Hilda was in the highest spirits. The great affair of the afternoon had +not been a quarrel, but an animating experience which, though dangerous, +intensified her self-confidence and her zest. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + THE WEEK-END + + + I + + +The events of the portentous week-end which included the musical evening +began early on the Saturday, and the first one was a chance word uttered +by George. + +Breakfast was nearly over in the Clayhanger dining-room. Hilda sat +opposite to Edwin, and George between them. They had all eaten with +appetite, and the disillusion which usually accompanies the satisfaction +of desire was upon them. They had looked forward to breakfast, scenting +with zest its pleasing odours, and breakfast was over, save perhaps for +a final unnecessary piece of toast or half a cup of chilled coffee. + +Hilda did not want to move, because she did not care for the Saturday +morning task of shopping and re-victualling and being bland with +fellow-shoppers in the emporiums. The house-doors were too frequently +open on Saturday mornings, and errand-boys thereat, and a wind blowing +through the house, and it was the morning for specially cleaning the +hall--detestable and damp operation--and servants seemed loose on +Saturday morning, and dinner was apt to be late. But Hilda knew she +would have to move. To postpone was only to aggravate. Destiny grasped +her firm. George was not keen about moving, because he had no plan of +campaign; the desolating prospect of resuming school on Monday had +withered his energy; he was in a mood to be either a martyr or a +villain. Edwin was lazily sardonic, partly because the leisure of +breakfast was at an end, partly because he hated the wage-paying +slackness of Saturday morning at the shop, and partly because his +relations with Hilda had remained indefinite and disquieting, despite a +thousand mutual urbanities and thoughtful refinements, and even some +caresses. A sense of aimlessness dejected him; and in the central caves +of his brain the question was mysteriously stirring: What is the use of +all these things,--success, dignity, importance, luxury, love, +sensuality, order, moral superiority? He foresaw thirty years of +breakfasts, with plenty of the finest home-cured bacon and fresh eggs, +but no romance. + +Before his marriage he used to read the paper honestly and rudely at +breakfast. That is to say, he would prop it up squarely in front of +him, hiding his sister Maggie, and anyhow ignoring her; and Maggie had +to "like it or lump it"; she probably lumped it. But upon marriage he +had become a chevalier; he had nobly decided that it was not correct to +put a newspaper between yourself and a woman who had denied you nothing. +Nevertheless, his appetite for newspapers being almost equal to his +appetite for bacon, he would still take nips at the newspaper during +breakfast, hold it in one hand, glance at it, drop it, pick it up, talk +amiably while glancing at it, drop it, pick it up again. So long as the +newspaper was held aside and did not touch the table, so long as he did +not read more than ten lines at a time, he considered that punctilio was +satisfied, and that he was not in fact reading the newspaper at all. +But towards the end of breakfast, when the last food was disappearing, +and he had lapped the cream off the news, he would hold the newspaper in +both hands--and brazenly and conscientiously read. His chief interest, +just then, was political. Like most members of his party, he was +endeavouring to decipher the party programme and not succeeding, and he +feared for his party and was a little ashamed for it. Grave events had +occurred. The substructure of the state was rocking. A newly elected +supporter of the Government, unaware that he was being admitted to the +best club in London, had gone to the House of Commons in a tweed cap and +preceded by a brass-band. Serious pillars of society knew that the time +had come to invest their savings abroad. Edwin, with many another +ardent liberal, was seeking to persuade himself that everything was all +right after all. The domestic atmosphere--Hilda’s baffling face, the +emptied table, the shadow of business, repletion, early symptoms of +indigestion, the sound of a slop-pail in the hall--did not aid him to +optimism. In brief the morning was a fair specimen of a kind of morning +that seemed likely to be for him an average morning. + +"Can’t I leave the table, mother?" asked George discontentedly. + +Hilda nodded. + +George gave a coarse sound of glee. + +"George! ... That’s so unlike you!" his mother frowned. + +Instead of going directly towards the door, he must needs pass right +round the table, behind the chair of his occupied uncle. As he did so, +he scanned the newspaper and read out loudly in passing for the benefit +of the room: + +"’Local Divorce Case. Etches v. Etches. Painful details.’" + +The words meant nothing to George. They had happened to catch his eye. +He read them as he might have read an extract from the books of Euclid, +and noisily and ostentatiously departed, not without a further protest +from Hilda. + +And Edwin and Hilda, left alone together, were self-conscious. + +"Lively kid!" murmured Edwin self-consciously. + +And Hilda, self-consciously: + +"You never told me that case was on." + +"I didn’t know till I saw it here." + +"What’s the result?" + +"Not finished.... Here you are, if you want to read it." + +He handed the sheet across the table. Despite his serious interest in +politics he had read the report before anything else. Etches v. Etches, +indeed, surpassed Gladstonian politics as an aid to the dubious +prosperity of the very young morning newspaper, which represented the +latest and most original attempt to challenge the journalistic monopoly +of the afternoon _Staffordshire Signal_. It lived scarcely longer than +the divorce case, for the proprietors, though Non-conformists and +therefore astute, had failed to foresee that the Five Towns public would +not wait for racing results until the next morning. + +"Thanks," Hilda amiably and negligently murmured. + +Edwin hummed. + +Useless for Hilda to take that casual tone! Useless for Edwin to hum! +The unconcealable thought in both their minds was--and each could divine +the other’s thought and almost hear its vibration: + +"We might end in the divorce court, too." + +Hence their self-consciousness. + +The thought was absurd, irrational, indefensible, shocking, it had no +father and no mother, it sprang out of naught; but it existed, and it +had force enough to make them uncomfortable. + +The Etches couple, belonging to the great, numerous, wealthy, and +respectable family of Etches, had been married barely a year. + +Edwin rose and glanced at his well-tended fingernails. The pleasant +animation of his skin caused by the bath was still perceptible. He +could feel it in his back, and it helped his conviction of virtue. He +chose a cigarette out of his silver case,--a good cigarette, a good +case--and lit it, and waved the match into extinction, and puffed out +much smoke, and regarded the correctness of the crease in his trousers +(the vertical trouser-crease having recently been introduced into the +district and insisted on by that tailor and artist and seeker after +perfection, Shillitoe), and walked firmly to the door. But the +self-consciousness remained. + +Just as he reached the door, his wife, gazing at the newspaper, stopped +him: + +"Edwin." + +"What’s up?" + +He did not move from the door, and she did not look up from the +newspaper. + +"Seen your friend Big James this morning?" + +Edwin usually went down to business before breakfast, so that his +conscience might be free for a leisurely meal at nine o’clock. Big +James was the oldest employee in the business. Originally he had been +foreman compositor, and was still technically so described, but in fact +he was general manager and Edwin’s majestic vicegerent in all the +printing-shops. "Ask Big James," was the watchword of the whole +organism. + +"No," said Edwin. "Why?" + +"Oh, nothing! It doesn’t matter." + +Edwin had made certain resolutions about his temper, but it seemed to +him that such a reply justified annoyance, and he therefore permitted +himself to be annoyed, failing to see that serenity is a positive virtue +only when there is justification for annoyance. The nincompoop had not +even begun to perceive that what is called "right-living" means the +acceptance of injustice and the excusing of the inexcusable. + +"Now then," he said, brusquely. "Out with it." But there was still a +trace of rough tolerance in his voice. + +"No. It’s all right. I was wrong to mention it." + +Her admission of sin did not in the least placate him. + +He advanced towards the table. + +"You haven’t mentioned it," he said stiffly. + +Their eyes met, as Hilda’s quitted the newspaper. He could not read +hers. She seemed very calm. He thought as he looked at her: "How +strange it is that I should be living with this woman! What is she to +me? What do I know of her?" + +She said with tranquillity: + +"If you do see Big James you might tell him not to trouble himself about +that programme." + +"Programme? What programme?" he asked, startled. + +"Oh! Edwin!" She gave a little laugh. "The musical evening programme, +of course. Aren’t we having a musical evening to-morrow night?" + +More justification for annoyance! Why should she confuse the situation +by pretending that he had forgotten the musical evening? The pretence +was idiotic, deceiving no one. The musical evening was constantly being +mentioned. + +Reports of assiduous practising had reached them; and on the previous +night they had had quite a subdued altercation over a proposal of +Hilda’s for altering the furniture in the drawing-room. + +"This is the first I’ve heard of any programme," said Edwin. "Do you +mean a printed programme?" + +Of course she could mean nothing else. He was absolutely staggered at +the idea that she had been down to his works, without a word to him, and +given orders to Big James, or even talked to Big James, about a +programme. She had no remorse. She had no sense of danger. Had she +the slightest conception of what business was? Imagine Maggie +attempting such a thing! It was simply not conceivable. A wife going to +her husband’s works, and behind his back giving orders----! It was as +though a natural law had suspended its force. + +"Why, Edwin," she said in extremely clear, somewhat surprised, and +gently benevolent accents. "What ever’s the matter with you? There +_is_ a programme of music, I suppose?" (There she was, ridiculously +changing the meaning of the word programme! What infantile tactics!) +"It occurred to me all of a sudden yesterday afternoon how nice it would +be to have it printed on gilt-edged cards, so I ran down to the shop, +but you weren’t there. So I saw Big James." + +"You never said anything to me about it last night. Nor this morning." + +"Didn’t I? ... Well, I forgot." + +Grotesque creature! + +"Well, what did Big James say?" + +"Oh! Don’t ask me. But if he treats all your customers as he treated +me ... However, it doesn’t matter now. I shall write the programme out +myself." + +"What did he say?" + +"It wasn’t what he said.... But he’s very rude, you know. Other people +think so too." + +"What other people?" + +"Oh! Never mind who! Of course, _I_ know how to take it. And I know +you believe in him blindly. But his airs are preposterous. And he’s a +dirty old man. And I say, Edwin, seeing how very particular you are +about things at home, you really ought to see that the front shop is +kept cleaner. It’s no affair of mine, and I never interfere,--but +really...!" + +Not a phrase of this speech but what was highly and deliberately +provocative. Assuredly no other person had ever said that Big James was +rude. (But _had_ someone else said so, after all? Suppose, challenged, +she gave a name!) Big James’s airs were not preposterous; he was merely +old and dignified. His apron and hands were dirty, naturally.... And +then the implication that Big James was a fraud, and that he, Edwin, was +simpleton enough to be victimised by the fraud, while the great +all-seeing Hilda exposed it at a single glance! And the implication +that he, Edwin, was fussy at home, and negligent at the shop! And the +astounding assertion that she never interfered! + +He smothered up all his feelings, with difficulty, as a sailor smothers +up a lowered sail in a high wind, and merely demanded, for the third +time: + +"What did Big James say?" + +"I was given to understand," said Hilda roguishly, "that it was quite, +quite, quite impossible. But his majesty would see! ... Well, he +needn’t ’see.’ I see how wrong I was to suggest it at all." + +Edwin moved away in silence. + +"Are you going, Edwin?" she asked innocently. + +"Yes," glumly. + +"You haven’t kissed me." + +She did not put him to the shame of returning to her. No, she jumped up +blithely, radiant. Her make-believe that nothing had happened was +maddening. She kissed him lovingly, with a smile, more than once. He +did not kiss; he was kissed. Nevertheless somehow the kissing modified +his mental position and he felt better after it. + +"Don’t work yourself up, darling," she counselled him, with kindness and +concern, as he went out of the room. "You know how sensitive you are." +It was a calculated insult, but an insult which had to be ignored. To +notice it would have been a grave tactical error. + + + + II + + +When he reached the shop, he sat down at his old desk in the +black-stained cubicle, and spied forth and around for the alleged dust +which he would tolerate in business but would not tolerate at home. It +was there. He could see places that had obviously not been touched for +weeks, withdrawn places where the undisturbed mounds of stock and litter +had the eternal character of Roman remains or vestiges of creation. The +senior errand-boy was in the shop, snuffling over a blue-paper parcel. + +"Boy," said Edwin. "What time do you come here in the morning?" + +"’A’ past seven, sir." + +"Well, on Monday morning you’ll be here at seven and you’ll move +everything--there and there and there--and sweep and dust properly. +This shop’s like a pigstye. I believe you never dust anything but the +counters." + +He was mild but firm. He knew himself for a just man; yet the fact that +he was robbing this boy of half-an-hour’s sleep and probably the boy’s +mother also, and upsetting the ancient order of the boy’s household, did +not trouble him, did not even occur to him. For him the boy had no +mother and no household, but was a patent self-causing boy that came +miraculously into existence on the shop doorstep every morning and +achieved annihilation thereon every night. + +The boy was a fatalist, but his fatalism had limits, because he well +knew that the demand for errand-boys was greater than the supply. +Though the limits of his fatalism had not yet been reached, he was +scarcely pleased. + +"If I come at seven who’ll gi’ me th’ kays, sir?" he demanded rather +surlily, wiping his nose on his sleeve. + +"I’ll see that you have the keys," said Edwin, with divine assurance, +though he had not thought of the difficulty of the keys. + +The boy left the shop, his body thrown out of the perpendicular by the +weight of the blue-paper parcel. + +"You ought to keep an eye on this place," said Edwin quietly to the +young man who combined the function of clerk with that of salesman to +the rare retail customers. "I can’t see to everything. Here, check +these wages for me." He indicated small piles of money. + +"Yes, sir," said the clerk with self-respect, but admitting the justice +of the animadversion. + +Edwin seldom had difficulty with his employees. Serious friction was +unknown in the establishment. + +He went out by the back-entrance, thinking: + +"It’s no affair whatever of hers. Moreover the shop’s as clean as shops +are, and a damned sight cleaner than most. A shop isn’t a +drawing-room.... And now there’s the infernal programme." + +He would have liked to bury and forget the matter of the programme. But +he could not. His conscience, or her fussiness, would force him to +examine into it. There was no doubt that Big James was getting an old +man, with peculiar pompous mannerisms and a disposition towards +impossibilism. Big James ought to have remembered, in speaking to +Hilda, that he was speaking to the wife of his employer. That Hilda +should give an order, or even make a request, direct was perhaps +unusual, but--dash it!--you knew what women were, and if that old josser +of a bachelor, Big James, didn’t know what women were, so much the worse +for him. He should just give Big James a hint. He could not have Big +James making mischief between himself and Hilda. + +But the coward would not go straight to Big James. He went first up to +what had come to be called "the litho room," partly in order to postpone +Big James, but partly also because he had quite an affectionate proud +interest in the litho room. In Edwin’s childhood this room, now +stripped and soiled into a workshop, had been the drawing-room of the +Clayhanger family; and it still showed the defect which it had always +shown; the window was too small and too near the corner of the room. No +transformation could render it satisfactory save a change in the window. +Old Darius Clayhanger had vaguely talked of altering the window. Edwin +had thought seriously of it. But nothing had been done. Edwin was +continuing the very policy of his father which had so roused his disdain +when he was young: the policy of "making things do." Instead of +entering upon lithography in a manner bold, logical, and decisive, he +had nervously and half-heartedly slithered into it. Thus at the back of +the yard was a second-hand "Newsom" machine in quarters too small for +it, and the apparatus for the preliminary polishing of the stones; while +up here in the ex-drawing-room were grotesquely mingled the final +polishing process and the artistic department. + +The artist who drew the designs on the stone was a German, with short +fair hair and moustache, a thick neck and a changeless expression. +Edwin had surprisingly found him in Hanbridge. He was very skilled in +judging the amount of "work" necessary on the stone to produce a desired +result on the paper, and very laborious. Without him the nascent +lithographic trade could not have prospered. His wages were extremely +moderate, but they were what he had asked, and in exchange for them he +gave his existence. Edwin liked to watch him drawing, slavishly, +meticulously, endlessly. He was absolutely without imagination, +artistic feeling, charm, urbanity, or elasticity of any sort,--a miracle +of sheer gruff positiveness. He lived somewhere in Hanbridge, and had +once been seen by Edwin on a Sunday afternoon, wheeling a perambulator +and smiling at a young enceinte woman who held his free arm. An +astounding sight, which forced Edwin to adjust his estimates! He grimly +called himself an Englishman, and was legally entitled to do so. On +this morning he was drawing a ewer and basin, for the illustrated +catalogue of an earthenware manufacturer. + +"Not a very good light to-day," murmured Edwin. + +"Eh?" + +"Not a very good light." + +"No," said Karl sourly and indifferently, bent over the stone, and +breathing with calm regularity. "My eyesight is being de-stroit." + +Behind, a young man in a smock was industriously polishing a stone. + +Edwin beheld with pleasure. It was a joy to think that here was the +sole lithography in Bursley, and that his own enterprise had started it. +Nevertheless he was ashamed too,--ashamed of his hesitations, his +half-measures, his timidity, and of Karl’s impaired eyesight. There was +no reason why he should not build a proper works, and every reason why +he should; the operation would be remunerative; it would set an example; +it would increase his prestige. He grew resolute. On the day of the +party at the Benbows’ he had been and carefully inspected the plot of +land at Shawport, and yesterday he had made a very low offer for it. If +the offer was refused, he would raise it. He swore to himself he would +have his works. + +Then Big James came into the litho room. + +"I was seeking ye, sir," said Big James majestically, with a mysterious +expression. + +Edwin tried to look at him anew, as it were with Hilda’s eyes. +Certainly his bigness amounted now to an enormity, for proportionately +his girth more than matched his excessive height. His apron descended +from the semicircle of his paunch like a vast grey wall. The apron was +dirty, this being Saturday, but it was at any rate intact; in old days +Big James and others at critical moments of machining used to tear +strips off their aprons for machine-rags.... Yes, he was conceivably a +grotesque figure, with his spectacles, which did not suit him, his heavy +breathing, his mannerisms, and his grandiose air of Atlas supporting the +moral world. A woman might be excused for seeing the comic side of him. +But surely he was honest and loyal. Surely he was not the adder that +Hilda with an intonation had suggested! + +"I’m coming," said Edwin, rather curtly. + +He felt just in the humour for putting Big James "straight." Still his +reply had not been too curt, for to his staff he was the opposite of a +bully; he always scorned to take a facile advantage of his power, often +tried even to conceal his power in the fiction that the employee was one +man and himself merely another. He would be far more devastating to his +wife and his sister than to any employee. But at intervals a bad or +careless workman had to meet the blaze of his eye and accept the lash of +his speech. + +"It’s about that little job for the mistress, sir," said Big James in a +soft voice, when they were out on the landing. + +Edwin gave a start. The ageing man’s tones were so eager, so anxiously +loyal! His emphasis on the word ’mistress’ conveyed so clearly that the +mistress was a high and glorious personage to serve whom was an honour +and a fearful honour! The ageing man had almost whispered, like a boy, +glancing with jealous distrust at the shut door of the room that +contained the German. + +"Oh!" muttered Edwin, taken aback. + +"I set it up myself," said Big James, and holding his head very high +looked down at Edwin under his spectacles. + +"Why!" said Edwin cautiously. "I thought you’d given Mrs. Clayhanger +the idea it couldn’t be done in time." + +"Bless ye, sir! Not if I know it! I intimated to her the situation in +which we were placed, with urgent jobs on hand, as in duty bound, sir, +she being the mistress. Ye know how slow I am to give a promise, sir. +But not to do it--such was not my intention. And as I have said +already, sir, I’ve set it up myself, and here’s a rough pull." + +He produced a piece of paper. + +Edwin’s ancient affection for Big James grew indignant. The old fellow +was the very mirror of loyalty. He might be somewhat grotesque and +mannered upon occasion, but he was the soul of the Clayhanger business. +He had taught Edwin most of what he knew about both typesetting and +machining. It seemed not long since that he used to call Edwin "young +sir," and to enter into tacit leagues with him against the dangerous +obstinacies of his decaying father. Big James had genuinely admired +Darius Clayhanger. Assuredly he admired Darius’s son not less. His +fidelity to the dynasty was touching; it was wistful. The order from +the mistress had tremendously excited and flattered him in his secret +heart.... And yet Hilda must call him names, must insinuate against his +superb integrity, must grossly misrepresent his attitude to herself. +Whatever in his pompous old way he might have said, she could not +possibly have mistaken his anxiety to please her. No, she had given a +false account of their interview,--and Edwin had believed it! Edwin now +swerved violently back to his own original view. He firmly believed Big +James against his wife. He reflected: "How simple I was to swallow all +Hilda said without confirmation! I might have known!" And that he +should think such a thought shocked him tremendously. + +The programme was not satisfactorily set up. Apart from several +mistakes in the spelling of proper names, the thing with its fancy +types, curious centring, and superabundance of full-stops, resembled +more the libretto of a Primitive Methodist Tea-meeting than a programme +of classical music offered to refined dilettanti on a Sunday night. +Though Edwin had endeavoured to modernise Big James, he had failed. It +was perhaps well that he had failed. For the majority of customers +preferred Big James’s taste in printing to Edwin’s. He corrected the +misspellings and removed a few full-stops, and then said: + +"It’s all right. But I doubt if Mrs. Clayhanger’ll care for all these +fancy founts," implying that it was a pity, of course, that Big James’s +fancy founts would not be appreciated at their true value, but women +were women. "I should almost be inclined to set it all again in +old-face. I’m sure she’d prefer it. Do you mind?" + +"With the greatest of pleasure, sir," Big James heartily concurred, +looking at his watch. "But I must be lively." + +He conveyed his immense bulk neatly and importantly down the narrow +stairs. + + + + III + + +Edwin sat in his cubicle again, his affection for Big James very active. +How simple and agreeable it was to be a man among men only! The +printing-business was an organism fifty times as large as the home, and +it worked fifty times more smoothly. No misunderstandings, no secrecies +(at any rate among the chief persons concerned), and a general +recognition of the principles of justice! Even the errand-boy had +understood. And the shop-clerk by his tone had admitted that he too was +worthy of blame. The blame was not overdone, and common-sense had +closed the episode in a moment. And see with what splendid good-will +Big James, despite the intense conservatism of old age, had accepted the +wholesale condemnation of his idea of a programme! The relations of men +were truly wonderful, when you come to think about it. And to be at +business was a relief and even a pleasure. Edwin could not remember +having ever before regarded the business as a source of pleasure. A +youth, he had gone into it greatly against his will, and by tradition he +had supposed himself still to hate it. + +Why had Hilda misled him as to Big James? For she had misled him. Yes, +she had misled him. What was her motive? What did she think she could +gain by it? He was still profoundly disturbed by this deception. +"Why!" he thought, "I can’t trust her! I shall have to be on my guard! +I’ve been in the habit of opening my mouth and swallowing practically +everything she says!" His sense of justice very sharply resented her +perfidy to Big James. His heart warmed to the defence of the excellent +old man. What had she got against Big James? Since the day when the +enormous man had first shown her over the printing shops, before their +original betrothal, a decade and more ago, he had never treated her with +anything but an elaborate and sincere respect. Was she jealous of him, +because of his, Edwin’s, expressed confidence in and ancient regard for +him, and because Edwin and he had always been good companions? Or had +she merely taken a dislike to him,--a physical dislike? Edwin had +noticed that some women had a malicious detestation for some old men, +especially when the old men had any touch of the grotesque or the +pompous.... Well, he should defend Big James against her. She should +keep her hands off Big James. His sense of justice was so powerful in +that moment that if he had had to choose between his wife and Big James +he would have chosen Big James. + +He came out of the cubicle into the shop, and arranged his countenance +so that the clerk should suppose him to be thinking in tremendous +concentration upon some complex problem of the business. And +simultaneously Hilda passed up Duck Bank on the way to market. She +passed so close to the shop that she seemed to brush it like a +delicious, exciting, and exasperating menace. If she turned her head +she could scarcely fail to see Edwin near the door of the shop. But she +did not turn her head. She glided up the slope steadily and implacably. +And even in the distance of the street her individuality showed itself +mysterious and strong. He could never decide whether she was beautiful +or not; he felt that she was impressive, and not to be scorned or +ignored. Perhaps she was not beautiful. Certainly she was not young. +She had not the insipidity of the young girl unfulfilled. Nor did she +inspire melancholy like the woman just beyond her prime. The one was +going to be; the other had been. Hilda was. And she had lived. There +was in her none of the detestable ignorance and innocence that, for +Edwin, spoilt the majority of women. She knew. She was an equal, and a +dangerous equal. Simultaneously he felt that he could crush and kill +the little thing, and that he must beware of the powerful, unscrupulous, +inscrutable individuality.... And she receded still higher up Duck Bank +and then turned round the corner to the Market Place and vanished. And +there was a void. + +She would return. As she had receded gradually, so she would gradually +approach the shop again with her delicious, exciting, exasperating +menace. And he had a scheme for running out to her and with candour +inviting her in and explaining to her in just the right tone of +good-will that loyalty to herself simply hummed and buzzed in the shop +and the printing-works, and that Big James worshipped her, and that +though she was perfect in sagacity she had really been mistaken about +Big James. And he had a vision of her smiling kindly and frankly upon +Big James, and Big James twisting upon his own axis in joyous pride. +Nothing but good-will and candour was required to produce this bliss. + +But he knew that he would never run out to her and invite her to enter. +The enterprise was perilous to the point of being foolhardy. With a +tone, with a hesitation, with an undecipherable pout, she might, she +would, render it absurd.... And then, his pride! ... At that moment +young Alec Batchgrew, perhaps then the town’s chief mooncalf, came down +Duck Bank in dazzling breeches on a superb grey horse. And Edwin went +abruptly back to work lest the noodle should rein in at the shop door +and talk to him. + + + + IV + + +When he returned home, a few minutes before the official hour of one +o’clock, he heard women’s voices and laughter in the drawing-room. And +as he stood in the hall, fingering the thin little parcel of six +programmes which he had brought with him, the laughter overcame the +voices and then expended itself in shrieks of quite uncontrolled mirth. +The drawing-room door was half open. He stepped quietly to it. + +The weather, after being thunderous, had cleared, and the part of the +drawing-room near the open window was shot with rays of sunshine. + +Janet Orgreave, all dressed in white, lay back in an easy chair; she was +laughing and wiping the tears from her eyes. At the piano sat very +upright a seemingly rather pert young woman, not laughing, but smiling, +with arch sparkling eyes fixed on the others; this was Daisy Marrion, a +cousin of Mrs. Tom Orgreave, and the next to the last unmarried daughter +of a large family up at Hillport. Standing by the piano was a young +timid girl of about sixteen, whom Edwin, who had not seen her before, +guessed to be Janet’s niece, Elaine, eldest daughter of Janet’s elder +sister in London; Elaine’s approaching visit had been announced. These +other two, like Janet, were in white. Lastly there was Hilda, in grey, +with a black hat, laughing like a child. "They are all children," he +thought as, unnoticed, he watched them in their bright fragile frocks +and hats, and in their excessive gaiety, and in the strange abandon of +their gestures. "They are a foreign race encamped among us men. Fancy +women of nearly forty giggling with these girls as Janet and Hilda are +giggling!" He felt much pleasure in the sight. It could not have +happened in poor old Maggie’s reign. It was delicious. It was one of +the rewards of existence, for the grace of these creatures was +surpassing. But at the same time it was hysterical and infantile. He +thought: "I’ve been taking women too seriously." And his heart +lightened somewhat. + +Elaine saw him first. A flush flowed from her cheeks to her neck. Her +body stiffened. She became intensely self-conscious. She could not +speak, but she leaned forward and gazed with a passion of apprehension +at Janet, as if murmuring: "Look! The enemy! Take care!" The +imploring silent movement was delightful in its gawky ingenuousness. + +"Do tell us some more, Daisy," Hilda implored weakly. + +"There is no more," said Daisy, and then started: "Oh, Mr. Clayhanger! +How long have you been there?" + +He entered the room, yielding himself, proud, masculine, acutely aware +of his sudden effect on these girls. For even Hilda was naught but a +girl at the moment; and Janet was really a girl, though the presence of +that shy niece, just awaking to her own body and to the world, made +Janet seem old in spite of her slimness and of that smoothness of skin +that was due to a tranquil, kind temperament. The shy niece was +enchantingly constrained upon being introduced to Edwin, whom she was +enjoined to call uncle. Only yesterday she must have been a child. Her +marvellously clear complexion could not have been imitated by any aunt +or elder sister. + +"And now perhaps you’ll tell me what it’s all about," said Edwin. + +Hilda replied: + +"Janet’s called about tennis. It seems they’re sick of the new Hillport +Club. I knew they would be. And so next year Janet’s having a private +club on her lawn----" + +"Bad as it is," said Janet. + +"Where the entire conversation won’t be remarks by girls about other +girls’ frocks and remarks by men about the rotten inferiority of other +men." + +"This is all very sound," said Edwin, rather struck by Hilda’s +epigrammatic quality. "But what I ask is--what were you laughing at?" + +"Oh, nothing!" said Daisy Marrion. + +"Very well then," said Edwin, going to the door and shutting it. +"Nobody leaves this room till I know.... Now, niece Elaine!" + +Elaine went crimson and squirmed on her only recently hidden legs, but +she did not speak. + +"Tell him, Daisy," said Janet. + +Daisy sat still straighter. + +"It was only about Alec Batchgrew, Mr. Clayhanger; I suppose you know +him." + +Alec was the youngest scion of the great and detested plutocratic family +of Batchgrew,--enormously important in his nineteen years. + +"Yes, I know him," said Edwin. "I saw him on his new grey horse this +morning." + +"His ’orse," Janet corrected. They all began to laugh again loudly. + +"He’s taken a terrific fancy to Maud, my kiddie sister," said Daisy. +"She’s sixteen. Yesterday afternoon at the tennis club he said to Maud: +’Look ’ere. I shall ride through the town to-morrow morning on my ’orse, +while you’re all marketing. I shan’t take any notice of any of the +other girls, but if you bow to me I’ll take my ’at off to you.’" She +imitated the Batchgrew intonation. + +"That’s a good tale," said Edwin calmly. "What a cuckoo! He ought to +be put in a museum." + +Daisy, made rather nervous by the success of her tale, bent over the +piano, and skimmed pianissimo and rapidly through the "Clytie" waltz. +Elaine moved her shoulders to the rhythm. + +Janet said they must go. + +"Here! Hold on a bit!" said Edwin, through the light film of music, and +undoing the little parcel he handed one specimen of the programme to +Hilda and another to Janet, simultaneously. + +"Oh, so my ideas are listened to, sometimes!" murmured Hilda, who was, +however, pleased. + +A malicious and unjust remark, he thought. But the next instant Hilda +said in a quite friendly natural tone: + +"Janet’s going to bring Elaine. And she says Tom says she is to tell +you that he’s coming whether he’s wanted or not. Daisy won’t come." + +"Why?" asked Edwin, but quite perfunctorily; he knew that the Marrions +were not interested in interesting music, and his design had been to +limit the audience to enthusiasts. + +"Church," answered Daisy succinctly. + +"Come after church." + +She shook her head. + +"And how’s the practising?" Edwin enquired from Janet. + +"Pretty fair," said she. "But not so good as this programme. What +swells we are, my word!" + +"Hilda’s idea," said Edwin generously. "Your mother coming?" + +"Oh, yes, I think so." + +As the visitors were leaving, Hilda stopped Janet. + +"Don’t you think it’ll be better if we have the piano put over there, +and all the chairs together round here, Janet?" + +"It might be," said Janet uncertainly. + +Hilda turned sharply to Edwin: + +"There! What did I tell you?" + +"Well," he protested good-humouredly, "what on earth do you expect her +to say, when you ask her like that? Anyhow I may announce definitely +that I’m not going to have the piano moved. We’ll try things as they +are, for a start, and then see. Why, if you put all the chairs together +over there, the place’ll look like a blooming boarding-house." + +The comparison was a failure in tact, which he at once recognised but +could not retrieve. Hilda faintly reddened, and the memory of her +struggles as manageress of a boarding-house was harshly revived in her. + +"Some day I shall try the piano over there," she said, low. + +And Edwin concurred, amiably: + +"All right. Some day we’ll try it together, just to see what it is +like." + +The girls, the younger ones still giggling, slipped elegantly out of the +house, one after another. + +Dinner passed without incident. + + + + V + + +The next day, Sunday, Edwin had a headache; and it was a bilious +headache. Hence he insisted to himself and to everyone that it was not +a bilious headache, but just one of those plain headaches which +sometimes visit the righteous without cause or excuse; for he would +never accept the theory that he had inherited his father’s digestive +weakness. A liability to colds he would admit, but not on any account a +feeble stomach. Hence, further, he was obliged to pretend to eat as +usual. George was rather gnat-like that morning, and Hilda was in a +susceptible condition, doubtless due to nervousness occasioned by the +novel responsibilities of the musical evening--and a Sabbath musical +evening at that! After the one o’clock dinner, Edwin lay down on the +sofa in the dining-room and read and slept; and when he woke up he felt +better, and was sincerely almost persuaded that his headache had not +been and was not a bilious headache. He said to himself that a short +walk might disperse the headache entirely. He made one or two trifling +adjustments in the disposition of the drawing-room furniture--his own +disposition of it, and immensely and indubitably superior to that so +pertinaciously advocated by Hilda--and then he went out. Neither Hilda +nor George was visible. Possibly during his rest they had gone for a +walk; they had fits of intimacy. + +He walked in the faint September sunshine down Trafalgar Road into the +town. Except for a few girls in dowdy finery and a few heavy youths +with their black or dark-blue trousers turned up round the ankles far +enough to show the white cotton lining, the street was empty. The +devout at that hour were either dozing at home or engaged in Sunday +school work; thousands of children were concentrated in the hot Sunday +schools. As he passed the Bethesda Chapel and School he heard the +voices of children addressing the Lord of the Universe in laudatory and +intercessory song. Near the Bethesda chapel, by the Duke of Cambridge +Vaults, two men stood waiting, their faces firm in the sure knowledge +that within three hours the public-houses would again be open. Thick +smoke rose from the chimneys of several manufactories and thin smoke +from the chimneys of many others. The scheme of a Sunday musical +evening in that land presented itself to Edwin as something rash, +fantastic, and hopeless,--and yet solacing. Were it known it could +excite only hostility, horror, contempt, or an intense bovine +indifference; chiefly the last.... Breathe the name of Chopin in that +land!... + +As he climbed Duck Bank he fumbled in his pocket for his private key of +the shop, which he had brought with him; for, not the desire for fresh +air, but an acute curiosity as to the answer to his letter to the +solicitor to the Hall trustees making an offer for the land at Shawport, +had sent him out of the house. Would the offer be accepted or declined, +or would a somewhat higher sum be suggested? The reply would have been +put into the post on Saturday, and was doubtless then lying in the +letter-box within the shop. The whole future seemed to be lying +unopened in that letter-box. + +He penetrated into his own shop like a thief, for it was not meet for an +important tradesman to be seen dallying with business of a Sunday +afternoon. As he went into the shutter-darkened interior he thought of +Hilda, whom many years earlier he had kissed in that very same +shutter-darkened interior one Thursday afternoon. Life appeared +incredible to him, and in his wife he could see almost no trace of the +girl he had kissed there in the obscure shop. There was a fair quantity +of letters in the box. The first one he opened was from a solicitor; +not the solicitor to the Hall trustees, but Tom Orgreave, who announced +to Edwin Clayhanger, Esquire, dear sir, that his clients, the Palace +Porcelain Company of Longshaw, felt compelled to call their creditors +together. The Palace Porcelain Company, who had believed in the +efficacy of printed advertising matter and expensive catalogues, owed +Edwin a hundred and eighty pounds. It was a blow, and the more so in +that it was unexpected. "Did I come messing down here on a Sunday +afternoon to receive this sort of news?" he bitterly asked. A moment +earlier he had not doubted the solvency of the Palace Porcelain Company; +but now he felt that the Company wouldn’t pay two shillings in the +pound,--perhaps not even that, as there were debenture-holders. The +next letter was an acceptance of his offer for the Shawport land. The +die was cast, then. The new works would have to be created; lithography +would increase; in the vast new enterprise he would be hampered by the +purchase of Maggie’s house; he had just made a bad debt; and he would +have Hilda’s capricious opposition to deal with. He quitted the shop +abruptly, locked the door, and went back home, his mind very active but +undirected. + + + + VI + + +Something unfamiliar in the aspect of the breakfast-room as glimpsed +through the open door from the hall, drew him within. Hilda had at last +begun to make it into "her" room. She had brought an old writing-desk +from upstairs and put it between the fireplace and the window. Edwin +thought: "Doesn’t she even know the light ought to fall over the left +shoulder, not over the right?" Letter paper and envelopes and even +stamps were visible; and a miscellaneous mass of letters and bills had +been pushed into the space between the flat of the desk and the small +drawers about it. There was also an easy-chair, with a freshly-covered +cushion on it; a new hearthrug that Edwin neither recognised nor +approved of; several framed prints, and other oddments. His own +portrait still dominated the mantelpiece, but it was now flanked by two +brass candle-sticks. He thought: "If she’d ask me, I could have +arranged it for her much better than that." Nevertheless the idea of +her being absolute monarch of the little room, and expressing her +individuality in it and by it, both pleased and touched him. Nor did he +at all resent the fact that she had executed her plan in secret. She +must have been anxious to get the room finished for the musical evening. + +Thence he passed into the drawing-room,--and was thunderstruck. The +arrangement of the furniture was utterly changed, and the resemblance to +a boarding-house parlour after all achieved. The piano had crossed the +room; the chairs were massed together in the most ridiculous way; the +sofa was so placed as to be almost useless. His anger was furious but +cold. The woman had considerable taste in certain directions, but she +simply did not understand the art of fixing up a room. Whereas he did. +Each room in the house (save her poor little amateurish breakfast-room +or "boudoir") had been arranged by himself, even to small details,--and +well arranged. Everyone admitted that he had a talent for interiors. +The house was complete before she ever saw it, and he had been +responsible for it. He was not the ordinary inexperienced ignorant +husband who "leaves all that sort of thing to the missis." Interiors +mattered to him; they influenced his daily happiness. The woman had +clearly failed to appreciate the sacredness of the _status quo_. He +appreciated it himself, and never altered anything without consulting +her and definitely announcing his intention to alter. She probably +didn’t care a fig for the _status quo_. Her conduct was inexcusable. +It was an attack on vital principles. It was an outrage. Doubtless, in +her scorn for the _status quo_, she imagined that he would accept the +_fait accompli_. She was mistaken. With astounding energy he set to +work to restore the _status quo ante_. The vigour with which he dragged +and pushed an innocent elephantine piano was marvellous. In less than +five minutes not a trace remained of the _fait accompli_. He thought: +"This is a queer start for a musical evening!" But he was triumphant, +resolute, and remorseless. He would show her a thing or two. In +particular he would show that fair play had to be practised in his +house. Then, perceiving that his hands were dirty, and one finger +bleeding, he went majestically, if somewhat breathless, upstairs to the +bathroom, and washed with care. In the glass he saw that, despite his +exertions, he was pale. At length he descended, wondering where she +was, where she had hidden herself, who had helped her to move the +furniture, and what exactly the upshot would be. There could be no +doubt that he was in a state of high emotion, in which unflinching +obstinacy was shot through with qualms about disaster. + +He revisited the drawing-room to survey his labours. She was there. +Whence she had sprung, he knew not. But she was there. He caught sight +of her standing by the window before entering the room. + +When he got into the room he saw that her emotional excitement far +surpassed his own. Her lips and her hands were twitching; her nostrils +dilated and contracted; tears were in her eyes. + +"Edwin," she exclaimed very passionately, in a thick voice, quite unlike +her usual clear tones, as she surveyed the furniture, "this is really +too much!" + +Evidently she thought of nothing but her resentment. No consideration +other than her outraged dignity would have affected her demeanour. If a +whole regiment of their friends had been watching at the door, her +demeanour would not have altered. The bedrock of her nature had been +reached. + +"It’s war, this is!" thought Edwin. + +He was afraid; he was even intimidated by her anger; but he did not lose +his courage. The determination to fight for himself, and to see the +thing through no matter what happened, was not a bit weakened. An +inwardly feverish but outwardly calm vindictive desperation possessed +him. He and she would soon know who was the stronger. + +At the same time he said to himself: + +"I was hasty. I ought not to have acted in such a hurry. Before doing +anything I ought to have told her quietly that I intended to have the +last word as regards furniture in this house. I was within my rights in +acting at once, but it wasn’t very clever of me, clumsy fool!" + +Aloud he said, with a kind of self-conscious snigger: + +"What’s too much?" + +Hilda went on: + +"You simply make me look a fool in my own house, before my own son and +the servants." + +"You’ve brought it on yourself," said he fiercely. "If you will do these +idiotic things you must take the consequences. I told you I didn’t want +the furniture moved, and immediately my back’s turned you go and move +it. I won’t have it, and so I tell you straight." + +"You’re a brute," she continued, not heeding him, obsessed by her own +wound. "You’re a brute!" She said it with terrifying conviction. +"Everybody knows it. Didn’t Maggie warn me? You’re a brute and a +bully. And you do all you can to shame me in my own house. Who’d think +I was supposed to be the mistress here? Even in front of my friends you +insult me." + +"Don’t act like a baby. How do I insult you?" + +"Talking about boarding-houses. Do you think Janet and all of them +didn’t notice it?" + +"Well," he said. "Let this be a lesson to you." + +She hid her face in her hands and sobbed, moving towards the door. + +He thought: + +"She’s beaten. She knows she’s got to take it." + +Then he said: + +"Do _I_ go altering furniture without consulting you? Do _I_ do things +behind your back? Never!" + +"That’s no reason why you should try to make me look a fool in my own +house. I told Ada how I wanted the furniture, and George and I helped +her. And then a moment afterwards you give them contrary orders. What +will they think of me? Naturally they’ll think I’m not your wife, but +your slave. You’re a brute." Her voice rose. + +"I didn’t give any orders. I haven’t seen the damned servants and I +haven’t seen George." + +She looked up suddenly: + +"Then who moved the furniture?" + +"I did." + +"Who helped you?" + +"Nobody helped me." + +"But I was here only a minute or two since." + +"Well, do you suppose it takes me half a day to move a few sticks of +furniture?" + +She was impressed by his strength and his swiftness, and apparently +silenced; she had thought that the servants had been brought into the +affair. + +"You ought to know perfectly well," he proceeded, "I should never dream +of insulting you before the servants. Nobody’s more careful of your +dignity than I am. I should like to see anybody do anything against +your dignity while I’m here." + +She was still sobbing. + +"I think you ought to apologise to me," she blubbered. "Yes, I really +do." + +"Why should I apologise to you? You moved the furniture against my +wish. I moved it against yours. That’s all. You began. I didn’t +begin. You want everything your own way. Well, you won’t have it." + +She blubbered once more: + +"You ought to apologise to me." + +And then she wept hysterically. + +He meditated sourly, harshly. He had conquered. The furniture was as he +wished, and it would remain so. The enemy was in tears, shamed, +humiliated. He had a desire to restore her dignity, partly because she +was his wife and partly because he hated to see any human being beaten. +Moreover, at the bottom of his heart he had a tremendous regard for +appearances, and he felt fears for the musical evening. He could not +contemplate the possibility of visitors perceiving that the host and +hostess had violently quarrelled. He would have sacrificed almost +anything to the social proprieties. And he knew that Hilda would not +think of them, or at any rate would not think of them effectively. He +did not mind apologising to her, if an apology would give her +satisfaction. He was her superior in moral force, and naught else +mattered. + +"I don’t think I ought to apologise," he said, with a slight laugh. +"But if you think so I don’t mind apologising. I apologise. There!" +He dropped into an easy-chair. + +To him it was as if he had said: + +"You see what a magnanimous chap I am." + +She tried to conceal her feelings, but she was pleased, flattered, +astonished. Her self-respect returned to her rapidly. + +"Thank you," she murmured, and added: "It was the least you could do." + +At her last words he thought: + +"Women are incapable of being magnanimous." + +She moved towards the door. + +"Hilda," he said. + +She stopped. + +"Come here," he commanded with gentle bluffness. + +She wavered towards him. + +"Come here, I tell you," he said again. + +He drew her down to him, all fluttering and sobbing and wet, and kissed +her, kissed her several times; and then, sitting on his knees, she +kissed him. But, though she mysteriously signified forgiveness, she +could not smile; she was still far too agitated and out of control to be +able to smile. + +The scene was over. The proprieties of the musical evening were saved. +Her broken body and soul huddled against him were agreeably wistful to +his triumphant manliness. + +But he had had a terrible fright. And even now there was a certain mere +bravado in his attitude. In his heart he was thinking: + +"By Jove! Has it come to this?" + +The responsibilities of the future seemed too complicated, wearisome and +overwhelming. The earthly career of a bachelor seemed almost heavenly +in its wondrous freedom.... Etches v. Etches.... The unexampled +creature, so recently the source of ineffable romance, still sat on his +knees, weighing them down. Suddenly he noticed that his head ached very +badly--worse than it had ached all day. + + + + VII + + +The Sunday musical evening, beyond its artistic thrills and emotional +quality, proved to be exciting as a social manifestation. Those present +at it felt as must feel Russian conspirators in a back room of some big +grey house of a Petrograd suburb when the secret printing-press begins +to function before their eyes. This concert of profane harmonies, +deliberately planned and pouring out through open windows to affront the +ears of returners from church and chapel, was considered by its +organisers as a remarkable event; and rightly so. The Clayhanger house +might have been a fortress, with the blood-red standard of art and +freedom floating from a pole lashed to its chimney. Of course everybody +pretended to everybody else that the musical evening was a quite +ordinary phenomenon. + +It was a success, and a flashing success, yet not unqualified. The +performers--Tertius Ingpen on the piano, on the fiddle, and on the +clarinet, Janet Orgreave on the piano, and very timidly in a little song +by Grieg, Tom Orgreave on the piano and his contralto wife in two famous +and affecting songs by Schumann and also on the piano, and Edwin sick +but obstinate as turner-over of pages--all did most creditably. The +music was given with ardent sympathy, and in none of it did any marked +pause occur which had not been contemplated by the composer himself. +But abstentions had thinned the women among the audience. Elaine Hill +did not come, and, far more important, Mrs. Orgreave did not come. Her +husband, old Osmond Orgreave, had not been expected, as of late (owing +to the swift onset of renal disease, hitherto treated by him with some +contempt) he had declined absolutely to go out at night; but Edwin had +counted on Mrs. Orgreave. She simply sent word that she did not care to +leave her husband, and that Elaine was keeping her company. +Disappointment, keen but brief, resulted. Edwin’s severe sick headache +was also a drawback. It did, however, lessen the bad social effect of +an altercation between him and Hilda, in which Edwin’s part was +attributed to his indisposition. This altercation arose out of an +irresponsible suggestion from somebody that something else should be +played instead of something else. Now, for Edwin, a programme was a +programme,--sacred, to be executed regardless of every extrinsic +consideration. And seeing that the programme was printed...! Edwin +negatived the suggestion instantly, and the most weighty opinion in the +room agreed with him, but Hilda must needs fly out: "Why not change it? +I’m sure it will be better," etc. Whereas she could be sure of nothing +of the sort, and was incompetent to offer an opinion. And she +unreasonably and unnecessarily insisted, despite Tertius Ingpen, and the +change was made. It was astounding to Edwin that, after the shattering +scene of the afternoon, she should be so foolhardy, so careless, so +obstinate. But she was. He kept his resentment neatly in a little +drawer in his mind, and glanced at it now and then. And he thought of +Tertius Ingpen’s terrible remark about women at Ingpen’s first visit. +He said to himself: "There’s a lot in it, no doubt about that." + +At the close of the last item, two of Brahms’s Hungarian Dances for +pianoforte duet (played with truly electrifying _brio_ by little +wizening Tom Orgreave and his wife), both Tertius Ingpen and Tom fussed +consciously about the piano, triumphant, not knowing quite what to do +next, and each looking rather like a man who has told a good story, and +in the midst of the applause tries to make out by an affectation of +casualness that the story is nothing at all. + +"Of course," said Tom Orgreave carelessly, and glancing at the ground as +he usually did when speaking, "Fine as those dances are on the piano, I +should prefer to hear them with the fiddle." + +"Why?" demanded Ingpen challengingly. + +"Because they were written for the fiddle," said Tom Orgreave with +finality. + +"Written for the fiddle? Not a bit of it!" + +With superiority outwardly unruffled, Tom said: + +"Pardon me. Brahms wrote them for Joachim. I’ve heard him play them." + +"So have I," said Tertius Ingpen, lightly but scornfully. "But they +were written originally for pianoforte duet, as you played them +to-night. Brahms arranged them afterwards for Joachim." + +Tom Orgreave shook under the blow, for in musical knowledge his +supremacy had never been challenged in Bleakridge. + +"Surely----!" he began weakly. + +"My dear fellow, it is so," said Ingpen impatiently. + +"Look it up," said Edwin, with false animation, for his head was +thudding. "George, fetch the encyclopædia B--and J too." + +Delighted, George ran off. He had been examining Johnnie Orgreave’s +watch, and it was to Johnnie he delivered the encyclopædia, amid mock +protests from his uncle Edwin. More than one person had remarked the +growing alliance between Johnnie and young George. + +But the encyclopædia gave no light. + +Then the eldest Swetnam (who had come by invitation at the last moment) +said: + +"I’m sure Ingpen is right." + +He was not sure, but from the demeanour of the two men he could guess, +and he thought he might as well share the glory of Ingpen’s triumph. + +The next instant Tertius Ingpen was sketching out future musical +evenings at which quartets and quintets should be performed. He knew +men in the orchestra at the Theatre Royal, Hanbridge; he knew +girl-violinists who could be drilled, and he was quite certain that he +could get a ’cello. From this he went on to part-songs, and in answer +to scepticism about local gift for music, he said that during his visits +of inspection to factories he had heard spontaneous part-singing "that +would knock spots off the Savoy chorus." Indeed, since his return to +it, Ingpen had developed some appreciation of certain aspects of his +native district. He said that the kindly commonsense with which as an +inspector he was received on pot-banks, surpassed anything in the whole +country. + +"Talking of pot-banks, you’ll get a letter from me about the Palace +Porcelain Company," Tom Orgreave lifting his eyebrows muttered to Edwin +with a strange gloomy constraint. + +"I’ve had it," said Edwin. "You’ve got some nice clients, I must say." + +In a moment, though Tom said not a word more, the Palace Porcelain +Company was on the carpet, to Edwin’s disgust. He hated to talk about a +misfortune. But others beside himself were interested in the Palace +Porcelain Company, and the news of its failure had boomed mysteriously +through the Sabbath air of the district. + +Hilda and Janet were whispering together. And Edwin, gazing at them, +saw in them the giggling tennis-playing children of the previous +day,--specimens of a foreign race encamped among the men. + +Suddenly Hilda turned her head towards the men, and said: + +"Of course _Edwin’s_ been let in!" + +It was a reference to the Palace Porcelain Company. How ungracious! How +unnecessary! How unjust! And somehow Edwin had been fearing it. And +that was really why he had not liked the turn of the conversation,--he +had been afraid of one of her darts! + +Useless for Tom Swetnam to say that a number of business men quite as +keen as Edwin had been "let in"! From her disdainful silence it appeared +that Hilda’s conviction of the unusual simplicity of her husband was +impregnable. + +"I hear you’ve got that Shawport land," said Johnnie Orgreave. + +The mystic influences of music seemed to have been overpowered. + +"Who told ye?" asked Edwin in a low voice, once more frightened of +Hilda. + +"Young Toby Hall. Met him at the Conservative Club last night." + +But Hilda had heard. + +"What land is that?" she demanded curtly. + +"’What land is that?’" Johnnie mimicked her. "It’s the land for the new +works, missis." + +Hilda threw her shoulders back, glaring at Edwin with a sort of outraged +fury. Happily most of the people present were talking among themselves. + +"You never told me," she muttered. + +He said: + +"I only knew this afternoon." + +Her anger was unmistakable. She was no longer a fluttering feminine +wreck on his manly knee. + +"Well, good-bye," said Janet Orgreave startlingly to him. "Sorry I have +to go so soon." + +"You aren’t going!" Edwin protested with unnatural loudness. "What +about the victuals? I shan’t touch ’em myself. But they must be +consumed. Here! You and I’ll lead the way." + +Half playfully he seized her arm. She glanced at Hilda uncertainly. + +"Edwin," said Hilda very curtly and severely, "don’t be so clumsy. +Janet has to go at once. Mr. Orgreave is very ill--very ill indeed. +She only came to oblige us." Then she passionately kissed Janet. + +It was like a thunderclap in the room. Johnnie and Tom confirmed the +news. Of the rest only Tom’s wife and Hilda knew. Janet had told Hilda +before the music began. Osmond Orgreave had been taken ill between five +and six in the afternoon. Dr. Stirling had gone in at once, and +pronounced the attack serious. Everything possible was done; even a +nurse was obtained instantly, from the Clowes Hospital by the station. +From reasons of sentiment, if from no other, Janet would have stayed at +home and foregone the musical evening. But those Orgreaves at home had +put their heads together and decided that Janet should still go, because +without her the entire musical evening would crumble to naught. Here +was the true reason of the absence of Mrs. Orgreave and Elaine--both +unnecessary to the musical evening. The boys had come, and Tom’s wife +had come, because, even considered only as an audience, the Orgreave +contingent was almost essential to the musical evening. And so Janet, +her father’s especial favourite and standby, had come, and she had +played, and not a word whispered except to Hilda. It was wondrous. It +was impressive. All the Orgreaves departed, and the remnant of guests +meditated in proud, gratified silence upon the singular fortitude and +heroic commonsense that distinguished their part of the world. The +musical evening was dramatically over, the refreshments being almost +wasted. + + + + VIII + + +Hilda was climbing on to the wooden-seated chair in the hall to put out +the light there when she heard a noise behind the closed door of the +kitchen, which she had thought to be empty. She went to the door and +pushed it violently open. Not only was the gas flaring away in an +unauthorised manner, not only were both servants (theoretically in bed) +still up, capless and apronless and looking most curious in unrelieved +black, but the adventurous and wicked George was surreptitiously with +them, flattering them with his aristocratic companionship, and eating +blanc-mange out of a cut-glass dish with a tablespoon. Twice George had +been sent to bed. Once the servants had been told to go to bed. The +worst of carnivals is that the dregs of the population, such as George, +will take advantage of them to rise to the surface and, conscienceless +and mischievous, set at defiance the conventions by which society +protects itself. + +She merely glanced at George; the menace of her eyes was alarming. His +lower lip fell; he put down the dish and spoon, and slunk timorously +past her on his way upstairs. + +Then she said to the servants: + +"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, encouraging him! Go to bed at +once." And as they began nervously to handle the things on the table, +she added, more imperiously: "At once! Don’t keep me waiting. I’ll see +to all this." + +And they followed George meekly. + +She gazed in disgust at the general litter of broken refreshments, +symbolising the traditional inefficiency of servants, and extinguished +the gas. + +The three criminals were somewhat the victims of her secret resentment +against Edwin, who, a mere martyrised perambulating stomach, had +retired. Edwin had defeated her in the afternoon; and all the evening, +in the disposition of the furniture, the evidence of his victory had +confronted her. By prompt and brutal action, uncharacteristic of him +and therefore mean, he had defeated her. True he had embraced and +comforted her tears, but it was the kiss of a conqueror. And then, on +the top of that, he had proved his commercial incompetence by making a +large bad debt, and his commercial rashness by definitely adopting a +scheme of whose extreme danger she was convinced. One part of her mind +intellectually knew that he had not wilfully synchronised these events +in order to wound her, but another part of her mind felt deeply that he +had. She had been staggered by the revelation that he was definitely +committed to the project of lithography and the new works. Not one word +about the matter had he said to her since their altercation on the night +of the reception; and she had imagined that, with his usual indecision, +he was allowing it to slide. She scarcely recognised her Edwin. Now +she accused him of a malicious obstinacy, not understanding that he was +involved in the great machine of circumstance and perhaps almost as much +surprised as herself at the movement of events. At any rate she was +being beaten once more, and her spirit rebelled. Through all the +misfortunes previous to her marriage that spirit, if occasionally cowed, +had never been broken. She had sat grim and fierce against even +bum-bailiffs in her time. Yes, her spirit rebelled, and the fact that +others had known about the Shawport land before she knew made her still +more mutinous against destiny. She looked round dazed at the situation. +What? The mild Edwin defying and crushing her? It was scarcely +conceivable. The tension of her nerves from this cause only was +extreme. Add to it the strain of the musical evening, intensified by +the calamity at the Orgreaves’! + +A bell rang in the kitchen, and all the ganglions of her spinal column +answered it. Had Edwin rung? No. It was the front-door. + +"Pardon me," said Tertius Ingpen, when she opened. "But all my friends +soon learn how difficult it is to get rid of me." + +"Come in," she said, liking his tone, which flattered her by assuming +her sense of humour. + +"As I’m sleeping at the office to-night, I thought I might as well take +one or two of my musical instruments after all. So I came back." + +"You’ve been round?" she asked, meaning round to the Orgreaves’. + +"Yes." + +"What is it, really?" + +"Well, it appears to be pericarditis supervening on renal disease. He +lost consciousness, you know." + +"Yes, I know. But what is pericarditis?" + +"Pericarditis is inflammation of the pericardium." + +"And what’s the pericardium?" + +They both smiled faintly. + +"The pericardium is the membrane that encloses the heart. I don’t mind +telling you that I’ve only just acquired this encyclopædic knowledge +from Stirling,--he was there." + +"And is it supposed to be very dangerous?" + +"I don’t know. Doctors never want to tell you anything except what you +can find out for yourself." + +After a little hesitating pause they went into the drawing-room, where +the lights were still burning, and the full disorder of the musical +evening persisted, including the cigarette-ash on the carpet. Tertius +Ingpen picked up his clarinet case, took out the instrument, examined +the mouthpiece lovingly, and with tenderness laid it back. + +"Do sit down a moment," said Hilda, sitting limply down. "It’s +stifling, isn’t it?" + +"Let me open the window," he suggested politely. + +As he returned from the window, he said, pulling his short beard: + +"It was wonderful how those Orgreaves went through the musical evening, +wasn’t it? Makes you proud of being English.... I suppose Janet’s a +great friend of yours?" + +His enthusiasm touched her, and her pride in Janet quickened to it. She +gave a deliberate, satisfied nod in reply to his question. She was glad +to be alone with him in the silence of the house. + +"Ed gone to bed?" he questioned, after another little pause. + +Already he was calling her husband Ed, and with an affectionate +intonation! + +She nodded again. + +"He stuck it out jolly well," said Ingpen, still standing. + +"He brings these attacks on himself," said Hilda, with the calm +sententiousness of a good digestion discussing a bad one. She was +becoming pleased with herself--with her expensive dress, her position, +her philosophy, and her power to hold the full attention of this man. + +Ingpen replied, looking steadily at her: + +"We bring everything on ourselves." + +Then he smiled, as a comrade to another. + +She shifted her pose. A desire to discuss Edwin with this man grew in +her, for she needed sympathy intensely. + +"What do you think of this new scheme of his?" she demanded somewhat +self-consciously. + +"The new works? Seems all right. But I don’t know much about it." + +"Well, I’m not so sure." And she exposed her theory of the entire +satisfactoriness of their present situation, of the needlessness of +fresh risks, and of Edwin’s unsuitability for enterprise. "Of course +he’s splendid," she said. "But he’ll never push. I can look at him +quite impartially--I mean in all those things." + +Ingpen murmured as it were dreamily: + +"Have you had much experience of business yourself?" + +"It depends what you call business. I suppose you know I used to keep a +boarding-house." She was a little defiant. + +"No, I didn’t know. I may have heard vaguely. Did you make it pay?" + +"It did pay in the end." + +"But not at first? ... Any disasters?" + +She could not decide whether she ought to rebuff the cross-examiner or +not. His manner was so objective, so disinterested, so innocent, so +disarming, that in the end she smiled uncertainly, raising her thick +eyebrows. + +"Oh yes," she said bravely. + +"And who came to the rescue?" Ingpen proceeded. + +"Edwin did." + +"I see," said Ingpen, still dreamily. + +"I believe you knew all about it," she remarked, having flushed. + +"Pardon me! Almost nothing." + +"Of course you take Edwin’s side." + +"Are we talking man to man?" he asked suddenly, in a new tone. + +"Most decidedly!" She rose to the challenge. + +"Then I’ll tell you my leading theory," he said in a soft, polite voice. +"The proper place for women is the harem." + +"Mr. Ingpen!" + +"No, no!" he soothed her, but firmly. "We’re talking man to man. I can +whisper sweet nothings to you, if you prefer it, but I thought we were +trying to be honest. I hold a belief. I state it. I may be wrong, but +I hold that belief. You can persecute me for my belief if you like. +That’s your affair. But surely you aren’t afraid of an idea! If you +don’t like the mere word, let’s call it zenana. Call it the +drawing-room and kitchen." + +"So we’re to be kept to our sphere!" + +"Now don’t be resentful. Naturally you’re to be kept to your own +sphere. If Edwin began dancing around in the kitchen, you’d soon begin +to talk about _his_ sphere. You can’t have the advantages of married +life for nothing--neither you nor he. But some of you women nowadays +seem to expect them gratis. Let me tell you, everything has to be paid +for on this particular planet. I’m a bachelor. I’ve often thought +about marrying, of course. I might get married some day. You never +know your luck. If I do----" + +"You’ll keep your wife in the harem, no doubt! And she’ll have to +accept without daring to say a word all the risks you choose to take." + +"There you are again!" he said. "This notion that marriage ought to be +the end of risks for a woman is astonishingly rife, I find. Very +curious! Very curious!" He seemed to address the wall. "Why, it’s the +beginning of them. Doesn’t the husband take risks?" + +"He chooses his own. He doesn’t have business risks thrust upon him by +his wife." + +"Doesn’t he? What about the risk of finding himself tied for life to an +inefficient housekeeper? That’s a bit of a business risk, isn’t it? +I’ve known more than one man let in for it." + +"And you’ve felt so sorry for him!" + +"No, not specially. You must run risks. When you’ve finished running +risks you’re dead and you ought to be buried. If I was a wife I should +enjoy running a risk with my husband. I swear I shouldn’t want to shut +myself up in a glass case with him out of all the draughts! Why, what +are we all alive for?" + +The idea of the fineness of running risks struck her as original. It +challenged her courage, and she began to meditate. + +"Yes," she murmured. "So you sleep at the office sometimes?" + +"A certain elasticity in one’s domestic arrangements." He waved a hand, +seeming to pooh-pooh himself lightly. Then, quickly changing his mood, +he bent and said good-night, but not quite with the saccharine +artificiality of his first visit--rather with honest, friendly +sincerity, in which were mingled both thanks and appreciation. Hilda +jumped up responsively. And, the clarinet-case under his left arm, and +the fiddle-case in his left hand, leaving the right arm free, Ingpen +departed. + +She did not immediately go to bed. Now that Ingpen was gone she +perceived that though she had really said little in opposition to +Edwin’s scheme, he had at once assumed that she was a strong opponent of +it. Hence she must have shown her feelings far too openly at the first +mention of the affair before anybody had left. This annoyed her. Also +the immense injustice of nearly all Ingpen’s argument grew upon her +moment by moment. She was conscious of a grudge against him, even while +greatly liking him. But she swore that she would never show the grudge, +and that he should never suspect it. To the end she would play a man’s +part in the man-to-man discussion. Moreover her anger against Edwin had +not decreased. Nevertheless, a sort of zest, perhaps an angry joy, +filled her with novel and intoxicating sensations. Let the scheme of +the new works go forward! Let it fail! Let it ruin them! She would +stand in the breach. She would show the whole world that no ordeal +could lower her head. She had had enough of being the odalisque and the +queen, reclining on the soft couch of security. Her nostrils scented +life on the wind.... Then she heard a door close upstairs, and began at +last rapidly, as it were cruelly, to put out the lights. + + + + IX + + +The incubus and humiliations of a first-class bilious attack are not +eternal. Edwin had not retired very long before the malignant phase of +the terrible malady passed inevitably, by phenomena according with all +clinical experience, into the next phase. And the patient, who from +being chiefly a stomach, had now become chiefly a throbbing head, lay on +his pillow exhausted but once more capable of objective thought. His +resentment against his wife on account of her gratuitous disbelief in +his business faculty, and on account of her interference in a matter +that did not concern her, flickered up into new flame. He was +absolutely innocent. She was absolutely guilty; no excuse existed or +could be invented for her rude and wounding attitude. He esteemed +Tertius Ingpen, bachelor, the most fortunate of men.... Women--unjust, +dishonourable, unintelligent, unscrupulous, giggling, pleasure-loving! +Their appetite for pleasure was infantile and tigerish. He had noticed +it growing in Hilda. Previous to marriage he had regarded Hilda as +combining the best feminine with the best masculine qualities. In many +ways she had exhibited the comforting straightforward characteristics of +the male. But since marriage her mental resemblance to a man had +diminished daily, and now she was the most feminine woman he had ever +met, in the unsatisfactory sense of the word. Women ... Still, the +behaviour of Janet and Hilda during the musical evening had been rather +heroic. Impossible to dismiss them as being exclusively of the giggling +race! They had decided to play a part, and they had played it with +impressive fortitude.... And the house of the Orgreaves--was it about +to fall? He divined that it was about to fall. No death had so far +occurred in the family, which had seemed to be immune through decades +and forever. He wondered what would have happened to the house of +Orgreave in six months’ time.... Then he went back into the dark +origins of his bilious attack.... And then he was at inexcusable Hilda +again. + +At length he heard her on the landing. + +She entered the bedroom, and quickly he shut his eyes. He felt +unpleasantly through his eyelids that she had turned up the gas. Then +she was close to him, sat down on the edge of the bed. She asked him a +question, calmly, as to occurrences since his retirement. He nodded an +affirmative. + +"Your forehead’s all broken out," she said, moving away. + +In a few moments he was aware of the delicious, soothing, heavenly +application to his forehead of a handkerchief drenched in eau de cologne +and water. The compress descended upon his forehead with the infinite +gentleness of an endearment and the sudden solace of a reprieve. He +made faint, inarticulate noises. + +The light was extinguished for his ease. + +He murmured weakly: + +"Are you undressed already?" + +"No," she said quietly. "I can undress all right in the dark." + +He opened his eyes, and could dimly see her moving darkly about, +brushing her hair, casting garments. Then she came towards him, a vague +whiteness against the gloom, and, bending, felt for his face, and kissed +him. She kissed him with superb and passionate violence; she drew his +life out of him, and poured in her own. The tremendous kiss seemed to +prove that there is no difference between love and hate. It contained +everything--surrender, defiance, anger and tenderness. + +Neither of them spoke. The kiss dominated and assuaged him. Its +illogicalness overthrew him. He could never have kissed like that under +such circumstances. It was a high and bold gesture. It expressed and +transmitted confidence. She had explained nothing, justified nothing, +made no charge, asked no forgiveness. She had just confronted him with +one unarguable fact. And it was the only fact that mattered. His +pessimism about marriage lifted. If his spirit was splendidly romantic +enough to match hers, marriage remained a feasible state. And he threw +away logic and the past, and in a magic vision saw that success in +marriage was an affair of goodwill and the right tone. With the whole +force of his heart he determined to succeed in marriage. And in the +mighty resolve marriage presented itself to him as really rather easy +after all. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + THE ORGREAVE CALAMITY + + + I + + +On the following Saturday afternoon--that is, six days later--Edwin had +unusually been down to the shop after dinner, and he returned home about +four o’clock. Ada, hearing his entrance, came into the hall and said: + +"Please, sir, missis is over at Miss Orgreave’s and will ye please go +over?" + +"Where’s Master George?" + +"In missis’s own room, sir." + +"All right." + +The "mistress’s own room" was the new nomenclature adopted by the +kitchen, doubtless under suggestion, for the breakfast-room or boudoir. +Edwin opened the door and glanced in. George, apparently sketching, sat +at his mother’s desk, with the light falling over his right shoulder. + +He looked up quickly in self-excuse: + +"Mother said I could! Mother said I could!" + +For the theory of the special sanctity of the boudoir had mysteriously +established itself in the house during the previous eight or ten days. +George was well aware that even Edwin was not entitled to go in and out +as he chose. + +"Keep calm, sonny," said Edwin, teasing him. + +With permissible and discreet curiosity he glanced from afar at the +desk, its upper drawers and its pigeon-holes. Obviously it was very +untidy. Its untidiness gave him sardonic pleasure, because Hilda was +ever implying, or even stating, that she was a very tidy woman. He +remembered that many years ago Janet had mentioned orderliness as a +trait of the wonderful girl, Hilda Lessways. But he did not personally +consider that she was tidy; assuredly she by no means reached his +standard of tidiness, which standard indeed she now and then dismissed +as old-maidish. Also, he was sardonically amused by the air of +importance and busyness which she put on when using the desk and the +room; her household accounts, beheld at a distance, were his wicked joy. +He saw a bluish envelope lying untidily on the floor between the desk +and the fireplace, and he picked it up. It had been addressed to "Mrs. +George Cannon, 59 Preston Street, Brighton," and readdressed in a +woman’s hand to "Mrs. Clayhanger, Trafalgar Road, Bursley." Whether the +handwriting of the original address was masculine or feminine he could +not decide. The envelope had probably contained only a bill or a +circular. Nevertheless he felt at once inimically inquisitive towards +the envelope. Without quite knowing it he was jealous of all Hilda’s +past life up to her marriage with him. After a moment, reflecting that +she had made no mention of a letter, he dropped the envelope +superciliously, and it floated to the ground. + +"I’m going to Lane End House," he said. + +"Can I come?" + +"No." + + + + II + + +The same overhanging spirit of a great event which had somehow justified +him in being curt to the boy, rendered him self-conscious and furtive as +he stood in the porch of the Orgreaves, waiting for the door to open. +Along the drive that curved round the oval lawn under the high trees +were wheel-marks still surviving from the previous day. The house also +survived; the curtains in all the windows, and the plants or the pieces +of furniture between the curtains, were exactly as usual. Yet the solid +building and its contents had the air of an illusion. + +A servant appeared. + +"Good afternoon, Selina." + +He had probably never before called her by name, but to-day his +self-consciousness impelled him to do uncustomary things. + +"Good afternoon, sir," said Selina, whose changeless attire ignored even +the greatest events. And it was as if she had said: + +"Ah, sir! To what have we come!" + +She too was self-conscious and furtive. + +Aloud she said: + +"Miss Orgreave and Mrs. Clayhanger are upstairs, sir. I’ll tell Miss +Orgreave." + +Coughing nervously, he went into the drawing-room, the large obscure +room, crowded with old furniture and expensive new furniture, with +books, knickknacks, embroidery, and human history, in which he had first +set eyes on Hilda. It was precisely the same as it had been a few days +earlier; absolutely nothing had been changed, and yet now it had the +archæological and forlorn aspect of a museum. + +He dreaded the appearance of Janet and Hilda. What could he say to +Janet, or she to him? But he was a little comforted by the fact that +Hilda had left a message for him to join them. + +On the previous Tuesday Osmond Orgreave had died, and within twenty-four +hours Mrs. Orgreave was dead also. On the Friday they were buried +together. To-day the blinds were up again; the funereal horses with +their artificially curved necks had already dragged other corpses to the +cemetery; the town existed as usual; and the family of Orgreave was +scattered once more. Marian, the eldest daughter, had not been able to +come at all, because her husband was seriously ill. Alicia Hesketh, the +youngest daughter, far away in her large house in Devonshire, had not +been able to come at all, because she was hourly expecting her third +child; nor would Harry, her husband, leave her. Charlie, the doctor at +Ealing, had only been able to run down for the funeral, because, his +partner having broken his leg, the whole work of the practice was on his +shoulders. And to-day Tom, the solicitor, was in his office exploring +the financial side of his father’s affairs; Johnnie was in the office of +Orgreave and Sons, busy with the professional side of his father’s +affairs; Jimmie, who had made a sinister marriage, was nobody knew +precisely where; Tom’s wife had done what she could and gone home; +Jimmie’s wife had never appeared; Elaine, Marian’s child, was shopping +at Hanbridge for Janet; and Janet remained among her souvenirs. An +epoch was finished, and the episode that concluded it, in its strange +features and its swiftness, resembled a vast hallucination. + +Certain funerals will obsess a whole town. And the funeral of Mr. and +Mrs. Osmond Orgreave might have been expected to do so. Not only had +their deaths been almost simultaneous, but they had been preceded by +superficially similar symptoms, though the husband had died of +pericarditis following renal disease, and the wife of hyperæmia of the +lungs following increasingly frequent attacks of bronchial catarrh. The +phenomena had been impressive, and rumour had heightened them. Also +Osmond Orgreave for half a century had been an important and celebrated +figure in the town; architecturally a large portion of the new parts of +it were his creation. Yet the funeral had not been one of the town’s +great feverish funerals. True, the children would have opposed anything +spectacular; but had municipal opinion decided against the children, +they would have been compelled to yield. Again and again prominent men +in the town had as it were bought their funeral processions in advance +by the yard--processions in which their families, willing or not, were +reduced to the rôle of stewards. + +Tom and Janet, however, had ordained that nobody whatever beyond the +family should be invited to the funeral, and there had been no sincere +protest from outside. + +The fact was that Osmond Orgreave had never related himself to the +crowd. He was not a Freemason; he had never been President of the +Society for the Prosecution of Felons; he had never held municipal +office; he had never pursued any object but the good of his family. He +was a particularist. His charm was kept chiefly for his own home. And +beneath the cordiality of his more general connections, there had always +been a subtle reservation--on both sides. He was admired for his +cleverness and his distinction, liked where he chose to be liked, but +never loved save by his own kin. Further, he had a name for being +"pretty sharp" in business. Clients had had prolonged difficulties with +him--Edwin himself among them. The town had made up its mind about +Osmond Orgreave, and the verdict, as with most popular verdicts, was +roughly just so far as it went, but unjust in its narrowness. The +laudatory three-quarters of a column in the _Signal_ and the briefer +effusive notice in the new half-penny morning paper, both reflected, for +those with perceptions delicate enough to understand, the popular +verdict. And though Edwin hated long funerals and the hysteria of a +public woe, he had nevertheless a sense of disappointment in the +circumstances of the final disappearance of Osmond Orgreave. + +The two women entered the room, silently. Hilda looked fierce and +protective. Janet Orgreave, pale and in black, seemed very thin. She +did not speak. She gave a little nod of greeting. + +Edwin, scarcely controlling his voice and his eyes, murmured: + +"Good afternoon." + +They would not shake hands; the effort would have broken them. All +remained standing, uncertainly. Edwin saw before him two girls aged by +the accumulation of experience. Janet, though apparently healthy, with +her smooth fair skin, was like an old woman in the shell of a young one. +Her eyes were dulled, her glance plaintive, her carriage slack. The +conscious wish to please had left her, together with her main excuse for +being alive. She was over thirty-seven, and more and more during the +last ten years she had lived for her parents. She alone among all the +children had remained absolutely faithful to them. To them, and to +nobody else, she had been essential--a fountain of vigour and brightness +and kindliness from which they drew. To see her in the familiar and +historic room which she had humanised and illuminated with her very +spirit, was heartrending. In a day she had become unnecessary, and +shrunk to the unneeded, undesired virgin which in truth she was. She +knew it. Everybody knew it. All the waves of passionate sympathy which +Hilda and Edwin in their different ways ardently directed towards her +broke in vain upon that fact. + +Edwin thought: + +"And only the other day she was keen on tennis!" + +"Edwin," said Hilda. "Don’t you think she ought to come across to our +place for a bit? I’m sure it would be better for her not to sleep +here." + +"Most decidedly," Edwin answered, only too glad to agree heartily with +his wife. + +"But Johnnie?" Janet objected. + +"Pooh! Surely he can stay at Tom’s." + +"And Elaine?" + +"She can come with you. Heaps of room for two." + +"I couldn’t leave the servants all alone. I really couldn’t. They +wouldn’t like it," Janet persisted. "Moreover, I’ve got to give them +notice." + +Edwin had to make the motion of swallowing. + +"Well," said Hilda obstinately. "Come along now--for the evening, +anyhow. We shall be by ourselves." + +"Yes, you must," said Edwin, curtly. + +"I--I don’t like walking down the street," Janet faltered, blushing. + +"You needn’t. You can get over the wall," said Edwin. + +"Of course you can," Hilda concurred. "Just as you are now. I’ll tell +Selina." + +She left the room with decision, and the next instant returned with a +telegram in her hand. + +"Open it, please. I can’t," said Janet. + +Hilda read: + +"Mother and boy both doing splendidly. Harry." + +Janet dropped onto a chair and burst into tears. + +"I’m so glad. I’m so glad," she spluttered. "I can’t help it." + +Then she jumped up, wiped her eyes, and smiled. + +For a few yards the Clayhanger and the Orgreave properties were +contiguous, and separated by a fairly new wall, which, after much +procrastination on the part of owners, had at last replaced an +unsatisfactory thorn-hedge. While Selina put a chair in position for +the ladies to stand on as a preliminary to climbing the wall, Edwin +suddenly remembered that in the days of the untidy thorn-hedge Janet had +climbed a pair of steps in order to surmount the hedge and visit his +garden. He saw her balanced on the steps, and smiling and then jumping, +like a child. Now, he preceded her and Hilda on to the wall, and they +climbed carefully, and when they were all up Selina handed him the chair +and he dropped it on his own side of the wall so that they might descend +more easily. + +"Be careful, Edwin. Be careful," cried Hilda, neither pleasantly nor +unpleasantly. + +And as he tried to read her mood in her voice, the mysterious and +changeful ever-flowing undercurrent of their joint life bore rushingly +away his sense of Janet’s tragedy; and he knew that no events exterior +to his marriage could ever overcome for long that constant secret +preoccupation of his concerning Hilda’s mood. + + + + III + + +When they came into the house, Ada met them with zest and calamity in +her whispering voice: + +"Please ’m, Mr. and Mrs. Benbow are here. They’re in the drawing-room. +They said they’d wait a bit to see if you came back." + +Ada had foreseen that, whatever their superficially indifferent +demeanour as members of the powerful ruling caste, her master and +mistress would be struck all of a heap by this piece of news. And they +were. For the Benbows did not pay chance calls; in the arrangement of +their lives every act was neatly planned and foreordained. Therefore +this call was formal, and behind it was an intention. + +"_I_ can’t see them. I can’t possibly, dear," Janet murmured, as it +were intimidated. "I’ll run back home." + +Hilda replied with benevolent firmness: + +"No you won’t. Come upstairs with me till they’re gone. Edwin, you go +and see what they’re after." + +Janet faltered and obeyed, and the two women crept swiftly upstairs. +They might have been executing a strategic retirement from a bad smell. +The instinctive movement, and the manner, were a judgment on the ideals +of the Benbows so terrible and final that even the Benbows, could they +have seen it, must have winced and doubted for a moment their own moral +perfection. It came to this, that the stricken fled from their +presence. + +"’What they’re after’!" Edwin muttered to himself, half resenting the +phrase; because Clara was his sister; and though she bored and +exasperated him, he could not class her with exactly similar boring and +exasperating women. + +And, throwing down his cap, he went with false casual welcoming into the +drawing-room. + +Young Bert Benbow, prodigiously solemn and uncomfortable in his birthday +spectacles, was with his father and mother. Immense satisfaction, +tempered by a slight nervousness, gleamed in the eyes of the parents. +And the demeanour of all three showed instantly that the occasion was +ceremonious. Albert and Clara could not have been more pleased and +uplifted had the occasion been a mourning visit of commiseration or even +a funeral. + +The washed and brushed schoolboy, preoccupied, did not take his share in +the greetings with sufficient spontaneity and promptitude. + +Clara said, gently shocked: + +"Bert, what do you say to your uncle?" + +"Good afternoon, uncle." + +"I should think so indeed!" + +Clara of course sprang at once to the luscious first topic, as to a +fruit: + +"How is poor Janet bearing up?" + +Edwin was very characteristically of the Five Towns in this,--he hated +to admit, in the crisis itself, that anything unusual was happening or +had just happened. Thus he replied negligently: + +"Oh! All right!" + +As though his opinion was that Janet had nothing to bear up against. + +"I hear it was a _very_ quiet funeral," said Clara, suggesting somehow +that there must be something sinister behind the quietness of the +funeral. + +"Yes," said Edwin. + +"Didn’t they ask _you_?" + +"No." + +"Well--my word!" + +There was a silence, save for faint humming from Albert. And then, just +as Clara was mentioning her name, in rushed Hilda. + +"What’s the matter?" the impulsive Hilda demanded bluntly. + +This gambit did not please Edwin, whose instinct was always to pretend +that nothing was the matter. He would have maintained as long as anybody +that the call was a chance call. + +After a few vague exchanges, Clara coughed and said: + +"It’s really about your George and our Bert.... Haven’t you heard? ... +Hasn’t George said anything?" + +"No.... What?" + +Clara looked at her husband expectantly, and Albert took the grand male +rôle. + +"I gather they had a fight yesterday at school," said he. + +The two boys went to the same school, the new-fangled Higher Grade +School at Hanbridge, which had dealt such a blow at the ancient +educational foundations at Oldcastle. That their Bert should attend the +same school as George was secretly a matter of pride to the Benbows. + +"Oh," said Edwin. "We’ve seen no gaping wounds, have we, Hilda?" + +Albert’s face did not relax. + +"You’ve only got to look at Bert’s chin," said Clara. + +Bert shuffled under the world’s sudden gaze. Undeniably there was a +small discoloured lump on his chin. + +"I’ve had it out with Bert," Albert continued severely. "I don’t know +who was in the wrong--it was about that penknife business, you know--but +I’m quite sure that Bert was not in the right. And as he’s the older +we’ve decided that he must ask George’s forgiveness." + +"Yes," eagerly added Clara, tired of listening. "Albert says we can’t +have quarrels going on like this in the family--they haven’t spoken +friendly to each other since that night we were here--and it’s the manly +thing for Bert to ask George’s forgiveness, and then they can shake +hands." + +"That’s what I say." Albert massively corroborated her. + +Edwin thought: + +"I suppose these people imagine they’re doing something rather fine." + +Whatever they imagined they were doing, they had made both Edwin and +Hilda sheepish. Either of them would have sacrificed a vast fortune and +the lives of thousands of Sunday school officers in order to find a +dignified way of ridiculing and crushing the expedition of Albert and +Clara; but they could think of naught that was effective. + +Hilda asked, somewhat curtly, but lamely: + +"Where is George?" + +"He was in your boudoir a two-three minutes ago, drawing," said Edwin. + +Clara’s neck was elongated at the sound of the word "boudoir." + +"Boudoir?" said she. And Edwin could in fancy hear her going down +Trafalgar Road and giggling at every house-door: "Did ye know Mrs. +Clayhanger has a boudoir? That’s the latest." Still he had employed +the word with intention, out of deliberate bravado. + +"Breakfast-room," he added, explanatory. + +"I should suggest," said Albert, "that Bert goes to him in the +breakfast-room. They’ll settle it much better by themselves." He was +very pleased by this last phrase, which proved him a man of the world +after all. + +"So long as they don’t smash too much furniture while they’re about it," +murmured Edwin. + +"Now, Bert, my boy," said Albert, in the tone of a father who is also a +brother. + +And, as Hilda was inactive, Bert stalked forth upon his mission of +manliness, smiling awkwardly and blushing. He closed the door after him, +and not one of the adults dared to rise and open it. + +"Had any luck with missing words lately?" Albert asked, in a detached +airy manner, showing that the Bert-George affair was a trifle to him, to +be dismissed from the mind at will. + +"No," said Edwin. "I’ve been off missing words lately." + +"Of course you have," Clara agreed with gravity. "All this must have +been very trying to you all.... Albert’s done very well of course." + +"I was on ’politeness,’ my boy," said Albert. + +"Didn’t you know?" Clara expressed surprise. + +"’Politeness’?" + +"Sixty-four pounds nineteen shillings per share," said Albert +tremendously. + +Edwin appreciatively whistled. + +"Had the money?" + +"No. Cheques go out on Monday, I believe. Of course," he added, "I go +in for it scientifically. I leave no chances, I don’t. I’m making a +capital outlay of over five pounds ten on next week’s competition, and I +may tell you I shall get it back again, _with_ interest." + +At the same moment, Bert re-entered the room. + +"He’s not there," said Bert. "His drawing’s there, but he isn’t." + +This news was adverse to the cause of manly peace. + +"Are you sure?" asked Clara, implying that Bert might not have made a +thorough search for George in the boudoir. + +Hilda sat grim and silent. + +"He may be upstairs," said the weakly amiable Edwin. + +Hilda rang the bell with cold anger. + +"Is Master George in the house?" she harshly questioned Ada. + +"No’m. He went out a bit since." + +The fact was that George, on hearing from the faithful Ada of the +arrival of the Benbows, had retired through the kitchen and through the +back-door, into the mountainous country towards Bleakridge +railway-station, where kite-flying was practised on immense +cinder-heaps. + +"Ah! Well," said Albert, undefeated, to Edwin. "You might tell him +Bert’s been up specially to apologise to him. Oh! And here’s that +penknife!" He looked now at Hilda, and, producing Tertius Ingpen’s +knife, he put it with a flourish on the mantelpiece. "I prefer it to be +on your mantelpiece than on ours," he added, smiling rather grandiosely. +His manner as a whole, though compound, indicated with some clearness +that while he adhered to his belief in the efficacy of prayer, he could +not allow his son to accept from George earthly penknives alleged to +have descended from heaven. It was a triumphant hour for Albert Benbow, +as he stood there dominating the drawing-room. He perceived that, in +addition to silencing and sneaping the elder and richer branch of the +family, he was cutting a majestic figure in the eyes of his own son. + +In an awful interval, Clara said with a sweet bright smile: + +"By the way, Albert, don’t forget about what Maggie asked you to ask." + +"Oh, yes! By the way," said Albert, "Maggie wants to know how soon you +can complete the purchase of this house of yours." + +Edwin moved uneasily. + +"I don’t know," he mumbled. + +"Can you stump up in a month? Say the end of October anyway, at +latest." Albert persisted, and grew caustic. "You’ve only got to sell +a few of your famous securities." + +"Certainly. Before the end of October," Hilda replied, with impulsive +and fierce assurance. + +Edwin was amazed by this interference on her part. Was she incapable of +learning from experience? Let him employ the right tone with absolutely +perfect skill, marriage would still be impossible if she meant to carry +on in this way! What did she know about the difficulties of completing +the purchase? What right had she to put in a word apparently so +decisive? Such behaviour was unheard of. She must be mad. Nevertheless +he did not yield to anger. He merely said feebly and querulously: + +"That’s all very well! That’s all very well! But I’m not quite so sure +as all that. Will she let some of it be on mortgage?" + +"No, she won’t," said Albert. + +"Why not?" + +"Because I’ve got a new security for the whole amount myself." + +"Oh!" + +Edwin glanced at his wife and his resentful eyes said: "There you are! +All through your infernal hurry and cheek Maggie’s going to lose +eighteen hundred pounds in a rotten investment. I told you Albert would +get hold of that money if he heard of it. And just look!" + +At this point Albert, who knew fairly well how to draw an advantage from +his brother-in-law’s characteristic weaknesses, perceived suddenly the +value of an immediate departure. And amid loud enquiries of all sorts +from Clara, and magnificent generalities from Albert, and gloomy, stiff +salutations from uncomfortable Bert, the visit closed. + +But destiny lay in wait at the corner of the street for Albert Benbow’s +pride. Precisely as the Benbows were issuing from the portico, the +front-door being already closed upon them, the second Swetnam son came +swinging down Trafalgar Road. He stopped, raising his hat. + +"Hallo, Mr. Benbow," he said. "You’ve heard the news, I suppose?" + +"What about?" + +"Missing word competitions." + +It is a fact that Albert paled. + +"What?" + +"Injunction in the High Court this morning. All the money’s impounded, +pending a hearing as to whether the competitions are illegal or not. At +the very least half of it will go in costs. It’s all over with missing +words." + +"Who told you?" + +"I’ve had a wire to stop me from sending in for next week’s." + +Albert Benbow gave an oath. His wife ought surely to have been +horrorstruck by the word; but she did not blench. Flushing and scowling +she said: + +"What a shame! We’ve sent ours in." + +The faithful creature had for days past at odd moments been assisting +her husband in the dictionary and as a clerk.... And lo! at last, +confirmation of those absurd but persistent rumours to the effect that +certain busybodies meant if they could to stop missing word competitions +on the ground that they were simply a crude appeal to the famous +"gambling instincts" of mankind and especially of Englishmen! + +Albert had rebutted the charge with virtuous warmth, insisting on the +skill involved in word-choosing, and insisting also on the historical +freedom of the institutions of his country. He maintained that it was +inconceivable that any English court of justice should ever interfere +with a pastime so innocent and so tonic for the tired brain. And though +he had had secret fears, and had been disturbed and even hurt by the +comments of a religious paper to which he subscribed, he would not waver +from his courageous and sensible English attitude. Now the fearful blow +had fallen, and Albert knew in his heart that it was heaven’s punishment +for him. He turned to shut the gate after him, and noticed Bert. It +appeared to him that in hearing the paternal oath, Bert had been guilty +of a crime, or at least an indiscretion, and he at once began to make +Bert suffer. + +Meanwhile Swetnam had gone on, to spread the tale which was to bring +indignation and affliction into tens of thousands of respectable homes. + + + + IV + + +Janet came softly and timidly into the drawing-room. + +"They are gone?" she questioned. "I thought I heard the front-door." + +"Yes, thank goodness!" Hilda exclaimed candidly, disdaining the +convention (which Edwin still had in respect) that a weakness in family +ties should never be referred to, beyond the confines of the family, +save in urbane terms of dignity and regret excusing so far as possible +the sinner. But in this instance the immense ineptitude of the Benbows +had so affected Edwin that, while objecting to his wife’s outbreak, he +could not help giving a guffaw which supported it. And all the time he +kept thinking to himself: + +"Imagine that d----d pietistic rascal dragging the miserable shrimp up +here to apologise to George!" + +He was ashamed, not merely of his relatives, but somehow of all +humanity. He could scarcely look even a chair in the face. The Benbows +had left behind them desolation, and this desolation affected +everything, and could be tasted on the tongue. Janet of course +instantly noticed it, and felt that she ought not to witness the shaming +of her friends. Moreover, her existence now was chiefly an apology for +itself. + +She said: + +"I really think I ought to go back and see about a meal for Johnnie in +case he turns up." + +"Nonsense!" said Hilda, sharply. "With three servants in the house, I +suppose Johnnie won’t starve! Now just sit down. Sit _down_!" Her tone +softened. "My dear, you’re worse than a child.... Tell Edwin." She put +a cushion behind Janet in the easy chair. And the gesture made Janet’s +eyes humid once more. + +Edwin had the exciting, disquieting, vitalising sensation of being shut +up in an atmosphere of women. Not two women, but two thousand, seemed to +hem him in with their incalculable impulses, standards, inspirations. + +"Janet wants to consult you," Hilda added; and even Hilda appeared to +regard him as a strong saviour. + +He thought: + +"After all, then, I’m not the born idiot she’d like to make out. Now +we’re getting at her real opinion of me!" + +"It’s only about father’s estate," said Janet. + +"Why? Hasn’t he made a will?" + +"Oh yes! He made a will over thirty years ago. He left everything to +mother and made her sole executor or whatever you call it. Just like +him, wasn’t it? ... D’you know that he and mother never had a quarrel, +nor anything near a quarrel?" + +"Well," Edwin, nodding appreciatively, answered with an informed +masculine air. "The law provides for all that. Tom will know. Did +your mother make a will?" + +"No. Dear thing! She would never have dreamt of it." + +"Then letters of administration will have to be taken out," said Edwin. + +Janet began afresh: + +"Father was talking of making a new will two or three months ago. He +mentioned it to Tom. He said he should like you to be one of the +executors. He said he would sooner have you for an executor than +anybody." + +An intense satisfaction permeated Edwin, that he should have been +desired as an executor by such an important man as Osmond Orgreave. He +felt as though he were receiving compensation for uncounted detractions. + +"Really?" said he. "I expect Tom will take out letters of +administration, or Tom and Johnnie together; they’ll make better +executors than I should." + +"It doesn’t seem to make much difference who looks after it and who +doesn’t," Hilda sharply interrupted. "When there’s nothing to look +after." + +"Nothing to look after?" Edwin repeated. + +"Nothing to look after!" said Hilda in a firm and clear tone. +"According to what Janet says." + +"But surely there must be something!" + +Janet answered mildly: + +"I’m afraid there isn’t much." + +It was Hilda who told the tale. The freehold of Lane End House belonged +to the estate, but there were first and second mortgages on it, and had +been for years. Debts had always beleaguered the Orgreave family. A +year ago money had apparently been fairly plentiful, but a great deal +had been spent on re-furnishing. Jimmie had had money, in connection +with his sinister marriage; Charlie had had money in connection with his +practice, and Tom had enticed Mr. Orgreave into the Palace Porcelain +Company. Mr. Orgreave had given a guarantee to the Bank for an +overdraft, in exchange for debentures and shares in that company. The +debentures were worthless, and therefore the shares also, and the bank +had already given notice under the guarantee. There was an insurance +policy--one poor little insurance policy for a thousand pounds--whose +capital well invested might produce an income of twelve or fifteen +shillings a week; but even that policy was lodged as security for an +overdraft on one of Osmond’s several private banking accounts. There +were many debts, small to middling. The value of the Orgreave +architectural connection was excessively dubious--so much of it had +depended upon Osmond Orgreave himself. The estate might prove barely +solvent; on the other hand it might prove insolvent; so Johnnie, who had +had it from Tom, had told Janet that day, and Janet had told Hilda. + +"Your father was let in for the Palace Porcelain Company?" Edwin +breathed, with incredulous emphasis on the initial p’s. "What on earth +was Tom thinking of?" + +"That’s what Johnnie wants to know," said Janet. "Johnnie was very +angry. They’ve had some words about it." + +Except for the matter of the Palace Porcelain Company, Edwin was not +surprised at the revelations, though he tried to be. The more closely +he examined his attitude for years past to the Orgreave household +structure, the more clearly he had to admit that a suspicion of secret +financial rottenness had never long been absent from his mind--not even +at the period of renewed profuseness, a year or two ago, when +furniture-dealers, painters, and paperhangers had been enriched. His +resentment against the deceased charming Osmond and also against the +affectionate and blandly confident mother, was keen and cold. They had +existed, morally, on Janet for many years; monopolised her, absorbed +her, aged her, worn her out, done everything but finish her,--and they +had made no provision for her survival. In addition to being useless, +she was defenceless, helpless, penniless, and old; and she shivered now +that the warmth of her parents’ affection was withdrawn by death. + +"You see," said Janet. "Father was so transparently honest and +generous." + +Edwin said nothing to this sincere outburst. + +"Have you got any money at all, Janet?" asked Hilda. + +"There’s a little household money, and by a miracle I’ve never spent the +ten-pound note poor dad gave me on my last birthday." + +"Well," said Edwin, sardonically imaging that ten-pound note as a sole +defence for Janet against the world. "Of course Johnnie will have to +allow you something out of the business--for one thing." + +"I’m sure he will, if he can," Janet agreed. "But he says it’s going to +be rather tight. He wants us to clear out of the house at once." + +"Take my advice and don’t do it," said Edwin. "Until the house is let or +sold it may as well be occupied by you as stand empty--better in fact, +because you’ll look after it." + +"_That’s_ right enough, anyway," said Hilda, as if to imply that by a +marvellous exception a man had for once in a while said something +sensible. + +"You needn’t use all the house," Edwin proceeded. "You won’t want all +the servants." + +"I wish you’d say a word to Johnnie," breathed Janet. + +"I’ll say a word to Johnnie, all right," Edwin answered loudly. "But it +seems to me it’s Tom that wants talking to. I can’t imagine what he was +doing to let your father in for that Palace Porcelain business. It +beats me." + +Janet quietly protested: + +"I feel sure he thought it was all right." + +"Oh, of course!" said Hilda, bitterly. "Of course! They always do think +it’s all right. And here’s my husband just going into one of those big +dangerous affairs, and _he_ thinks it’s all right, and nothing I can say +will stop him from going into it. And he’ll keep on thinking it’s all +right until it’s all wrong and we’re ruined, and perhaps me left a widow +with George." Her lowered eyes blazed at the carpet. + +Janet, troubled, glanced from one to the other, and then, with all the +tremendous unconscious persuasive force of her victimhood and her +mourning, murmured gently to Edwin: + +"Oh! Don’t run any risks! Don’t run any risks!" + +Edwin was staggered by the swift turn of the conversation. Two thousand +women hemmed him in more closely than ever. He could do nothing against +them except exercise an obstinacy which might be esteemed as merely +brutal. They were not accessible to argument--Hilda especially. +Argument would be received as an outrage. It would be impossible to +convince Hilda that she had taken a mean and disgraceful advantage of +him, and that he had every right to resent her behaviour. She was +righteousness and injuredness personified. She partook, in that moment, +of the victimhood of Janet. And she baffled him. + +He bit his lower lip. + +"All that’s not the business before the meeting," he said as lightly as +he could. "D’you think if I stepped down now I should catch Johnnie at +the office?" + +And all the time, while his heart hardened against Hilda, he kept +thinking: + +"Suppose I _did_ come to smash!" + +Janet had put a fear in his mind, Janet who in her wistfulness and her +desolating ruin seemed to be like only a little pile of dust--all that +remained of the magnificent social structure of a united and numerous +Orgreave family. + + + + V + + +Edwin met Tertius Ingpen in the centre of the town outside the offices +of Orgreave and Sons, amid the commotion caused by the return of +uplifted spectators from a football match in which the team curiously +known to the sporting world as "Bursley Moorthorne" had scored a broken +leg and two goals to nil. + +"Hello!" Ingpen greeted him. "I was thinking of looking in at your +place to-night." + +"Do!" said Edwin. "Come up with me now." + +"Can’t! ... Why do these ghastly louts try to walk over you as if they +didn’t see you?" Then in another tone, very quietly, and nodding in the +direction of the Orgreave offices: "Been in there? ... What a week, eh! +... How are things?" + +"Bad," Edwin answered. "In a word, bad!" + +Ingpen lifted his eyebrows. + +They turned away out of the crowd, up towards the tranquillity of the +Turnhill Road. They were manifestly glad to see each other. Edwin had +had a satisfactory interview with Johnnie Orgreave,--satisfactory in the +sense that Johnnie had admitted the wisdom of all that Edwin said and +promised to act on it. + +"I’ve just been talking to young Johnnie for his own good," said Edwin. + +And in a moment, with eagerness, with that strange deep satisfaction +felt by the carrier of disastrous tidings, he told Ingpen all that he +knew of the plight of Janet Orgreave. + +"If you ask me," said he, "I think it’s infamous." + +"Infamous," Ingpen repeated the word savagely. "There’s no word for it. +What’ll she do?" + +"Well, I suppose she’ll have to live with Johnnie." + +"And where will Mrs. Chris come in, then?" Ingpen asked in a murmur. + +"Mrs. Chris Hamson?" exclaimed Edwin startled. "Oh! Is that affair +still on the carpet? ... Cheerful outlook!" + +Ingpen pulled his beard. + +"Anyhow," said he, "Johnnie’s the most reliable of the crew. Charlie’s +the most agreeable, but Johnnie’s the most reliable. I wouldn’t like to +count much on Tom, and as for Jimmie, well of course----!" + +"I always look on Johnnie as a kid. Can’t help it." + +"There’s no law against that, so long as you don’t go and blub it out to +Mrs. Chris," Ingpen laughed. + +"I don’t know her." + +"You ought to know her. She’s an education, my boy." + +"I’ve been having a fair amount of education lately," said Edwin. "Only +this afternoon I was practically told that I ought to give up the idea +of my new works because it has risks and the Palace Porcelain Co. was +risky and Janet hasn’t a cent. See the point?" + +He was obliged to talk about the affair, because it was heavily on his +mind. A week earlier he had persuaded himself that the success of a +marriage depended chiefly on the tone employed to each other by the +contracting parties. But in the disturbing scene of the afternoon, his +tone had come near perfection, and yet marriage presented itself as even +more stupendously difficult than ever. Ingpen’s answering words salved +and strengthened him. The sensation of being comprehended was +delicious. Intimacy progressed. + +"I say," said Edwin, as they parted. "You’d better not know anything +about all this when you come to-night." + +"Right you are, my boy." + +Their friendship seemed once more to be suddenly and surprisingly +intensified. + +When Edwin returned, Janet had vanished again. Like an animal which +fears the hunt and whose shyness nothing can cure, she had fled to cover +at the first chance. According to Hilda she had run home because it had +occurred to her that she must go through her mother’s wardrobe and chest +of drawers without a moment’s delay. + +Edwin’s account to his wife of the interview with Johnnie Orgreave was +given on a note justifiably triumphant. In brief he had "talked sense" +to Johnnie, and Johnnie had been convicted and convinced. Hilda +listened with respectful propriety. Edwin said nothing as to his +encounter with Tertius Ingpen, partly from prudence and partly from +timidity. When Ingpen arrived at the house, much earlier than he might +have been expected to arrive, Edwin was upstairs, and on descending he +found his wife and his friend chatting in low and intimate voices close +together in the drawing-room. The gas had been lighted. + +"Here’s Mr. Ingpen," said Hilda, announcing a surprise. + +"How do, Ingpen?" + +"How do, Ed?" + +Ingpen did not rise. Nor did they shake hands, but in the Five Towns +friends who have reached a certain degree of intimacy proudly omit the +ceremony of handshaking when they meet. It was therefore impossible for +Hilda to divine that Edwin and Tertius had previously met that day, and +apparently Ingpen had not divulged the fact. Edwin felt like a plotter. + +The conversation of course never went far away from the subject of the +Orgreaves--and Janet in particular. Ingpen’s indignation at the +negligence which had left Janet in the lurch was more than warm enough +to satisfy Hilda, whose grievance against the wicked carelessness of +heads of families in general seemed to be approaching expression again. +At length she said: + +"It’s enough to make every woman think seriously of where she’d be--if +anything happened." + +Ingpen smiled teasingly. + +"Now you’re getting personal." + +"And what if I am? With my headstrong husband going in for all sorts of +schemes!" Hilda’s voice was extraordinarily clear and defiant. + +Edwin nervously rose. + +"I’ll just get some cigarettes," he mumbled. + +Hilda and Ingpen scarcely gave him any attention. Already they were +exciting themselves. Although he knew that the supply of cigarettes was +in the dining-room, he toured half the house before going there; and +then lit the gas and with strange deliberation drew the blinds; next he +rang the bell for matches, and, having obtained them, lit a cigarette. + +When he re-entered the drawing-room, Ingpen was saying with terrific +conviction: + +"You’re quite wrong, as I’ve told you before. It’s your instinct that’s +wrong, not your head. Women will do anything to satisfy their +instincts, simply anything. They’ll ruin your life in order to satisfy +their instincts. Yes, even when they know jolly well their instincts +are wrong!" + +Edwin thought: + +"Well, if these two mean to have a row, it’s no affair of mine." + +But Hilda, seemingly overfaced, used a very moderate tone to retort: + +"You’re very outspoken." + +Tertius Ingpen answered firmly: + +"I’m only saying aloud what every man thinks.... Mind--every man." + +"And how comes it that _you_ know so much about women?" + +"I’ll tell you sometime," said Ingpen, shortly, and then smiled again. + +Edwin, advancing, murmured: + +"Here. Have a cigarette." + +A few moments later Ingpen was sketching out a Beethoven symphony +unaided on the piano, and holding his head back to keep the +cigarette-smoke out of his eyes. + + + + VI + + +When the hour struck for which Hilda had promised a sandwich supper +Edwin and Tertius Ingpen were alone in the drawing-room, and Ingpen was +again at the piano, apparently absorbed in harmonic inventions of his +own. No further word had been said upon the subject of the discussion +between Ingpen and Hilda. On the whole, despite the reserve of Hilda’s +demeanour, Edwin considered that marriage at the moment was fairly +successful, and the stream of existence running in his favour. At five +minutes after the hour, restless, he got up and said: + +"I’d better be seeing what’s happened to that supper." + +Ingpen nodded, as in a dream. + +Edwin glanced into the dining-room, where the complete supper was +waiting in illuminated silence and solitude. Then he went to the +boudoir. There, the two candlesticks from the mantelpiece had been put +side by side on the desk, and the candles lit the figures of Hilda and +her son. Hilda, kneeling, held a stamped and addressed letter in her +hand, the boy was bent over the desk at his drawing, which his mother +regarded. Edwin in his heart affectionately derided them for employing +candles when the gas would have been so much more effective; he thought +that the use of candles was "just like" one of Hilda’s unforeseeable +caprices. But in spite of his secret derision he was strangely affected +by the group as revealed by the wavering candle-flames in the general +darkness of the room. He seldom saw Hilda and George together; neither +of them was very expansive; and certainly he had never seen Hilda +kneeling by her son’s side since a night at the Orgreaves’ before her +marriage, when George lay in bed unconscious and his spirit hesitated +between earth and heaven. He knew that Hilda’s love for George had in +it something of the savage, but, lacking demonstrations of it, he had +been apt to forget its importance in the phenomena of their united +existence. Kneeling by her son, Hilda had the look of a girl, and the +ingenuousness of her posture touched Edwin. The idea shot through his +brain like a star, that life was a marvellous thing. + +As the door had been ajar, they scarcely heard him come in. George +turned first. + +And then Ada was standing at the door. + +"Yes’m?" + +"Oh! Ada! Just run across with this letter to the pillar, will you?" + +"Yes’m." + +"You’ve missed the post, you know," said Edwin. + +Hilda got up slowly. + +"It doesn’t matter. Only I want it to be in the post." + +As she gave the letter to Ada he speculated idly as to the address of +the letter, and why she wanted it to be in the post. Anyhow, it was +characteristic of her to want the thing to be in the post. She would +delay writing a letter for days, and then, having written it, be "on +pins" until it was safely taken out of the house; and even when the +messenger returned she would ask: "Did you put that letter in the post?" + +Ada had gone. + +"What’s he drawing, this kid?" asked Edwin, genially. + +Nobody answered. Standing between his wife and the boy he looked at the +paper. The first thing he noticed was some lettering, achieved in an +imitation of architect’s lettering: "_Plan for proposed new +printing-works to be erected by Edwin Clayhanger, Esq., upon land at +Shawport. George Edwin Clayhanger, architect._" And on other parts of +the paper, "Ground-floor plan" and "Elevation." The plan at a distance +resembled the work of a real architect. Only when closely examined did +it reveal itself as a piece of boyish mimicry. The elevation was not +finished.... It was upon this that, with intervals caused by the +necessity of escaping from bores, George had been labouring all day. +And here was exposed the secret and the result of his chumminess with +Johnnie Orgreave. Yet the boy had never said a word to Edwin in +explanation of that chumminess; nor had Johnnie himself. + +"He’s been telling me he’s going to be an architect," said Hilda. + +"Is this plan a copy of Johnnie’s, or is it his own scheme?" asked +Edwin. + +"Oh, his own!" Hilda answered, with a rapidity and an earnestness which +disclosed all her concealed pride in the boy. + +Edwin was thrilled. He pored over the plan, making remarks and putting +queries, in a dull matter-of-fact tone; but he was so thrilled that he +scarcely knew what he was saying or understood the replies to his +questions. It seemed to him wondrous, miraculous, overwhelming, that +his own disappointed ambition to be an architect should have re-flowered +in his wife’s child who was not his child. He was reconciled to being a +printer, and indeed rather liked being a printer, but now all his career +presented itself to him as a martyrisation. And he passionately swore +that such a martyrisation should not happen to George. George’s ambition +should be nourished and forwarded as no boyish ambition had ever been +nourished and forwarded before. For a moment he had a genuine +conviction that George must be a genius. + +Hilda, behind the back of proud, silent George, pulled Edwin’s face to +hers and kissed it. And as she kissed she gazed at Edwin and her eyes +seemed to be saying: "Have your works; I have yielded. Perhaps it is +George’s plan that has made me yield, but anyhow I am strong enough to +yield. And my strength remains." + +And Edwin thought: "This woman is unique. What other woman could have +done that in just that way?" And in their embrace, intensifying and +complicating its significance, were mingled the sensations of their +passion, his triumph, her surrender, the mysterious boy’s promise, and +their grief for Janet’s tragedy. + +"Old Ingpen’s waiting for his supper, you know," said Edwin tenderly. +"George, you must show that to Mr. Ingpen." + + + + + BOOK II + + THE PAST + + + + CHAPTER XI + + LITHOGRAPHY + + + I + + +Edwin, sitting behind a glazed door with the word "Private" elaborately +patterned on the glass, heard through the open window of his own office +the voices of the Benbow children and their mother in the street +outside. + +"Oh, Mother! What a big sign!" + +"Yes. Isn’t Uncle Edwin a proud man to have such a big sign?" + +"Hsh!" + +"It wasn’t up yesterday." + +"L, i, t, h, o,----" + +"My word, Rupy! You are getting on!" + +"They’re such large letters, aren’t they, mother? ... ’Lithographic’ ... +’Lithographic printing. Edwin Clayhanger’." + +"Hsh! ... Bert, how often do you want me to tell you about your +shoe-lace?" + +"I wonder if George has come." + +"Mother, can’t _I_ ring the bell?" + +All the children were there, with their screeching voices. Edwin +wondered that Rupert should have been brought. Where was the sense of +showing a three-year-old infant like Rupert over a printing-works? But +Clara was always like that. The difficulty of leaving little Rupert +alone at home did not present itself to the august uncle. + +Edwin rose, locked a safe that was let into the wall of the room, and +dropped the key into his pocket. The fact of the safe being let into +the wall gave him as much simple pleasure as any detail of the new +works; it was an idea of Johnnie Orgreave’s. He put a grey hat +carelessly at the back of his head, and, hands in pockets, walked into +the next and larger room, which was the clerks’ office. + +Both these rooms had walls distempered in a green tint, and were fitted +and desked in pitchpine. Their newness was stark, and yet in the +clerks’ office the irrational habituating processes of time were already +at work. On the painted iron mantelpiece lay a dusty white tile, +brought as a sample long before the room was finished, and now without +the slightest excuse for survival. Nevertheless the perfunctory cleaner +lifted the tile on most mornings, dusted underneath it, and replaced it; +and Edwin and his staff saw it scores of times daily and never +challenged it, and gradually it was acquiring a prescriptive right to +exist just where it did. And the day was distant when some +inconvenient, reforming person would exclaim: + +"What’s this old tile doing here?" + +What Edwin did notice was that the walls and desks showed marks and even +wounds; it seemed to him somehow wrong that the brand new could not +remain forever brand new. He thought he would give a mild reproof or +warning to the elder clerk, (once the shop-clerk in the ancient +establishment at the corner of Duck Bank and Wedgwood Street) and then +he thought: "What’s the use?" and only murmured: + +"I’m not going off the works." + +And he passed out, with his still somewhat gawky gait, to the small +entrance-hall of the works. On the outer face of the door, which he +closed, was painted the word "Office." He had meant to have the words +"Counting-House" painted on that door, because they were romantic and +fine-sounding; but when the moment came to give the order he had quaked +before such romance; he was afraid as usual of being sentimental and of +"showing off," and with assumed satire had publicly said: "Some chaps +would stick ’Counting-house’ as large as life all across the door." He +now regretted his poltroonery. And he regretted sundry other failures +in courage connected with the scheme of the works. The works existed, +but it looked rather like other new buildings, and not very much like +the edifice he had dreamed. It ought to have been grander, more +complete, more dashingly expensive, more of an exemplar to the slattern +district. He had been (he felt) unduly influenced by the local spirit +for half-measures. And his life seemed to be a life of half-measures, a +continual falling-short. Once he used to read studiously on Tuesday, +Thursday and Saturday evenings. He seldom read now, and never with +regularity. Scarcely a year ago he had formed a beautiful vague project +of being "musical." At Hilda’s instigation he had bought a book of +musical criticism by Hubert Parry, and Hilda had swallowed it in three +days, but he had begun it and not finished it. And the musical +evenings, after feeble efforts to invigorate them, had fainted and then +died on the miserable excuse that circumstances were not entirely +favourable to them. And his marriage, so marvellous in its romance +during the first days...! + +Then either his commonsense or his self-respect curtly silenced these +weak depreciations. He had wanted the woman and he had won her,--he had +taken her. There she was, living in his house, bearing his name, +spending his money! The world could not get over that fact, and the +carper in Edwin’s secret soul could not get over it either. He had said +that he would have a new works, and, with all its faults and little +cowardices, there the new works was! And moreover it had just been +assessed for municipal rates at a monstrous figure. He had bought his +house (and mortgaged it); he had been stoical to bad debts; he had sold +securities--at rather less than they cost him; he had braved his +redoubtable wife; and he had got his works! His will, and naught else, +was the magic wand that had conjured it into existence. + +The black and gold sign that surmounted its blue roofs could be seen +from the top of Acre Lane and half way along Shawport Lane, proclaiming +the progress of lithography and steam-printing, and the name of Edwin +Clayhanger. Let the borough put that in its pipe and smoke it! He was +well aware that the borough felt pride in his works. And he had orders +more than sufficient to keep the enterprise handsomely going. Even in +the Five Towns initiative seemed to receive its reward. + +Life might be as profoundly unsatisfactory as you pleased, but there was +zest in it. + +The bell had rung. He opened the main door, and there stood Clara and +her brood. And Edwin was the magnificent, wonderful uncle. The +children entered, with maternal precautions and recommendations. Every +child was clean and spruce: Bert clumsy, Clara minxlike, Amy heavy and +benignant, Lucy the pretty little thing, and Rupert simply +adorable--each representing a separate and considerable effort of +watchful care. The mother came last, worn, still pretty, with a slight +dragging movement of the limbs. In her glittering keen eyes were both +envy and naïve admiration of her brother. "What a life!" thought Edwin, +meaning what a narrow, stuffy, struggling, conventional, unlovely +existence was the Benbows’! He and they lived in different worlds of +intelligence. Nevertheless he savoured the surpassing charm of Rupert, +the goodness of Amy, the floral elegance of Lucy, and he could +appreciate the unending labours of that mother of theirs, malicious +though she was. He was bluff and jolly with all of them. The new works +being fairly close to the Benbow home, the family had often come _en +masse_ to witness its gradual mounting, regarding the excursions as a +sort of picnic. And now that the imposing place was inaugurated and the +signs up, Uncle Edwin had been asked to show them over it in a grand +formal visit, and he had amiably consented. + +"Has George come, Uncle Edwin?" asked Bert. + +George had not come. A reconciliation had occurred between the cousins +(though by no means at the time nor in the manner desired by Albert); +they were indeed understood by the Benbows to be on the most touching +terms of intimacy, which was very satisfactory to the righteousness of +Albert and Clara; and George was to have been of the afternoon party; +but he had not arrived. Edwin, knowing the unknowableness of George, +suspected trouble. + +"Machines! Machines!" piped tiny white-frocked Rupert, to whom wondrous +tales had been told. + +"You’ll see machines all right," said Edwin promisingly. It was not his +intention to proceed straight to the machine-room. He would never have +admitted it, but his deliberate intention was to display the works +dramatically, with the machine-room as a culmination. The truth was, +the man was full of secret tricks, contradicting avuncular superior +indifference. He was a mere boy--he was almost a school-girl. + +He led them through a longish passage, and up steps and down +steps--steps which were not yet hollowed, but which would be +hollowed--into the stone-polishing shop, which was romantically obscure, +with a specially dark corner where a little contraption was revolving +all by itself in the process of smoothing a stone. Young Clara stared +at the two workmen, while the rest stared at the contraption, and Edwin, +feeling ridiculously like a lecturer, mumbled words of exposition. And +then next, after climbing some steps, they were in a lofty apartment +with a glass roof, sunshine-drenched and tropical. Here lived two more +men, including Karl the German, bent in perspiration over desks, and +laboriously drawing. Round about were coloured designs, and stones +covered with pencilling, and boards, and all sorts of sheets of paper +and cardboard. + +"Ooh!" murmured Bert, much impressed by the meticulous cross-hatching of +Karl’s pencil on a stone. + +And Edwin said: + +"This is the drawing-office." + +"Oh yes!" murmured Clara vaguely. "It’s very warm, isn’t it?" + +None of them except Bert was interested. They gazed about dully, +uncomprehendingly, absolutely incurious. + +"Machines!" Rupert urged again. + +"Come on, then," said Edwin going out with assumed briskness and gaiety. + +At the door stood Tertius Ingpen, preoccupied and alert, with all the +mien of a factory inspector in full activity. + +"Don’t mind me," said Ingpen, "I can look after myself. In fact I +prefer to." + +At the sight of an important stranger speaking familiarly to Uncle +Edwin, all the children save Rupert grew stiff, dismal and apprehensive, +and Clara looked about as though she had suddenly discovered very +interesting phenomena in the corners of the workshop. + +"My sister, Mrs. Benbow--Mr. Ingpen. Mr. Ingpen is Her Majesty’s +Inspector of Factories, so we must mind what we’re about," said Edwin. + +Clara gave a bright, quick smile as she limply shook hands. The +sinister enchantment which precedes social introduction was broken. And +Clara, overcome by the extraordinary chivalry and deference of Ingpen’s +customary greeting to women, decided that he was a particularly polite +man; but she reserved her general judgment on him, having several times +heard Albert inveigh against the autocratic unreasonableness of this +very inspector, who, according to Albert, forgot that even an employer +had to live, and that that which handicapped the employer could not +possibly help the workman--"in the long run." + +"Machines!" Rupert insisted. + +They all laughed; the other children laughed suddenly and imitatively, +and an instant later than the elders; and Tertius Ingpen, as he grasped +the full purport of the remark, laughed more than anyone. He turned +sideways and bent slightly in order to give vent to his laughter, which, +at first noiseless and imprisoned, gradually grew loud in freedom. When +he had recovered, he said thoughtfully, stroking his soft beard: + +"Now it would be very interesting to know exactly what that child +understands by ’machines’--what his mental picture of them is. Very +interesting! Has he ever seen any?" + +"No," said Clara. + +"Ah! That makes it all the more interesting," Ingpen added roguishly: +"I suppose you think you do know, Mrs. Benbow?" + +Clara smiled the self-protective, non-committal smile of one who is not +certain of having seen the point. + +"It’s very hot in here, Edwin," she said, glancing at the door. The +family filed out, shepherded by Edwin. + +"I’ll be back in a sec," said he to Clara, on the stairs, and returned +to the drawing-office. + +Ingpen was in apparently close conversation with Karl. + +"Yes," murmured Ingpen, thoughtfully tapping his teeth. "The whole +process is practically a contest between grease and water on the stone." + +"Yes," said Karl gruffly, but with respect. + +And Edwin could almost see the tentacles of Ingpen’s mind feeling and +tightening round a new subject of knowledge, and greedily possessing it. +What a contrast to the vacuous indifference of Clara, who was so +narrowed by specialisation that she could never apply her brain to +anything except the welfare and the aggrandizement of her family! He +dwelt sardonically upon the terrible results of family life on the +individual, and dreamed of splendid freedoms. + +"Mr. Clayhanger," said Ingpen, in his official manner, turning. + +The two withdrew to the door. Invisible, at the foot of the stairs, +could be heard the family, existing. + +"Haven’t seen much of lithography, eh?" said Edwin, in a voice +discreetly restrained. + +Ingpen, ignoring the question, murmured: + +"I say, you know this place is much too hot." + +"Well," said Edwin. "What do you expect in August?" + +"But what’s the object of all that glass roof?" + +"I wanted to give ’em plenty of light. At the old shop they hadn’t +enough, and Karl, the Teuton there, was always grumbling." + +"Why didn’t you have some ventilation in the roof?" + +"We did think of it. But Johnnie Orgreave said if we did we should +never be able to keep it watertight." + +"It certainly isn’t right as it is," said Ingpen. "And our experience +is that these skylighted rooms that are too hot in summer are too cold +in winter. How should you like to have your private office in here?" + +"Oh!" protested Edwin. "It isn’t so bad as all that." + +Ingpen said quietly: + +"I should suggest you think it over--I mean the ventilation." + +"But you don’t mean to say that this shop here doesn’t comply with your +confounded rules?" + +Ingpen answered: + +"That may or may not be. But we’re entitled to make recommendations in +any case, and I should like you to think this over, if you don’t mind. +I haven’t any thermometer with me, but I lay it’s ninety degrees here, +if not more." In Ingpen’s urbane, reasonable tone there was just a hint +of the potential might of the whole organised kingdom. + +"All serene," said Edwin, rather ashamed of the temperature after all, +and loyally responsive to Ingpen’s evident sense of duty, which somehow +surprised him; he had not chanced, before, to meet Ingpen at work; +earthenware manufactories were inspected once a quarter, but other +factories only once a year. The thought of the ameliorating influence +that Ingpen must obviously be exerting all day and every day somewhat +clashed with and overset his bitter scepticism concerning the real value +of departmental administrative government,--a scepticism based less upon +experience than upon the persuasive tirades of democratic apostles. + +They walked slowly towards the stairs, and Ingpen scribbled in a +notebook. + +"You seem to take your job seriously," said Edwin, teasing. + +"While I’m at it. Did you imagine that I’d dropped into a sinecure? +Considering that I have to keep an eye on three hundred and fifty +potbanks, over a thousand other factories, and over two thousand +workshops of sorts, my boy...! _And_ you should see some of ’em. _And_ +you should listen to the excuses." + +"No wonder," thought Edwin, "he hasn’t told me what a fine and large +factory mine is! ... Still, he might have said something, all the same. +Perhaps he will." + +When, after visiting the composing-room, and glancing from afar at the +engine-house, the sight-seeing party reached the machine-room, Rupert +was so affected by the tremendous din and the confusing whir of huge +machinery in motion that he began to cry, and, seizing his mother’s +hand, pressed himself hard against her skirt. The realisation of his +ambition had overwhelmed him. Amy protectingly took Lucy’s hand. Bert +and Clara succeeded in being very casual. + +In the great lofty room there were five large or fairly large machines, +and a number of small ones. The latter had chiefly to do with envelope +and bill-head printing and with bookbinding, and only two of them were +in use. Of the large machines, three were functioning--the cylinder +printing-machine which had been the pride of Edwin’s father, the +historic "old machine," also his father’s, which had been so called ever +since Edwin could remember and which was ageless, and Edwin’s latest and +most expensive purchase, the "Smithers" litho-printer. It was on the +guarded flank of the Smithers, close to the roller-racks, that Edwin +halted his convoy. The rest of the immense shop with its complex masses +of metal revolving, sliding, or paralysed, its shabby figures of men, +boys, and girls shifting mysteriously about, its smell of iron, grease, +and humanity, and its fearful racket, was a mere background for the +Smithers in its moving might. + +The Smithers rose high above the spectators, and at one end of it, +higher even than the top parts of the machine, was perched a dirty, +frowsy, pretty girl. With a sweeping gesture of her bare arms this girl +took a wide sheet of blank paper from a pile of sheets, and lodged it on +the receiving rack, whereupon it was whirled off, caught into the +clutches of the machine, turned, reversed, hidden away from sight among +revolving rollers red and black, and finally thrust out at the other end +of the machine, where it was picked up by a dirty, frowsy girl, not +pretty, smaller and younger than the high-perched creature, indeed +scarcely bigger than Amy. And now on the sheet was printed four times +in red the words "Knype Mineral Water Mnfg. Co. Best and cheapest. +Trademark." Clara screeched a question about the trademark, which was +so far invisible. Edwin made a sign to the lower dirty, frowsy girl, +who respectfully but with extreme rapidity handed him a sheet as it came +off the machine, and he shouted through the roar in explanation that the +trademark, a soda-water syphon in blue, would be printed on the same +sheet later from another stone, and the sheets cut into fours, each +quarter making a complete poster. "I thought it must be like that," +replied Clara superiorly. From childhood she had been well accustomed +to printing processes, and it was not her intention to be perplexed by +"this lithography." Edwin made a gesture to hand back the sheet to the +machine-girl, but the machine would not pause to allow her to take it. +She was the slave of the machine; so long as it functioned, every second +of her existence was monopolised, and no variation of conduct +permissible. The same law applied to the older girl up near the +ceiling. He put the sheet in its place himself, and noticed that to do +so required appreciable care and application of the manipulative +faculty. + +These girls, and the other girls at their greasy task in the great +shaking interior which he had created, vaguely worried him. Exactly +similar girls were employed in thousands on the pot-banks, and had once +been employed also at the pit-heads and even in the pits; but until +lately he had not employed girls, nor had his father ever employed +girls; and these girls so close to him, so dependent on him, so +submissive, so subjugated, so soiled, so vulgar, whose wages would +scarcely have kept his wife in boots and gloves, gave rise to strange +and disturbing sensations in his heart--not merely in regard to +themselves, but in regard to the whole of the workpeople. A question +obscure and lancinating struck upwards through his industrial triumph +and through his importance in the world, a question scarcely articulate, +but which seemed to form itself into the words: Is it right? + +"Is what right?" his father would have snapped at him. "Is what right?" +would have respectfully demanded Big James, who had now sidled +grandiosely to the Smithers, and was fussing among the rollers in the +rack. Neither of them would have been capable of comprehending his +trouble. To his father an employee was an employee, to be hired as +cheaply as possible, and to be exploited as completely as possible. And +the attitude of Big James towards the underlings was precisely that of +his deceased master. They would not be unduly harsh, they would often +be benevolent, but the existence of any problem, and especially any +fundamental problem, beyond the direct inter-relation of wages and work +could not conceivably have occurred to them. After about three quarters +of a century of taboo trade-unions had now for a dozen years ceased to +be regarded as associations of anarchistic criminals. Big James was +cautiously in favor of trade-unions, and old Darius Clayhanger in late +life had not been a quite uncompromising opponent of them. As for +Edwin, he had always in secret sympathised with them, and the +trade-unionists whom he employed had no grievance against him. Yet this +unanswerable, persistent question would pierce the complacency of +Edwin’s prosperity. It seemed to operate in a sort of fourth dimension; +few even amongst trade-unionists themselves would have reacted to it. +But Edwin lived with it more and more. He was indeed getting used to +it. Though he could not answer it, he could parry it, thanks to +scientific ideas obtained from Darwin and Spencer, by the reflection +that both he and his serfs, whatever their sex, were the almost blind +agencies of a vast process of evolution. And this he did, exulting with +pride sometimes in the sheer adventure of the affair, and sharing his +thoughts with none.... Strange that once, and not so many years ago +either, he had been tempted to sell the business and live inert and +ignobly secure on the interest of invested moneys! But even to-day he +felt sudden fears of responsibility; they came and went. + +The visitors, having wandered to and fro, staring, trailed out of the +machine-room, led by Edwin. A wide door swung behind them, and they +were in the abrupt, startling peace of another corridor. Clara wiped +Rupert’s eyes, and he smiled, like a blossom after a storm. The mother +and the uncle exchanged awkward glances. They had nothing whatever to +say to each other. Edwin could seldom think of anything that he really +wanted to say to Clara. The children were very hot and weary of +wonders. + +"Well," said Clara, "I suppose we’d better be moving on now." She had +somewhat the air of a draught-animal about to resume the immense labour +of dragging a train. "It’s very queer about George. He was to have +come with us for tea." + +"Oh! Was he?" + +"Of course he was," Clara replied sharply. "It was most distinctly +arranged." + +At this moment Tertius Ingpen and Hilda appeared together at the other +end of the corridor. Hilda’s unsmiling face seemed enigmatic. Ingpen +was talking with vivacity. + +Edwin thought apprehensively: + +"What’s up now? What’s she doing here, and not George?" + +And when the sisters-in-law, so strangely contrasting, shook hands, he +thought: + +"Is it possible that Albert looks on his wife as something +unpredictable? Do those two also have moods, and altercations and +antagonisms? Are they always preoccupied about what they are thinking +of each other? No! It’s impossible. Their life must be simply +fiendishly monotonous." And Clara’s inferiority before the erect, +flashing individuality of Hilda appeared to him despicable. Hilda bent +and kissed Rupert, Lucy, Amy and young Clara, as it were with passion. +She was marvellous as she bent over Rupert. She scarcely looked at +Edwin. Ingpen stood aside. + +"I’m very sorry," said Hilda perfunctorily. "I had to send George on an +errand to Hanbridge at the last moment." + +Nothing more! No genuine sign of regret! Edwin blamed her severely. +"Send George on an errand to Hanbridge!" That was Hilda all over! Why +the devil should she go out of her way to make unpleasantness with +Clara? She knew quite well what kind of a woman Clara was, and that the +whole of Clara’s existence was made up of domestic trifles, each of +which was enormous for her. + +"Will he be down to tea?" asked Clara. + +"I doubt it." + +"Well ... another day, then." + +Clara, gathering her offspring, took leave at a door in the corridor +which gave on to the yard. Mindful to the last of Mr. Ingpen’s presence +(which Hilda apparently now ignored), she smiled sweetly as she went. +But behind the smile, Edwin with regret, and Hilda with satisfaction, +could perceive her everlasting grudge against their superior splendour. +Even had they sunk to indigence Clara could never have forgiven Edwin +for having towards the end of their father’s life prevented Albert from +wheedling a thousand pounds out of old Darius, nor Hilda for her +occasional pricking, unanswerable sarcasms.... Still, Rupert, +descending two titanic steps into the yard, clung to his mother as to an +angel. + +"And _what_ errand to Hanbridge?" Edwin asked himself mistrustfully. + + + + II + + +Scarcely a minute later, when Edwin, with Hilda and Ingpen, was back at +the door of the machine-room, the office boy could be seen voyaging +between roaring machines across the room towards his employer. The +office boy made a sign of appeal, and Edwin answered with a curt sign +that the office boy was to wait. + +"What’s that ye say?" Edwin yelled in Ingpen’s ear. + +Ingpen laughed, and made a trumpet with his hands: + +"I was only wondering what your weekly running expenses are." + +Even Ingpen was surprised and impressed by the scene, and Edwin was +pleased now, after the flatness of Clara’s inspection, that he had +specially arranged for two of the machines to be running which strictly +need not have been running that afternoon. He had planned a spectacular +effect, and it had found a good public. + +"Ah!" He hesitated, in reply to Ingpen. Then he saw Hilda’s face, and +his face showed confusion and he smiled awkwardly. + +Hilda had caught Ingpen’s question. She said nothing. Her expressive, +sarcastic, unappeasable features seemed to say: "Running expenses! +Don’t mention them. Can’t you see they must be enormous? How can he +possibly make this place pay? It’s a gigantic folly--and what will be +the end of it?" + +After all, her secret attitude towards the new enterprise was unchanged. +Arguments, facts, figures, persuasions, brutalities had been equally and +totally ineffective. And Edwin thought: + +"She is the bitterest enemy I have." + +Said Ingpen: + +"I like that girl up there on the top of that machine. And doesn’t she +just know where she is! What a movement of the arms, eh?" + +Edwin nodded, appreciative, and then beckoned to the office boy. + +"What is it?" + +"Please, Sir, Mrs. ’Amps in the office to see you." + +"All right," he bawled, casually. But in reality he was taken aback. +"It’s Auntie Hamps now!" he said to the other two. "We shall soon have +all Bursley here this afternoon." + +Hilda raised her eyebrows. + +"D’you know ’Auntie Hamps’?" she grimly asked Ingpen. Her voice, though +she scarcely raised it, was plainer than the men’s when they shouted. +As Ingpen shook his head, she added: "You ought to." + +Edwin did not altogether care for this public ridicule of a member of +the family. Auntie Hamps, though possibly a monster, had her qualities. +Hilda, assuming the lead, beckoned with a lift of the head. And Edwin +did not care for that either, on his works. Ingpen followed Hilda as +though to a menagerie. + +Auntie Hamps, in her black attire, which by virtue of its changeless +style amounted to a historic uniform, was magnificent in the private +office. The three found her standing in wait, tingling with vitality +and importance and eagerness. She watched carefully that Edwin shut the +door, and kept her eye not only on the door but also on the open window. +She received the presentation of Mr. Tertius Ingpen with grandeur and +with high cordiality, and she could appreciate even better than Clara +the polished fealty of his greeting. + +"Sit down, Auntie." + +"No, I won’t sit down. I thought Clara was here. I told her I might +come if I could spare a moment. I must say, Edwin"--she looked around +the small office, and seemed to be looking round the whole works in a +superb glance--"you make me proud of you. You make me proud to be your +Auntie." + +"Well," said Edwin, "you can be proud sitting down." + +She smiled. "No, I won’t sit down. I only just popped in to catch +Clara. I was going to tea with her and the chicks." Then she lowered +her voice: "I suppose you’ve heard about Mr. John Orgreave?" Her tone +proved, however, that she supposed nothing of the kind. + +"No. What about Johnnie?" + +"He’s run away with Mrs. Chris Hamson." + +Her triumph was complete. It was perhaps one of her last triumphs, but +it counted among the greatest of her career as a watchdog of society. + +The thing was a major event, and the report was convincing. Useless to +protest "Never!" "Surely not!" "It can’t be true!" It carried truth +on its face. Useless to demand sternly: "Who told you?" The news had +reached Auntie Hamps through a curious channel--the stationmaster at +Latchett. Heaven alone could say how Auntie Hamps came to have +relations with the stationmaster at Latchett. But you might be sure +that, if an elopement was to take place from Latchett station, Auntie +Hamps would by an instinctive prescience have had relations with the +station-master for twenty years previously. Latchett was the next +station, without the least importance, to Shawport on the line to Crewe. +Johnnie Orgreave had got into the train at Shawport, and Mrs. Chris had +joined it at Latchett, her house being near by. Once on the vast +platforms of Crewe, the guilty couple would be safe from curiosity, lost +in England, like needles in a haystack. + +The Orgreave-Hamson flirtation had been afoot for over two years, but +had only been seriously talked about for less than a year. Mrs. Chris +did not "move" much in town circles. She was older than Johnnie, but +she was one of your blonde, slim, unfruitful women, who under the shade +of a suitable hat-brim are ageless. Mr. Chris was a heavy man, "glumpy" +as they say down there, a moneymaker in pots, and great on the colonial +markets. He made journeys to America and to Australia. His Australian +journey occupied usually about four months. He was now on his way back +from Sydney, and nearly home. Mrs. Chris had not long since inherited a +moderate fortune. It must have been the fortune, rendering them +independent, that had decided the tragic immoralists to abandon all for +love. The time of the abandonment was fixed for them by circumstance, +for it had to occur before the husband’s return. + +Imagine the Orgreave business left in the hands of an incompetent +irresponsible like Jimmie Orgreave! And then, what of that martyr, +Janet? Janet and Johnnie had been keeping house together--a tiny house. +And Janet had had to "have an operation." Women, talking together, said +exactly what the operation was, but the knowledge was not common. The +phrase "have an operation" was enough in its dread. As a fact the +operation, for calculus, was not very serious; it had perfectly +succeeded, and Janet, whom Hilda had tenderly visited, was to emerge +from the nursing home at Knype Vale within three days. Could not +Johnnie and his Mrs. Chris have waited until she was re-established? No, +for the husband was unpreventibly approaching, and romantic love must +not be baulked. Nothing could or should withstand romantic love. Janet +had not even been duly warned; Hilda had seen her that very morning, and +assuredly she knew nothing then. Perhaps Johnnie would write to her +softly from some gay seaside resort where he and his leman were hiding +their strong passion. The episode was shocking; it was ruinous. The +pair could never return. Even Johnnie alone would never dare to return. + +"He was a friend of yours, was he not?" asked Auntie Hamps in bland +sorrow of Tertius Ingpen. + +He was a friend, and a close friend, of all three of them. And not only +had he outraged their feelings--he had shamed them, irretrievably +lowered their prestige. They could not look Auntie Hamps in the face. +But Auntie Hamps could look them in the face. And her glance, charged +with grief and with satisfaction, said: "How are the mighty fallen, with +their jaunty parade of irreligion, and their musical evenings on +Sundays, with the windows open while folks are coming home from chapel!" +And there could be no retort. + +"Another good man ruined by women!" observed Tertius Ingpen, with a +sigh, stroking his beard. + +Hilda sprang up; and all her passionate sympathy for Janet, and her +disappointment and disgust with Johnnie, the victim of desire, and her +dissatisfaction with her husband and her hatred of Auntie Hamps, blazed +forth and devastated the unwise Ingpen as she scathingly replied: + +"Mr. Ingpen, that is a caddish thing to say!" + +She despised convention; she was frankly and atrociously rude; and she +did not care. Edwin blushed. Tertius Ingpen blushed. + +"I’m sorry," said Ingpen, keeping his temper. "I think I ought to have +left a little earlier. Good-bye, Ed. Mrs. Hamps--" He bowed with +extreme urbanity to the ladies, and departed. + +Shortly afterwards Auntie Hamps also departed, saying that she must not +be late for tea at dear Clara’s. She was secretly panting to disclose +the whole situation to dear Clara. What a scene had Clara missed by +leaving the works too soon! + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + DARTMOOR + + + I + + +"What was that telegram you had this afternoon, Hilda?" + +The question was on Edwin’s tongue as he walked up Acre Lane from the +works by his wife’s side. But it did not achieve utterance. A year had +passed since he last walked up Acre Lane with Hilda; and now of course +he recalled the anger of that previous promenade. In the interval he +had acquired to some extent the habit of containing his curiosity and +his criticism. In the interval he had triumphed, but Hilda also had +consolidated her position, so that despite the increase of his prestige +she was still his equal; she seemed to take strength from him in order +to maintain the struggle against him. + +During the final half-hour at the works the great, the enormous problem +in his mind had been--not whether such and such a plan of action for +Janet’s welfare in a very grave crisis would be advisable, but whether +he should demand an explanation from Hilda of certain disquieting +phenomena in her boudoir. In the excitement of his indecision Janet’s +tragic case scarcely affected his sensibility. For about twelve months +Hilda had, he knew, been intermittently carrying on a correspondence as +to which she had said no word to him; she did not precisely conceal it, +but she failed to display it. Lately, so far as his observation went, +it had ceased. And then to-day he had caught sight of an orange +telegraph-envelope in her wastepaper basket. Alone in the boudoir, and +glancing back cautiously and guiltily at the door, he had picked up the +little ball of paper and smoothed it out, and read the words: "Mrs. +Edwin Clayhanger." In those days the wives of even prominent business +men did not customarily receive such a rain of telegrams that the +delivery of a telegram would pass unmentioned and be forgotten. On the +contrary, the delivery of a telegram was an event in a woman’s life. +The telegram which he had detected might have been innocently +negligible, in forty different ways. It might, for example, have been +from Janet, or about a rehearsal of the Choral Society, or from a +tradesman at Oldcastle, or about rooms at the seaside. But supposing +that it was not innocently negligible? Supposing that she was keeping a +secret? ... What secret? What conceivable secret? He could conceive no +secret. Yes, he could conceive a secret. He had conceived and did +conceive a secret, and his private thoughts elaborated it.... He had +said to himself at the works: "I may ask her as we go home. I shall +see." But, out in the street, with the disturbing sense of her +existence over his shoulder, he knew that he should not ask her. Partly +timidity and partly pride kept him from asking. He knew that, as a wise +husband, he ought to ask. He knew that commonsense was not her strongest +quality, and that by diffidence he might be inviting unguessed future +trouble; but he would not ask. In the great, passionate war of marriage +they would draw thus apart, defensive and watchful, rushing together at +intervals either to fight or to kiss. The heat of their kisses had not +cooled; but to him at any rate the kisses often seemed intensely +illogical; for, though he regarded himself as an improving expert in the +science of life, he had not yet begun to perceive that those kisses were +the only true logic of their joint career. + +He was conscious of grievances against her as they walked up Acre Lane, +but instead of being angrily resentful, he was content judicially to +register the grievances as further corroboration of his estimate of her +character. They were walking up Acre Lane solely because Hilda was +Hilda. A year ago they had walked up Acre Lane in order that Edwin +might call at the shop. But Acre Lane was by no means on the shortest +way from Shawport to Bleakridge. Hilda, however, on emerging from the +works, full of trouble concerning Janet, had suddenly had the beautiful +idea of buying some fish for tea. In earlier days he would have said: +"How accidental you are! What would have happened to our tea if you +hadn’t been down here, or if you hadn’t by chance thought of fish?" He +would have tried to show her that her activities were not based in the +principles of reason, and that even the composition of meals ought not +to depend upon the hazard of an impulse. Now, wiser, he said not a +word. He resigned himself in silence to an extra three-quarters of a +mile of walking. In such matters, where her deep instinctiveness came +into play, she had established over him a definite ascendancy. + +Then another grievance was that she had sent George to Hanbridge, +knowing that George, according to a solemn family engagement, ought to +have been at the works. She was conscienceless. A third grievance, +naturally, was her behaviour to Ingpen. And a fourth came back again to +George. Why had she sent George to Hanbridge at all? Was it not to +despatch a telegram which she was afraid to submit to the +inquisitiveness of the Post Office at Bursley? A daring supposition, +but plausible; and if correct, of what duplicity was she not guilty! +The mad, shameful episode of Johnnie Orgreave, the awful dilemma of +Janet--colossal affairs though they were--interested him less and less +as he grew more and more preoccupied with his relations to Hilda. And +he thought, not caring: + +"Something terrific will occur between us, one of these days." + +And then his bravado would turn to panic. + + + + II + + +They passed along Wedgwood Street, and Hilda preceded him into the chief +poulterer-and-fishmonger’s. Here was another slight grievance of +Edwin’s; for the chief poulterer-and-fishmonger’s happened now to be the +Clayhanger shop at the corner of Wedgwood Street and Duck Bank. +Positively there had been competitors for the old location! Why should +Hilda go there and drag him there? Could she not comprehend that he had +a certain fine delicacy about entering? ... The place where the former +sign had been was plainly visible on the brickwork above the shop-front. +Rabbits, fowl, and a few brace of grouse hung in the right-hand window, +from which most of the glass had been removed; and in the left, upon +newly-embedded slabs of Sicilian marble, lay amid ice the curved forms +of many fish, and behind them was the fat white-sleeved figure of the +chief poulterer-and-fishmonger’s wife with her great, wet hands. He was +sad. He seriously thought yet again: "Things are not what they were in +this town, somehow." For this place had once been a printer’s; and he +had a conviction that printing was an aristocrat among trades. Indeed, +could printing and fishmongering be compared? + +The saleswoman greeted them with deference, calling Edwin "sir," and yet +with a certain complacent familiarity, as an occupant to ex-occupants. +Edwin casually gave the short shake of the head which in the district +may signify "Good-day," and turned, humming, to look at the hanging +game. It seemed to him that he could only keep his dignity as a man of +the world by looking at the grouse with a connoisseur’s eye. Why didn’t +Hilda buy grouse? The shop was a poor little interior. It smelt ill. +He wondered what the upper rooms were like, and what had happened to the +decrepit building at the end of the yard. The saleswoman slapped the +fish about on the marble, and running water could be heard. + +"Edwin," said Hilda, with enchanting sweetness and simplicity, "would +you like hake or turbot, dear?" + +Impossible to divine from her voice that the ruin of their two favourite +Orgreaves was complete, that she was conducting a secret correspondence, +and that she had knowingly and deliberately offended her husband! + +Both women waited, moveless, for the decision, as for an august decree. + +When the transaction was finished, the saleswoman handed over the parcel +into Hilda’s gloved hands; it was a rough-and-ready parcel, not at all +like the neat stiff paper-bag of the modern age. + +"Very hot, isn’t it, ma’am?" said the saleswoman. + +And Hilda, utterly distinguished in gesture and tone, replied with calm, +impartial urbanity: + +"Very. Good afternoon." + +"I’d better take that thing," said Edwin outside, in spite of himself. + +She gave up the parcel to him. + +"Tell cook to fry it," said Hilda. "She always fries better than she +boils." + +He repeated: + +"’Tell cook to fry it.’ What’s up now?" His tone challenged. + +"I must go over and see Janet at once. I shall take the next car." + +He lifted the end of his nose in disgust. There was no end to the +girl’s caprices. + +"Why at once?" the superior male demanded. Disdain and resentment were +in his voice. Hundreds of times, when alone, he had decided that he +would never use that voice--first, because it was unworthy of a +philosopher, second, because it never achieved any good result, and +third, because it often did harm. Yet he would use it. The voice had +an existence and a volition of its own within his being; he marvelled +that the essential mechanism of life should be so clumsy and +inefficient. He heard the voice come out, and yet was not displeased, +was indeed rather pleasantly excited. A new grievance had been created +for him; he might have ignored it, just as he might ignore a solitary +cigarette lying in his cigarette case. Both cigarettes and grievances +were bad for him. But he could not ignore them. The last cigarette in +the case magnetised him. Useless to argue with himself that he had +already smoked more than enough,--the cigarette had to emerge from the +case and be burnt; and the grievance too was irresistible. In an +instant he had it between his teeth and was darkly enjoying it. Of +course Hilda’s passionate pity for Janet was a fine thing. Granted! +But therein was no reason why she should let it run away with her. The +worst of these capricious, impulsive creatures was that they could never +do anything fine without an enormous fuss and upset. What possible +difference would it make whether Hilda went to break the news of +disaster to Janet at once or in an hour’s time? The mere desire to +protect and assuage could not properly furnish an excuse for +unnecessarily dislocating a household and depriving oneself of food. On +the contrary, it was wiser and more truly kind to take one’s meals +regularly in a crisis. But Hilda would never appreciate that profound +truth--never, never! + +Moreover, it was certain that Johnnie had written to Janet. + +"I feel I must go at once," said Hilda. + +He spoke with more marked scorn: + +"And what about your tea?" + +"Oh, it doesn’t matter about my tea." + +"Of course it matters about your tea. If you have your tea quietly, +you’ll find the end of the world won’t have come, and you can go and see +Janet just the same, and the whole house won’t have been turned upside +down." + +She put her lips together and smiled mysteriously, saying nothing. The +racket of the Hanbridge and Knype steam-car could be heard behind them. +She did not turn her head. The car overtook them, and then stopped a +few yards in front. But she did not hail the conductor. The car went +onwards. + +He had won. His argument had been so convincing that she could not help +being convinced. It was too powerful for even her obstinacy, which as a +rule successfully defied any argument whatever. + +Did he smile and forgive? Did he extend to her the blessing of his +benevolence? No. He could not have brought himself to such a point. +After all, she had done nothing to earn approval; she had simply +refrained from foolishness. She had had to be reminded of +considerations which ought ever to have been present in her brain. +Doubtless she thought that he was hard, that he was incapable of her +divine pity for Janet. But that was only because she could not imagine +a combination of emotional generosity and calm commonsense; and she +never would be able to imagine it. Hence she would always be unjust to +him. + +When they arrived home, she was still smiling mysteriously to herself. +She did not take her hat off--sign of disturbance! He moved with +careful tranquillity through the ritual that preceded tea. He could +feel her in the house, ordering it, softening it, civilising it. He +could smell the fish. He could detect the subservience of Ada to her +mistress’s serious mood. He went into the dining-room. Ada followed him +with a tray of hot things. Hilda followed Ada. Then George entered, +cleaner than ordinary. Edwin savoured deeply the functioning of his +home. And his wife had yielded. Her instinct had compelled her not to +neglect him; his sagacity had mastered her. In her heart she must +admire his sagacity, whatever she said or looked, and her unreasoning +passion for him was still the paramount force in her vitality. + +"Now, are you two all right?" said Hilda, when she had poured out the +tea, and Edwin was carving the fish. + +Edwin glanced up. + +"I don’t want any tea," she said. "I couldn’t touch it." + +She bent and kissed George, took her gloves from the sideboard, and left +the house, the mysterious smile still on her face. + + + + III + + +Edwin controlled his vexation at this dramatic move. It was only slight, +and he had to play the serene omniscient to George. Further, the +attractive food helped to make him bland. + +"Didn’t you know your mother had to go out?" said Edwin, with astounding +guile. + +"Yes, she told me upstairs," George murmured, "while she was washing me. +She said she had to go and see Auntie Janet again." + +The reply was a blow to Edwin. She had said nothing to him, but she had +told the boy. Still, his complacency was not overset. Boy and +stepfather began to talk, with the mingled freedom and constraint +practised by males accustomed to the presence of a woman, when the woman +is absent. Each was aware of the stress of a novel, mysterious, and +grave situation. Each also thought of the woman, and each knew that the +other was thinking of the woman. Each, over a serious apprehension, +seemed to be lightly saying: "It’s rather fun to be without her for a +bit. But we must be able to rely on her return." Nothing stood between +them and domestic discomfort. Possible stupidity in the kitchen had no +check. As regards the mere household machine, they had a ridiculous and +amusing sense of distant danger. + +Edwin had to get up in order to pour out more tea. He reckoned that he +could both make tea and pour it out with more exactitude than his wife, +who often forgot to put the milk in first. But he could not pour it out +with the same grace. His brain, not his heart, poured the tea out. He +left the tray in disorder. The symmetry of the table was soon wrecked. + +"Glad you’re going back to school, I suppose?" said Edwin satirically. + +George nodded. He was drinking, and he glanced at Edwin over the rim of +the cup. He had grown much in twelve months, and was more than twelve +months older. Edwin was puzzled by the almost sudden developments of +his intelligence. Sometimes the boy was just like a young man; his +voice had become a little uncertain. He still showed the greatest +contempt for his fingernails, but he had truly discovered the +toothbrush, and was preaching it at school among a population that +scoffed yet was impressed. + +"Yes, I’m glad," he answered. + +"Oh! You’re glad, are you?" + +"Well, I’m glad in a way. A boy does have to go to school, doesn’t he, +uncle? And the sooner it’s over the better. I tell you what I should +like--I should like to go to school night and day and have no holidays +till it was all done. I sh’d think you could save at least three years +with that." + +"A bit hard on the masters, wouldn’t it be?" + +"I never thought of that. Of course it would never be over for them. I +expect they’d gradually die." + +"Then you don’t like school?" + +George shook his head. + +"Did you like school, uncle?" + +Edwin shook his head. They both laughed. + +"Uncle, can I leave school when I’m sixteen?" + +"I’ve told you once." + +"Yes, I know. But did you mean it? People change so." + +"I told you you could leave school when you’re sixteen if you pass the +London Matric." + +"But what good’s the London Matric to an architect? Mr. Orgreave says it +isn’t any good, anyway." + +"When did he tell you that?" + +"Yesterday." + +"But not so long since you were all for being a stock-breeder!" + +"Ah! I was only pretending to myself!" George smiled. + +"Well, fetch me my cigarettes off the mantelpiece in the drawing-room." + +The boy ran off, eager to serve, and Edwin’s glance followed him with +affection. George’s desire to be an architect had consistently +strengthened, save during a brief period when the Show of the North +Staffordshire Agricultural Society, held with much splendour at +Hanbridge, had put another idea into his noddle--an idea that fed itself +richly on glorious bulls and other prize cattle for about a week, and +then expired. Indeed, already it had been in a kind of way arranged +that the youth should ultimately be articled to Johnnie Orgreave. Among +many consequences of Johnnie’s defiance to society would probably be the +quashing of that arrangement. And there was Johnnie, on the eve of his +elopement, chatting to George about the futility of the London +Matriculation! Edwin wondered how George would gradually learn what had +happened to his friend and inspirer, John Orgreave. + +He arrived with the cigarettes, and offered them, and lit the match, and +offered that. + +"And what have you been doing with yourself all afternoon?" Edwin +enquired, between puffs of smoke. + +"Oh, nothing much!" + +"I thought you were coming to the works and then going down to Auntie +Clara’s for tea." + +"So I was. But mother sent me to Hanbridge." + +"Oh," murmured Edwin casually. "So your mother packed you off to +Hanbridge, did she?" + +"I had to go to the Post Office," George continued. "I think it was a +telegram, but it was in an envelope, and some money." + +"_In_deed!" said Edwin, with a very indifferent air. + +He was, however, so affected that he jumped up abruptly from the table, +and went into the darkening, chill garden, ignoring George. George, +accustomed to these sudden accessions of interest and these sudden +forgettings, went unperturbed his ways. + +About half past eight Hilda returned. Edwin was closing the curtains in +the drawing-room. The gas had been lighted. + +"Johnnie has evidently written to Alicia," she burst out somewhat +breathless. "Because Alicia’s telegraphed to Janet that she must +positively go straight down there and stay with them when she leaves the +Home." + +"What, on Dartmoor?" Edwin muttered, in a strange voice. The very word +"Dartmoor" made him shake. + +"It isn’t actually on the moor," said Hilda. "And so I shall take her +down myself. I’ve told her all about things. She wasn’t a bit +surprised. They’re a strange lot." + +She tried to speak quite naturally, but he knew that she was not +succeeding. Their eyes would not meet. Edwin thought: + +"How far away we are from this morning!" Hazard and fate, like +converging armies, seemed to be closing upon him. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + THE DEPARTURE + + + I + + +It was a wet morning. Hilda, already in full street attire, save for +her gloves, and with a half empty cup of tea by her side, sat at the +desk in the boudoir. She unlocked the large central drawer immediately +below the flap of the desk, with a peculiar, quick, ruthless gesture, +which gesture produced a very short snappy click that summed up all the +tension spreading from Hilda’s mind throughout the house and even into +the town. It had been decided that in order to call for Janet at the +Nursing Home and catch the Crewe train at Knype for the Bristol and +Southwest of England connexion, Hilda must leave the house at five +minutes to nine. + +This great fact was paramount in the minds of various people besides +Hilda. Ada upstairs stood bent and flushed over a huge portmanteau into +which she was putting the last things, while George hindered her by +simultaneously tying to the leather handle a wet label finely directed +by himself in architectural characters. The cook in the kitchen was +preparing the master’s nine o’clock breakfast with new solicitudes +caused by a serious sense of responsibility; for Hilda, having informed +her in moving tones that the master’s welfare in the mistress’s absence +would depend finally on herself, had solemnly entrusted that welfare to +her--had almost passed it to her from hand to hand, with precautions, +like a jewel in a casket. Ada, it may be said, had immediately felt the +weight of the cook’s increased importance. Edwin and the clerks at the +works knew that Edwin had to be home for breakfast at a quarter to nine +instead of nine, and that he must not be late, as Mrs. Clayhanger had a +train to catch, and accordingly the morning’s routine of the office was +modified. And, finally, a short old man in a rainy stable-yard in Acre +Parade, between Acre Lane and Oldcastle Street, struggling to force a +collar over the head of a cab-horse that towered above his own head, was +already blasphemously excited by those pessimistic apprehensions about +the flight of time which forty years of train-catching had never +sufficed to allay in him. As for Janet, she alone in her weakness and +her submissiveness was calm; the nurse and Hilda understood one another, +and she was "leaving it all" to them. + +Hilda opened the drawer, half lifting the flap of the desk to disclose +its contents. It was full of odd papers, letters, bills, +blotting-paper, door-knobs, finger-plates, envelopes, and a small book +or two. A prejudiced observer, such as Edwin, might have said that the +drawer was extremely untidy. But to Hilda, who had herself put in each +item separately, and each for a separate reason, the drawer was not +untidy, for her intelligence knew the plan of it, and every item as it +caught her eye suggested a justifying reason, and a good one. +Nevertheless, she formed an intention to "tidy out" the drawer (the only +drawer in the desk with a safe lock), upon her return home. She felt at +the back of the drawer, drew forth the drawer a little further, and felt +again, vainly. A doubt of her own essential orderliness crossed her +mind. "Surely I can’t have put those letters anywhere else? Surely +I’ve not mislaid them?" Then she closed the flap of the desk, and +pulled the drawer right out, letting it rest on her knees. Yes, the +packet was there, hidden, and so was another packet of letters--in the +handwriting of Edwin. She was reassured. She knew she was tidy, had +always been tidy. And Edwin’s innuendos to the contrary were +inexcusable. Jerking the drawer irregularly back by force into its +place, she locked it, reopened the desk, laid the packet on the +writing-pad, and took a telegram from her purse to add to the letters in +the packet. + +The letters were all in the same loose, sloping hand, and on the same +tinted notepaper. The signature was plain on one of them, "Charlotte M. +Cannon," and then after it, in brackets "(Canonges),"--the latter being +the real name of George Cannon’s French father, and George Cannon’s only +legal name. The topmost letter began: "Dear Madam, I think it is my duty +to inform you that my husband still declares his innocence of the crime +for which he is now in prison. He requests that you shall be informed +of this. I ought perhaps to tell you that, since the change in my +religious convictions, my feelings--" The first page ended there. +Hilda turned the letters over, preoccupied, gazing at them and +deciphering chance phrases here and there. The first letter was dated +about a year earlier; it constituted the beginning of the resuscitation +of just that part of her life which she had thought to be definitely +interred in memory. + +Hilda had only once--and on a legal occasion--met Mrs. Canonges (as with +strict correctness she called herself in brackets)--a surprisingly old +lady, with quite white hair, and she had thought: "What a shame for that +erotic old woman to have bought and married a man so much younger than +herself! No wonder he ran away from her!" She had been positively +shocked by the spectacle of the well-dressed, well-behaved, +quiet-voiced, prim, decrepit creature with her aristocratic voice. And +her knowledge of the possibilities of human nature was thenceforth +enlarged. And when George Cannon (known to the law only as Canonges) +had received two years’ hard labour for going through a ceremony of +marriage with herself, she had esteemed, despite all her resentment +against him, that his chief sin lay in his real first marriage, not in +his false second one, and that for that sin the old woman was the more +deserving of punishment. And when the old woman had with strange +naïvete written to say that she had become a convert to Roman +Catholicism and that her marriage and her imprisoned bigamous husband +were henceforth to her sacred, Hilda had reflected sardonically: "Of +course it is always that sort of woman that turns to religion, when +she’s too old for anything else!" And when the news came that her +deceiver had got ten years’ penal servitude (and might have got penal +servitude for life) for uttering a forged Bank-of-England note, Hilda +had reflected in the same strain: "Of course, a man who would behave as +George behaved to me would be just the man to go about forging bank +notes! I am not in the least astonished. What an inconceivable +simpleton I was!" + +A very long time had elapsed before the letter arrived bearing the +rumour of Cannon’s innocence. It had not immediately produced much +effect on her mind. She had said not a word to Edwin. The idea of +reviving the shames of that early episode in conversation with Edwin was +extremely repugnant to her. She would not do it. She had not the right +to do it. All her proud independence forbade her to do it. The episode +did not concern Edwin. The effect on her of the rumour came gradually. +It was increased when Mrs. Cannon wrote of evidence, a petition to the +Home Secretary, and employing a lawyer. Mrs. Cannon’s attitude seemed +to say to Hilda: "You and I have shared this man, we alone in all the +world." Mrs. Cannon seemed to imagine that Hilda would be interested. +She was right. Hilda was interested. Her implacability relented. Her +vindictiveness forgave. She pondered with almost intolerable compassion +upon the vision of George Cannon suffering unjustly month after long +month interminably the horrors of a convict’s existence. She read with +morbidity reports of Assizes, and picked up from papers and books and +from Mrs. Cannon pieces of information about prisons. When he was +transferred to Parkhurst in the Isle of Wight on account of ill-health, +she was glad, because she knew that Parkhurst was less awful than +Portland, and when from Parkhurst he was sent to Dartmoor she tried to +hope that the bracing air would do him good. She no longer thought of +him as a criminal at all, but simply as one victim of his passion for +herself; she, Hilda, had been the other victim. She raged in secret +against the British Judicature, its delays, its stoniness, its +stupidity. And when the principal witness in support of Cannon’s +petition died, she raged against fate. The movement for Cannon’s +release slackened for months. Of late it had been resumed, and with +hopefulness. One of Cannon’s companions had emerged from confinement +(due to an unconnected crime), and was ready to swear affidavits. +Lastly, Mrs. Cannon had written stating that she was almost beggared, +and suggesting that Hilda should lend her ten pounds towards the +expenses of the affair. Hilda had not ten pounds. That very day Hilda, +seeing Janet in the Nursing Home, had demanded: "I say Jan, I suppose +you haven’t got ten pounds you can let me have for about a day or so?" +And had laughed self-consciously. Janet, flushing with eager pleasure, +had replied: "Of course! I’ve still got that ten-pound note the poor +old dad gave me. I’ve always kept it in case the worst should happen." +Janet was far too affectionate to display curiosity. Hilda had posted +the bank-note late at night. The next day had come a telegram from Mrs. +Cannon: "Telegraph if you are sending money." Not for a great deal +would Hilda have despatched through the hands of the old postmaster at +Bursley--who had once been postmaster at Turnhill and known her +parents--a telegram such as hers addressed to anybody named "Cannon." +The fear of chatter and scandal was irrational, but it was a very +genuine fear. She had sent her faithful George with the telegram to +Hanbridge--it was just as easy. + +Hilda now, after hesitation, put the packet of letters in her handbag, +to take with her. It was a precaution of secrecy which she admitted to +be unnecessary, for she was quite certain that Edwin never looked into +her drawers; much less would he try to open a locked drawer; his +incurious confidence in her was in some respects almost touching. +Certainly nobody else would invade the drawer. Still, she hid the +letters in her handbag. Then, in her fashion, she scribbled a +bold-charactered note to Mrs. Cannon, giving a temporary address, and +this also she put in the handbag. + +Her attitude to Mrs. Cannon, like her attitude to the bigamist, had +slowly changed, and she thought of the old woman now with respect and +sympathetic sorrow. Mrs. Cannon, before she knew that Hilda was married +to Edwin, had addressed her first letter to Hilda, "Mrs. Cannon," when +she would have been justified in addressing it, "Miss Lessways." In the +days of her boarding-house it had been impossible, owing to business +reasons, for Hilda to drop the name to which she was not entitled and to +revert to her own. The authentic Mrs. Cannon, despite the violence of +her grievances, had respected Hilda’s difficulty; the act showed kindly +forbearance and it had aroused Hilda’s imaginative gratitude. Further, +Mrs. Cannon’s pertinacity in the liberation proceedings, and her calm, +logical acceptance of all the frightful consequences of being the legal +wife of a convict, had little by little impressed Hilda, who had said to +herself: "There is something in this old woman." And Hilda nowadays +never thought of her as an old woman who had been perverse and shameless +in desire, but as a victim of passion like George Cannon. She said to +herself: "This old woman still loves George Cannon; her love was the +secret of her rancour against him, and it is also the secret of her +compassion." These constant reflections, by their magnanimity, and +their insistence upon the tremendous reality of love, did something to +ennoble the clandestine and demoralising life of the soul which for a +year Hilda had hidden from her husband and from everybody. + + + + II + + +It still wanted twenty minutes to nine o’clock. She was too soon. The +night before, Edwin had abraded her sore nerves by warning her not to be +late--in a tone that implied habitual lateness on her part. Hilda was +convinced that she was an exact woman. She might be late--a little +late--six times together, but as there was a sound explanation of and +excuse for each shortcoming, her essential exactitude remained always +unimpaired in her own mind. But Edwin would not see this. He told her +now and then that she belonged to that large class of people who have +the illusion that a clock stands still at the last moment while last +things are being done. She resented the observation, as she resented +many of Edwin’s assumptions concerning her. Edwin seemed to forget that +she had been one of the first women-stenographers in England, that she +had been a journalist-secretary and accustomed to correct the +negligences of men of business, and finally that she had been in +business by herself for a number of years. Edwin would sweep all that +away, and treat her like one of your mere brainless butterflies. At any +rate, on the present occasion she was not late. And she took pride, +instead of shame, in her exaggerated earliness. She had the air of +having performed a remarkable feat. + +She left the boudoir to go upstairs and superintend Ada, though she had +told the impressed Ada that she should put full trust in her, and should +not superintend her. However, as she opened the door she heard the +sounds of Ada and George directing each other in the joint enterprise of +bringing a very large and unwieldy portmanteau out of the bedroom. The +hour for superintendence was therefore past. Hilda went into the +drawing-room, idly, nervously, to wait till the portmanteau should have +reached the hall. The French window was ajar, and a wet wind entered +from the garden. The garden was full of rain. Two workmen were in it, +employed by the new inhabitants of the home of the Orgreaves. Those +upstarts had decided that certain branches of the famous Orgreave elms +were dangerous and must be cut, and the workmen, shirt sleeved in the +rain, were staying one of the elms with a rope made fast to the swing in +the Clayhanger garden. Hilda was unreasonably but sincerely +antipathetic to her new neighbours. The white-ended stumps of great +elm-branches made her feel sick. Useless to insist to her on the +notorious treachery of elms! She had an affection for those elms, and, +to her, amputation was an outrage. The upstarts had committed other +sacrilege upon the house and grounds, not heeding that the abode had +been rendered holy by the sacraments of fate. Hilda stared and stared +at the rain. And the prospect of the long, jolting, acutely depressing +drive through the mud and the rain to Knype Vale, and of the +interminable train journey with a tragic convalescent, braced her. + +"Mother!" + +George stood behind her. + +"Well, have you got the luggage down?" She frowned, but George knew her +nervous frown and could rightly interpret it. + +He nodded. + +"Ought I to put ’Dartmoor’ on the luggage-label?" + +She gave a negative sign. + +Why should he ask such a question? She had never breathed the name of +Dartmoor. Why should he mention it? Edwin also had mentioned Dartmoor. +"What, on Dartmoor?" Edwin had said. Did Edwin suspect her +correspondence? No. Had he suspected he would have spoken. She knew +him. And even if Edwin had suspected, George could not conceivably have +had suspicions, of any sort.... There he stood, the son of a convict, +with no name of his own. He existed--because she and the convict had +been unable to keep apart; his ignorance of the past was appalling to +think of, the dangers incident to it dreadful; his easy confidence +before the world affected her almost intolerably. She felt that she +could never atone to him for having borne him. + +A faint noise at the front-door reached the drawing-room. + +"Here’s Nunks," exclaimed George, and ran off eagerly. + +This was his new name for his stepfather. + +Hilda returned quickly to the boudoir. As she disappeared therein, she +heard George descanting to Edwin on the beauties of his luggage-label, +and Edwin rubbing his feet on the mat and removing his mackintosh. + +She came back to the door of the boudoir. + +"Edwin." + +"Hello!" + +"One moment." + +He came into the boudoir, wiping the rain off his face. + +"Shut the door, will you?" + +Her earnest, self-conscious tone stirred into activity the dormant +secret antagonisms that seemed ever to lie between them. She saw them +animating his eyes, stiffening his pose. + +Pointing to the cup and saucer on the desk, Edwin said, critically: + +"That all you’ve had?" + +"Can you let me have ten pounds?" she asked bluntly, ignoring his +implication that in the matter of nourishment she had not behaved +sensibly. + +"Ten pounds? More?" He was on the defensive, as it were crouching +warily behind a screen of his suspicions. + +She nodded, awkwardly. She wanted to be graceful, persuasive, +enveloping, but she could not. It was to repay Janet that she had need +of the money. She ought to have obtained it before, but she had +postponed the demand, and she had been wrong. Janet would not require +the money, she would have no immediate use for it, but Hilda could not +bear to be in debt to her; to leave the sum outstanding would seem so +strange, so sinister, so equivocal; it would mar all their intercourse. + +"But look here, child," said Edwin, protesting, "I’ve given you about +forty times as much as you can possibly want already." + +He had never squarely refused any demand of hers for money; he had +almost always acceded instantly and without enquiry to her demands. +Obviously he felt sympathy with the woman who by eternal custom is +forced to ask, and had a horror of behaving as the majority of husbands +notoriously behaved in such circumstances; obviously he was anxious not +to avail himself of the husband’s overwhelming economic advantage. +Nevertheless the fact that he earned and she didn’t was ever +mysteriously present in his relatively admirable attitude. And +sometimes--perhaps not without grounds, she admitted--he would hesitate +before a request, and in him a hesitation was as humiliating as a +refusal would have been from another man. And Hilda resented, not so +much his attitude, as the whole social convention upon which it was +unassailably based. He earned--she knew. She would not deny that he +was the unique source and that without him there would be naught. But +still she did not think that she ought to have to ask. On the other +hand she had no alternative plan to offer. Her criticism of the +convention was destructive, not constructive. And all Edwin’s careful +regard for a woman’s susceptibilities seemed only to intensify her +deep-hidden revolt. It was a mere chance that he was thus chivalrous. +And whether he was chivalrous or not, she was in his power; and she +chafed. + +"I should be glad if you could let me have it," she said, grimly. + +The appeal, besides being unpersuasive in manner, was too general; it +did not particularize. There was no frankness between them. She saw +his suspicions multiplying. What did he suspect? What could he +suspect? ... Ah! And why was she herself so timorous, so strangely +excited, about going even to the edge of Dartmoor? And why did she feel +Tsistsaki, coming in, heard my remark. She turned to my uncle. "So, man +mine, we go to the On-the-Other-Side Bear River country, do we? Yes? Oh, +I am glad! Down there grow plenty of plums. I shall gather quantities of +them for our winter use!" + +We went out, mounted our horses, and hurried home and to bed. That is, +Tsistsaki and I did; my uncle worked all night, writing out his +trade-goods orders. The steamboat men worked all night, too, unloading +freight for the fort, and when I awoke in the morning the boat had left +with its load of company furs. + +When we were eating breakfast, my uncle said to us, "Well, woman, well, +youngster, we start upon a new trail now, a trail of my own making, and +I feel that it is going to be a trail easy and worth blazing. All that I +have in the world, about twenty thousand dollars, I am putting into the +venture, and on top of that I am asking for more than ten thousand +dollars' worth of goods on a year's time. Thomas, we have just got to +pay that bill when it comes due, fourteen months from now, or Wesley +Fox's name will become a byword in St. Louis." + +"We shall pay it, sir," I said. + +"Absolutely, we shall pay it, if I have to beg robes and beaver skins +from my people to make up the amount!" Tsistsaki declared. + +Looking back at it after all these years, I see that the dissolution of +the American Fur Company was an historical event. Its founders and its +later owners, the Chouteaus, had been the first to profit by the +discoveries of the Lewis and Clark expedition, and year by year they had +built a string of trading-posts along the Missouri, which did an +enormous business in trading with the various tribes of Indians for +their buffalo robes and beaver and other furs. But little by little the +richness and vastness of the Missouri River country became known to the +outside world; first came various opposition fur-traders, then settlers +upon the rich bottom lands of the river. + +Before the settlers the Indians and the buffaloes fled, and the income +of the company correspondingly decreased. The Chouteaus simply could not +brook opposition, or trade with penny-saving settlers, profitable as +that might have been; so in this year of 1865 they went out of business. +At the time only two of the company posts, Fort Union, at the mouth of +the Yellowstone, and Fort Benton were in what may be termed still virgin +country; that is, country still rich in buffaloes and fur animals and +controlled by various powerful tribes of Indians. It was fear of the +Indians that kept the settlers back. + +We were to embark for the mouth of the Musselshell upon the next +steamboat that arrived, and my uncle was very busy getting together our +necessary equipment and engaging the help that we should need. I helped +him as much as I could, but found time to ride over to the camp on the +Teton and ask Pitamakan to go down-river with us. His father objected to +his going, on the ground that he was needed in camp to herd the large +band of horses that belonged to the family, and in which I had then +about forty head, my very own horses. But finally a youth was found to +take his place, and Pitamakan was free to come with us. On the last day +of May the second steamboat of the season tied up at the river-bank in +front of the fort, and in the afternoon of the following day we went +aboard it with our outfit and were off upon our new adventure. The +outfit comprised ten engagés, all of them with their wives, women of the +Pikuni, several of whom had children; six work-horses and two heavy +wagons; three ordinary saddle-horses, property of the engagés, and three +fast buffalo-runners, one of which was Is-spai-u, the Spaniard, the most +noted, the most valuable buffalo-horse in all the Northwest; eleven +Indian lodges, one to each family; tools of all kinds; some provisions; +a six-pounder cannon with a few balls and plenty of grapeshot; and of +course our own personal weapons. + +The women were tremendously excited over their first ride in a +steamboat; they marveled at the swiftness with which it sped down the +river and cried out in terror every time the boilers let off their +surplus steam with a loud roaring. Soon after passing the mouth of the +Shonkin, a few miles below the fort, we sighted buffaloes, and from +there on to our destination we were never out of sight of them grazing +in the bottom lands, filing down the precipitous sides of the valley to +water and climbing out to graze upon the wide plains. + +Other kinds of game were also constantly in sight, elk, white-tailed +deer and mule deer, antelopes, bighorns upon the cliffs, wolves and +coyotes, and now and then a grizzly. + +All too quickly we sped down the river, which is swift and narrow here, +and at night tied up at the mouth of Cow Creek, where twelve years +later a small party of us from Fort Benton were to fight the Nez Percés, +just before General Miles rounded them up. This was the Middle +Creek--Stahk-tsi-ki-e-tuk-tai--of the Blackfeet, so named because it +rises in the depression between the Bear Paw and the Little Rocky +Mountains. + +Shortly before noon the next day the boat landed us and our outfit at +the mouth of the Musselshell River. There was a fine grove of +cottonwoods bordering the stream, but we had no thought of taking +advantage of its cool, shady shelter. Instead we put up our lodges in +the open bottom on the west side of the Musselshell, about three hundred +yards from it and something like fifty yards back from the shore of the +Missouri. My uncle declared that we had too many of them and made one +lodge suffice for three families. We therefore put up four lodges, as +closely together as possible, and cut and hauled logs for a barrier +round them. We completed the barrier that evening and felt that we were +fairly well protected from the attacks of war parties. As Pitamakan +truly said, we were camped right upon one of the greatest war trails in +the country. Crows, Cheyennes, and Arapahoes going north, and +Assiniboins, Crees, and Yanktonnais going south, here came to cross the +Missouri upon the wide and shallow ford just below the mouth of the +Musselshell. Had my uncle been unable to buy the six-pounder cannon from +Carroll and Steell, I doubt whether he would have ventured to build a +post at this place. We felt that "thunder mouth" would be of as much +service to us in a fight with a war party as fifty experienced plainsmen +would be, could they be obtained. The Indians were terribly afraid of +cannon, not so much because of the execution they did, I have often +thought, as because of the tremendous roar of their discharge. To the +mind of the red man it was too much like the fearful reverberations of +their dread thunder bird, wanton slayer of men and animals, shatterer of +trees and of the very rocks of the mountains. + +Taking no chances with our horses, we picketed them that evening with +long ropes close to our barricade, and at bedtime Pitamakan and I went +out and slept in their midst; but nothing happened to disturb our rest. +At daylight we arose and turned the work-horses loose to graze near by +until we needed them. The day broke clear and warm. Up in the pine-clad +bad-land breaks that formed the east side of the Musselshell Valley we +could see numerous bands of buffaloes, and there were more in the valley +itself and in the bottom of the Missouri directly across from us. +Hundreds of antelopes were with the buffaloes, and elk and deer were +moving about in the edge of the timber bordering the smaller stream. We +went over to the Musselshell and bathed, and then heard Tsistsaki +calling us to come and eat. + +"Now, then, you youngsters," my uncle said to us when we were seated, +"the engagés have their instructions, and here are yours. You are not to +lift a hand toward the building of this fort, for I have three other +uses for you. You are to take good care of the horses, keep the camp +well supplied with meat, and be ever on the lookout for war parties." + +"Easy enough!" Pitamakan exclaimed. "With so little to do, I see us +growing fat, and with fat comes laziness. I see this camp going hungry +before many moons have passed." + +"You needn't joke," said my uncle, very seriously. "This is no joking +matter. Upon the alertness and watchfulness of you two depend our lives +and the success of this undertaking!" + +"I take shame to myself," Pitamakan said. "As you say, this is important +work that you charge us with. If trouble comes, it shall be through no +fault of ours!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +A HOSTILE TRIBE LEAVES FOOTPRINTS + + +By the time Pitamakan and I had finished breakfast the engagés had +hitched up the teams and gone to cut logs, and my uncle was marking out +the site for the fort on level ground just behind our barricade. He had +drawn the plan for it while we were coming down the river. It was to be +in the form of a square. The south, west, and north sides were each to +be formed by the walls of a building eighty feet long, twenty feet wide, +nine feet high. The roof was to be of poles heavily covered with +well-packed earth. At the southwest and northeast corners there were to +be bastions with portholes for the cannon and for rifles. The east side +of the square was to be a high stockade of logs with a strong gate in +it. + +Leaving my uncle at his work, Pitamakan and I watered the saddle-horses +and then, saddling two, rode out after meat. We could, of course, have +gone into the timber just above the log-cutters and killed some deer or +elk, but we wanted first to explore the valley. Here and there were +narrow groves of timber with growths of willows between them; and again +long stretches where the grass grew to the very edge of the banks. + +We carefully examined the dusty game trails and every sandbar and mud +slope of the river for signs of man, but not a single moccasin track did +we see. That was no proof, however, that war parties had not recently +passed up or down the valley. Instead of following the course of the +river, they were far more likely to keep well up in the breaks on the +east side of the valley, from which they could constantly see far up and +down it. + +I was not very keen for hunting that morning, because I was worrying +about my uncle's charge to us. "Almost-brother," I said presently as I +brought my horse to a stand, "the load that Far Thunder has put upon us +is too heavy for our backs. Look, now, at this great country; this brush +and timber-bordered stream; those deep, pine-clad bad-land breaks; the +great plain to the west, seamed with coulees; the heavily timbered +valley of the Big River. We cannot possibly watch it all. We have not +the eyes of the gods to see right through the trees and brush and +discover what they conceal. Watch as we may, a war party can easily come +right down to the mouth of this stream and attack the log-cutters or +charge our barricade, and we never know of their approach until we hear +their shots and yells!" + +"What you say is plain truth!" Pitamakan exclaimed. "But well you know +that Far Thunder is a wise chief. He does not expect us to do the +impossible; his heavy talk was just to make us as watchful and careful +as we possibly can be. But come, we waste time. We have to provide meat +for the middle-of-the-day eating!" + +"All right, we go," I answered, "but I am uneasy. When we return to camp +I shall say a few words to Far Thunder." + +Not far ahead a band of a hundred and more buffaloes were filing down a +sharp, bare ridge of the bad lands to water. Under cover of the brush +we rode to the point they would strike and awaited their coming. They +were thirsty; the big cow in front was stepping faster and faster as she +neared the foot of the slope; then, scenting the water, she broke into a +lope. The whole band came thundering after her, raising a cloud of fine, +light dust. + +We let our eager horses go when the buffaloes were about fifty yards +from us. Pitamakan shot down the old lead cow, and I a fat two-year-old +bull; then what a scattering there was! + +Drawing my six-shooter, I turned my horse after another two-year-old +bull and gained upon it, but just as I was about to fire it sprang +sharply round and dodged back past me. My horse turned, too, with a +suddenness that all but unseated me. He had the bit in his teeth. I +could not have checked him if I would, and he was determined that the +bull should not escape. Nor did it. I overtook and downed it after a +chase of several hundred yards, but was then, of course, out of the run. +Away up the flat Pitamakan was still in the thick of the fleeing band. I +saw him shoot twice, and then he, too, came to a stand. In all we had +shot six fine animals, meat enough to last our camp for some time. We +carefully butchered them all, cutting the carcasses into portions that +could be easily loaded into the wagon that would come for them, and +then, packing upon our horses several sets of the boss ribs for dinner, +we started back. + +The day was now very hot; so we rode in the shade of the timber +bordering the stream and in a short time entered the big grove at the +mouth of it. We could plainly hear the incessant thudding of axes and +the crash of the big cottonwood as it struck the ground. I told +Pitamakan that the men were working like beavers, and then he laughed. +It was a simile quite new to him. + +There was here dense underbrush, much of which was higher than our heads +and penetrable only by the well-worn zigzag trails of game. We were +following what seemed to be the most direct of the trails and were now +so near the choppers that we could plainly hear several of them talking, +but still, owing to the dense, high brush, we were unable to see any of +them. Then suddenly, right in front of us, a shot rang out; and in +answer to it, Pitamakan brought his rifle to his shoulder and fired at +something that I could dimly see tearing away from us through a thick +growth of rosebushes. "Enemies! My horse is hit! Look out!" + +Simultaneously we heard a piercing shriek of pain and fear, the +well-known voice of Louis, the cordelier, he who had bewailed the death +of the company and the loss of his promised pension. "Help! Help! I am +shot! I die! Help, messieurs! Ze enemy, he comes, tousans of heem!" + +I grasped the situation at once and, fearing that others of the choppers +would mistake us for enemies, dashed on past Pitamakan, shouting, "Don't +shoot! It is we! Don't shoot!" I cleared the high brush just as the +roused men were gathering in a circle about Louis, who was still wildly +shrieking for help. + +"Now, what is all this about?" cried my uncle as he came running up to +the group. + +"I am shot! Me, I die!" Louis cried. + +"He thought us enemies. He fired at Pitamakan and got shot himself," I +explained. + +"Let us see the wound," my uncle demanded. + +"No use! I die!" + +"Throw him down, men, throw him down! We'll see how badly he is hurt!" +my uncle ordered; and down he went. + +"Huh! Just as I thought! Nothing but a bullet scratch! Get up, you crazy +scamp! Get up! Go to the river and wash yourself, and then come back to +work!" said my uncle disgustedly. + +"Where is his rifle?" some one asked. + +"Dropped right where he fired it," I hazarded; and there it was found. + +"Wal, now, me, I call Louis's hittin' that hoss a plumb miracle!" +exclaimed an American engagé, Illinois Joe, so called because he was +always talking about the glories of that State. "To my certain knowledge +that there is the fust time Louis ever come nigh hittin' what he aimed +to kill!" + +The men resumed their work, and my uncle went to the camp with us. We +unloaded the boss ribs and picketed our horses, Pitamakan rubbing some +marrow grease into the wound of his animal. I then told my uncle that I +thought that we could not possibly guard the men from sudden surprise by +the enemy. + +"You will do the best you can, and that is all I ask from you," he +answered. "From now on, one of the engagés shall stand guard while the +others work, and I will take a turn at it myself. You have meat up +there? Take a team and wagon and bring it in." + +We had the meat in camp by two o'clock; then my uncle advised us to ride +out upon discovery. As Pitamakan's runner would be of no service for +some time to come, I borrowed Is-spai-u and let him have my fast horse. +We could, of course, have ridden the scrub horses of the engagés, but +did not care to trust our lives to their slow running in case we should +be surprised by a war party. + +Is-spai-u was a horse with a history. Four summers before, in the spring +of 1861, a war party of seven of the Pikuni, led by One Horn, a noted +warrior and medicine man, had gone south on a raid with the avowed +intention never to turn back until they had penetrated far into the +always-summer land and taken fine horses from the Spanish settlers of +that country. That meant a journey southward on foot of all of fifteen +hundred miles and an absence from us of at least a year. They chose to +go on foot because they could thus most surely pass through that long +stretch of hostile country without being discovered by the enemy. + +Fifty--yes, a hundred--warriors begged One Horn to be allowed to join +his party, but he had had a dream in which the Seven Persons, as the +constellation of the Great Bear was called, had appeared and advised him +what to do, and he would take only six men. Each one of the six was a +man of proved valor and intelligence. + +The summer passed and the winter. One Horn and his party were to return +in the Moon of Full-Grown Leaves, but they came not. With the appearance +of the Berries-Ripe Moon they were long overdue, and some said that +without doubt their bones were whitening on the sands of the grassless +plains far to the south. Still, hoping against hope, the old medicine +man prayed on for them at setting of the sun, and all the people prayed +with him. + +It was in the Moon of Falling Leaves--October--that we in Fort Benton +noticed a lone horseman fording the river and wondered who he could be. +Then we saw that it was One Horn. He approached the gate, mournfully +calling over and over the names of his six companions; and we knew that +they were dead, and the women set up a great wailing for them. When he +rode slowly into the court we thought that we had never seen so thin and +careworn a man; he was just bones covered with wrinkled skin, and across +his breast was a tightly drawn bandage of what had evidently been his +buffalo-leather leggings. + +We were so painfully struck with his forlorn appearance that we did not +at first notice the horse he rode; but when he slipped from it and +staggered into the outstretched arms of the crying women, Antoine, the +stableman, stepped up to it to lead it away, and he cried out, "See, my +frien's, dis horse so beautiful!" We almost cried out with him. The +animal was shining black and in good flesh, clean-limbed, of powerful +build, gentle and proud. + +"A thoroughbred, if ever there was one!" said my uncle, who was standing +beside me. "Unquestionably of Andalusian stock!" + +Tsistsaki had One Horn carried into our quarters and a robe couch made +up for him. A woman brought in some soup hot from her hearth, but he +would take only a few sups of it. My uncle cut away the bandage round +his breast and disclosed a jagged wound several inches long, partly +healed, but badly discolored and suppurating at the lower end. + +"It was all healed over, then it got bad again," One Horn whispered. + +My uncle shook his head. "Mortification has set in; I fear there is no +hope for him," he said in English to Tsistsaki and me. + +Then he carefully washed the wound, medicated it, and put a clean, soft +bandage upon it. + +When the wounded man awoke that evening, my uncle asked him to tell us +his adventures on the long south trail. + +We thought that he was never going to answer, so long did he stare +straight up at the roof; but finally he said, so low that it was with +straining ears that we heard him: "Far Thunder, Tsistsaki! My words +shall be few. We went far into the country of the Spanish white men and +came upon a camp of plains people and in their herds of good horses saw +the horse that I rode here to-day. We raided that camp and took many +horses, among them the black, Is-spai-u, as I have named him. We got +safe away from that camp. But then--oh, my friends! through my fault my +companions died. I was in great hurry to get back here. I would not heed +the warnings of my dreams. I took chances. Through a rough country I led +my men in the daytime when I should have traveled at night. We were seen +by the enemy, but saw them not. They made ready for our coming and +suddenly rode out at us. My companions fought bravely, killed many and +were themselves killed. I was wounded, but because I was upon this +black horse I escaped. So swift was he that none of the enemy could +overtake me. At first my wound was very bad; then it got better, and I +took courage. I said to myself that I would return to this south country +with all the warriors of the Pikuni and avenge the death of my +companions. Then my wound got steadily worse. Far Thunder, my wound is +killing me. No, don't deny it; you know it as well as I do. From the +time you and I first met we have been friends. You have been good to me. +Now we part. This night I am going upon the long trail to the Sand +Hills. I give you the black horse. You must promise me always to keep +him. You promise? That is good! North and south, east and west, he is +the swiftest, the most tireless horse on all the plains. I know that you +will be good to him. I can talk no more." + +Nor did he ever speak again. He soon became unconscious and died before +midnight. + +Now, my Uncle Wesley was a great sportsman and loved more than anything +else the excitement of a buffalo run with a good horse under him, a bow +in his hand, and a quiver full of arrows at his back. "You can have your +rifle and your six-shooters for the chase," he would often say, "but the +bow for me. While you are fooling away time reloading your weapons, I +shall be slipping arrows into good, fat cows!" + +Several months after the death of One Horn, a herd of buffaloes drifted +into the upper end of the bottom and gave him a chance to try Is-spai-u. +Word spread that my uncle was going to run the buffaloes, and when he +rode out from the fort all the men followed him who had horses or could +borrow them. I shall not go into the details of that run, but will +simply say that when it ended twenty-seven buffaloes lay strung along +the plain with my uncle's arrows in them! It was the best run ever made +in the whole Northwest, so far as was known, and the success of it was +owing more to the swiftness and endurance of Is-spai-u than to the skill +of my uncle with the bow. The reputation of the black horse was +established. Through visiting Kootenay Indians it spread to all the +west-side tribes, the Kalispels, Nez Percés, and Snakes. When bands from +the Blackfoot tribes came into the fort at different times in order to +trade, the first request of the chiefs and warriors was for a sight of +the wonderful animal. + +In time our engagés took word of him to our different forts along the +river, and thus all the other tribes, Sioux, Assiniboins, Crows, Crees, +and Yanktonnais, came to know about him. Deputations from all the tribes +that were at peace with the Blackfeet came to the fort and made fabulous +offers for the animal. At the risk of their lives, some Snakes brought +in one hundred and ten good ordinary horses that they wanted to trade +for the black runner. A chief of the Yanktonnais, then trading mostly +with the Hudson's Bay Company at their Assiniboin River post, sent word +that he would give two hundred horses for him. My uncle's one answer to +all of the would-be purchasers was that the black was not for sale. We +soon heard that many a warrior of the tribes hostile to the Blackfeet +had vowed to get the horse in one way or another. Within a year three +desperate attempts were made to steal him right out from the fort, and +the last raiders, three Assiniboins, paid for the attempt with their +lives. + +On the evening before we left Fort Benton George Steell had begged my +uncle to leave Is-spai-u in his care. "You know how flies swarm about a +molasses keg. Well, so will the hostiles swarm about you down there when +they learn that the runner is with you. Be sensible for once, Wesley, +and let me have him until your fort is completed." + +"George, I know you mean well," my uncle replied, "but, consarn it, +you're too reckless! You would cripple him in no time. Is-spai-u goes +with me!" + +Half angry at that, Steell shrugged his shoulders and turned away from +us without another word. My uncle had been right in refusing him the use +of the animal; he was the most reckless, hard-riding buffalo hunter in +all the country. + +After this explanation, you can imagine my pride and happiness in +mounting Is-spai-u for the first time. He was eager to go; I let him +have the bit. + +"Well, almost-brother," I said to Pitamakan, "we are off upon discovery. +Which way shall we go?" + +"First, straight to the head of the breaks yonder, from which we can see +far up and down Big River and the plains to the north of it," he +answered. + +We passed through the grove in which the men were working, crossed the +Musselshell and began the steep climb, following a game trail that was +sure to keep us out of trouble in the maze of bad-land breaks ahead. Two +thirds of the way up the breaks we entered the lowermost of the +scrub-pine and juniper growths that concealed the heads of most of the +coulees, from which great numbers of mule deer and occasionally some +fine-looking elk fled at our approach. Within an hour we arrived at the +summit, and there in a dense grove found a war lodge that had been put +up not more than three nights before. By its size, and the signs within, +we judged that it had been the one night's resting-place of a party of +between fifteen and twenty men, and the pattern of the beadwork of a +pair of worn-out moccasins that we found partly charred in the fireplace +proved to us that they were Assiniboins. Circling the place, we found +their trail in the spongy, volcanic ash of which the bad lands are +mainly composed. They were going south, and I said to Pitamakan that +they would doubtless come back the same way from their raid against the +Crows, or whatever tribe they were heading for, and would, of course, +discover our camp. + +"Well, what else can you expect? I should not be astonished if some +enemies already have their eyes upon it," he answered. + +After watching for some time the valley of the Missouri and the great +plains to the north of it we turned south along the heads of the breaks +and traveled at a good pace for an hour or more along a rolling plain. +We then turned westward into the valley of the Musselshell and saw +across it the narrow and sparsely timbered valley of a small stream +putting in from the Moccasin Mountains, the eastern end of which, Black +Butte, seemed very near to us. I had read the journal of the Lewis and +Clark expedition many times, and so recognized that small and generally +dry watercourse by their description of it. + +The sun was near setting when we struck the small grove of timber at the +junction of the two streams, and there in a dusty game trail we found +the moccasined footprints of men--a war party, of course--traveling +north. We could not determine how recently they had passed, but upon +following the trail to the shore of the river we saw where they had sat +down to remove their moccasins and leggings, and we found the tracks of +their bare feet in the mud at the edge of the stream. In several of the +footprints the water was still muddy; in others the mud had settled. + +[Illustration: WE FOUND THE TRACKS OF THEIR BARE FEET IN THE MUD] + +"They have crossed here since we left the head of the breaks!" Pitamakan +exclaimed. + +"Yes!" I said. "We must get to camp with the news as fast as our horses +can carry us!" + + + + +CHAPTER III + +FAR THUNDER RIDS THE PLAINS OF A RASCAL + + +We crossed the river and rode up Sacajawea Creek to the valley. Then we +climbed to the rim of the plain and rode along it to camp. I had +constantly to hold in Is-spai-u so that Pitamakan, riding my fast +buffalo-runner, could keep up with me. It was dusk when we arrived in +camp. The women--some of them, not Tsistsaki, you may be sure--cried out +in alarm at the news that we had found the fresh trail of a war party +traveling down the valley, and Louis wailed, "Pauvre me! Pauvre me! I am +lose my pension; and now I shall be keeled by zese war parties! Oh, wat +a countree terrible ees zis!" + +"Oh, be still, Windy!" Sol Abbott growled at him. "You make us all +tired! Be a man!" + +Solomon Abbott, a lank, red-haired Missourian six feet two inches in +height, a famous plainsman and trapper and a brave and kindly fellow, +was our best man. He was helping in our work only because of his great +liking for my uncle. As soon as our post was built, he would again go +out with his woman upon his lone pursuit of the beaver. The Blackfeet +had affectionately named him Great Hider, because he was so crafty in +escaping from the enemy. He had had many thrilling escapes from the +Assiniboins, the Sioux, and the Crows, and had killed so many of them +that they had come to believe that he was proof against their arrows and +bullets. + +"Well, Sol," said my uncle to him now, "it is best to have the horses +right here in the barricade with us this night, don't you think?" + +"Sure thing! Right in here, and some of us on guard all night!" he +answered. + +Some of the men were sent to bring in the animals that were picketed +near by, and Tsistsaki called Pitamakan and me to eat. Abbott presently +came into our lodge, and my uncle and he decided upon the different +watches for the night. Pitamakan, my uncle, and I were to take our turn +at two o'clock and watch until daylight, about four o'clock, when the +horses were to be taken out to graze. A night in the stockade would be +no hardship to them, for the new grass was so luxuriant that they would +eat all that they could hold. + +Another point of discussion was whether the cannon should be loaded and +made ready for the expected attack. Pitamakan and I were asked how many +we thought there might be in the war party and replied that there were +between fifteen and twenty men, certainly not more than twenty-five. + +"Well, we'll load the cannon, because it should be loaded and kept +loaded and the touch-hole well protected from dampness," said my uncle, +"but we will not fire it at any small war party; our rifles can take +care of them. We will just keep the cannon cached, as a surprise when a +big war party comes." + +The lodge fires did not burn long that night. Pitamakan and I went to +sleep while our elders were still smoking and talking. + +Promptly on time Abbott came into our lodge and awakened us, and my +uncle, Pitamakan, and I were soon in our places at the edge of the +barricade. There was a piece of a moon, the stars were very bright, and +in the north there was a perceptible whitish glow in the sky, as if from +some far distant aurora playing upon the snow and ice of the +always-winter land. Pitamakan, coming and standing at my side, said that +Cold-Maker was dancing up there and making medicine for the attack upon +the sun that he would begin a few moons hence. + +"The old men, our wise ones, say," he went on, "that Cold-Maker may +sometime obtain what he is ever seeking, a medicine so powerful that it +will enable him to drive the sun far, far into the south and keep him +there. Think how terrible it would be! Our beautiful prairies and +mountains would become an always-winter land! The game, the trees and +brush and grasses, would all die off, and we, of course, should perish +with them!" + +"Don't you worry about that!" I told him. "Sun has a certain trail to +follow, and he is all-powerful. Let him make what medicine he may, old +Cold-Maker cannot halt his course!" + +"Ha! That is my thought, too. Wise though our old men are, they +certainly don't know all about what is going on up there in the sky!" + +Off to the south of us I heard my uncle mutter something about youthful +philosophers and then laugh quietly. + +From where we stood, with our shoulders and heads concealed by some +brush stuck into the barricade, we could see the black mass of the grove +and the silvery gleam of the river sweeping by it. The hush and quiet of +the night were almost unbroken; not even an owl was hooting. The only +sound that we could hear at all was the murmur of the river close under +the cutbank on our left. The Missouri is a deceptive river. Though its +heaving, eddying, swift flow is apparently without obstructions, yet it +has a voice--an insistent, deep, plaintive voice that rises and falls +and makes the listener imagine things; that seems to be trying to tell +all the strange scenes and changes it has witnessed down through the +countless ages of its being. + +"Do you hear it, the voice, the singing of the river? Isn't it +beautiful?" I said. + +"It is terrible, heart-chilling. What you hear is not the voice of the +river; it is the singing of the dread Under-Water People who live down +there in its depths and ever watch for a chance to drag us down to our +death!" + +My uncle slipped up behind us so quietly that we were startled. "You +youngsters quit talking; use your eyes instead of your mouths!" he +whispered, and stole back to his stand on the south side of the +enclosure. + +"We were and we are using our eyes, but maybe we were talking too loud; +we will whisper from now on," said Pitamakan. + +"Do you think that the war party discovered our camp last evening?" I +asked. + +"They were coming this way and had plenty of time before dark to arrive +in the grove down there where is all the chopping. No doubt they saw us +ride out of the valley and along its rim. Yes, almost-brother, you may +be sure that they have seen our camp. Will they try to break in here and +take our horses? Hide in the grove and attack the men when they go to +work? Go their way without attempting to trouble us? Ha! I wonder!" + +An hour passed, perhaps more; and then from the direction of the grove +we saw a dark form slowly approaching us; then came more forms, all upon +hands and knees, sneaking through the grass like so many wolves. + +Pitamakan nudged me with his elbow. "Don't shoot until they come quite +close," he whispered. I answered him by pressing his arm. + +Meantime my uncle had also discovered the enemy and now came to us, +crouching low and stepping noiselessly; he got between us and whispered: +"Aim at men at right and at left. I will shoot at a center man. Pull +trigger when I say _now_!" + +I selected my mark, the man at the extreme end of the line nearest the +river, and anxiously awaited the word to fire. I thought that my uncle +would never give it; the longer I aimed at my mark the worse my rifle +seemed to wabble; the bead sight made circles all round the outline of +the creeping man. At last, "Now!" or rather, "Kyi!" my uncle said and +pulled the trigger as he said it. The flash from his gun blinded me for +a moment, and I did not fire. But Pitamakan's rifle cracked, even a +little before my uncle fired, and we heard a groan and a sharp cry of +pain. My vision came back to me. I saw fifteen or twenty men running +from us, making for the grove. I fired at one of them, and missed. After +all my experience in shooting at night at the word of command, I had +been too slow! + +Right after I fired, the aroused men came running with weapons in hand, +and the women, crouching low within the lodges, hushed the children as +best they could. + +"What is up? What did you fire at? Where is the enemy?" the men cried, +crowding close to us. My uncle was hurriedly answering them when, from +down near the grove, ten or twelve guns spit fire at us, and we heard +several balls thud into the logs in front of us, and one ripped through +the leather skin of a lodge. We ducked, and the men returned the enemy +fire. + +"Well, Wesley, I call this downright mean of you!" Sol Abbott said to my +uncle reproachfully. "Why on earth didn't you let us in on this? Why +didn't you call me, anyhow? Pluggin' these here cut-throat night raiders +is my long suit, and you know it! Here you've had all the sport +yourself! 'Twasn't fair, by gum!" + +"Oh, well, they were but few. I knew that they would run as soon as we +fired. I didn't think it worth while to awaken you. I really believe +that I never gave you a thought." + +"You got one of them!" some one exclaimed. + +"Two! Two of them are lying out there in the grass," I said. I had had +my eyes upon them all the time I was reloading my rifle. + +"Perhaps they are not dead; we'll go out and soon finish them off," +Abbott proposed. + +"You shall not!" my uncle exclaimed. But he was too late; Pitamakan was +already over the barricade and running to the enemy that he had shot. We +saw him stoop over the fallen man, then rise with a bow and a shield +that he waved aloft with his free hand. + +"I count coup upon this enemy. I call upon you, Far Thunder, and you, +almost-brother, to witness that I take these weapons from this enemy +that I have killed!" + +"We hear you!" I answered. + +"Far Thunder," he called to my uncle, "come and take the weapons of your +kill!" + +My uncle laughed. "I am past all that," he began, but never finished +what he intended to say. + +"Far Thunder, my man," Tsistsaki interrupted, "think how proud of you I +shall be when those weapons out there are hung with the others that you +have taken upon the walls of the home that we are building here! As you +love me, go out and count your coup!" + +So, to please her, and, I doubt not, with no little pride in what he had +accomplished, my uncle went out to his fallen enemy and leaned over +him; then, with a flintlock gun in his hand, he suddenly straightened up +and cried, in the Blackfoot tongue, of course: + +"I call upon you all to witness that I killed this man! I count coup +upon one of our greatest enemies, a chief of the Assiniboins, Sliding +Beaver!" + +Oh, how we shouted when we heard that name! We could hardly believe our +ears. And Tsistsaki sprang over the barricade and ran toward my uncle, +crying, "Are you sure?" We all followed her and gathered round the +fallen man, forgetting in the excitement of the moment that we were +offering a large and compact mark to the guns of his followers. Day was +beginning to break, and we could see the man's features fairly well--the +massive, big-nosed, cruel-mouthed face, with the broad scar across the +forehead, mark of the lance of our chief, Big Lake. + +"He is Sliding Beaver and no other!" Sol Abbott cried. "Wesley, my old +friend, here's to you! You sure have rid these plains of the most +blood-thirsty rascal, the meanest, low-down murderer, that ever +traipsed across them." + +No fear of the enemy could now hold back the other women of our camp. +They came running to us with their children squawling after them, for +the moment forgotten. Crowding round my uncle, they chanted over and +over: + +"A great chief is Far Thunder! Oho! Aha! Our enemy he has killed! He has +killed Sliding Beaver, the cut-throat chief!" + +"Well, what shall we do with him--and the other one?" I asked. + +"Into the river they go!" Abbott answered. And in they went with big +splashes. As they sank, Pitamakan cried out, "Under-Water People! We +give to you these bodies! If you can injure them still more than we have +done, we pray you to do so!" + +It was now broad daylight. After the enemy had fired their lone, +long-range volley at us we heard no more from them, nor could we see +them; they were doubtless down in the grove. We returned to the +stockade, and my uncle told a couple of the men to take the horses out +to graze; but they did not go far out with them. The women hurried into +the lodges and began preparing breakfast, singing, many of them, the +song of victory. They were happy over the death of the dread Assiniboin +chief. We remained outside, watching the valley and counting up the +record of his terrible deeds, so far as we knew them. Trading entirely +with the Hudson's Bay Company in Canada, he had always been an enemy of +the American Fur Company and at various times had waylaid and killed +eight of its trappers. Pitamakan said that he had killed four men and +seven women of his tribe, and then recounted the well-known tale of his +fight with Big Lake. + +Leading about a hundred mounted warriors, Sliding Beaver had approached +a camp of the Pikuni and signaled that he had come to fight its chief. +The challenge was accepted, and presently Big Lake, armed with only a +lance, rode out to meet him. The Assiniboin was carrying a gun and a bow +and had no lance. + +"You proposed this fight, so you must use the weapons of my choice; go +get a lance from your warriors." + +Sliding Beaver rode back to them, left his gun and bow, borrowed a +lance, and, raising the Assiniboin war song in his terrible voice,--a +thunderous voice it was,--wheeled his horse about and rode straight at +Big Lake, who likewise charged at him. They neared each other at +tremendous speed, and Big Lake tried to force his horse right against +the other animal; but at the last Sliding Beaver turned the animal aside +and they swept past. They lunged out with their lances, and Big Lake +slightly wounded the Assiniboin in his shoulder, getting not even a +scratch in return. Then again they charged, and Big Lake, sure that his +enemy would not meet him fairly, swerved his horse to the right just as +the other was doing likewise, dodged Sliding Beaver's thrust, and with +his spear gave him a glancing blow on the forehead that laid open the +skin, but failed to pierce the bone. But Sliding Beaver reeled in his +saddle from the force of it, and a mighty shout went up from the +Pikuni, for they thought he would fall from his horse. + +He recovered his seat, however, and fled far, far out across the plain. +Big Lake, try as he would, could not overtake him. His followers fled as +soon as they saw that he was running away, and the Pikuni killed a +number of them. The victory was without question with Big Lake; he had +not only wounded Sliding Beaver in fair combat, but in the presence of a +hundred of his warriors had proved him to be a coward. + +"I'll bet he told his warriors he had broken his lance and had to flee, +and that he did break it against a rock before his men overtook him!" my +uncle exclaimed. + +Long afterwards we learned he had done that very thing. + +The women presently called us all to eat. We washed and went inside, and +Tsistsaki said to my uncle, "Chief, and chief-killer, be seated. Eat the +food of chiefs!" Setting before him a huge dish of boiled boss ribs and +a piece of berry pemmican as large as my two fists, she served +Pitamakan and me equally large portions of the rich food, and gave us +cups of strong coffee and slices of sour-dough bread. We ate with +tremendous appetite, having been up so long, but I could see that my +uncle was worried about something; I surmised what it was before he +said: "Well, Thomas, our troubles begin. Without doubt Sliding Beaver's +followers are cached down there in the grove. I dare not take the men to +work this morning." + +"What did he say?" Pitamakan asked Tsistsaki. She told him. + +"I can see no help for it," said my uncle; "the men must remain in camp +to-day, for those cut-throats are doubtless in the grove lying in wait." + +"Yes, and they may remain there more than one day; they may hold up our +work many days," Tsistsaki put in. + +Just then we heard a woman cry, "Oh, look! Look! The cut-throats are +going!" + +We all ran outside and looked where she was pointing. Below the mouth of +the Musselshell, the Missouri bent toward the south and swept the base +of a high, cut bluff. The enemy were ascending it, heading, apparently, +for the next bottom below. We counted seventeen men, about the number +that we thought there should be. + +"Ha! All is well!" my uncle cried. "Men, finish your breakfast and let +us get to work!" + +We went back to our lodge, and when Tsistsaki had poured us fresh coffee +Pitamakan said to my uncle: "Far Thunder, those cut-throats could have +sneaked away without our knowing it. I believe that they wanted us to +see them going. Why? Because they intend to sneak back, perhaps to-day, +maybe to-morrow, and surprise the men when they are working down there +in the timber." + +Abbott had come in. My uncle turned to him and said: "You heard what he +said. What do you think about it? What do you advise?" + +"Well, how would it do for Thomas and Pitamakan to go down and watch +that trail running over the bluff and on down the river, and for me to +watch the breaks of the Musselshell and its valley above the grove? +Then, if the cut-throats should come sneaking back, either the boys or I +would discover them in time to warn you and the men." + +"You have said it!" my uncle exclaimed. "You boys, take some +middle-of-the-day food, saddle your horses, and go watch that trail!" + +"Do I ride Is-spai-u?" I asked. + +"Not to-day. Ride the men's horses, you two. Any old plug is fast enough +to keep out of the way of a war party on foot." + +Pitamakan and I were not long in getting off. We rode down through the +head of the grove, crossed the Musselshell and went on, not upon the +trail that the enemy had followed, but above it along the steep bad-land +slope, until we could see the whole length of the trail from the +junction of the two rivers on down into the next bottom, where there was +a thin fringe of cottonwoods and willows. + +We got down from our horses, tethered them to some juniper-brush, and +scooped out comfortable sitting-places upon the steep slope. From where +we sat the lower end of the grove at the mouth of the Musselshell was in +sight, and well beyond it on the high ground that bordered the Missouri +was our barricaded camp. Looking again into the bottom below, we saw a +small bunch of bighorns, old rams apparently, heading down into its +lower end; going to drink at the river, of course. Bighorns were +plentiful then and for many years afterwards in all the Missouri +bad-land country. A fine early morning breeze was blowing down the +valley. I called Pitamakan's attention to it, and said that, if the +enemy were concealed in the timber, the bighorns would apprise us of the +fact. Bighorns leave their cliffs and steep slopes only when need of +water or of food compels them to do so. Those we were watching traveled +freely enough down the slope, but the moment they stepped out upon the +level bottom land they became timid, advancing but a few steps at a time +and pausing to sniff the air and stare in all directions. In this manner +they crossed the narrow bottom, descended the gravelly shore below the +end of the timber, and drank. We had proof enough that the Assiniboins +were not in the timber. + +"The gods are with us; they make the animals do scout work for us!" +Pitamakan exclaimed. + +"I am wholly of the opinion that the cut-throats are upon their homeward +way," I said, "and that they will return with a couple of hundred +warriors and try to wipe us out!" + +"Yes, sooner or later we are in for a fight with them. But something +tells me we are not yet through with Sliding Beaver's men." + +We sprang to our feet. The west wind brought plainly to our ears the +sound of shots and yells up in the big grove and the frightened cries of +women in our camp above it. + +"There! What did I tell you!" Pitamakan exclaimed. + +"How in the world could they have got back in there without our knowing +it?" I cried. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE STEAMBOAT REFUSES TO STOP + + +We ran to our horses, untethered and mounted them, and rode toward the +grove as fast as we could make them lope along the steep, soft slope. +The firing and yelling had ceased as suddenly as it had begun. I was +almost trembling with anxiety. Was it possible that the enemy by a +surprise attack had killed my uncle and all his men? Pitamakan, whose +horse was the faster of the two, was in the lead. I belabored mine with +heels and rope. When we quartered down to the river trail for the sake +of the better going, the rise of the bluff ahead of us cut off our view +of the grove and our camp. Then, as we neared the foot of the bluff, two +of the enemy appeared on top of it. + +"Our men are pursuing them! We've got them! Come on!" Pitamakan shouted +back to me. + +We were perhaps a hundred yards from the foot of the bluff, and on our +right, about the same distance off, was the cutbank of the river. We +rode on faster than ever and saw the two men crouch, one with ready bow +and the other with pointed gun. Then, as we arrived at the foot of the +slope, they suddenly sprang up and retreated out of our sight, and +Pitamakan yelled again to me, "We've got them! Come on!" + +Our horses panted up the slope, groaning and grunting their protests at +every whack of our ropes. We topped the rise, and Pitamakan's horse +shied at a couple of robes lying close to the trail. Beyond, a couple of +hundred yards away, we saw my uncle and his men running toward us; he +stopped at sight of us and signed, "Go out! They went down off the end +of the bluff!" + +We loped to the end of the bank and looked down. It was not a +perpendicular bluff; it sloped to the river at an angle of about eighty +degrees. Two fresh streaks in the dark and crumbling surface showed +where the cut-throats had slid down into the water. + +We looked out upon the swift-running river, but could not see the men. +Presently they appeared in the center fully three hundred yards +downstream, swimming swiftly and powerfully toward the far shore. We +sprang from our horses in order to take steady aim at them, but both +dived before we could fire. Holding our weapons ready, we watched +eagerly for them to reappear. But, incredible as it may seem, we never +saw them again until they emerged on the shore five hundred yards below. +They turned and waved their arms at us derisively, and then slowly +walked into the willows that lined the edge of the river. + +"Oh, how disappointed I am! When they turned back from us there at the +top of the rise, I was sure that I should soon count another coup," +Pitamakan lamented. + +We turned now to meet the men who were hurrying toward us and who were +almost winded by their steep climb. "Where are they?" my uncle gasped. + +"Across the river!" I answered. + +I happened to look off at our camp. "A rider is at the barricade," I +said. + +"Abbott, no doubt, quieting the women," said my uncle, and added in +Blackfoot so that Pitamakan would understand, "Well, they killed the +Curlew! Shot him in the back of the head, poor fellow!" + +"Poor Louis! His troubles are over," I said. I was sorry that we were +never again to hear him bewailing in his falsetto voice the loss of his +pension and his endless other worries. + +My uncle went on to explain to us just what had happened. The +Assiniboins had climbed out of the valley in plain view of us, leaving +two of their number, who were probably near relatives of Sliding Beaver, +to avenge the chief's death. Those two had lain concealed in the thick +willows at the upper end of the chopping. Arriving in the timber, all of +our men except Louis, who had gone farther up in the grove to trim and +cut into proper lengths a cottonwood that he had previously felled, had +begun loading logs on the wagons. Then a gun had boomed right behind +Louis; he had toppled over, dead, and the two cut-throats had rushed out +to scalp him. The men had fired and had driven them back into the +willows before they had accomplished their purpose, and they had run +toward the river trail with my uncle and some of his men after them. + +It was evident that the two had not seen or heard Pitamakan and me ride +past the head of the grove toward the river trail; we believed that it +had been planned to kill as many of our men in the grove as they could, +and to decoy us down the river, where we might be ambushed by the main +party. + +By the time we got back into the grove the men who had been left with +the teams had dug a grave for poor Louis, and one of them had been to +camp with the news of his passing. We buried him while his woman mourned +for him and the other women cried in sympathy. + +My uncle had the men knock off work early that afternoon so that the +horses should have ample time to eat before we brought them into the +stockade for the night. Then, while waiting for our evening meal, my +uncle, Abbott, Pitamakan, and I held a war council out by the +river-bank, where the men would not overhear our talk. They were a +timid lot, French engagés all of them, and we did not want them to +suspect how serious we thought our situation to be. + +"The older I grow the less sense I have! I should have known better than +to come down here with these few timid engagés to build a fort upon the +most traveled war trail in the country," said my uncle. "I should have +had ten--yes, twenty--more men. I shall send by the next up-river boat +for all the men that can be engaged in Fort Benton." + +"Yes, we are in a risky position," said Abbott. "This war party may be +right back at us to-night; they may keep hanging round until they get +more of us. If they have started home, they will be coming again as fast +as they can get here with a big war party. We do need a lot more men, +but I doubt whether even ten more can be engaged in Fort Benton." + +"Far Thunder! Almost-brother! Listen to me!" Pitamakan exclaimed. "Not +uselessly are we members of the Pikuni; we have but to let our people +know what danger we are in, and a hundred of them will come to help us +as fast as their horses can carry them. They are just two days' ride +from Fort Benton at their camp on Bear River. Send for them, Far +Thunder, and we will do our best to survive the dangers here until they +join us." + +"Ha! That is a life-saving plan you have in that good head of yours! I +will get a letter about it ready right away; a steamboat may turn the +bend down there at any moment! Carroll and Steell will lose no time in +getting a messenger off to camp for us!" + +"One more thing," Abbott interposed as my uncle rose to leave us. "If +those cut-throats are going to sneak back into the grove again to-night +and attack us, we have to know it. I propose that these two boys and I +stand watch down there until morning." + +My uncle agreed to that, and we went in to eat supper. + +At early dusk Abbott, Pitamakan, and I went down into the grove, +accompanied by all the men and women in a compact group. Then all the +others turned back to camp. If the enemy were watching us from the +breaks, they could not possibly count those who went to and from the +grove, and so learn that three of us were remaining in it. + +More than once during the night our hearts went thumpety-thump at the +approach of dim and shadowy objects, but the objects always proved to be +elk or deer. Pitamakan watched the river trail, I the breaks from the +middle edge of the grove; Abbott had his stand at the upper end. Along +toward morning I got a real scare when an animal that I thought was a +stray buffalo proved to be a big grizzly coming straight toward me. I +did not know what to do. If I ran, he would probably chase me; if I +fired at him, I might only wound him--it was too dark to shoot +accurately. I looked about for a tree small enough to climb, saw one, +and was on the point of running to it, when the bear turned off sharply +and I heard him slosh through the river. + +We maintained our watch until my uncle came down with the men in the +morning and stationed some of them to take our places. We thus had only +six men at work; at that rate we should be all summer and winter +building the fort! As we three were starting toward camp, my uncle told +us that Tsistsaki was to stand watch there over the picketed horses and +that we were to sleep as long as we could. + +At about four o'clock in the afternoon, Tsistsaki roused us from our +heavy sleep with the news that the smoke of a steamboat was in sight +down the river. Springing from our couches and running outside, we saw +the black column of smoke about two miles away, and I went down into the +grove to notify my uncle. He hurried back to camp with me and got ready +his letter to Carroll and Steell, and put it into a sack with a stone, +so that he could throw it aboard; then we all went out to the bank of +the river and waited for the boat to come in close at our hail. It +presently rounded the bend a mile or more below and headed up the center +of the broad, straight stretch. How interested I was in watching it, +this freighter from far St. Louis! It had left the city only thirty or +forty days before; what a lot we could learn of the news in the States +if we could have a chat with its crew! I said as much to Abbott, and he +exclaimed, "Oh, shucks! Who wants to know about the hide-bound, +cut-and-dried, two-penny affairs and doings in the States! Here is where +life is real life! Why, a fellow can get more excitement here in a day +than in a lifetime back there!" + +The steamboat came steadily on against the swift current, and as soon as +it had passed the bar below the mouth of the Musselshell we fired +several shots, and Pitamakan waved his blanket to attract the attention +of the captain and the pilot; but the boat never changed its course, and +after a few moments of anxious suspense my uncle exclaimed, "Is it +possible that the captain does not intend to come in to us? Fire a +couple more shots! Pitamakan, wave your blanket again." + +We fired, waved our blanket and arms, and shouted. The crew on the lower +deck and a few passengers on the hurricane deck came to the rail and +waved greeting to us, and the man standing beside the pilot, evidently +the captain, stuck his head out of the side window of the wheelhouse and +looked at us, but still the boat held its course well over toward the +farther shore; the captain intended to pay no attention to our signals. +That he should not do so was almost unbelievable! My uncle turned red +with anger. "The hounds! They are going to pass me! Me! A company man! +That captain shall smart for this! Can you make out the name?" + +I read the name on the wheelhouse. "It is the Pittsburgh," I told him. + +"Ha! That explains it," he said. "It is not a company boat. This is its +first trip up the river. The captain is sure a mean man; he will never +get any of my custom!" + +"But, Wesley, seems to me you've just got to get that letter aboard," +said Abbott. + +"Yes, I have to! It can be done, and it must! Thomas, Pitamakan, saddle +up, you two, chase that boat, and when it ties up for the night--" + +"I had better go with them, don't you think? There's no telling what +they may run up against," Abbott said to him. + +My uncle scratched his chin and frowned as he always did when perplexed, +and after some thought exclaimed, "Well, I can't let the three of you +go! The men down there in the timber are about as timid a set of sheep +as ever was. No, Abbott, you'll have to help me here, and the boys must +do the best they can." + +Pitamakan ran for the horses. I did not ask whether I were to ride +Is-spai-u; I just brought him in and put the saddle on him. Pitamakan +saddled my runner, for, as you know, his fast horse had had his shoulder +gashed by a bullet. My uncle handed me the letter and told us to be very +cautious, but to get it aboard the boat at any cost. Tsistsaki came +running out and handed us some sandwiches, and we were off. + +The Upper Missouri Valley is the worst country in all the West for the +rider. It is fine enough going in the wooded or grassy bottoms of +varying lengths, but between the bottoms are steep slopes and ridges +that break abruptly off into the winding river, and that are so seamed +with coulees, many of them with quicksand beds, that they are well-nigh +impassable. + +I did not intend that we should follow the valley until obliged to do +so. On leaving camp we rode on the plain and followed it from breakhead +to breakhead. Occasionally we got a glimpse of the valley far below and +of the smoke of the steamboat puffing its way up the river. We were soon +in the lead of it, for, while we were making seven or eight miles an +hour on a straight course, it was going no faster than that on a course +as crooked as the body of a writhing snake. From the time we topped the +rise above camp we were continually pushing into great herds of +buffaloes and antelopes. + +On and on we rode until the lowering sun warned us that we must keep +close track of the progress of the steamboat. We turned down a little +way into the breaks, looking for a well-worn game trail to follow, and +soon found one. I never went along one of those bad-land trails without +wondering how far back in the remote past it had been broken by a band +of thirsty buffaloes heading down from the plains to water. Since that +time how many, many thousands of them had traveled it! + +When part way down the long incline, and still all of two miles from the +river, we came to a sharp turn in the ridge, and from it saw the smoke +of the steamboat, not, as we had expected, somewhere down the river, but +all of three or four miles above the point where we should enter the +bottom. + +The sun had set, and the night was already stealing down into the +valley; the boat would soon be tied up. There was not a pilot on the +river that would venture to guide a steamboat up or down it even in the +light of a full moon, and this night there would be no moon until near +morning. + +"Almost-brother, we have some hard traveling to do!" I said. + +"We each have good legs. When our horses fail us, we will use them," +Pitamakan answered. + +The bottom that we were heading into proved to be all of a mile long, +and we traversed it and went over a rather easy point into the next +bottom before real night set in. We had starlight then, just enough +light to enable us to see in a rather uncertain way forty or fifty feet +ahead of our horses. Midway up the bottom we came to the first of our +troubles, a cut coulee that ran across it from the bad lands to the +river. We turned up along it almost to the slope of the valley before +Pitamakan, on foot and leading his horse, found a game trail that +crossed it. Presently we arrived at the point at the head of the bottom, +and could find no trail leading up it, in itself a bad sign. We both +dismounted and began the ascent. Our horses' feet sank deep into the +sun-baked, surface-glazed volcanic ash with a ripping, crunching sound +as if they were breaking through snow crust. Almost before we knew it we +found ourselves on a steep slope with a cut bluff above us and the +murmuring river below us. Our horses began to slip. + +"We shall have to make a quick run for it!" Pitamakan called back to me. + +The horses slipped and frantically pawed upward in a strenuous effort +to avoid plunging down into the river. We made it and, gasping for +breath, found ourselves upon the gently sloping ground of the next +bottom. + +"Almost we went into the river!" Pitamakan exclaimed. + +"Don't talk about it!" I replied. + +"The Under-Water People almost got us!" + +"Oh, do be quiet! Mount and lead on, or let me lead!" I cried. + +We went on up through that bottom, across a point, through another +bottom and over a very rough point seamed with coulees. In the next +bottom I called a halt. "The boat must be somewhere close ahead. We can +no longer travel outside the timber; from here on we have to see both +shores of the river--" + +"It will be impossible for us to see the far shore," Pitamakan broke in. + +"Of course. But the boat has lights burning all night long. We shall see +them," I explained. + +We mounted, and I took the lead into the timber close ahead. I let my +horse pick his way, reining him only sufficiently to keep him close to +the river and guiding myself by its sullen murmur. We groped our way +through the timber of that bottom and of another; then from the next +bare point we saw the lights of the boat some little distance up the +river against the blackness of the north shore. + +We rode through a belt of cottonwoods and some willows to the head of +the bottom and then out upon a sandy shore right opposite the boat. +White though it was, we could see nothing of it except its two lights, +and they were so faint that we knew the river was of great width. We +dismounted, and I told Pitamakan that I would fire my rifle to attract +the attention of the watchman, and then shout to him, as loudly as +possible, to send a small boat across for us. + +I fired the shot; it boomed loudly across the water and echoed sharply +against the other shore. "Ahoy, there! We want to come aboard!" I +shouted, waited for an answer, and got none. Again I shouted, with the +same result. + +"Now you fire your rifle!" I told Pitamakan. + +He fired it, and then we did get an answer. The flash of a dozen guns +for an instant illuminated the white paint of the boat, and with the +dull booming of them we heard several bullets strike in the trees behind +us! + + + + +CHAPTER V + +TWO CROWS RAISE THEIR RIGHT HANDS + + +We got back into the timber in no time. + +"The crazy ones! They think that we are enemies!" + +"Well," I said in answer to this dismayed exclamation of Pitamakan's, +"you know what we have to do now; swim across with our letter." + +"And be shot as soon as we are seen!" + +"Not a shot will be fired at us. I'll see to that. Come, let us picket +the horses outside the timber and hunt for a couple of dry logs for a +raft," I told him. + +Let me tell you that it was no fun blundering along that shore in the +darkness, testing the logs we stumbled against for their dryness and +trying to roll them into the water, always with the fear of feeling +rattlesnake fangs burn into our hands. At last we got two logs of fair +size into the water side by side and lashed them firmly together with +willow withes. Lashing our clothing and weapons on top of a pile of +brush in the center, we pushed out into the current--but not until +Pitamakan had called upon his gods to protect us from the dread +Under-Water People. He clung to the front end of the unwieldy logs with +one hand, pawed the water with the other, and kicked rapidly. I did +likewise at the rear of the raft, but for all our efforts we could make +the raft go toward the other shore little faster than the current would +take it. + +It was absolutely certain that the raft would not waterlog and sink +during the time that we had use for it, yet it was with feelings of +dread and suspense that we worked our way well out into the center of +the stream. Then Pitamakan suddenly yelled to me: "The Under-Water +People! They are after us! Kick hard! Hard!" + +"Oh, no! You are mistaken!" I told him. + +"I am sure that they are after us!" he cried. "I touched one of them +with my hand, and he hit me in my side. O sun, pity us! Help us to +survive this danger!" + +"Take courage! So long as we cling to the logs they can't drag us down," +I told him. + +"Oh, you don't understand about these Under-Water People! They can do +terrible things. They are medicine." + +He said no more, nor did I. It was useless for me to tell him that he +had encountered a big catfish or sturgeon swimming lazily near the +surface. + +From where we pushed out into the river to the point where we landed +must have been all of a mile. We dragged the raft out upon the sand as +far as we could in case we should want to use it again and then put on +our clothes and started off up the shore. In a little while, looking out +through the brush and timber, we saw the ghostly outline of the +steamboat close upon our left. Silently we stole to the edge of the +sloping bank and looked down upon it. A reflector lantern lighted the +lower deck and the boilers, flanked with cordwood, and there was a light +shining through the windows of the engine-room; but no one was in sight, +not even the watchman. I believed that a number of men were on guard +and did not intend to take any chances with them. I whispered to +Pitamakan that the time had not come for us to make our presence known, +and we sat down right where we were in the brush. + +Presently a big clock somewhere abaft the boilers struck the hour of +three, and a tall, lank, black-whiskered man came out into the light of +the lower deck and began to arouse men sitting or lying behind the rows +of cordwood. "It is three o'clock," I heard him snarl. "Git a move on +you! Light the fires under them boilers!" + +Three or four men sprang to obey the command, and another went up to the +hurricane deck to arouse the cook and his helpers. + +"Hi, there, mate, throw out the gangplank and let us aboard!" I shouted. + +Black whiskers jumped as if he had been shot and dodged behind a boiler; +the men crouched in the shelter of the cordwood. + +"Don't be afraid and don't shoot at us again. Let us aboard!" I said. + +"Who be you?" the mate shouted from his shelter. "Git down there into +the light and show yourself!" + +I told Pitamakan to remain where he was, and, going down to the edge of +the shore where the light streamed upon me, I explained that I was +Thomas Fox, that I had an Indian with me, and that I had a letter to +deliver into the captain's care. + +"Sounds fishy to me," the mate began; then from the upper deck a deep +voice called, "Slim, you let that boy and his friend on board! I know +him!" And to me, "Hello, Thomas, my boy! I'm dressing. Come up to my +room as soon as you get aboard and tell me all about it!" + +"That I will, Mr. Page," I answered. I knew as soon as he spoke that it +was Henry Page, long a pilot for the American Fur Company, and now, of +course, piloting boats for the independents. + +Out came the gangplank. I called to Pitamakan, and we went aboard and +straight up to Mr. Page, while the mate and his men stared after us. In +a few words I explained why we were there. + +"I knew," he said, "it was your Uncle Wesley and his outfit there at +the mouth of the Musselshell. I learned at Fort Union that he is +starting a fort there, but the captain wouldn't let me turn in when you +signaled. I'll bet you had a rough time coming up here and getting +across the river." Then he lowered his voice. "This captain--Wiggins is +his name--is the meanest steamboat man that ever headed up this river!" + +"Maybe he will not set us across the river, nor even deliver the +letter," I hazarded. + +"Give me the letter. I'll deliver it, and I'll put you across right +now," he replied, and led the way down to the lower deck and ordered a +boat put into the water. + +On our way across I explained to our good friend the danger we were in +from a grand attack upon us by the Assiniboins and how urgent it was +that the Pikuni should get our call for help without delay. + +"Well, I believe I have good news for you and your uncle," he said. "I +happened to hear in Fort Union that the Assiniboins are encamped over on +the Assiniboin River in Canada; so they are farther from the mouth of +the Musselshell than your Pikuni over on the Marias River are. I feel +sure that your friends will be with you in good time for the big battle, +if there is to be one." + +"In that letter to Carroll and Steell that you have my uncle also asks +them to send him any loose men that can be engaged in Fort Benton. I +hope that your captain will give them passage and land them at our +place." + +"He has to land passengers wherever they wish to go. I'll try, myself, +to engage some men for you," he replied. + +Then we struck the shore and with a few last words parted from our good +friend. + +"It wouldn't do any harm to have a short sleep before we start back," +said Pitamakan. + +"No sleep for me until I strike my couch in our lodge," I told him. + +By that time day was breaking. We went out through the timber to our +horses and found that we had picketed them upon really good grass and +plenty of it. We saddled them and watered them at the river, and as we +rode away from it the steamboat slipped her moorings and went on +upstream. + +Without adventure upon the way we arrived in camp at noon just as the +men were returning to it for their dinner. + +"Did you deliver the letter?" my uncle shouted eagerly. + +"We did!" I shouted. + +Later, while we were eating, I told the adventures of the night while +Pitamakan held Tsistsaki and the other women spellbound with his +description of the dangers that we had encountered. They made no comment +other than a casual "Kyai-yo!" when he told of the steamboat men's +firing at us, but his description of our swim and his encounter with the +Under-Water Person brought forth cries of horror. + +My listeners were loud in their denunciation of the steamboat captain. +My uncle vowed that the Pittsburgh should never carry a bale of his furs +to St. Louis or bring up freight for him. + +"Well, boys," my uncle said to the men as they were starting back to +work, "there's this much about it: help is sure coming to us. We'll just +peg along the best we can and trust to luck that all will be well with +us." + +Abbott was asleep, having been on guard all night. Pitamakan and I soon +lay down and slept. At supper-time we got up and had a refreshing bath +in the river, where Abbott joined us, and toward dusk we three went to +guard the grove during the night. My uncle arranged with the engagés to +stand watch in the barricade by turns, for he was completely worn out by +his day-and-night work and had to have one night of complete rest. + +The night passed quietly; when morning came we were all convinced that +Sliding Beaver's followers and survivors had gone on to their camp. +Nevertheless, we did not intend to relax our vigilance. + +According to my uncle's plan of the fort, three hundred and ten logs, +twenty feet long and a foot in diameter, were required for the walls and +the roof supports, and for the two bastions ninety logs twelve feet +long were required. Of that large number only a few more than a hundred +had been hauled out. With our present force we could not possibly build +the fort in less than three months. At Abbott's suggestion that he build +upon a much smaller scale, my uncle had replied, "No, sir! This place +calls for a real fort, a commodious fort. I am going to have it or none +at all." + +On that day Pitamakan and I slept until noon and after dinner saddled +Is-spai-u and my runner and rode out for meat, I, of course, upon the +black. + +There were plenty of buffaloes in the valley not more than a mile above +camp. Pitamakan and I rode down into the grove to notify my uncle to +have a man follow us with a team and wagon, for we intended to make a +quick killing. Sneaking through the timber close to a herd of buffaloes +and chasing them across the flat, we killed four fat ones. We hurriedly +butchered them and helped the engagés to load the meat upon the wagon; +then we remounted our horses. + +Off to the south lay country unknown to me. "Come! Let us ride out upon +discovery," I said to Pitamakan. + +"I knew that was in your mind by the way you used your knife on our +kills," he replied. + +We rode out upon the west rim of the valley, following it to the mouth +of the Sacajawea Creek, which we crossed, then again along the rim for +perhaps five miles to the top of a flat butte from which we had a +wonderful view of the country. Pitamakan pointed out to me where Flat +Willow Creek and Box Elder Creek, at the nearest point about forty miles +to the south of us, broke into the Musselshell from the Snowy Mountains. +Both streams, he said, were from their mouths to their heads just one +beaver pond after another. + +We had, of course, disturbed numerous bands of buffaloes and antelopes +along our way up the rim, and now, turning down into the valley of the +Musselshell on our homeward course, we alarmed more of them. + +"If any war parties are cached along here in the timber," said +Pitamakan, "these running herds are putting them upon their guard!" + +"Let us keep well out from the timber," I proposed. + +I had no more than spoken when two men came walking slowly out from a +grove about two hundred yards ahead of us, each with his right hand +raised above his head, the sign for peace. + +"Ha! Maybe they mean that, and maybe they are setting a trap for us; we +must be cautious," said Pitamakan. + +We advanced slowly until we were about a hundred yards from the +signalers and brought our horses to a stand. + +"Who are you?" I signed to them. + +One of them, dropping his bow and arrows, extended his arms and rapidly +raised and lowered them several times in imitation of the wings of a +bird, the sign for the Crow tribe. Then he waved his right hand above +his shoulder, the query sign that I had made. + +"We want nothing to do with them," Pitamakan said to me hurriedly. + +I signed that I was white. + +"The rider with you, who is he? Where are you camped? Let us be friends +and go together to your camp," the Crow signed. Then his companion +added, "Come, let us meet and sit and smoke a peace pipe. We are two, +you are two. It will be good for the four of us to be friends and +smoke." + +"What a lie! Now I am sure they want to trap us! Signing to us that they +are but two! Close behind them the timber is full of Crows!" Pitamakan +muttered. + +"What shall we do?" I asked him. "Cross the river, ride off beyond the +breaks, where they can't see us, and then turn homeward?" + +"It would be useless to do that. They are bound north and will see our +camp; we may as well make a straight ride to it." + +"Well, then, we go," I said and pressed a heel against Is-spai-u's side. + +Away we went, circling out from the grove; and our horses had not made +four jumps when a number of Crows--at least twenty, we thought--sprang +from the timber and discharged their few guns at us while the +bow-and-arrow men raised the Crow war cry and uselessly flourished their +weapons. Several of the bullets whizzed uncomfortably close to us. + +Pitamakan was about to return their fire when I checked him. "Don't +fire! We have enough trouble to face!" I cried. + +Our swift horses carried us out of their range before they could load +and fire their guns again. + +"More trouble for us, I'm sure!" my uncle exclaimed, as we halted our +sweating horses in front of the barricade just before sunset. + +"Yes, a war party of twenty or twenty-five Crows fired at us. They seem +to be heading this way," I replied, and told him and the men all about +our meeting them, while Pitamakan answered the women's questions. + +When I had finished, the engagés, Abbott excepted, of course, wore +pretty long faces. They all went into Henri Robarre's lodge as we, with +Abbott, answered Tsistsaki's call to supper. + +We had barely finished eating, when Robarre came to the door of our +lodge and asked my uncle to step outside. We all went out and found the +men lined up near the passageway in the barricade. + +"Huh! Still more trouble!" my uncle muttered. Then to them he said, +"Well, my men, what is it?" + +They looked at one another and at us hesitatingly, and several of them +nudged Henri Robarre. After much urging he stepped forward and said to +my uncle: + +"Sare, M'sieu' Reynard! We hare mos' respec' hask dat we have hour +discharge. Dat we hembark for Fort Benton on ze firs' boat dat weel take +hus." + +"Ha! You want to quit, do you? What is the trouble? Am I not treating +you well?" + +"Wait! They are to have a big surprise," said Tsistsaki and turned from +us back to the lodges. + +"Sare, M'sieu' Reynard," Henry continued, "eet ees no you. You hare one +fine mans. Les sauvages, Assiniboins, Crows, many more zat wee' come, he +are ze troub', m'sieu'." + +"But you can't go back on your contracts!" my uncle exclaimed. "You all +agreed to come down here and work for me a year; you signed contracts to +that effect." + +"Sare, honneur, we hare no sign eet ze pap' for fight heem, les +sauvages. We no sign eet ze pap' for work all days and watch for les +sacrés sauvages hall ze nights. Pretty soon we hall gets keel, m'sieu'. +We hare no pour le combat; we hare jus' pauvre cordeliers, engagés in ze +forts. M'sieu', you weel let hus go?" + +I knew by the set expression of my uncle's face what his answer was to +be, but he never gave it. Out came the women; their eyes were blazing, +long braids were streaming, and they carried lodge-fire sticks in their +hands. They charged upon their men, crying, "Cowards! You shall not +desert our chief! Stay in the lodge and do our work; we'll build the +fort! Give us your clothing; you shall wear our gowns!" + +Never shall I forget that scene! The poor engagés shrank from the +attack. Wild-eyed, they begged the women to desist, all the while +getting painful whacks from their sticks and the most terrible +tongue-lashing that could be given in the Blackfoot language! My uncle +and Abbott laughed at their plight, and Pitamakan and I actually rolled +upon the ground in a perfect frenzy of joy. When, at last, we sat up and +wiped our eyes, there were the engagés heading for their lodges, and +each one was followed by his woman, still shrieking out her candid +opinion of him. + +"Well, I guess that settles it!" Abbott exclaimed. + +It did! When my uncle called the men together and gave out the detail of +the night watch, not one of them made objection, and never again did +they ask for their discharge. + +With the setting of the sun, Abbott, Pitamakan, and I went down into the +grove to our accustomed place, Abbott at the head of the grove and we +at its east side. We fully expected that the Crow war party, repeating +the tactics of the Assiniboins, would sneak into the grove during the +night with the intention of making a surprise attack upon the men when +they resumed work in it in the morning. It was agreed that, if they did +come, we were to withdraw without letting them know, if possible, that +we had seen them. That would mean, as my uncle remarked with a heavy +sigh, that the grove would be given over to the enemy for an indefinite +time, during which work on the fort would, of course, be suspended. +Pitamakan said that, in his opinion, the war party, having had a good +view of Is-spai-u and doubtless believing him to be the wonderful +buffalo-runner they had heard about, would be far more likely to try to +sneak him out of our camp than they would be to ambush us in the grove. + +To our great astonishment the night passed without the Crows appearing +either at the grove or at the barricade. We did not know what to think. +Was it possible, Abbott asked, that the party was homeward bound to the +Crow country across the Yellowstone after an unsuccessful raid north of +the Missouri? + +"War parties seldom go home on foot," Pitamakan well replied. + +As soon as my uncle came into the timber with the men and placed his +guards and set the six to work we three watchers returned to the +barricade, had breakfast, and turned in for the sleep we so much needed. +The day and the following night passed quietly; and when the next day +and night passed without our detecting any signs of the Crow war party, +we said to one another that it had gone its way without discovering our +camp. + +The third day after our meeting the Crows came. After watering and +picketing the saddle-horses close to the barricade, the men hitched up +the teams as usual and came into the grove, and Pitamakan, Abbott, and I +went to camp, had our morning meal, and as usual took to our couches. We +had not been asleep more than three hours, when Tsistsaki came into the +lodge and shook us by turns until we were wide-awake. "Take your gun and +hurry out!" she said with suppressed excitement. "Several clumps of +sagebrush are moving upon us!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +ABBOTT FIRES INTO A CLUMP OF SAGEBRUSH + + +"What do you mean? Sagebrush can't move," I said to her. + +"Oh, yes, it can when enemies are behind it, pushing it along!" she +cried. "Hurry! Follow me and stoop low so that you cannot be seen over +the top of the barricade." + +Tsistsaki led us to the south side of the barricade, and, lining us up +beside her to look through the narrow space between the top log and the +one next it, told us to watch the sagebrush beyond the picketed +saddle-horses. + +They were upon smooth grass. A hundred yards or so farther on were +scattering growths of sage and of greasewood, the outer border of a +growth that two hundred yards beyond became a solid tract of brush from +three to four feet high, which extended a long way up the valley. I +noticed at once that here and there with the near growth of short +bushes were taller, thicker clumps that seemed to be out of place; and +as I looked one of them advanced a foot or two with a gentle quivering +of its top. + +At the same time Pitamakan exclaimed: "She is right! Sagebrush can move. +Behind every one of those tall bushes is an enemy!" + +"Sneaking in after Is-spai-u!" I said. + +"There are twenty or more of them. If they knew that we are but three +guns here, they would rush in upon us in no time!" said Abbott. + +"Oh, you talk, talk! Quick! Do something! Save Is-spai-u!" Tsistsaki +hoarsely whispered. + +"If we rush out there," said Pitamakan, "the enemy will know that they +are discovered and will charge in and fight us for the horses. +Almost-brother, you and I will wander out there, just as if we were +going to water the horses. The enemy will surely think that is our +intention, but we will lead them toward the river, then bring them round +the north side of the barricade and into it." + +"Now, that is a sure wise plan. Go ahead, you two, and meanwhile +Tsistsaki and I will get the loud-mouthed gun across to this south-side +firing-place," said Abbott. + +There was here, as in a number of places round the barricade, a +brush-covered space through which the six-pounder could be pointed. The +women of the engagés were in their lodges, and Tsistsaki whispered to us +that she had not told them of her discovery for fear some of them would +make an outcry. + +Pitamakan and I sneaked back into the lodge for our blankets and put +them on, first, however, sticking our rifles under our belts and +pressing them close along the left side and leg; then we walked +carelessly out through the passageway of the barricade. We were talking +and laughing, but you may be sure our laughter was forced. When we were +twenty or thirty feet from the barricade he said to me, "Let us pause +here and have a look at the country." + +We halted and looked first to the north, then down to the grove, from +which both teams were emerging with wagons loaded with logs. There were +three engagés with the outfit. I pointed to them. "What would they do if +they knew what is ahead of them?" + +"They would fly! Their fear would be so great that it would give them +power to grow wings instantly!" Pitamakan grimly answered. + +Fear! Well, I was afraid, and so was my almost-brother. Who would not be +afraid in such a situation--just three of us against twenty or more +enemies watching and planning how to get away with our horses and our +scalps, too? + +We turned to face the south and scrutinized the tall, thick clumps of +sagebrush standing among the shorter, scattered growth. They never +moved, not so much as a quiver of their slender, pale-green tops. + +Pitamakan broke out with a quick-time dance-song of his people and +danced a few steps to it as we neared the horses. I sauntered up to +Is-spai-u, he to his fast runner, and we unfastened and coiled their +ropes. Leading them, we moved on to one after another of the other +four horses, ever with watchful eyes upon those clumps of sage, the +nearest of which was not more than a hundred yards away. We feared every +moment to see them thrown down and the enemy come charging upon us; but +at last we had all the horses in lead and with fast-beating hearts and +rising hopes started toward the river, never once looking back, much +though we wanted to. Pitamakan seemed to know my thought, for he said +cheerily: "Never mind; you don't need to look back. If they make a rush, +Great Hider and Tsistsaki will shout before they can make two jumps +toward us." + +[Illustration: AT LAST WE HAD ALL THE HORSES IN LEAD AND WITH +FAST-BEATING HEARTS ... STARTED TOWARD THE RIVER] + +Ha! What a long, long way those few yards were to the shelter of the +stockade. At last we rounded it. Breathing freer, we passed along the +north side, led the horses in through the passageway, turned them loose, +and put up the bars across it. Then we pretended to go into our lodge, +but crouched away from the doorway and sneaked over to the two watchers +kneeling at either side of the cannon and looking out across the flat. + +"You made it! My! That little song and dance of Pitamakan's, that sure +fooled 'em! He is some actor, that boy," Abbott said. + +"Well, what are we to do now--fire the cannon at them? Give them a big +scare?" I asked. + +"I don't know what to say. If only Far Thunder were here--" Abbott +began. + +"He is coming. Look!" said Tsistsaki. + +Sure enough, he was on his way to dinner with three men, leaving three +to guard the grove, as usual. The teams were almost to the site of the +fort. I went out to meet them and told the men to take the horses into +the barricade. + +"But the horses, they should be heat ze grass. Yes?" one of them said, +and all looked at me questioningly. + +"Well, maybe we shall have a fight before we eat. A war party is cached +out there in the sagebrush," I replied; and they shrank back as if I had +struck them. At the same time I heard some slight commotion within the +barricade. At Abbott's suggestion Tsistsaki was warning the women of +our impending trouble and commanding them to make no outcry. + +"Shut your mouth!" I hissed to one of the teamsters, who with upflung +arms was beginning to make great outcry. "Not a word from any of you +now. Just get those horses inside; then pretend to go to your lodges, +but sneak across to the south side and remain there." + +I stood by the passageway until the others arrived, and when I had told +them, too, what to do, my uncle said to me as we went crouching in +across the barricade, "The war party is undoubtedly the Crow outfit that +you met the other day." + +We joined the others, and Abbott said to him, "We've had a pretty close +call, Wesley." + +"Just where are the rascals? Let me see them!" my uncle demanded. He +laughed grimly when we had pointed out to him the tall brush here and +there concealing them. "I'll bet that they are some tired, lying there +in the hot sun and straining themselves to keep the brush upright and +motionless!" After a moment of thought he added, "Tsistsaki, bring me a +couple of firers for this loud-mouth gun." + +"I have them already," she answered and handed him a fuse. He stuck it +into the touch-hole of the cannon and poured some fine powder from his +horn in round it. "I will attend to this," he said to us then. "Now, +you, Henri Robarre! You being about as poor a shot as ever cordelled up +this river, you fire at the foot of one of those bunches of tall sage, +just to start this surprise party. You others then do the best you can." + +He waited until Tsistsaki had interpreted his words to Pitamakan and +then told Henri to fire. Henri did so. None of us saw where the ball +struck, and I doubt whether he himself knew where he aimed. The loud +boom of the gun echoed across the valley and died away; the smoke from +it lifted, but none of the enemy made a move; not one of their shelters +even quivered. + +"Just what I expected! Abbott, let us see what you can do," said my +uncle. + +Abbott stood up, head and shoulders above the barricade, took quick aim +and fired at a bunch of the brush; down it fell as the man behind it let +go his hold upon it and with loud yells of warning or command to his +companions ran straight away from us. At that all the others sprang from +their places of concealment like so many jumping-jacks, and those with +guns fired at us before they turned to run. When we fired at them three +went down at once, and two more staggered on a little way before they +fell. At that our engagés took heart and yelled defiance at the enemy as +they hastily began reloading their guns. I heard Abbott calling himself +names for having failed to kill the man behind the brush that he had +fired into. + +The enemy, twenty or more of them, were drawing together as they went +leaping through the sagebrush, straight up the valley; and presently +they halted and faced about and with yells of hatred and defiance fired +several more desultory shots at us. That was the opportunity for which +my uncle was waiting. He hastily sighted the cannon at them and lighted +the fuse. The old gun went off with a tremendous roar, and with wild +shrieks of fear the enemy ran on faster than ever, if that were +possible--all but two whom the grapeshot had struck. + +"Help, here! Powder and a solid shot!" my uncle yelled. + +Those, too, Tsistsaki had ready for us. Abbott and I rammed the charges +in; Tsistsaki inserted a fresh fuse. We wheeled the gun round into +place, and my uncle again sighted it and touched it off. We waited and +waited, and at last saw a cloud of dust and bits of sagebrush puff into +the air close to the left of the fleeing enemy. As one man they leaped +affrightedly to the right and headed for the mouth of a coulee that +entered the valley from the west. Before we could load the cannon again +they had turned up into the coulee and were gone from our sight. + +"Well," my uncle exclaimed, "I guess that settles our trouble with that +outfit!" Almost at the same moment a heated argument arose among our +engagés, every one of whom asserted that he had killed an enemy. "Here, +you, the way for you all to settle your claims is to go out there and +show which one of the enemy you each downed!" + +Not one of them made answer to that; not one of them wanted to go out +there, perhaps to face a wounded and desperate man. Pitamakan stared at +them, muttered something about cowardly dog-faces, and leaped over the +barricade. Abbott, my uncle, Tsistsaki, and I followed his move, but we +had gone out some distance before the engagés began to follow, moving +slowly well in our rear. + +We, of course, did not proceed without due caution. The very first one +of the dead that we approached was one of the two Crows who had tried to +entice Pitamakan and me into a peace smoke with them, which would have +been our last. We were glad enough that he was one of the dead. + +"I killed him," said Pitamakan as we passed on. "I killed him; he +dropped when I fired, but I cannot count coup upon him." + +"Why not?" Tsistsaki asked. + +"Because of that!" he replied, turning and pointing to the engagés. +They had come to the body of the Crow and three were pretending to have +fired the bullet that laid the enemy low. "I cannot prove that I killed +him," he added sorrowfully. + +Now the three engagés who had been left on guard in the grove came to +us, out of breath and excited, and my uncle promptly ordered them back +to their places. We made the round of the dead, the engagés taking their +weapons and various belongings; then we went back to the barricade for +dinner, first, however, watering and picketing the hungry horses. Later +on, when the teams were again hitched, the engagés drove about and +gathered up the dead and consigned them to the depths of the big river. + +That evening as Pitamakan, Abbott, and I were preparing to go down into +the grove for our nightly watch the engagés were celebrating our victory +of the day. They had all assembled in Henri Robarre's lodge, singing +quaint songs, boasting of their bravery and accurate shooting, and +calling loudly for the women to prepare a little feast, for they were +going to dance. The women! They were gathered in another lodge, laughing +at their men. Otter Woman, Henri Robarre's wife, who was a wonderful +mimic, was making the others ache from laughing as she repeated her +man's futile protests and his gait when she had driven him home from the +gathering of the men who requested their discharge. + +"Those women have a whole lot more sense than their men," Abbott +remarked. + +The night passed quietly. Late in the following afternoon, just after we +three had ended our daily sleep, the women cried out that they could see +the smoke from a down-river steamboat, and Tsistsaki ran to the grove to +let my uncle know of its coming. + +He hurried up to the barricade and eagerly watched the approaching +smoke. "We shall have help now; you boys will not have to stand night +watch much longer. That old tub is bringing plenty of men!" + +The boat soon rounded the bend above and drew in to our landing. Two men +leaped ashore, and the roustabouts threw their rolls of bedding after +them. From the pilot-house Henry Page tossed out to us a weighted sack. +"I'm sorry, Wesley, that we couldn't get more men for you. There's a +letter that explains it all!" he called. "Well, keep up a good heart; +your Blackfeet will soon be with you. So long!" Then the surly captain, +standing beside him, rang some bells, Page whirled his big wheel, and +the boat went on. The two men came up the bank and greeted us. I had +been so intent upon our few words with the pilot that I had not noticed +who they were. + +Now I was glad when I saw the rugged, smooth-shaven faces of the +Tennessee Twins, as they were called all up and down the river. The +Baxters, Lem and Josh, were independent bachelor trappers who roamed +where they willed, despite the hostile war parties of various tribes +that were ever trying to get their scalps. They seemed to bear charmed +lives. As a rule the American Fur Company had not been friendly toward +independent trappers, but those two men were so big-hearted and had +done us so many favors that we all thought highly of them; and Pierre +Chouteau himself had given orders to all the factors up and down the +river that they were to be treated with every consideration. + +"Well, Wesley, here we are," said Lem Baxter after we had shaken hands +all round. + +"You don't mean that you have come to work for me?" my uncle exclaimed. + +"That's about the size of it," Josh put in. + +"You see, 't was this way," Lem went on. "When we heard of the trouble +you were in, and Carroll and Steell couldn't engage any men for you, we +saw it were our plain duty to come down and lend you a hand." + +"Who said that we were in trouble?" + +"Why, that there steamboat captain, Wiggins," Lem answered. "You see, 't +was this way: Henry Page bawled the captain out fer not allowin' him to +put in here in answer to your hail. So to kind of play even the low-down +sneak begins to blow about the battle you are expectin' to have with the +Assiniboins. Yes, sir, makes a regular holler about it as soon as his +boat ties up in front of the fort. Well, I guess you know them French +engagés. The minute they hear about the Assiniboins Carroll and Steell +can't hire nary a one of 'em for you." + +"Well, now, that Wiggins man is a real friendly kind of chap, isn't he?" +my uncle exclaimed. By the tone of his voice I knew that that captain +was in for trouble when the two should meet. + +"Still, Wesley, you're in luck," Lem went on. "Who but your own +brother-in-law, White Wolf, should happen to be in the fort when Page +delivered your letter to Steell. As soon as he was told what was up he +said to us, 'You tell Far Thunder that we shall all be with him for that +battle with the cut-throats! Tell him to look for us to come chargin' +down by the Crooked Creek Trail!' Then he lit out for his camp as fast +as he could go." + +"Ha! Down Sacajawea Creek. They will cross the river at Fort Benton. +Down the north side would have been the shorter way," said my uncle. + +"We mentioned that to him, and he answered that better time could be +made on the south-side trail," said Josh. + +"And there you be! Don't worry!" cried Lem. "Now, Wesley, is it sartin +sure that you plunked that there Slidin' Beaver?" + +"His body is somewhere down there in the river!" I replied. + +"You bet! Wesley finished him!" Abbott exclaimed. + +"Glory be! Look how near that there cut-throat got me!" cried Lem, and +pointed to a bullet crease in the side of his neck. + +"Hurry! Tell me the news they brought!" Pitamakan demanded of me as we +all turned toward the barricade. He fairly danced round me when he +learned that his own father had taken word of our need to the Pikuni and +that the warriors would come to us as soon as possible by the south-side +trail. + +Presently Tsistsaki called us to supper. During the meal we told the +Twins all that had happened to us since we landed there at the mouth of +the Musselshell. Then, having learned the details of our day-and-night +watch, they declared that they wanted to stand watch in the grove that +night and laughed when we said that we thought three men were needed to +guard it. + +We three were only too glad to let them have their way. However, we +relieved the engagés from watch duty in the barricade, dividing the +night between us, and they were therefore in good shape the next morning +for a day of real work. Beginning that day, they were all ordered to cut +and haul logs while the rest of us performed what guard duty had been +their share. In consequence the heaps of logs round the site of the fort +grew rapidly, and we began to look forward to the day when we should +begin work upon the walls. My uncle said that at least one side of the +fort must soon be put up, in which to store the trade goods that would +surely be landed for us within six weeks. + +A day came soon, but not too soon for Pitamakan and me, when the camp +required more meat. I asked to be allowed to ride Is-spai-u, but my +uncle shook his head. + +As we were saddling our horses, the men started for the grove and Henri +Robarre called out to us: "Eet is halways ze buf' dat you keel! Why not +sometames ze helk, ze deer, ze hantelopes?" + +"Kyai-yo!" Tsistsaki exclaimed. "He knows that real meat is the best; it +is only that he must be continually making objections that he talks that +way. Pay no attention to him; kill real meat for us as usual." + +"Oh, kill elk or deer along with the buffalo! Kill some badgers if they +want them! Anything for peace in camp!" my uncle exclaimed. + +It was easy enough to get the buffalo; they were always in the valley +within sight of camp. That morning we found a herd within a mile of it, +killed five fat animals and had the meat all loaded upon the following +wagon by nine o'clock. The teamster then headed for camp, and we went on +to kill what our horses could pack of some other kind of meat. + +Now, we did not want to ride into the brush-filled groves along the +river in quest of elk and deer, for as likely as not we should be +ambushed by some wandering war party. We therefore turned back through +the grove in which the men were at work and thence went on down the big +game trail running from the mouth of the Musselshell down the Missouri +Valley. Where it entered the first of the narrow bottoms we turned off. +We had gone no more than a couple of hundred yards when four bull elk +rose out of a patch of junipers on the hill to our right and +inquisitively stared at us. I slipped from my horse, took careful aim, +and shot one of them. + +We tethered our horses close to my kill and were butchering it when we +were startled by a loud but distant hail and sprang for our rifles, +which were leaning against some brush several steps away. We looked down +into the bottom under us and there, just outside the narrow grove that +fringed the river, we saw five Indians standing all in a row. + +"Ha! Another war party, and no doubt another invitation to a smoke that +would be the end of us!" Pitamakan exclaimed indignantly. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +LAME WOLF PRAYS TO HIS RAVEN + + +That morning I had not forgotten to sling on my telescope before leaving +camp. I got it out, then took a good look at the men, and said to +Pitamakan, "They don't appear to be a war party; they are all old men, +and some have large packs upon their backs!" + +"Ha! It is well-planned deception, but I shall take no chances with +them. I am sure that the brush behind them is full of warriors!" +Pitamakan replied. + +I somehow believed that for once he was mistaken, and when a moment +later the five men started toward us, all making the peace sign and +singing a strange, quaint, melancholy song, so weird, so strangely +affecting, that it almost brought tears to my eyes, Pitamakan himself +said, "I was mistaken! They are men of peace! I believe that they are +men of the Earth-Houses People." + +We met the strangers at the foot of the slope. They continued their +quaint song until we were face to face with them; then their leader, +first making the sign that he was one of the Earth-Houses People, as the +Blackfeet call the Mandans, embraced me and Pitamakan, and so did the +others, each in his turn. + +"We are glad to meet you this good day," said the leader to me in the +sign language. "We have often heard about you. We know that you are the +Fox, the young relative of Far Thunder. We know that your companion is +the young Pikuni, Running Eagle. We have come a long way to see and talk +with Far Thunder. His camp is close by, there where the two rivers meet, +is it not? Yes? We are glad!" + +"Our hearts are the same as yours," I replied. "We are glad to meet you +this good day. Just up there we have killed an elk. Wait for us until we +have butchered it and loaded the meat upon our horses; then we will go +with you to Far Thunder." + +The old leader signed his assent to the proposal, and Pitamakan and I +hurried back up the hill to our work. We were not long at it, taking +only the best of the meat; then I told Pitamakan to hurry on ahead and +notify my uncle of the Mandans' coming, so that he could meet them with +fitting ceremony at the barricade. I then rejoined the visitors, leading +my horse and walking with them, and in the course of an hour we were +greeted by my uncle at the passageway into camp. One after another they +embraced him; then he signed to them that his lodge was their lodge, and +he led them into it, where Tsistsaki greeted them with smiles and turned +to the big kettles of meat and coffee that she was cooking for them and +broke out a fresh box of hard bread. + +With due formality my uncle got out his huge pipe, filled it with a +mixture of l'herbe and tobacco and passed it to the old leader of the +party to light. The old man capped it with a coal from the fire, +muttered a short prayer, and, blowing great mouthfuls of smoke to the +four points of the compass, started it upon its journey round the +circle. The Mandans made no mention of the object of the visit to us, +but said that, having heard from the men of the first down-river fire +boat that my uncle was building a fort on the great war trail where it +crossed Big River, they had thought that a visit of peace should be paid +to him. In turn, my uncle asked how the Mandans were faring and told of +our troubles with the Crows and Assiniboins. The news of the passing of +Sliding Beaver was good news to them; they greeted it with loud clapping +of hands and with broad smiles. "Far Thunder," their leader signed, "you +must surely have strong medicine. The gods have been very good to you to +give you the power to wipe out that terrible, bad man, worst of all the +men of the cut-throat tribe. Far Thunder, for what you have done the +Earth-Houses People owe you much!" + +"I wish that they were all here, all your warriors, for I am expecting +to have a big fight with the cut-throats!" my uncle signed. + +"We have sent for the warriors of my people to hurry down here and help +us, but fear that they will not arrive before the cut-throats appear," +Pitamakan put in. + +After some inquiries about just what we had done toward getting the help +of the Pikuni, the old leader turned to my uncle. "Far Thunder," he +signed, "you see us, five old men and almost useless; our weapons, five +old north stone sparkers [Hudson's Bay Company flintlock guns] and four +bows. But such as we are, Far Thunder, we are yours in this fight with +the cut-throats, if you want us!" + +"You are very generous. We will talk about that later. Just now you are +to eat. I see that the food is ready for you," my uncle replied; and +Tsistsaki passed to them plates piled with boiled meat, hard bread and +dried-apple sauce, and huge bowls of sweetened coffee. + +The men now came up from the grove for their dinner. In the afternoon +our guests rested, and it was not until evening that we learned the real +object of their visit to us. "Far Thunder," the old leader then signed, +when we were all gathered in our lodge, "no doubt you wonder why we +five old men have come the long way through dangerous country to enter +your lodge. It is because we are old and are soon to die that we chose +to take the place of young and useful men on a mission to you from our +people, to bring you gifts and to ask a gift from you." + +"Ha! Now I know what is coming; they are after Is-spai-u!" Pitamakan +whispered. + +"Far Thunder," the old man continued, "no doubt you know that the +Spotted-Horses People [the Cheyennes] visit us every summer with their +robes and furs and tanned leathers to buy some of the corn that we raise +and the pots of clay that we make. Also they come to race their fastest +horses against our fastest horses. Know, chief, that for the last five +summers they have won every race they made with us, and have gone their +way with great winnings, laughing at us and saying, 'Poor Earth-Houses +People! Your horses are of little account; even the best of them are +only travois horses for our women!' Thus we are made poor and greatly +shamed. Recently we counseled together about this. 'We do not,' said one +of the chiefs, 'much need the things that the Spotted-Horses People +bring here. Let us send them word that they need not come again to trade +with us; thus will we be saved from again losing all that we have in +racing our horses against theirs and being told that our best animals +are of no account.' + +"We all agreed that this plan should be followed. Messengers were +selected to take our decision to the Spotted-Horses People. And +then--but wait, Far Thunder--" + +The old man turned and spoke to his companions. They began to unwrap the +bundles that they had carried and soon displayed to our admiring eyes a +cream-white cow buffalo robe beautifully embroidered with porcupine +quillwork of gorgeous colors upon its flesh side; a war suit of fine +buckskin, quill embroidered and hung with white weasel skins; a fine +shield fringed with eagle tail feathers; and a handsomely carved red +stone pipe with feather and fur ornaments on its long stem. One by one +the old leader took them as they were opened to view and impressively +laid them upon the end of my uncle's couch. Then, straightening up in +his seat, he continued: + +"Those, Far Thunder, are gifts to you from your friends, the +Earth-Houses People! + +"The messengers were about to start to the camp of the Spotted-Horses +People," he said, resuming his story. "Then the first fire boat of the +summer came back down the river, and we learned from its men that you +and yours were coming down to the mouth of this little river, to this +great war-trail crossing of Big River, where you were to build a fort, +and that you had with you your fast, black buffalo-runner. Again we +counseled together. This is what we said: 'Far Thunder is a man of +generous heart. We will go to him with our trouble; we will ask him to +give the one thing that will enable us to wipe out the shame that the +Spotted-Horses People have put upon us.' Far Thunder, pity us! Give us +your black buffalo-runner!" + +The eyes of all five of the old men were now upon my uncle, eyes full +of wistful anxiety, and he hesitated not a moment to give his reply to +their request, the one reply that he could make. + +"My friends," he signed, "I must tell you about my black horse. A dying +man gave him to me, the man who seized him in the far south country. +With his last breath that man--you knew him, One Horn--asked me to +promise that I would always keep the horse. I promised. I called upon +the sun to witness that I would keep my promise!" + +The old men slumped down in their seats in utter dejection, and oh, how +sorry we were for them! Their long and dangerous journey, their gifts of +their most valued possessions, were all for nothing! + +Finally, the old leader spoke a few words to the others; one by one they +answered, and several of them spoke at some length and with increasing +animation. We wondered what they were saying, in that strange, +soft-sounding language. At last the old leader turned again to my uncle. + +"Far Thunder!" he signed, "when you told us of your promise to the +dying man, and that it was a sun promise you gave him, not to be +broken--when you told us that--our hearts died. But now, chief, our +hearts rise up. Failing one thing, we gain another. We now see that the +gods themselves sent us to you, that in our old age we should have one +last fight with the cut-throats. Chief, we will remain with you and help +you fight them with all the strength that we have left in our poor old +arms. If we die, how much better to die fighting than in sickness and +pain in our lodges!" + +"I am glad that you will stay with us and help fight the cut-throats. +These valuable things that you have laid here, you will take them back," +my uncle replied. + +"No! We give, but do not take back!" + +It was all very affecting. There was a lump in my throat as I looked at +those old men, simple-minded, kind-hearted, still eager in their old, +old age to face once more their bitter enemies and, if need be, to die. +Tsistsaki threw her shawl over her head and cried a little in sympathy +with them. They presently broke out in a cheerful song of war. + +Pitamakan and I took up our rifles and went out to our guard duty. +"Those ancient ones, what real men they are!" he said to me. + +The night passed quietly. In the morning when the Tennessee Twins came +from guard duty in the grove and learned about our evening talk with the +old men, they shook hands with them one by one. "You are the strong +hearts! We shall be glad to fight alongside with you," Josh signed to +them. + +Cramped as we were for space within the barricade, Tsistsaki insisted +that the old men should have a lodge of their own. The women set up one +of the lodges of the engagés, and all contributed to its furnishings of +robes and blankets and to its little pile of firewood beside the door; +then the widow of poor Louis volunteered to cook their meals. Thus were +the ancient ones made perfectly comfortable. At noon of that day, when +the men came in for their dinner, our guests went to my uncle and told +him that they wanted to help him not only in the coming fight with the +cut-throats, but in other ways as well. Old though they were, their +eyesight was still good; therefore they would do all the daytime guard +duty, three of them in the grove and two in camp. We were glad enough to +accept their offer, for, as the engagés were now entirely relieved from +all share in our constant watch for approaching enemies, the work on the +fort progressed rapidly. + +The leader of the old men, Lame Wolf, was a medicine man and had with +him his complete medicine outfit, the main symbol of which was a stuffed +raven, to the legs of which were attached bits of human scalp-locks of +varying lengths. To Pitamakan, who became a great favorite with him, the +old man said that the raven was his dream, his sacred vision, and very +powerful. It had by its great power brought him safe through many a +battle with the enemy and had four times in his dreams warned him of the +approach of enemies, so that he and his warriors had been able to +surprise them and count many coups upon them. Every evening now he +prayed the raven to give him a revealing vision of the cut-throats and +any other enemies who might be approaching us, and his companions joined +him in singing the songs to his medicine. + +"Far Thunder, my man," said Tsistsaki, the first evening that we heard +the old men praying and singing, "I feel that the gods are with us in +this matter of our fort-building upon this hostile war trail. As fast as +our troubles have come we have conquered them, and now come these five +old men, whose leader is favored of the gods, to help us. I have great +faith in his raven medicine." + +"All right. You put your faith in that raven skin. I put mine in our +watchfulness and in our rifles," my uncle laughed. + +"Ah, well," she answered, "the day will come when your eyes will be +opened to these sacred things." + +During the next few days three different steamboats passed up the river +en route to Fort Benton, and when the first of them came down it +answered our hail and put in to shore. The captain had intended to put +in, anyhow, for he had a letter to us from Carroll and Steell. My uncle +handed him a letter for the Fort Union traders, asking them to tell the +Mandans that their five old men were staying with us to help fight the +Assiniboins, and that they were unable to get Far Thunder's fast runner +because of his vow to the sun that he would never part with it. He had +prepared the letter at the request of Lame Wolf, and the old man heaved +a sigh of satisfaction when he saw it pass into the captain's hands. + +Our letter apprised us that the Pikuni, the whole tribe, warriors and +all, had forded the river at Fort Benton, on their way to us, only four +days before. That news made us low-hearted, for, if the warriors +continued on with the tribe at the slow rate it was obliged to travel, +we feared that they would never arrive in time to help us in the big +fight that every rising sun brought nearer to us. + +My uncle declared that, short of logs as we still were, a beginning must +be made at once upon the walls of the fort; and after dinner Pitamakan, +Abbott, and I went out to assist him in laying the first four logs of +what was to be the southwest corner building of the fort, the one that +was to be my uncle's quarters, and Pitamakan's and mine as well. We +rolled the two bottom logs into place and made them level by putting +flat stones under the ends; and then Abbott, with quick and skillful +axe, saddled the ends; that is, cut deep notches in them. We then rolled +on them two end logs and cut notches in the ends to match the saddles in +the others. The first fitted snugly down into place; the second did not +fit well and was notched deeper at one end; and then, when it fitted +into place and we rested, Tsistsaki, who had come to watch, raised her +hands to the sky and cried out: "O sun! this home that we are starting +to build, let it be a home of peace and plenty; a home of happy days and +nights. Have pity upon us all, O sun. Give us, we pray you, long life +upon these, your rich and beautiful plains!" + +Our team horses, working all day and corralled in the barricade the +greater part of the night, were rapidly losing their flesh and spirits +and no longer minded the flick of the whip. It was plain enough, said my +uncle at our evening meal, that they must be put upon good feed at +night, or else we must soon stop work. He looked at Pitamakan and me. + +"Well, say it!" I cried. "What do you want us to do about it?" + +"Night-herd them. Night-herd the whole outfit, saddle-horses and all, up +west on the high plains where the feed is good. Leave here after dark so +that any wandering war party hanging about will not know just what way +you are going or be able to follow you." + +"Oh, my man!" Tsistsaki exclaimed, "I do not like them to do that. +Think! Just they two against all the travelers upon this great war +trail!" + +"Many are the hunters of the fox; he eludes them all," said Pitamakan. + +"We shall strike out with the outfit as soon as it is dark," I said to +my uncle, and that settled the matter. + +Of course I rode Is-spai-u when we started out, driving the loose stock +ahead of us. We headed southwest--almost south up along the gentle +slope, then, when well out from the valley, northwest--and finally +brought the animals to a stand at the head of the breaks of the +Missouri, about two miles due west from camp. We then hobbled all but +two, Is-spai-u and Pitamakan's buffalo horse, which we picketed with +long ropes. By turns we watched our little band during the short night +and at sunrise drove them back to the barricade. + +"Boys," Tsistsaki said to us after we had finished breakfast, "I have +something to say to you before you sleep." + +"Say it! We are all but asleep now," Pitamakan answered from his couch. + +"It is this: you must not take your horses to-night to feed where you +had them last night; every night you must drive them to a different +place." + +"As if we didn't know enough to do that! We decided upon to-night's +grazing-ground when we were coming in this morning!" Pitamakan +exclaimed. + +"Wise almost-mother. What good care you have for us!" I told her. + +And what a loving, cheerful smile she gave me! Ah, that was a woman, let +me tell you! + +There was too much going on in our lodge for us to sleep well; so we +took a robe and a blanket apiece and sneaked quietly into the lodge of +the old Mandans, who were sleeping after their night watch in the +barricade. + +At about four o'clock the old men aroused us, and Lame Wolf signed that +they were going to bathe; would we go with them? We did, and were +refreshed. Then, after we were back in the lodge and dressed, old Lame +Wolf painted our faces with red-earth paint, the sacred color, and +prayed for us. We could not, of course, understand what he said, for he +did not accompany the prayer with signs, but Pitamakan said that made no +difference; it was, of course, good and powerful prayer. + +At supper that evening we talked about the big fight we were expecting +to have with the Assiniboins, and wondered whether our people would +arrive in time for it. It was possible that the warriors were coming on +ahead, and if they were they might come riding down at any moment. + +"If we could only figure the probable time of the coming of the +cut-throats as well as we can that of our people!" my uncle exclaimed. + +"Wal, now, Wesley, you're goin' to know what I've had in my think-box +for some time; I can't keep it shut any longer," Abbott said. "We've +heard that the Assiniboin camp is away off on the Assiniboin River. But +you can hear a lot that ain't so. Maybe it is nowhere like that far off. +Ag'in, that there war party that we routed don't have to go clear home +to get help to try to wipe us out; the Assiniboins and the Yanktonnais +are about the same breed of pups--both Sioux stock. All those pals of +Slidin' Beaver's have to do is to let the Yanktonnais know that we have +that there Is-spai-u horse with us, and they'll come a-runnin' after +him, even if they don't care shucks about avengin' the death of Slidin' +Beaver. I'll lay four bits that the Yanktonnais camp is a long way this +side of the Assiniboin River. Let's look the thing in the face. It's +possible, fellers, that the ball may open this very night!" + +"Let her come; we're here first!" Josh exclaimed. + +"You bet you! I'm jest a-achin' for a scrap with those cut-throats!" his +twin chimed in. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE MANDANS SING THEIR VICTORY SONG + + +My uncle was not anxious for a fight with our enemies. I had never seen +him so worried. When Abbott and the Twins had gone out of the lodge, he +said to us: "I was too eager for this undertaking. Carroll and Steell +warned me of its dangers, but I wouldn't listen. I shouldn't have come +down here until I had engaged thirty or forty men to build the fort. We +may all be wiped out! What would become of you, my woman, and of you, +Thomas, if I were to go under now with the load of debt that I have +incurred in St. Louis? And after all my years of endeavor, what a bad +name would be mine!" + +"Now, Far Thunder, just you quit that worrying, for everything is going +to come out right for us. I know it! I just know that the gods are with +us," said my almost-mother. + +I could think of nothing to say. As I nodded to Pitamakan and we went +out to drive the horses to their night-grazing I wished that I were not +so tongue-tied. + +"What was he saying?" Pitamakan asked me. I told him, and back to the +lodge he went, thrust his head inside the doorway and said: "Far +Thunder, you have overlooked our main helper. That loud-mouthed gun of +ours can defeat the cut-throats and all their brother tribes, too." + +"Maybe so, if they give us time to point and fire it at them," my uncle +answered; and my almost-brother came back to me lightly humming his +favorite war song. + +A cloudy sky made the night very dark. We mounted and drove the loose +stock straight west out of the valley, then went southwest for a couple +of miles and hobbled them. We picketed Is-spai-u and my runner, which +Pitamakan had saddled that evening. We then drew back outside of the +sweep of the long ropes, and were about to spread our buffalo robe and +lie down when we heard the whir of a rattlesnake close in front of us +and another at our right. "Ha! This is worse than facing a war party!" +Pitamakan exclaimed. At the sound of his voice the snakes rattled again, +and a third somewhere close on our left answered them. We were afraid to +move lest we step upon one of the rattlers and get a jab in our +moccasined feet from its poisonous fangs. + +"We must get back upon our horses and move on," I said. + +"Well, you have matches. Begin lighting them and we will do that," said +Pitamakan. + +I felt in the pocket of my buckskin shirt where I usually carried a few +matches wrapped in paper and waterproof bladder skin. The pocket was +empty. I felt in my ball pouch and in my trousers pockets, although I +knew it was useless to do so, and Pitamakan groaned, "You have lost +them?" + +"Yes!" + +"We just have to pray the gods to guide us," he said. + +As we turned, it seemed to our straining ears that snakes rattled upon +all sides of us. + +"Go slowly!" Pitamakan cautioned. "Stamp the ground hard, and keep +swinging your rifle out in front of you." + +Thus step by step we drew away from the rattlers, fearing all the time +that we should encounter one that would strike before warning us of its +presence. + +At last we came to Is-spai-u, a dim shadow in the darkness, and took up +his rope and led him on to the other picketed animal. Our scare was +still with us as we went among the horses and removed their hobbles, +but, getting into our saddles, we drove the stock on for fully a mile. +Before hobbling them again, we circled round and round and made sure +that we were not occupying another patch of snake-infested plain. + +"Well, we survived that danger! I believe it is a sign that we are not +to be bitten by the two-legged snakes that will soon attack us," said +Pitamakan after we had spread our robe and were resting comfortably upon +it. + +Since I was no believer in signs, I did not say anything on the +subject. + +"You sleep; I'll take the first watch," I told him. + +The heavy clouds soon disappeared, the moon came up, and I could see our +surroundings very well. The horses were ripping off great mouthfuls of +rich bunch-grass and lustily chewing it. Their deep, satisfied breathing +gave me a glad feeling. All round us wolves were howling and coyotes +were yelping in high falsetto voices. How different were these two +branches of the great wolf family, I thought. The wolves were of a +serious, dignified nature; they seemed never to howl except to +communicate with one another. The coyotes gathered in bands and wandered +aimlessly from ridge to ridge, stopping frequently and raising their +sharp, pointed noses to the sky and yelping. + +My thoughts were not long upon the wolves. I remembered how worried my +uncle was when I had left our lodge; how serious was the expression of +Abbott's eyes when he predicted that the attack by the cut-throats was +about to take place. + +I stared at the faint, moonlit outlines of the Moccasin Mountains, away +off to the southwest. Somewhere along the trail at the foot of them the +Pikuni were doubtless camping that night. Unwittingly I cried out in +Blackfoot, "Oh, hurry! Hurry to us, you men of the Pikuni, else you will +come too late!" + +"What? What did you say? Do you see enemies?" Pitamakan whispered as he +sat up suddenly at my side. + +"Oh, nothing. I was just calling to our people to hurry to us. I am so +afraid that they may not get here in time to help us," I answered. + +"You forget that the loud-mouthed gun is of great strength. It can shoot +one of those big, hard metal balls a long way. And at short range just +think what it can do with a sackful of our small, soft balls!" + +"Yes, true enough. But think how long it takes to move and sight and +fire it! Loud-mouth is now pointing out the south side of the barricade. +Should the cut-throats suddenly attack us from the north side, we should +never even get a chance to fire it!" + +"Ha! What a crazy head I am, never to have thought about that! +Loud-mouths are of sure help only when there are two of them, each in a +little outsetting house of its own, at opposite corners of a fort. +Almost-brother, Far Thunder should send us at once to meet our people +and get the warriors here as fast as their horses can carry them." + +"You have spoken my thought, too. We will tell him about it in the +morning," I answered. + +"Yes, we will do that. Let us drive the horses in very early." + +After a time we detected off to the west a dark, wide, cloud-like mass +slowly moving over the plain. It was composed of buffaloes, of course, a +large herd of them grazing straight toward the horses. It would not do +to let them come on, for in the stampede that was sure to occur the +frightened horses might go with them. We went slowly and silently toward +them and suddenly sprang forward, waving our blankets. They paused, +stared at us for a moment, then turned and went thundering off to the +south. There must have been a thousand of them, judging by the noise +that they made. + +We returned to our watching-place, and I lay down and soon was asleep. +When I awoke, I knew by the position of the Seven Persons, as the +Blackfeet name the constellation of Ursa Major, that day was not far +off. I said that I would take the remainder of the watch, but Pitamakan +had no more than lain down when the faint, far-off boom of a gun brought +us both to our feet. + +"Where was it?" he asked. + +"Off to the north," I answered. + +Again we heard shots, four or five of them, faint and low, like distant +thunder, then one that was sharper, like the crack of a whip. + +"That last one was from Far Thunder's rifle!" Pitamakan exclaimed. + +"Yes. Great Rider's words have come true: the cut-throats are attacking +camp!" + +We ran to the horses and fumbled at their hobbles; then we coiled the +ropes of our picketed saddle-animals, mounted and drove the little band +on the run for camp. + +"There is no more shooting!" I exclaimed. + +"Not another shot! It looks bad to me! Maybe our people are wiped out!" +Pitamakan answered. + +He expressed my own fear. We forced the horses to their utmost speed. It +was all of three miles to the mouth of the Musselshell, and never were +there such long miles. Day was breaking as we neared the valley rim +overlooking camp. A hundred yards or so away from the edge we slowed up, +dropped the loose stock, and with ready rifles rode slowly on. + +When at last we looked down upon the camp, I could have yelled my +relief. I saw smoke peacefully rising from the lodges and a couple of +women going from the barricade to the river for water. Then we heard the +old Mandans singing a song that we had not heard before, a triumphant +song in quick, strongly marked time. + +"All is well!" I exclaimed. + +"Yes, something pleasant has happened. What can it be?" + +With light hearts we turned back to our loose stock, drove them down +near the barricade, and let them go to graze as they would until it was +time for the work of the day to begin. I was in the lead as we drove +into the barricade to unsaddle, and as I passed through the entrance +Is-spai-u gave a sudden turning leap that nearly unseated me, and then +stood staring and snorting at a huge grizzly that lay at one side of the +path. My uncle and Abbott came out of our lodge and grinned broadly at +us. + +"Well, boys," said my uncle, "that's a real bear, isn't it!" + +"We've had some excitement here, and 't isn't all over yet. Listen to +the old boys in there, singin'!" said Abbott. + +"We heard the shots and thought that you were all wiped out, they ceased +so suddenly," I said. + +We unsaddled and followed the men into the lodge, where Tsistsaki, who +was preparing breakfast, gave us cheerful greeting. + +"This is what happened, as near as we can make out from the old Mandans +and from what we saw of it," my uncle said to us. + +"It was about an hour back when old Lame Wolf, who was on guard at the +north side of the barricade, saw a big bear close in front of him. It +was a chance to count a coup that he couldn't resist. Taking good aim +with his old fuke, he fired and let out a yell. But his yell wasn't so +loud as the roar of the bear when the bullet spatted into his side. We +all waked and rushed outside, but the other old watchers were ahead of +us. They ran to Lame Wolf, and the first of them fired at the bear, +which was growling and biting at its wound. At that, the bear came with +a rush over the logs right in among them. He was badly hurt, but would +surely have mauled and killed some of them had it not been for the +powder smoke from their fukes, which blinded him and made him cough. The +old men were running away in all directions, but he couldn't see them. +He sat up to get his bearings, and just then the smoke lifted; and there +he was, a mountain of a bear close in front of me. I took quick sight at +him and broke his neck. It all happened so quickly, and the old men were +so intent upon getting out of reach of the bear, that they never knew +that I gave him the finishing shot. One of them, looking back, shouted +something to the others, and all turned and ran to the bear; and old +Lame Wolf tapped him on the head with the barrel of his fuke and counted +coup on him. He claimed it, no doubt, because he had fired the first +shot into his carcass." + +"And what did the engagés do?" Pitamakan asked. + +"What did they do! You should have heard Henri Robarre praying to be +saved. The others joined in and ran about among the lodges, carrying +their guns as though they were so many sticks!" Abbott exclaimed. + +"They did better than that in our Sliding Beaver fight," I said. + +"So they did, and they probably will be of some help when another real +fight takes place. I have just given them my opinion of their actions in +a way they will not soon forget," said my uncle. + +We washed and had breakfast while the old men still sang their quaint +song of victory. Afterwards, when we went out, old Lame Wolf was cutting +the claws from his coup. He did not want the hide, nor did we; the hair +was the old, sunburned, and ragged winter coat. So the engagés hitched +an unwilling team to the carcass, dragged it to the edge of the +river-bank, and rolled it into the water. They all then went down into +the grove, and the Tennessee Twins came up from it for their breakfast +and their sleep. The night had been quiet down there. One of them had +come to learn the cause of the firing in camp and had gone back, my +uncle said, almost bursting with anger at the cowardly and disgraceful +exhibition the engagés had made of themselves. + +That day Pitamakan and I had Tsistsaki waken us shortly before noon, and +when my uncle and Abbott returned to the lodge for dinner we proposed +that we be allowed to go to meet the Pikuni and bring them on--a part of +the warriors, at any rate--with all haste. + +Abbott said he thought we should do that, but my uncle decided against +it. If we did not night-herd the horses, he said, they could not work. +He thought that the Pikuni would arrive in time to fight the +cut-throats. + +"I think you are making a mistake, Wesley; you had better let them go +for help; we'll probably be needing it sooner than you think," Abbott +told him. + +If my uncle had a fault, it was that he relied too much upon his own +judgment. In reply to Abbott he merely said: "No, we'll take a chance on +another day of good, hard work. Then if the Pikuni don't show up, the +boys can go look for them." + +Pitamakan and I had not much enthusiasm for the afternoon work, and +when, about two o'clock, the old Mandans came to us and told us that +they were going to scatter out upon discovery we so longed to go with +them that we fairly hated our log-laying. Tsistsaki stood by, watching +us with pitying eyes, but my uncle, never noticing our dissatisfaction, +whistled as he skillfully swung his axe. + +"Thomas, boy," he said, "this log-laying reminds me of a church-raising +that I attended long ago, 'way back in the States. It was a little log +meeting-house that they were putting up, and your father and I lent a +hand with the chinking. Your grandfather was the preacher of that sparse +congregation, and a mighty man with the axe as well as with the Word." + +"How did you happen to leave the States?" I asked. + +"Your father and I were different," he answered. "Somehow, the farm life +there did not appeal to us. We made a break for the West. Your father, +poor fellow, never got beyond St. Louis. If he had only come on with me! +How he would have enjoyed this life!" + +"You know well why he didn't come," I said. + +"Of course. It was your mother, dear soul! He promised her that he would +never engage in the Far West trade, and he was a man of his word." + +During the afternoon we brought the walls of the building up to a height +of five logs,--about the height of my shoulder,--and as we knocked off +work my uncle said, "Two more rounds of logs, well chinked, and we'll +have a pretty respectable defense against the enemy." + +Returning to the barricade, we found that three of the Mandans had come +back, unnoticed by us. They reported that they had been some distance up +the Musselshell Valley and had seen no signs of enemies. Later, while we +were eating supper, old Lame Wolf and his companion came in, and the +moment they passed through the doorway I knew from the expression of +their faces that they had something important to tell. They hurriedly +took seats upon my couch, and Lame Wolf signed to my uncle: "Far +Thunder, chief, enemies are here! We climbed to the top of the point +between the two valleys, the point there across from the grove, and upon +the very top of it found where enemies have been lying, looking down and +watching us!" + +"Probably a small war party, too small to attack us and gone upon their +way," my uncle answered. + +"Not so! Decidedly not so!" the old man signed on. "They have watched +there for several days--at least five men. They sneaked away when they +saw us coming. Why did they do that when they could easily have +surprised and killed us? Because they are the scouts of a multitude +coming to attack us, and are to tell the chiefs just how to do it." + +"I believe that the old man is right!" Abbott exclaimed. + +"He may be, but I doubt it," said my uncle. "Up there is the lookout +place for all the war parties passing along this great trail. I doubt +not that one was recently there. I can't believe, however, that five or +six enemies withdrew from the point upon the approach of these two old +men. Had they been there at that time, they would certainly never have +overlooked such an easy opportunity to count two coups." + +"Well, whether you believe they are right or not, I advise you to keep a +good guard round the barricade to-night and to keep the horses in, too," +said Abbott. + +"The horses must go out to feed as usual. In any event, they will be +safe off there upon the dark plain." + +Abbott threw out his hands with a gesture of despair. "All right, you +for it! I've said my say." + +Old Lame Wolf, of course, understood nothing of what was being said. He +waited until the talk apparently was ended, got my uncle's attention +once more and signed, "What shall you do?" + +"We shall some of us stand watch with you to-night," my uncle answered. + +"That is good. Be sure that the loud-mouthed gun is well loaded and +ready to fire," the old man concluded, and the two went out to their +evening meal. + +When supper was over, my uncle called the engagés together, told them +the old Mandans believed that the enemy might attack us during the +night, and ordered them to look well to their guns. He then called the +names of those he wanted for extra guard duty, and of those who were to +help him with the cannon. But to this plan Tsistsaki made strong +objection. + +"No," she said; "let each man use his rifle. We will help with the gun." +And my uncle promised that she should have her way. + +As Pitamakan and I were preparing to take the horses out, I had a last +word with my uncle. + +"If you are attacked to-night, what shall we do?" I asked. + +"I would not be sending you out if I believed that was to happen. +However, if it does happen, you must do the best you can; your own +judgment must guide you," he answered. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +BIG LAKE CALLS A COUNCIL + + +It was quite dark when Pitamakan and I drove the horses out from the +barricade for their night-grazing. We flicked them into a lope up the +rise to the plain, but when we were nearly to the top they suddenly +shied at something ahead and dashed sharply off to the left. I was +riding Is-spai-u as usual, and he was so frightened that it was all I +could do to keep him from running ahead of the loose stock. Pitamakan +and I went some distance before we managed to head the horses up the +slope; and as soon as we were well out on the plain I asked Pitamakan +what he thought had frightened our animals. + +"I will tell you my real belief," he answered. "It was the enemy, maybe +a number of them, lying there to see in what direction we would drive +the horses, so that they could trail on and take them from us." + +"It may have been a bear." + +"If a bear had been there, we should have seen him; there is starlight +enough for that. The low, sweet sage growth along the slope could not +have hidden a bear from us, but it is high enough to conceal men lying +flat in it. Almost-brother, I believe with old Lame Wolf that trouble is +about to break upon us!" + +"Well, they shall not get these horses," I declared. + +When, at last, we hobbled the loose animals and picketed Is-spai-u and +Pitamakan's runner we felt sure that no enemy could find us. But there +was to be no sleep for us that night; we settled down to listen for the +far-off boom of the cannon, which would tell us that the cut-throats had +attacked our camp. + +About midnight we nearly started for the west and southwest and the +Pikuni, but we decided to wait a little longer and listen for the boom +of the cannon. We watched the Seven Persons swinging round in the +northern sky, and at last they warned us that day was not far off. The +attack upon camp had not opened; so we decided to urge my uncle to allow +us to go at once in search of the Pikuni. We unhobbled the loose stock +and drove them in with a rush. There was only a faint lightening of the +eastern horizon when we arrived at the barricade, and Abbott, standing +on watch at the passageway, let down the bars for us. + +"You are in plenty early this mornin'," he said as we drove past him. + +"We have reason for it. We want to persuade my uncle to let us start +right now after the Pikuni," I answered. + +"You said it! That is just what he should have you do!" he exclaimed. + +As we got down from our horses we saw dimly here and there the other +watchers approaching to learn whether we had anything to tell of the +night. Then in the direction of the grove we all heard the patter of +feet striking harshly upon the stony ground. + +"It's the Twins!" Abbott exclaimed. + +"Behind them the cut-throats!" said Pitamakan, and at the same time our +ears caught the faint thudding of many moccasined feet. + +Then the Twins loomed up hugely in the dusk. They dashed in through the +passageway, and Josh gasped out, "They're right at our tails! Run that +cannon out!" + +The cannon was in the center of the barricade, loaded with trade balls, +fused, and covered with a piece of canvas to protect it from the +weather. As Abbott, the Twins, and I ran to it, Pitamakan hurried on to +our lodge to rouse my uncle; and the engagés, who had been on watch with +the Mandans, quietly slipped round awakening the inmates of the other +lodges. I flipped the cover on the cannon, and, just as we got it into +the passageway, the fight opened with shots and yells on the west side +of the barricade. The thought flashed into my mind that Pitamakan had +been right. It had been some of the enemy, lying concealed upon the +slope, that our horses had shied from when we were driving them out to +graze. + +"Never mind the racket back there; our job is right here! Now! Swing her +round!" Abbott shouted to us, and he had to shout in order to make +himself heard. + +We swung the gun round. I kept hold on the tailpiece while Abbott +sighted and called, "To the right a little! Left a trifle! There!" + +As he lighted the fuse I sprang out of the way of the recoil and for the +first time looked ahead. Out of the dusk of the morning, less than a +hundred yards away, a horde of warriors were coming toward us swiftly +yet with cautious, catlike steps. There was something terribly sinister +in their approach, far more so than if they had come with the usual war +songs and shouts of an Indian attack. _Boom!_ went the cannon. The flash +of it blinded us; the smoke drifted into our faces. Lem, who was +carrying our rifles in his arms, shouted to us to take them. + +"No! Lay 'em down! Help load! Where's the powder for this gun?" Abbott +yelled. + +"Right here!" cried my uncle as he and Tsistsaki and a couple of other +women joined us. "Use your rifles!" + +We snatched them from Lem, and, lo! as the smoke drifted away we could +see no one to shoot at, nor could we hear anything but the hollow murmur +of the river, as if it were mocking us. + +"By gum! They've just flew away!" Lem exclaimed. + +"Not they!" said my uncle, proceeding to thrust a charge powder into the +cannon and ram it home. "Just step over to the river-bank and look down, +and you'll see them." + +"Ha! So that's their scheme, is it? Goin' to shut us off from water! I +might have knowed it! What beats me is, why didn't they come on? If they +had, 't would have been all over with us in about two minutes!" said +Lem. + +"What say they?" Pitamakan asked me, and I told him. + +The Mandans and the engagés now came to us from the other side of the +stockade, with the women and children trailing after them. + +"The cut-throats ran down over the river-bank," old Lame Wolf signed to +my uncle. + +"Sare, M'sieu' Reynard," Henri Robarre said to him, "hon our side ze +cut-throats were but few. Zey holler much, zey fire deir guns no at us. +Zey shoot hup at ze stars, an' zen run hide behin' ze bank of ze riv' +M'sieu', what hit means, dat strange conducts?" + +"I don't understand it myself, except that when the Twins discovered +them their plan of attack went all wrong," my uncle answered in a +puzzled voice. + +"I know all about it," Pitamakan said in the sign language so that the +Mandans should understand. + +"Well, let us hear," said my uncle. + +"This is it," he went on. "The cut-throats want our scalps, but they +want also Is-spai-u. A few of them laid in wait for my almost-brother +and me, hoping to seize the runner when we drove the herd out last +night; but they failed. The chiefs then planned to wait until we should +bring the horses back into the barricade and kill us in a surprise +attack as we all stood fighting their few men on the west side. Thus +they would take no chances of shooting the black runner. They would have +wiped us out, had not the Twins discovered them down there in the +timber. Now they plan to make us go mad from want of water and then wipe +us out." + +"You women, how much water have you?" Tsistsaki asked. + +One by one they answered; there was not a bucketful in any lodge! + +"Far Thunder, it is now time for my almost-brother and me to go after +our people," Pitamakan said to my uncle impressively. + +"It is! Go--as fast as you can!" he replied. + +"I ride Is-spai-u," I said. + +"You do not! He is our shield, it seems. You ride your own runner!" + +We had saddled up and were ready to start within five minutes. Day had +come. To the west and east there was not a single body of the enemy. +Abbott could hardly believe his eyes. + +Tsistsaki, ever thoughtful of us, had tied little sacks of food to our +saddles, and now we mounted our runners. Nowhere along the bank of the +river was there the least sign of the enemy, but we were certain that +many a pair of eyes was watching the barricade from clumps of rye grass +and sweet sage. + +"You'll better lie low on yer horses an' go out flyin'; they'll prob'ly +shoot at you," Abbott warned us. + +My uncle came and grasped my hand. "It is a terrible risk you are +taking. I wish I could take it for you, but my place seems to be here. +I've got you all in a bad fix, my boy, but I hope you and Pitamakan will +pull us out of it." His voice was unsteady. + +"We'll do our best," I answered. + +"Go, I am praying for you both!" Tsistsaki called out to us. + +We took a running start, hanging low upon the right side of our animals, +and went out through the passageway with a rush. We turned sharply to +the right, and in no time had the barricade between us and the river. +Not a shot was fired at us. We rode straight up the valley for fully a +mile before we turned out on the plain. There we halted for a last look +at camp. How peaceful it seemed! But how terrible was the situation! +There were at least two hundred enemies between our few people and +water. + +As we rode on we kept looking for the trail of dust raised by thousands +of dragging, sharp-pointed lodge poles and travois and horses' hoofs, +that would mark the advance of the Pikuni. We were not long in reaching +Crooked Creek, and there at the rim of the valley we parted, Pitamakan +to go due west toward the buttes of It-Crushed-Them Creek, I to follow +up the stream. At the head of it, close to the foot of the mountains, he +said, I should find the deep, well-worn trail of the Pikuni, which ran +straight east past the foot of Black Butte to the Musselshell. If I +should fail to meet the Pikuni along Crooked Creek I was to go west +along the trail until I found them or the place where they had turned +northeast in the direction of the buttes toward which he was heading. + +It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when I struck the big +east-and-west trail at the head of the creek, not more than a mile from +the foot of the Moccasin Mountains. My horse went on more easily in one +of the broad, smooth tracks, and I was more expectant. The Pikuni could +not be far from me now, I thought. + +Toward sundown I topped a long, wide, sloping ridge and looked back +along the way I had come--more than forty miles. My horse was showing +the strain of the long, hot ride. My throat was burning hot from want of +water; my lips were cracking. + +A mile or two ahead were low, pine-capped hills, and between two of them +I saw a patch of the bright green foliage of cottonwoods, a sure sign of +water. It was growing dusk when I arrived at the place. I slid from my +horse and held his rope as he stepped into the narrow stream. He all but +fought me when I pulled him away from it and picketed him near by. Then +I drank and had a hard fight with myself to stop long before I had had +enough. + +From the description of the country that Pitamakan had given me I knew +that I was at the head of the east fork of It-Crushed-Them Creek. I did +not know how far it was to the other fork, but, near or far, it was +impossible for me to go on until my horse had had a good rest, with +plenty of grass and water. In the gathering night I found a good +grazing-place a little way below the crossing, picketed him upon it and +sat down beside the small clump of buck-brush round which I had fastened +the end of his rope. An hour or so later I took him again to water and +that time I drank all that I wanted. Then back at the grazing-place I +ate the meat and hard bread that Tsistsaki had tied to my saddle while +my runner greedily cropped the short, rich grass. Long and hard though +my ride had been, I was too worried to sleep. As plain as if it were +right in front of me, I could see our little camp at the mouth of the +Musselshell and its weary watchers staring out at the river-bank, +expecting every moment that the enemy would swarm up and attack them. + +I fell asleep, and my dream was worse than my waking vision. I saw our +camp within the barricade a wreck, with smouldering heaps of lodges, and +scalped bodies strewn among them. The dream was so real, so terrible +that the force of it woke me and I came to myself standing and tensely +gripping my rifle. + +I looked up to the north and was astonished. The Seven Persons had +nearly completed their nightly course; morning was at hand. How could I +have slept so long? I sprang up and saddled my horse, watered him, and, +mounting in the light of the half-moon, again took up the trail to the +west. + +When I had gone two or three miles from my camping-place my horse raised +his head and neighed loudly. I angrily checked his attempt to neigh +again and probably betray my presence to some enemy near by. When he +pulled on his bit and pranced sidewise, eager to go on, I fought his +attempts and looked up and down the rise in front of me as far as I +could see in the moonlight. I listened and heard the far-off but +unmistakable howling of dogs. How my heart rose at the sound of it! +Ahead was the camp of the Pikuni, I was sure. Crows or other enemies +would not dare bring their women and children so far into Blackfoot +country. I let my eager horse go. We fairly flew up over the next rise +and then over another, and there at the foot of it, in the light of +breaking day, scattered up and down a willow-fringed streamlet, were the +lodges of my people and their herds of horses blackening the valley. + +Smoke was rising from several of the lodges as I rushed into the camp, +sprang from my horse in front of White Wolf's lodge, and dived into it. + +"Hurry! Hurry! Call the warriors! The cut-throats are at our camp! Oh, +why were you so slow in coming?" I all but shouted. + +"Now, calm yourself! Excited ones can't talk straight--" White Wolf +began. + +But his head wife interrupted him by springing to my side, grabbing my +arm, and fiercely crying, "My son--Pitamakan! What of him?" + +"Somewhere near here, looking for you," I answered; and with a queer, +choking croon of relief she sank back upon her couch. + +"If we are too late, it is Far Thunder's fault," White Wolf said to me +sternly. "His message was that the cut-throats were encamped upon their +own river in the north. Why should we hurry, then, when they were more +than twice as far from you as we were? Well, tell us how it is!" + +I explained our situation in a few words, but, few as they were, they +set White Wolf afire. "There is no time to lose! Come! Quick to Big +Lake's lodge!" + +We ran and burst in upon the head chief, who was still lying under his +robes. I had not half finished telling why I had come when he had one of +his women running for the camp-crier. Five minutes later the crier and +several volunteers were hurrying up and down the long camp calling out +the warriors and ordering the clan chiefs and the chiefs of the bands of +the All Friends Society to hurry to a council in Big Lake's lodge. + +They came, running and eager, and in a very short time it was decided +what bands of the society should hurry on to fight the cut-throats and +what ones should guard the following camp. About six hundred men were +ordered to be ready to start as soon as possible, each one with his two +best horses. + +The boys and the old men were running in the herds as White Wolf and I +returned to his lodge. I told one of the women to catch for me two +certain horses in our band and fell upon the food that was set before +me. Then, just as we began eating, we heard a great outcry near by, and +Pitamakan came in and sat beside his father, who fondly patted him on +the shoulder. His horse had played out at the It-Crushed-Them Creek +buttes, and he had remained there all night. + +Now the warriors were beginning to gather out in front of the center of +the camp, each band round its chief. We soon joined them with our fresh +mounts. Raising the war song, and followed by the cries of the women +calling upon us to be of good courage and win, we set out upon our ride +to the Musselshell. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE RIVER TAKES ITS TOLL + + +Pitamakan and I rode in the lead with the chiefs, because in a way we +were the guides of the relief party. Behind us came the different bands +of the I-kun-uh-kah-tsi, or All Friends Society, each one herding its +extra horses. Our pace was so fast that there was little opportunity for +talk; and Pitamakan and I had no desire to do so. Our thoughts were with +our little camp of besieged people. + +At noon we halted for a short rest. The chiefs at once gathered in a +circle and began to plan just what should be done at the mouth of the +Musselshell; that is, if Far Thunder and his engagés still held the +barricade. Pitamakan and I told how they would be suffering from want of +water and urged that we ride as straight as we could to their relief. + +Then up spoke Heavy Runner, chief of the Braves, and the war chief of +the Pikuni: + +"It is true," he said, "that Far Thunder and his people, if still alive, +must be choking from need of water, but for their own good and the good +of all the Blackfoot tribes they must choke a little longer. Should we +go charging straight to their barricade, the enemy would see us from far +off and have plenty of time to retreat from the bank of the river into +the grove, and there make a good fight, kill many of us, perhaps, and +escape in the darkness. What we must try to do is to give the +cut-throats a lesson that they and their children and their children's +children will remember as long as the sun makes the days. I therefore +propose that we ride down Crooked Creek into Upon-the-Other-Side Bear +River, right into the stream bed, and follow it to the edge of the big +grove. There half of us will leave our horses and go on and surprise the +enemy under the edge of the bank of Big River and drive them out upon +the open flat away from the grove. There we afoot and the other half of +us on horseback and Far Thunder with his loud-mouth gun will just let +one or two of the cut-throats escape to tell his people what the Pikuni +did to their warriors." + +Without exception the chiefs approved this plan, but Pitamakan and I +made objections. "It is a roundabout way," said Pitamakan, "to go clear +to the mouth of this creek and then down the winding bed of the other +stream. We haven't the time to do it." + +"If Far Thunder and those with him are still alive, their sufferings +from need of water are something terrible," I said. "Chiefs, let us +leave Crooked Creek right here and strike straight across the plain as +soon as possible!" + +"I shall say a few words about this!" White Wolf exclaimed. "I have a +big interest in that little party down there in the barricade; my own +sister is there. And yet I say that as she is suffering, so must she +suffer a little longer for the good of the Pikuni. But not much longer. +In a time like this what is one horse to any of us? Nothing! We will +leave our tired horses right here, and if a Crow or other war party +comes along and takes them--well, we shall probably recover them some +day. Upon our fresh horses we can go this roundabout way and certainly +arrive at the head of the big grove before sundown. Then we will wipe +out those cut-throats, every last one of them, before it becomes too +dark for us to shoot straight. Come! let us hurry on!" + +"Yes! We will do that! There's nothing the matter with the bird's head!" +cried Heavy Runner as he sprang up, and all laughed and cheered as we +mounted our fresh horses. The chief's slang expression was a favorite +one of the Blackfeet, and equivalent to our saying, "I don't care; +everything goes with me!" + +Away we went, leaving behind us more than three hundred fine horses, +fast buffalo-runners every one of them. Occasionally during the +afternoon we cut bends, but for the most part we followed the straight +northeast course of the valley and at about five o'clock entered the +valley of the Musselshell. + +[Illustration: AWAY WE WENT, LEAVING BEHIND US MORE THAN THREE HUNDRED +FINE HORSES] + +Now we had to proceed more slowly, but even when fording, we never went +at a pace slower than a trot; and so toward sundown we approached the +grove. Heavy Runner brought us to a halt about three hundred yards from +it and told Pitamakan to dismount and sneak out to see whether our +little camp was still standing. He went, climbing the bank with flying +leaps, and then upon hands and knees disappeared from our view into the +tall, thick-growing sagebrush. At last he returned, and, as soon as he +came in sight, thrust his right hand above the point of his shoulder, +with the index finger extended and the others closed. "They survive!" + +I almost yelled out my relief when I saw him make that sign! + +During his absence the chiefs had decided which of our bands were to go +on foot into the grove and which were to remain upon their horses where +we were until the battle opened. I was more than glad that the band of +which Pitamakan and I were members, the Kit-Foxes, was one of those +chosen to go into the grove. Only the Doves, Tails, and Mosquitoes were +to form the follow-up party on horseback. + +"Not all the cut-throats are under the river-bank in front of the +barricade," said Heavy Runner to us as we were starting. "Probably most +of them are resting in this grove. As soon as they discover our +approach, we must charge and do our very best to drive them from the +timber toward the barricade. When the first shot is fired, we charge!" + +We soon entered the grove by way of the stream bed. On and on we went, +hearing nothing of the enemy until we were almost at the mouth of the +stream. There we smelled smoke, and Heavy Runner brought us to a stand, +then signed us to move out into the timber to the west. We climbed the +bank and, looking through the willows, saw several small groups of the +enemy sitting and lying about small fires that they had built. They were +all unconscious of our approach, and the nearest were not more than +fifty yards from us. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Pitamakan on my +left raising his rifle, and I raised mine and quickly sighted it at one +of the reclining figures. Of pity there was not an atom in my heart; as +the cut-throats would do to that little band of sufferers in the +barricade, so must we do to them, I thought. + +I believe that Pitamakan was the first to fire and I second; and then +all up and down our line guns boomed and bowstrings twanged. With wild +yells of, "Now, Kit-Foxes!" "Now, Crazy Dogs!" "Now, Soldiers!" we +rushed out into the open timber after the fleeing enemy. I noticed +several of them dead as we passed their camp-fires. If shots had been +fired at us I had not heard them. We had stampeded the cut-throats by +our sudden attack, and they were running in the one direction that they +could go, straight for the bank of the Missouri at the upper edge of the +grove. There, for several moments, they made a stand and killed one of +our men and wounded three. But we kept pressing closer, and the right of +our line gained the edge of the grove at the river, from which they +obtained a clear view of the bank and the shore. Numbers of the enemy +still under the bank came running down the shore toward the grove to +join their comrades who were in the point of it. Some of them fell as +our right fired into them. The river-bank was no longer a shelter for +them; they had not the courage to attempt to force us back, although, +had they known it, they far outnumbered us and could have broken through +our line. There seemed to remain but one thing for them to do, and they +did it: they broke out from the point of the grove and headed up the +valley, intending no doubt to gain the shelter of the tall sagebrush, in +which they might stand us off until nightfall and then in the darkness +make their escape. + +We all halted at the edge of the timber and let them go, well knowing +what was about to take place. Hurriedly we reloaded our weapons. As I +rammed home a ball on top of a charge of powder poured in by guess I +looked out at our barricade and saw the lodges standing in it intact. + +"Pitamakan, our relatives survive!" I cried. + +"Of course! I so signed to you! See, they are wheeling the loud-mouth +out from the passageway!" + +But I had no time to look. Our mounted party had followed on after us +pretty closely and now broke out from the timber and charged at the +enemy. How we yelled when the enemy came to an abrupt stand and then +turned and headed back toward the river, shedding their robes, pouches, +ropes, everything they carried except their weapons! Right then was my +uncle's one chance to fire into them without our being in the line of +his aim, and he seized the opportunity. _Boom!_ went the old cannon, and +_Bang! Bang! Bang!_ sounded the rifles of his men. Though the enemy were +far from him, several of them went down. + +On sped the others toward the river while we fired into them. Meanwhile +our riders were rapidly gaining on them, but not rapidly enough to +overtake them before they went leaping down the bank and into the water +with furious pawings and kickings and cries of terror and despair. Our +whole force soon lined the bank and fired at them, but the treacherous, +sand-laden, swirling current of the river took more toll of their number +than our shots did. + +I could not shoot at the defenseless swimmers; so I called to Pitamakan +and we left the bank and ran toward the barricade. + +There at the passageway a strange sight met our eyes. My uncle, with +parched lips and bloodshot eyes, stood guard with his rifle over +Tsistsaki, who doled out a cupful of water to one after another of the +engagés, while they, crazed from want of it, alternately called him bad +names and cried and begged for more. Now and then one of them ran to +scale the barricade and go to the river, only to be forced back by +Abbott and the Twins. + +"Look at 'em! Look at the pigs!" Josh was exclaiming. "They'd just +natcherly drink 'emselves to death if we'd let 'em!" + +My uncle turned and saw us at his side. + +"Ha! Here are my faithful boys!" he exclaimed in a hoarse, cracked +voice. + +"Through you we survive!" Tsistsaki said to us, and we could barely hear +her strangely pitched voice. + +Behind the engagés were their women and children; they, it seemed, had +been served first from the two buckets of water that Abbott had brought +from the river as soon as the bank was clear of the enemy. I looked over +the little crowd, missed the Mandans and asked for them. + +"They are down at the river; they will not kill themselves drinking, as +these worthless rascals would if they could git to it!" said Abbott. + +"There! They have all drunk," said Tsistsaki, taking the cup from Henri +Robarre, who was begging wildly for just a little more of the water. +Turning, she held a cupful up to my uncle. + +"No! You first," he signed. She drank and then he did. Then his voice +came back to him and he hoarsely roared to the engagés: "Now, then, you +all get back out of my sight until you are called to drink again! I am +mighty sick of you and your contemptible whinings!" + +"Leave 'em to us, Wesley; we'll herd 'em for you!" Lem called; and with +a sigh of relief my uncle turned away from them. + +Some of the women were leading the half-dead horses toward us. + +"Look at that! They've got a whole lot more heart than their men, those +women have!" Abbott exclaimed. + +My uncle took Tsistsaki by the hand, and we all four went out to the +river-bank. The fight was over, and the Pikuni on horseback and on foot +were going about counting the dead cut-throats and counting coup upon +them, too. Whereupon Pitamakan cried, "How could I have forgotten? I +have a coup to count down there in the timber." + +He went from us as fast as he could run. + +Abbott and the women came to the head of the water trail with the horses +and began relieving their torment with a bucketful all round. Back in +the barricade we could hear the engagés begging the Twins to turn them +loose. The five old Mandans came up from the water and one by one +gravely shook my hand. + +"We survive!" Lame Wolf signed to me. "I knew that you would bring the +Pikuni in time; my medicine told me that you would be here before the +setting of this sun. And here you are! The sun is good to us!" + +"Yes. Good to us!" I answered. + +I had no more than told my uncle and Tsistsaki briefly of our ride in +quest of the Pikuni and listened to a short account of their trials with +the thirst-crazed engagés when in the gathering dusk White Wolf and +Heavy Runner and the other chiefs came up to us. They all knew the old +Mandans and affectionately greeted them. Tsistsaki ran to her brother, +White Wolf, and embraced him and cried a little with joy at seeing him +again. We then all turned to the stockade, and my uncle called out to +the Twins, "Josh, Lem, let those rascals go now! If they waterlog +themselves it will not be my funeral!" + +They made a wild onset upon the bucket of water that the Twins were +guarding, upset it, and with strange, wild cries leaped the barricade +and rushed to the river. They were just animals, those old-time French +Creole engagés! Perhaps it would be better and a little nearer the truth +to say that they were just irresponsible children of man's size. + +Tsistsaki started a little fire in our lodge; then we all gathered in +it. Outside the women were employing every pot in camp to cook meat and +boil coffee for our guests. We had to provide for the chiefs and a few +of the head warriors only; the others were gathering about fires of +their own in the grove, and would have no food until they could kill +some meat in the morning. My uncle regretted that we had nothing except +coffee to send down to them. + +"It doesn't matter," Heavy Runner told him. "They are so happy over what +they have done to the cut-throats that they are not thinking about +food." + +Presently Pitamakan came in, much excited. "Here is news for you, +chiefs!" he said. "We have counted forty-one dead, and of that number +only seven are cut-throats; the rest are Parted Hairs!" (Kai-spa: Parted +Hair: the Yanktonnais Sioux.) + +"Ha! That accounts for it!" White Wolf exclaimed. "Your message, Far +Thunder, was that we were to help you fight the cut-throats who would +come from their far north river; therefore we did not hurry, since we +had only half as long a trail to travel." + +"That was the word I sent you. I could not know that instead of going +back to their people for help to wipe us out, Sliding Beaver's war party +would turn to the nearest Parted Hairs," my uncle answered. + +Heavy Runner laughed. "All they had to do was to tell the Parted Hairs +that you had your Is-spai-u horse here, and they came running." + +"And their shadows, ha! How many of them are now on the dreary trail to +shadow land!" some one exclaimed. + +"There must be a hundred, perhaps two hundred, dead in the river; and of +us but two are dead and three wounded!" said Pitamakan. + +Pitamakan's estimate of the loss of the enemy proved to be not far from +correct. The following spring we learned in a roundabout way from the +Hudson's Bay Company post on the Assiniboin River that the total loss of +the enemy was one hundred and eighty-two out of the four hundred and +more men who had so confidently started south to wipe us out and take +our black racer. Of that number one hundred and forty-one had been shot +or drowned in the river, and not one of the survivors had reached the +shore with his weapons. + +Pitamakan and I were so utterly worn-out that we could not take part in +the talk and the rejoicings over the defeat of the enemy. As soon as we +had finished eating, we took some bedding and went some distance west of +the barricade, where we lay down and fell asleep listening to the +thunderous triumphant singing of the warriors round their camp-fires +down in the grove. We had not recovered our saddle-horses, but well knew +that some of our friends were caring for them. + +On the following morning every member of our little party of +fort-builders awoke with the feeling that our troubles were ended. In +honor of the occasion my uncle gave the engagés a holiday and turned +the horses out to graze wherever they would. The chiefs remained with +us; some of the warriors went back to meet the oncoming caravan of the +Pikuni; others scattered to hunt, and still others remained in the +grove, resting, singing, talking over with one another every detail of +the battle. + +In the afternoon Pitamakan and I saddled the three engagés' horses and +rode with Tsistsaki to meet the Pikuni, which we did about three miles +out on the plain. Long before we met the long caravan we could hear the +people singing, laughing, rejoicing over the great news that had been +brought to them. They greeted us with smiles and jests as they passed +along. Tsistsaki fell into line with White Wolf's family. Then Pitamakan +and I sheered off to the heads of the Missouri breaks, killed a couple +of mule buck deer, and took home all the meat that our horses could +carry with us on top of the loads. That evening, as we looked up the +valley from the barricade, how pleasant it was to see the lodges of the +Pikuni strung for a mile or more along the course of the river! +"Thomas," said my uncle as he stood with me looking at them and +listening to the cheerful hum of the great camp, "Thomas, I was rash; I +took too great chances in this enterprise. But all is well with us now. +We cannot fail to make a big trade here. I can hardly wait for the +morrow to resume work upon the fort. You must bear a hand at it when you +and Pitamakan are not getting meat for camp." + +I did "bear a hand." The engagés, relieved of all fear of the enemy and +anxious to move into snug, log-walled quarters, worked as I had never +seen them work before. When in due time the Yellowstone II arrived with +our large shipment of goods, we had a long stock-room and a trade-room +ready to receive it; and in the early part of October the fort was +completed, bastions and all, and the engagés were told to get in the +winter firewood. At about that time the other tribes of the Blackfeet +and our allies, the Gros Ventres, arrived and went into camp at various +points along the Musselshell and the Missouri. Crow Foot, chief of the +Blackfoot tribe, brought us a letter from Carroll and Steell. I +remember word for word a sentence or two in it: "Well, Wesley, by this +time you have completed your War-Trail Fort, and you have done it by the +merest scratch. Had the Pikuni been a day or two longer in arriving at +the mouth of the Musselshell, your scalp would now be hanging in a +Yanktonnais lodge. Aren't you the lucky man!" + +"I certainly am! And thankful, too, to the good God for all his +mercies!" exclaimed my uncle when he had read it. From that remark you +will see that he had not altogether forgotten his early religious +training. + +Perhaps you can imagine how Pitamakan and I kicked up our heels when, +one fine October morning, my uncle announced that we were free to roam +wherever we pleased. The Pikuni were going to hunt and trap along the +foot of the Snowy Mountains and the upper reaches of the Musselshell and +its tributaries, and we went with them and had great adventures. At +Christmas-time we returned to the fort with more than our full share of +beaver pelts. + +From then until spring I was kept busy in the fort day after day helping +in the trade for the furs and robes that came to us in a perfect stream. +In the following June our shipment totaled seven thousand fine +head-and-tail buffalo robes; twenty-one hundred beaver pelts; four +thousand elk, deer, and antelope skins; and about three thousand wolf +pelts. After receiving the statement of the sale of them in St. Louis my +uncle clapped his hands and laughed and cried out: "Tsistsaki, Thomas, +this is how we stand: all our bills are paid, and we are ahead one good +fort and forty-two thousand dollars in cash!" + +"Ha! What happiness is ours!" my almost-mother exclaimed. + +"And," said I, "we are not asking for goods on credit for next winter's +trade, are we?" + + +THE END + + + The Riverside Press + CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS + U. S. A. + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +Transcriber's note. + +Minor punctuation inconsistencies have been silently repaired. Variable +spelling and hyphenation have been retained. Words in italics are +presented _this way_. + + + + +By Guy Wetmore Carryl. + + + THE LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR. Crown 8vo, $1.50. + + ZUT AND OTHER PARISIANS. Narrow 12mo. + + GRIMM TALES MADE GAY. Illustrated by ALBERT LEVERING. Square crown + 8vo, $1.50, _net._ Postpaid, $1.62. + + +HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY, BOSTON AND NEW YORK. + + + + +Zut + +_AND OTHER PARISIANS_ + + + + + _GUY WETMORE CARRYL_ + + Zut + + AND OTHER PARISIANS + + [Illustration] + + _BOSTON AND NEW YORK_ + HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY + _The Riverside Press, Cambridge_ + 1903 + + + + + _Copyright 1903 by Guy Wetmore Carryl_ + _All rights reserved_ + + _Published September, 1903_ + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +_A_ + +C. F. G. + + +_Mon cher ami_: + +_En souvenir de maints beaux jours dont tu as partagé l'allégresse: en +attendant d'autres à venir: de ceux-là encore dont tu as adouci la +souffrance et l'ennui: par reconnaissance de conseils qu'on n'oublie +jamais et de prévoyances dont on se souvient toujours: je te dédie les +contes suivants. Tu y retrouveras beaucoup d'amis et peut-être autant +d'inconnus: tu les acceuilleras assurément, les uns et les autres, avec +cette belle hospitalité qui ne s'est jamais démentie, et qui m'a rendu +et me rendra encore--espérons-le!--ton obligé et reconnaissant_ + + _G. W. C._ + + + + +_CONTENTS_ + + + _Page_ + + ZUT 3 + + CAFFIARD, _Deus ex Machina_ 28 + + THE NEXT CORNER 56 + + THE ONLY SON OF HIS MOTHER 84 + + THE TUITION OF DODO CHAPUIS 109 + + LE POCHARD 138 + + A LATTER-DAY LUCIFER 161 + + POIRE! 190 + + PAPA LABESSE 215 + + IN THE ABSENCE OF MONSIEUR 245 + + LITTLE TAPIN 275 + + + + +ZUT + + + + +[Illustration] + +Zut + + +SIDE by side, on the avenue de la Grande Armée, stand the épicerie of +Jean-Baptiste Caille and the salle de coiffure of Hippolyte Sergeot, and +between these two there is a great gulf fixed, the which has come to be +through the acerbity of Alexandrine Caille (according to Espérance +Sergeot), through the duplicity of Espérance Sergeot (according to +Alexandrine Caille). But the veritable root of all evil is Zut, and Zut +sits smiling in Jean-Baptiste's doorway, and cares naught for anything +in the world, save the sunlight and her midday meal. + +When Hippolyte found himself in a position to purchase the salle de +coiffure, he gave evidence of marked acumen by uniting himself in the +holy--and civil--bonds of matrimony with the retiring patron's daughter, +whose dot ran into the coveted five figures, and whose heart, said +Hippolyte, was as good as her face was pretty, which, even by the +unprejudiced, was acknowledged to be forcible commendation. The +installation of the new establishment was a nine days' wonder in the +quartier. It is a busy thoroughfare at its western end, is the avenue de +la Grande Armée, crowded with bicyclists and with a multitude of +creatures fearfully and wonderfully clad, who do incomprehensible things +in connection with motor-carriages. Also there are big cafés in plenty, +whose waiters must be smoothly shaven: and moreover, at the time when +Hippolyte came into his own, the porte Maillot station of the +Métropolitain had already pushed its entrée and sortie up through the +soil, not a hundred metres from his door, where they stood like +atrocious yellow tulips, art nouveau, breathing people out and in by +thousands. There was no lack of possible custom. The problem was to turn +possible into probable, and probable into permanent; and here the seven +wits and the ten thousand francs of Espérance came prominently to the +fore. She it was who sounded the progressive note, which is half the +secret of success. + +"Pour attirer les gens," she said, with her arms akimbo, "il faut +d'abord les épater." + +In her creed all that was worth doing at all was worth doing gloriously. +So, under her guidance, Hippolyte journeyed from shop to shop in the +faubourg St. Antoine, and spent hours of impassioned argument with +carpenters and decorators. In the end, the salle de coiffure was +glorified by fresh paint without and within, and by the addition of a +long mirror in a gilt frame, and a complicated apparatus of gleaming +nickel-plate, which went by the imposing title of appareil antiseptique, +and the acquisition of which was duly proclaimed by a special placard +that swung at right angles to the door. The shop was rechristened, too, +and the black and white sign across its front which formerly bore the +simple inscription "Kilbert, Coiffeur," now blazoned abroad the vastly +more impressive legend "Salon Malakoff." The window shelves fairly +groaned beneath their burden of soaps, toilet waters, and perfumery, a +string of bright yellow sponges occupied each corner of the window, and, +through the agency of white enamel letters on the pane itself, public +attention was drawn to the apparently contradictory facts that English +was spoken and "schampoing" given within. Then Hippolyte engaged two +assistants, and clad them in white duck jackets, and his wife fabricated +a new blouse of blue silk, and seated herself behind the desk with an +engaging smile. The enterprise was fairly launched, and experience was +not slow in proving the theories of Espérance to be well founded. The +quartier was épaté from the start, and took with enthusiasm the bait +held forth. The affairs of the Salon Malakoff prospered prodigiously. + +But there is a serpent in every Eden, and in that of the Sergeot this +rôle was assumed by Alexandrine Caille. The worthy épicier himself was +of too torpid a temperament to fall a victim to the gnawing tooth of +envy, but in the soul of his wife the launch, and, what was worse, the +immediate prosperity of the Salon Malakoff, bred dire resentment. Her +own establishment had grown grimy with the passage of time, and the +annual profits displayed a constant and disturbing tendency toward +complete evaporation, since the coming of the big cafés, and the +resultant subversion of custom to the wholesale dealers. This persistent +narrowing of the former appreciable gap between purchase and selling +price rankled in Alexandrine's mind, but her misguided efforts to +maintain the percentage of profit by recourse to inferior qualities only +made bad worse, and, even as the Sergeot were steering the Salon +Malakoff forth upon the waters of prosperity, there were nightly +conferences in the household next door, at which impending ruin +presided, and exasperation sounded the keynote of every sentence. The +resplendent façade of Hippolyte's establishment, the tide of custom +which poured into and out of his door, the loudly expressed admiration +of his ability and thrift, which greeted her ears on every side, and, +finally, the sight of Espérance, fresh, smiling, and prosperous, behind +her little counter,--all these were as gall and wormwood to Alexandrine, +brooding over her accumulating debts and her decreasing earnings, among +her dusty stacks of jars and boxes. Once she had called upon her +neighbor, somewhat for courtesy's sake, but more for curiosity's, and +since then the agreeable scent of violet and lilac perfumery dwelt +always in her memory, and mirages of scrupulously polished nickel and +glass hung always before her eyes. The air of her own shop was heavy +with the pungent odors of raw vegetables, cheeses, and dried fish, and +no brilliance redeemed the sardine and biscuit boxes which surrounded +her. Life became a bitter thing to Alexandrine Caille, for if nothing is +more gratifying than one's own success, surely nothing is less so than +that of one's neighbor. Moreover, her visit had never been returned, and +this again was fuel for her rage. + +But the sharpest thorn in her flesh--and even in that of her phlegmatic +husband--was the base desertion to the enemy's camp of Abel Flique. In +the days when Madame Caille was unmarried, and when her ninety kilos +were fifty still, Abel had been youngest commis in the very shop over +which she now held sway, and the most devoted suitor in all her train. +Even after his prowess in the black days of '71 had won him the +attention of the civil authorities, and a grateful municipality had +transformed the grocer-soldier into a guardian of law and order, he +still hung upon the favor of his heart's first love, and only gave up +the struggle when Jean-Baptiste bore off the prize and enthroned her in +state as presiding genius of his newly acquired épicerie. Later, an +unwittingly kindly prefect had transferred Abel to the seventeenth +arrondissement, and so the old friendship was picked up where it had +been dropped, and the ruddy-faced agent found it both convenient and +agreeable to drop in frequently at Madame Caille's on his way home, and +exchange a few words of reminiscence or banter for a box of sardines or +a minute package of tea. But, with the deterioration in his old friends' +wares, and the almost simultaneous appearance of the Salon Malakoff, his +loyalty wavered. Flique sampled the advantages of Hippolyte's +establishment, and, being won over thereby, returned again and again. +His hearty laugh came to be heard almost daily in the salle de coiffure, +and because he was a brave homme and a good customer, who did not stand +upon a question of a few sous, but allowed Hippolyte to work his will, +and trim and curl and perfume him to his heart's content, there was +always a welcome for him, and a smile from Madame Sergeot, and +occasionally a little present of brillantine or perfumery, for +friendship's sake, and because it is well to have the good-will of the +all-powerful police. + +From her window Madame Caille observed the comings and goings of Abel +with a resentful eye. It was rarely now that he glanced into the +épicerie as he passed, and still more rarely that he greeted his former +flame with a stiff nod. Once she had hailed him from the doorway, +sardines in hand, but he had replied that he was pressed for time, and +had passed rapidly on. Then indeed did blackness descend upon the soul +of Alexandrine, and in her deepest consciousness she vowed to have +revenge. Neither the occasion nor the method was as yet clear to her, +but she pursed her lips ominously, and bided her time. + +In the existence of Madame Caille there was one emphatic consolation for +all misfortunes, the which was none other than Zut, a white angora cat +of surpassing beauty and prodigious size. She had come into +Alexandrine's possession as a kitten, and, what with much eating and an +inherent distaste for exercise, had attained her present proportions and +her superb air of unconcern. It was from the latter that she derived her +name, the which, in Parisian argot, at once means everything and +nothing, but is chiefly taken to signify complete and magnificent +indifference to all things mundane and material: and in the matter of +indifference Zut was past-mistress. Even for Madame Caille herself, who +fed her with the choicest morsels from her own plate, brushed her fine +fur with excessive care, and addressed caressing remarks to her at +minute intervals throughout the day, Zut manifested a lack of interest +that amounted to contempt. As she basked in the warm sun at the shop +door, the round face of her mistress beamed upon her from the little +desk, and the voice of her mistress sent fulsome flattery winging toward +her on the heavy air. Was she beautiful, mon Dieu! In effect, all that +one could dream of the most beautiful! And her eyes, of a blue like the +heaven, were they not wise and calm? Mon Dieu, yes! It was a cat among +thousands, a mimi almost divine. + +Jean-Baptiste, appealed to for confirmation of these statements, replied +that it was so. There was no denying that this was a magnificent beast. +And of a chic. And caressing--(which was exaggeration). And of an +affection--(which was doubtful). And courageous--(which was wholly +untrue.) Mazette, yes! A cat of cats! And was the boy to be the whole +afternoon in delivering a cheese, he demanded of her? And Madame Caille +would challenge him to ask her that--but it was a good, great beast all +the same!--and so bury herself again in her accounts, until her +attention was once more drawn to Zut, and fresh flattery poured forth. +For all of this Zut cared less than nothing. In the midst of her +mistress's sweetest cajolery, she simply closed her sapphire eyes, with +an inexpressibly eloquent air of weariness, or turned to the intricacies +of her toilet, as who should say: "Continue. I am listening. But it is +unimportant." + +But long familiarity with her disdain had deprived it of any sting, so +far as Alexandrine was concerned. Passive indifference she could suffer. +It was only when Zut proceeded to an active manifestation of ingratitude +that she inflicted an irremediable wound. Returning from her marketing +one morning, Madame Caille discovered her graceless favorite seated +complacently in the doorway of the Salon Malakoff, and, in a paroxysm of +indignation, bore down upon her, and snatched her to her breast. + +"Unhappy one!" she cried, planting herself in full view of Espérance, +and, while raining the letter of her reproach upon the truant, +contriving to apply its spirit wholly to her neighbor. "What hast thou +done? Is it that thou desertest me for strangers, who may destroy thee? +Name of a name, hast thou no heart? They would steal thee from me--and +above all, _now_! Well then, no! One shall see if such things are +permitted! Vagabond!" And with this parting shot, which passed +harmlessly over the head of the offender, and launched itself full at +Madame Sergeot, the outraged épicière flounced back into her own domain, +where, turning, she threatened the empty air with a passionate gesture. + +"Vagabond!" she repeated. "Good-for-nothing! Is it not enough to have +robbed me of my friends, that you must steal my child as well? We shall +see!"--then, suddenly softening--"Thou art beautiful, and good, and +wise. Mon Dieu, if I should lose thee, and above all, _now_!" + +Now there existed a marked, if unvoiced, community of feeling between +Espérance and her resentful neighbor, for the former's passion for cats +was more consuming even than the latter's. She had long cherished the +dream of possessing a white angora, and when, that morning, of her own +accord, Zut stepped into the Salon Malakoff, she was received with +demonstrations even warmer than those to which she had long since become +accustomed. And, whether it was the novelty of her surroundings, or +merely some unwonted instinct which made her unusually susceptible, her +habitual indifference then and there gave place to animation, and her +satisfaction was vented in her long, appreciative purr, wherewith it was +not once a year that she vouchsafed to gladden her owner's heart. +Espérance hastened to prepare a saucer of milk, and, when this was +exhausted, added a generous portion of fish, and Zut then made a tour of +the shop, rubbing herself against the chair-legs, and receiving the +homage of customers and duck-clad assistants alike. Flique, his ruddy +face screwed into a mere knot of features, as Hippolyte worked violet +hair-tonic into his brittle locks, was moved to satire by the +apparition. + +"Tiens! It is with the cat as with the clients. All the world forsakes +the Caille." + +Strangely enough, the wrathful words of Alexandrine, as she snatched her +darling from the doorway, awoke in the mind of Espérance her first +suspicion of this smouldering resentment. Absorbed in the launching of +her husband's affairs, and constantly employed in the making of change +and with the keeping of her simple accounts, she had had no time to +bestow upon her neighbors, and, even had her attention been free, she +could hardly have been expected to deduce the rancor of Madame Caille +from the evidence at hand. But even if she had been able to ignore the +significance of that furious outburst at her very door, its meaning had +not been lost upon the others, and her own half-formed conviction was +speedily confirmed. + +"What has she?" cried Hippolyte, pausing in the final stage of his +operations upon the highly perfumed Flique. + +"Do I know?" replied his wife with a shrug. "She thinks I stole her +cat--_I!_" + +"Quite simply, she hates you," put in Flique. "And why not? She is old, +and fat, and her business is taking itself off, like that! You are young +and"--with a bow, as he rose--"beautiful, and your affairs march to a +marvel. She is jealous, c'est tout! It is a bad character, that." + +"But, mon Dieu!"-- + +"But what does that say to you? Let her go her way, she and her cat. Au +r'voir, 'sieurs, 'dame." + +And, rattling a couple of sous into the little urn reserved for tips, +the policeman took his departure, amid a chorus of "Merci, m'sieu', au +r'voir, m'sieu'," from Hippolyte and his duck-clad aids. + +But what he had said remained behind. All day Madame Sergeot pondered +upon the incident of the morning and Abel Flique's comments thereupon, +seeking out some more plausible reason for this hitherto unsuspected +enmity than the mere contrast between her material conditions and those +of Madame Caille seemed to her to afford. For, to a natural placidity of +temperament, which manifested itself in a reluctance to incur the +displeasure of any one, had been lately added in Espérance a shrewd +commercial instinct, which told her that the fortunes of the Salon +Malakoff might readily be imperiled by an unfriendly tongue. In the +quartier, gossip spread quickly and took deep root. It was quite +imaginably within the power of Madame Caille to circulate such rumors of +Sergeot dishonesty as should draw their lately won custom from them and +leave but empty chairs and discontent where now all was prosperity and +satisfaction. + +Suddenly there came to her the memory of that visit which she had never +returned. Mon Dieu! and was not that reason enough? She, the youngest +patronne in the quartier, to ignore deliberately the friendly call of a +neighbor! At least it was not too late to make amends. So, when business +lagged a little in the late afternoon, Madame Sergeot slipped from her +desk, and, after a furtive touch to her hair, went in next door to pour +oil upon the troubled waters. + +Madame Caille, throned at her counter, received her visitor with +unexampled frigidity. + +"Ah, it is you," she said. "You have come to make some purchases, no +doubt." + +"Eggs, madame," answered her visitor, disconcerted, but tactfully +accepting the hint. + +"The best quality--or--?" demanded Alexandrine, with the suggestion of a +sneer. + +"The best, evidently, madame. Six, if you please. Spring weather at +last, it would seem." + +To this generality the other made no reply. Descending from her stool, +she blew sharply into a small paper bag, thereby distending it into a +miniature balloon, and began selecting the eggs from a basket, holding +each one to the light, and then dusting it with exaggerated care before +placing it in the bag. While she was thus employed Zut advanced from a +secluded corner, and, stretching her fore legs slowly to their utmost +length, greeted her acquaintance of the morning with a yawn. Finding in +the cat an outlet for her embarrassment, Espérance made another effort +to give the interview a friendly turn. + +"He is beautiful, madame, your matou," she said. + +"It is a female," replied Madame Caille, turning abruptly from the +basket, "and she does not care for strangers." + +This second snub was not calculated to encourage neighborly overtures, +but Madame Sergeot had felt herself to be in the wrong, and was not to +be so readily repulsed. + +"We do not see Monsieur Caille at the Salon Malakoff," she continued. +"We should be enchanted"-- + +"My husband shaves himself," retorted Alexandrine, with renewed dignity. + +"But his hair"--ventured Espérance. + +"_I_ cut it!" thundered her foe. + +Here Madame Sergeot made a false move. She laughed. Then, in confusion, +and striving, too late, to retrieve herself--"Pardon, madame," she +added, "but it seems droll to me, that. After all, ten sous is a sum so +small"-- + +"All the world, unfortunately," broke in Madame Caille, "has not the +wherewithal to buy mirrors, and pay itself frescoes and appareils +antiseptiques! The eggs are twenty-four sous--but we do not pride +ourselves upon our eggs. Perhaps you had better seek them elsewhere for +the future!" + +For sole reply Madame Sergeot had recourse to her expressive shrug, and +then laying two francs upon the counter, and gathering up the sous which +Alexandrine rather hurled at than handed her, she took her way toward +the door with all the dignity at her command. But Madame Caille, feeling +her snub to have been insufficient, could not let her go without a final +thrust. + +"Perhaps your husband will be so amiable as to shampoo my cat!" she +shouted. "She seems to like your 'Salon'!" + +But Espérance, while for concord's sake inclined to tolerate all +rudeness to herself, was not prepared to hear Hippolyte insulted, and +so, wheeling at the doorway, flung all her resentment into two words. + +"Mal élevée!" + +"Gueuse!" screamed Alexandrine from the desk. And so they parted. + +Now, even at this stage, an armed truce might still have been preserved, +had Zut been content with the evil she had wrought, and not thought it +incumbent upon her further to embitter a quarrel that was a very pretty +quarrel as it stood. But, whether it was that the milk and fish of the +Salon Malakoff lay sweeter upon her memory than any of the familiar +dainties of the épicerie Caille, or that, by her unknowable feline +instinct, she was irresistibly drawn toward the scent of violet and +lilac brillantine, her first visit to the Sergeot was soon repeated, and +from this visit other visits grew, until it was almost a daily +occurrence for her to saunter slowly into the salle de coiffure, and +there receive the food and homage which were rendered as her undisputed +due. For, whatever was the bitterness of Espérance toward Madame Caille, +no part thereof descended upon Zut. On the contrary, at each visit her +heart was more drawn toward the sleek angora, and her desire but +strengthened to possess her peer. But white angoras are a luxury, and an +expensive one at that, and, however prosperous the Salon Malakoff might +be, its proprietors were not as yet in a position to squander eighty +francs upon a whim. So, until profits should mount higher, Madame +Sergeot was forced to content herself with the voluntary visits of her +neighbor's pet. + +Madame Caille did not yield her rights of sovereignty without a +struggle. On the occasion of Zut's third visit, she descended upon the +Salon Malakoff, robed in wrath, and found the adored one contentedly +feeding on fish in the very bosom of the family Sergeot. An appalling +scene ensued. + +"If," she stormed, crimson of countenance, and threatening Espérance +with her fist, "if you _must_ entice my cat from her home, at _least_ I +will thank you not to give her food. I provide all that is necessary; +and, for the rest, how do I know what is in that saucer?" + +And she surveyed the duck-clad assistants and the astounded customers +with tremendous scorn. + +"You others," she added, "I ask you, is it just? These people take my +cat, and feed her--_feed_ her--with I know not what! It is overwhelming, +unheard of--and, above all, _now_!" + +But here the peaceful Hippolyte played trumps. + +"It is the privilege of the vulgar," he cried, advancing, razor in hand, +"when they are at home, to insult their neighbors, but here--no! My wife +has told me of you and of your sayings. Beware! or I shall arrange your +affair for you! Go! you and your cat!" + +And, by way of emphasis, he fairly kicked Zut into her astonished +owner's arms. He was magnificent, was Hippolyte! + +This anecdote, duly elaborated, was poured into the ears of Abel Flique +an hour later, and that evening he paid his first visit in many months +to Madame Caille. She greeted him effusively, being willing to pardon +all the past for the sake of regaining this powerful friend. But the +glitter in the agent's eye would have cowed a fiercer spirit than hers. + +"You amuse yourself," he said sternly, looking straight at her over the +handful of raisins which she tendered him, "by wearying my friends. I +counsel you to take care. One does not sell inferior eggs in Paris +without hearing of it sooner or later. I know more than I have told, but +not more than I _can_ tell, if I choose." + +"Our ancient friendship"--faltered Alexandrine, touched in a vulnerable +spot. + +"--preserves you thus far," added Flique, no less unmoved. "Beware how +you abuse it!" + +And so the calls of Zut were no longer disturbed. + +But the rover spirit is progressive, and thus short visits became long +visits, and finally the angora spent whole nights in the Salon Malakoff, +where a box and a bit of carpet were provided for her. And one fateful +morning the meaning of Madame Caille's significant words "and above all, +_now_!" was made clear. + +The prosperity of Hippolyte's establishment had grown apace, so that, on +the morning in question, the three chairs were occupied, and yet other +customers awaited their turn. The air was laden with violet and lilac. A +stout chauffeur, in a leather suit, thickly coated with dust, was +undergoing a shampoo at the hands of one of the duck-clad, and, under +the skillfully plied razor of the other, the virgin down slid from the +lips and chin of a slim and somewhat startled youth, while from a +vaporizer Hippolyte played a fine spray of perfumed water upon the ruddy +countenance of Abel Flique. It was an eloquent moment, eminently fitted +for some dramatic incident, and that dramatic incident Zut supplied. She +advanced slowly and with an air of conscious dignity from the corner +where was her carpeted box, and in her mouth was a limp something, +which, when deposited in the immediate centre of the Salon Malakoff, +resolved itself into an angora kitten, as white as snow! + +"Epatant!" said Flique, mopping his perfumed chin. And so it was. + +There was an immediate investigation of Zut's quarters, which revealed +four other kittens, but each of these was marked with black or tan. It +was the flower of the flock with which the proud mother had won her +public. + +"And they are all yours!" cried Flique, when the question of ownership +arose. "Mon Dieu, yes! There was such a case not a month ago, in the +eighth arrondissement--a concierge of the avenue Hoche who made a +contrary claim. But the courts decided against her. They are all yours, +Madame Sergeot. My felicitations!" + +Now, as we have said, Madame Sergeot was of a placid temperament which +sought not strife. But the unprovoked insults of Madame Caille had +struck deep, and, after all, she was but human. + +So it was that, seated at her little desk, she composed the following +masterpiece of satire: + + CHÈRE MADAME,--We send you back your cat, and the others--all but + one. One kitten was of a pure white, more beautiful even than its + mother. As we have long desired a white angora, we keep this one as + a souvenir of you. We regret that we do not see the means of + accepting the kind offer you were so amiable as to make us. We fear + that we shall not find time to shampoo your cat, as we shall be so + busy taking care of our own. Monsieur Flique will explain the rest. + + We pray you to accept, madame, the assurance of our distinguished + consideration, + + HIPPOLYTE AND ESPÉRANCE SERGEOT. + + * * * * * + +It was Abel Flique who conveyed the above epistle, and Zut, and four of +Zut's kittens, to Alexandrine Caille, and, when that wrathful person +would have rent him with tooth and nail, it was Abel Flique who laid his +finger on his lip, and said,-- + +"Concern yourself with the superior kitten, madame, and I concern myself +with the inferior eggs!" + +To which Alexandrine made no reply. After Flique had taken his +departure, she remained speechless for five consecutive minutes for the +first time in the whole of her waking existence, gazing at the spot at +her feet where sprawled the white angora, surrounded by her mottled +offspring. Even when the first shock of her defeat had passed, she +simply heaved a deep sigh, and uttered two words,-- + +"Oh, _Zut_!" + +The which, in Parisian argot, at once means everything and nothing. + + + + +[Illustration] + +Caffiard + +DEUS EX MACHINA + + +THE studio was tucked away in the extreme upper northeast corner of 13 +ter rue Visconti, higher even than that cinquième, dearly beloved of the +impecunious, and of whoso, between stairs and street odors, chooses the +lesser evil, and is more careful of lungs than legs. After the six long +flights had been achieved, around a sharp corner and up a little winding +stairway, was the door which bore the name of Pierre Vauquelin. Inside, +after stumbling along a narrow hall, as black as Erebus, and floundering +through a curtained doorway, one came abruptly into the studio, and, in +all probability, fell headlong over a little rattan stool, or an easel, +or a box of paints, and was picked up by the host, and dusted, and put +to rights, and made much of, like a bumped child. Thus restored to +equanimity one was better able to appreciate what Pierre called la +Boîte. + +The Box was a room eight metres in width by ten in length, with a +skylight above, and a great, square window in the north wall, which +latter sloped inward from floor to ceiling, by reason of the mansarde +roof. Of what might be called furniture there was but little, a Norman +cupboard of black wood, heavily carved, a long divan, contrived from +various packing boxes and well-worn rugs, a large, square table, a half +dozen chairs, three easels, and a repulsive little stove with an +interminable pipe, which, with its many twists and turns, gave one the +impression of a thick, black snake, that had, a moment before, been +swaying about in the room, and had suddenly found a hole in the roof +through which to thrust its head. + +But of minor things the Box was full to overflowing. The Norman cupboard +was crammed with an assortment of crockery, much of it sadly nicked and +cracked, the divan was strewn with boxes of broken pastels, +paint-brushes, and palettes coated with dried colors, the table littered +with papers, sketches, and books, and every chair had its own particular +trap for the unwary, in the form of thumb-tacks or a glass half full of +cloudy water: and in the midst of this chaos, late on a certain mid-May +afternoon, stood the painter himself, with his hands thrust deep into +the pockets of his corduroy trousers, and his back turned upon the +portrait upon which he had been at work. It was evident that something +untoward was in the air, because Pierre, who always smoked, was not +smoking, and Pierre, who never scowled, was scowling. + +In the Quartier--that Quartier which alone, of them all, is spelt with a +capital Q--there was, in ordinary, no gayer, more happy-go-lucky type +than this same Pierre. He lived, as did a thousand of his kind, on +eighty sous a day (there were those who lived on less, pardi!), and +breakfasted, and dined, at that,--yes, and paid himself an absinthe at +the Deux Magots at six o'clock, and a package of green cigarettes, into +the bargain. For the rest of the time, he was understood to be working +on a portrait in his studio, and, what is more surprising, often was. +There was nothing remarkable about Pierre's portraits, except that +occasionally he sold one, and for money--for _actual money_, the +astonishing animal! But if any part of the modest proceeds of such a +transaction remained, after the rent had been paid and a new canvas +purchased, it was not the caisse d'épargne which saw it, be sure of +that! For Pierre lived always for the next twenty-four hours, and let +the rest of time and eternity look out for themselves. + +Yet he took his work seriously. That was the trouble. Even admitting +that, thus far, his orders had come only from the more prosperous +tradesmen of the Quartier, did that mean, par exemple, that they would +not come in time from the millionaires of the sixteenth arrondissement? +By no means, whatever, said Pierre. To be sure, he had never had the +Salon in the palm of his hand, so to speak, but what of that? Jean-Paul +himself would tell you that it was all favoritism! So Pierre toiled away +at his portrait painting, and made a little competency, but, if the +truth were told, no appreciable progress from year's beginning to year's +end. + +For once, however, his luck had played him false. The fat restaurateur, +whose wife's portrait he had finished that afternoon and carried at top +speed, with the paint not yet dry, to the rue du Bac, was out of town on +business, and would not return until the following evening; and that, so +far as Pierre was concerned, was quite as bad as if he were not expected +until the following year. Pierre's total wealth amounted to one +five-franc piece and three sous, and he had been relying upon the +restaurateur's four louis, to enable him to fulfill his promise to Mimi. +For the next day was her fête, and they were to have breakfasted in the +country, and taken a boat upon the Seine, and returned to dine under the +trees. Not at Suresnes or St. Cloud, ah, non! Something better than +that--the true country, sapristi! at Poissy, twenty-eight kilometres +from Paris. All of which meant at least a louis, and, no doubt, more! +And where, demanded Pierre of the great north window, where was a louis +to be found? + +For there was a tacit understanding among the comrades in the Quartier +that there must be no borrowing and lending of money. It was a clause of +their creed, which had been adopted in the early days of their +companionship, for what was, clearly, the greatest general good, the +chances being that no one of them would ever possess sufficient surplus +capital either to accommodate another or to repay an accommodation. For +a moment, to be sure, the thought had crossed Pierre's mind, but he had +rejected it instantly as impracticable. Aside from the unwritten +compact, there was no one of them all who could have been of service, +had he so willed. Even Jacques Courbet, who possessed a disposition +which would have impelled him to chop off his right hand with the utmost +cheerfulness, if thereby he could have gratified a friend, was worse +than useless in this emergency. Had it been a matter of forty sous--but +a louis! As well have asked him for the Vénus de Milo, and had done with +it. + +So it was that, with the premonition of Mimi's disappointed eyes cutting +great gaps in his tender heart, Pierre had four times shrugged his +shoulders, and quoted to himself this favorite scrap of his remarkable +philosophy,--"Oh, lala! All this will arrange itself!" and four times +had paused, in the act of lighting a cigarette, and plunged again into +the depths of despondent reverie. As he was on the point of again +repeating this entirely futile operation, a distant clock struck six, +and Pierre, remembering that Mimi must even now be waiting for him at +the west door of St. Germain-des-Prés, clapped on his cap, and sallied +forth into the gathering twilight. + +It was apéritif hour at the Café des Deux Magots, and the long, +leather-covered benches against the windows, and the double row of +little marble-topped tables in front were rapidly filling, as Pierre and +Mimi took their places, and ordered two Turins à l'eau. A group of +American Beaux Arts men at their right were chattering in their uncouth +tongue, with occasional scraps of Quartier slang, by way of local color, +and now and again hailing a newcomer with exclamations, apparently of +satisfaction, which began with "Hello!" The boulevard St. Germain was +alive with people, walking past with the admirable lack of haste which +distinguishes the Parisian, or waiting, in patient, voluble groups, for +a chance to enter the constantly arriving and departing trams and +omnibuses; and an unending succession of open cabs filed slowly along +the curb, their drivers scanning the terrasse of the café for a possible +fare. The air was full of that mingled odor of wet wood pavements and +horse-chestnut blossoms, which is the outward, invisible sign of that +most wonderful of inward and spiritual combinations--Paris and Spring! +And, at the table directly behind Pierre and Mimi sat Caffiard. + +There was nothing about Caffiard to suggest a _deus ex machina_, or +anything else, for that matter, except a preposterously corpulent old +gentleman with an amiable smile. But in nothing were appearances ever +more deceitful than in Caffiard. For it was he, with his enormous double +chin, and his general air of harmless fatuity, who edited the little +colored sheet entitled La Blague, which sent half Paris into convulsions +of merriment every Thursday morning, and he who knew every caricaturist +in town, and was beloved of them all for the heartiness of his +appreciation and the liberality of his payments. In the first regard he +was but one of many Parisian editors: but in the second he stood +without a peer. Caran d'Ache, Léandre, Willette, Forain, Hermann Paul, +Abel Faivre--they rubbed their hands when they came out of Caffiard's +private office, and if the day chanced to be Saturday, there was +something in their hands worth rubbing. A fine example, Caffiard! + +Mimi's black eyes sparkled like a squirrel's as she watched Pierre over +the rim of her tumbler of vermouth. She was far from being blind, Mimi, +and already, though they had been together but six minutes, she had +noted that unusual little pucker between his eyebrows, that sad little +droop at the corners of his merry mouth. She told herself that Pierre +had been overworking himself, that Pierre was tired, that Pierre needed +cheering up. So Mimi, who was never tired, not even after ten hours in +Madame Fraichel's millinery establishment, secretly declared war upon +the unusual little pucker and the sad little droop. + +"Voyons donc, my Pierrot!" she said. "It is not a funeral to which we go +to-morrow, at least! Thou must be gay, for we have much to talk of, thou +knowest. One dines at La Boîte?" + +"The dinner is there, such as it is," replied Pierre gloomily. + +"What it is now, is not the question," said Mimi, with confidence, "but +what I make of it--pas? And then there is to-morrow! Oh, lala, lalala! +What a pleasure it will be, if only the good God gives us beautiful +weather. Dis, donc, great thunder-cloud, dost thou know it, this +Poissy?" + +Pierre had begun a caricature on the back of the wine-card, glancing now +and again at his model, an old man selling newspapers on the curb. He +shook his head without replying. + +"Eh, b'en, my little one, thou mayest believe me that it is of all +places the most beautiful! One eats at the Esturgeon, on the Seine,--but +_on_ the Seine, with the water quite near, like that chair. He names +himself Jarry, the proprietor, and it is a good type--fat and handsome. +I adore him! Art thou jealous, species of thinness of a hundred nails? +B'en, afterwards, one takes a boat, and goes, softly, softly, down the +little arm of the Seine, and creeps under the willows, and, perhaps, +fishes. But no, for it is the closed season. But one sings, eh? What +does one sing? Voyons!" + +She bent forward, and, in a little voice, like an elf's, very thin and +sweet, hummed a snatch of a song they both knew. + + _"C'est votre ami Pierrot qui vient vous voir: + Bonsoir, madame la lune!"_ + +"And then," she went on, as Pierre continued his sketch in silence, "and +then, one disembarks at Villennes and has a Turin under the arbors of +Bodin. Another handsome type, Bodin! Flut! _What_ a man!" + +Mimi paused suddenly, and searched his cloudy face with her earnest, +tender little eyes. + +"Pierrot," she said, softly, "what hast thou? Thou art not angry with +thy gosseline?" + +Pierre surveyed the outline of the newspaper vender thoughtfully, +touched it, here and there, with his pencil-point, squinted, and then +pushed the paper toward the girl. + +"Not bad," he said, replacing his pencil in his pocket. + +But Mimi had no eyes for the caricature, and merely flicked the +wine-card to the ground. + +"Pierrot"--she repeated. + +Vauquelin plunged his hands in his pockets and looked at her. + +"Well, then," he announced, almost brutally, "we do not go to-morrow." + +"_Pierre!_" + +It was going to be much worse than he had supposed, this little tragedy. +Bon Dieu, how pretty she was, with her startled, hurt eyes, already +filling with tears, and her parted lips, and her little white hand, that +had flashed up to her cheek at his words! Oh, much worse than he had +supposed! But she must be told: there was nothing but that. So Pierre +put his elbows on the table, and his chin in his hands, and brought his +face close to hers. + +"Voyons!" he explained, "thou dost not believe me angry! Mais non, mais +non! But listen. It is I who am the next to the last of idiots, since I +have never a sou in pocket, never! And the imbecile restaurateur, whose +wife I have been painting, will not return until to-morrow, and so I am +not paid. Voilà!" + +He placed his five-franc piece upon the table, and shrugged his +shoulders. + +"One full moon!" he said, and piled the three sous upon it. "And three +soldiers. As I sit here, that is all, until to-morrow night. We cannot +go!" + +Brave little Mimi! Already she was winking back her tears, and smiling. + +"But that--that is nothing!" she answered. "I do not care to go. No--but +truly! Look! We shall spend the day in the studio, and breakfast on the +balcony, and pretend the rue Visconti is the Seine." + +"I am an empty siphon!" said Pierre, yielding to desperation. + +"_Non!_" said Mimi firmly. + +"I am a pierced basket, a box of matches!" + +"_Non! Non!_" said Mimi, with tremendous earnestness. "Thou art Pierrot, +and I love thee! Let us say no more. I shall go back and prepare the +dinner, and thou shalt remain and drink a Pernod. It will give thee +heart. But follow quickly. Give me the key." + +She laid her wide-spread hand on his, palm upward, like a little pink +starfish. + +"We go together, and I adore thee!" said Pierre, and kissed her in the +sight of all men, and was not ashamed. + + * * * * * + +Caffiard leaned forward, picked up the fallen wine-card, pretended to +consult it, and ponderously arose. As Pierre was turning the key in the +door of the little apartment, they heard a sound of heavy breathing, and +the _deus ex machina_ came lumbering up the winding stair. + +"Monsieur is seeking some one?" asked the painter politely. + +There was no breath left in Caffiard. He was only able, by way of reply, +to point at the top button of Pierre's coat, and nod helplessly: then, +as Mimi ran ahead to light the gas, he labored along the corridor, +staggered through the curtained doorway, stumbled over a rattan stool, +was rescued by Pierre, and, finally, established upon the divan, very +red and gasping. + +For a time there was silence, Pierre and Mimi busying themselves in +putting the studio to rights, with an instinctive courtesy which took no +notice of their visitor's snorts and wheezes; and Caffiard taking note +of his surroundings with his round, blinking eyes. Opposite him, against +the wall, reposed the portrait of the restaurateur's wife, as dry and +pasty as a stale cream cheese upon the point of crumbling, and on an +easel was another--that of Monsieur Pantin, the rich shirt-maker of the +boulevard St. Germain--on which Pierre was at work. A veritable atrocity +this, with a green background which trespassed upon Monsieur Pantin's +hair, and a featureless face, gaunt and haggard with yellow and purple +undertones. There was nothing in either picture to refute one's natural +suspicion that soap had been the medium employed. Caffiard blinked +harder still as his eyes rested upon the portraits, and he secretly +consulted the crumpled wine-card in his hand. Then he seemed to recover +his breath by means of a profound sigh. + +"Monsieur makes caricatures?" he inquired. + +"Ah, monsieur," said Pierre, "at times, and for amusement only. I am a +portraitist." And he pointed proudly to the picture against the wall. + +For they are all alike, these painters--proudest of what they do least +well! + +"Ah! Then," said Caffiard, with an air of resignation, "I must ask +monsieur's pardon, and descend. I am not interested in portraits. When +it comes to caricatures"-- + +"They are well enough in their way," put in Pierre, "but as a serious +affair--to sell, for instance--well, monsieur comprehends that one does +not debauch one's art!" + +Oh, yes, they are all alike, these painters! + +"What is serious, what is not serious?" answered Caffiard. "It is all a +matter of opinion. One prefers to have his painting glued to the wall of +the Salon, next the ceiling, another to have his drawing on the front +page of La Blague." + +"Oh, naturally La Blague," protested Pierre. + +"I am its editor," said Caffiard superbly. + +"_Eigh!_" exclaimed Pierre. For Mimi had cruelly pinched his arm. Before +the sting had passed, she was seated at Caffiard's side, tugging at the +strings of a great portfolio. + +"Are they imbeciles, these painters, monsieur?" she was saying. "Now you +shall see. This great baby is marvelous, but _marvelous_, with his +caricatures. Not Léandre himself--it is I who assure you, monsieur!--and +to hear him, one would think--but thou _tirest_ me, Pierrot!--With his +portraits! No, it is _too_ much!" + +She spread the portfolio wide, and began to shuffle through the drawings +it contained. + +Caffiard's eyes glistened as he saw them. Even in her enthusiasm, Mimi +had not overshot the mark. They were marvelous indeed, these +caricatures, mere outlines for the most part, with a dot, here and +there, of red, or a little streak of green, which lent them a curious, +unusual charm. The subjects were legion. Here was Loubet, with a great +band of crimson across his shirt bosom, here Waldeck-Rousseau, with eyes +as round and prominent as agate marbles, or Yvette, with a nose on which +one might have hung an overcoat, or Chamberlain, all monocle, or +Wilhelmina, growing out of a tulip's heart, and as pretty as an old +print, with her tight-fitting Dutch cap and broidered bodice. And then a +host of types--cochers, grisettes, flower women, camelots, Heaven knows +what not!--the products of half a hundred idle hours, wherein +great-hearted, foolish Pierre had builded better than he knew! + +Caffiard selected five at random, and then, from a waistcoat pocket that +clung as closely to his round figure as if it had been glued thereto, +produced a hundred-franc note. + +"I must have these for La Blague, monsieur," he said. "Bring me two +caricatures a week at my office in the rue St. Joseph, and you shall be +paid at the same rate. It is not much, to be sure. But you will have +ample time left for your--for your portrait-painting, monsieur!" + +For a moment the words of Caffiard affected Pierre and Mimi as the +stairs had affected Caffiard. They stared at him, opening and shutting +their mouths and gasping, like fish newly landed. Then, suddenly, +animated by a common impulse, they rushed into each other's arms, and +set out, around the studio, in a mad waltz, which presently resolved +itself into an impromptu can-can, with Mimi skipping like a fairy, and +Pierre singing: "Hi! _Hi!!_ HI!!!" and snapping at her flying feet with +a red-bordered handkerchief. After this Mimi kissed Caffiard twice: once +on the top of his bald head, and once on the end of his stubby nose. It +was like being brushed by the floating down of a dandelion. And, +finally, nothing would do but that he must accompany them upon the +morrow; and she explained to him in detail the plan which had so nearly +fallen through, and the _deus ex machina_ did not betray by so much as a +wink that he had heard the entire story only half an hour before. + +But, in the end, he protested. But she was insane, the little one, +completely! Had he then the air of one who gave himself into those boats +there, name of a pipe? But let us be reasonable, voyons! He was not +young like Pierre and Mimi--one comprehended that these holidays did not +recommence when one was sixty. What should he do, he demanded of them, +trailing along, as one might say, he and his odious fatness? Ah, _non_! +For la belle jeunesse was la belle jeunesse, there was no means of +denying it, and it was not for a species of dried sponge to be giving +itself the airs of a fresh flower. "But no! But no!" said Caffiard, +striving to rise from the divan. "In the morning I have my article to do +for the Figaro, and I am going with Caran to Longchamp, en auto, for the +races in the afternoon. But no! But no!" + +It was plain that Caffiard had known Mimi no more than half an hour. One +never said, "But no! But no!" to Mimi, unless it was for the express +purpose of having one's mouth covered by the softest little pink palm to +be found between the Seine and the Observatoire,--which, to do him +justice, Caffiard was quite capable of scheming to bring about, if only +he had known! He had accepted the little dandelion-down kisses in a +spirit of philosophy, knowing well that they were given not for his +sake, but for Pierre's. But now his protests came to an abrupt +termination, for Mimi suddenly seated herself on his lap, and put one +arm around his neck. + +It was nothing short of an achievement, this. Even Caffiard himself had +not imagined that such a thing as his lap was still extant. Yet here was +Mimi, actually installed thereon, with her cheek pressed against his, +and her breath, which was like clover, stirring the ends of his +moustache. But she was smiling at Pierre, the witch! Caffiard could see +it out of the corner of his eye. + +"Mais non!" he repeated, but more feebly. + +"Mais non! Mais non! Mais non!" mocked Mimi. "Great farceur! Will you +listen, at least? Eh b'en, voilà! Here is my opinion. As to insanity, if +for any one to propose a day in the country is insanity, well then, +yes,--I am insane! Soit! And, again, if you wish to appear serious,--in +Paris, that is to say--soit, également! But when you speak of odious +fatness, you are a type of monsieur extremely low of ceiling, do you +know! Moreover, you are going. Voilà! It is finished. As for Caran, let +him go his way and draw his caricatures--though they are not like +Pierre's, all the world knows!--and, without doubt, his auto will refuse +to move beyond the porte Dauphine, yes, and blow up, bon Dieu! when he +is in the act of mending it. One knows these boxes of vapors, what they +do. And as for the Figaro, b'en, flut! Evidently it will not cease to +exist for lack of your article--eh, l'ami? And it is Mimi who asks +you,--Mimi, do you understand, who invites you to her fête. And you +would refuse her--_toi_!" + +"But no! But no!" said Caffiard hurriedly. And meant it. + +At this point Pierre wrapped five two-sou pieces in a bit of paper, and +tossed them, out of a little window across the hallway, to a +street-singer whimpering in the court below. Pierre said that they +weighed down his pockets. They were in the way, the clumsy doublins, +said wonderful, spendthrift Pierre! + +For the wide sky of the Quartier is forever dotted with little clouds, +scudding, scudding, all day long. And when one of these passes across +the sun, there is a sudden chill in the air, and one walks for a time in +shadow, though the comrade over there, across the way, is still in the +warm and golden glow. But when the sun has shouldered the little cloud +aside again, ah, that is when life is good to live, and goes gayly, to +the tinkle of glasses and the ripple of laughter, and the ring of silver +bits. And when the street-singer in the court receives upon his head a +little parcel of coppers that are too heavy for the pocket, and smiles +to himself, who knows but what he understands? + +For what is also true of the Quartier is this--that, in sunshine or +shadow, one finds a soft little hand clasping his, firm, warm, +encouraging and kindly, and hears a gay little voice that, in foul +weather, chatters of the bright hours which it is so sweet to remember, +and, in fair, says never a word of the storms which it is so easy to +forget! + +The veriest bat might have foreseen the end, when once Mimi had put her +arm around the neck of Caffiard. Before the _deus ex machina_ knew what +he was about, he found his army of objections routed, horse, foot, and +dragoons, and had promised to be at the gare St. Lazare at eleven the +following morning. + +And what a morning it was! Surely the bon Dieu must have loved Mimi an +atom better than other mortals, for in the blue-black crucible of the +night he fashioned a day as clear and glowing as a great jewel, and set +it, blazing with warm light and vivid color, foremost in the diadem of +the year. And it was something to see Mimi at the carriage window, with +Pierre at her side and her left hand in his, and in her right a huge +bouquet--Caffiard's contribution--while the _deus ex machina_ himself, +breathing like a happy hippopotamus, beamed upon the pair from the +opposite corner. So the train slipped past the fortifications, swung +through a trim suburb, slid smoothly out into the open country. It was a +Wednesday, and there was no holiday crowd to incommode them. They had +the compartment to themselves; and the half hour flew like six minutes, +said Mimi, when at last they came to a shuddering standstill, and two +guards hastened along the platform in opposite directions, one droning +"Poiss-y-y-y-y!" and the other shouting "Poiss'! Poiss'! Poiss'!" as if +he had been sneezing. It was an undertaking to get Caffiard out of the +carriage, just as it had been to get him in. But finally it was +accomplished, a whistle trilled from somewhere as if it had been a +bird, another wailed like a stepped-on kitten, the locomotive squealed +triumphantly, and the next minute the trio were alone in their glory. + +It was a day that Caffiard never forgot. They breakfasted at once, so as +to have a longer afternoon. Mimi was guide and commander-in-chief, as +having been to the Esturgeon before, so the table was set upon the +terrasse overlooking the Seine, and there were radishes, and little +individual omelettes, and a famous matelote, which Monsieur Jarry +himself served with the air of a Lucullus, and, finally, a great dish of +quatre saisons, and, for each of the party, a squat brown pot of fresh +cream. And, moreover, no ordinaire, but St. Emilion, if you please, with +a tin-foil cap which had to be removed before one could draw the cork, +and a bottle of Source Badoit as well. And Caffiard, who had dined with +the Russian Ambassador on Monday and breakfasted with the Nuncio on +Tuesday, and been egregiously displeased with the fare in both +instances, consumed an unprecedented quantity of matelote, and went back +to radishes after he had eaten his strawberries and cream: while, to cap +the climax, Pierre paid the addition with a louis,--and gave _all_ the +change as a tip! But it was unheard-of! + +Afterwards they engaged a boat, and, with much alarm on the part of +Mimi, and satirical comment from Caffiard, and severe admonitions to +prudence by Pierre, pushed out into the stream and headed for Villennes, +to the enormous edification of three small boys, who hung precariously +over the railing of the terrace above them, and called Caffiard a +captive balloon. + +They made the three kilometres at a snail's pace, allowing the boat to +drift with the current for an hour at a time, and, now and again +creeping in under the willows at the water's edge until they were wholly +hidden from view, and the voice of Mimi singing was as that of some +river nixie invisible to mortal eyes. She sang "Bonsoir, Madame la +Lune," so sweetly and so sadly that Caffiard was moved to tears. It was +her favorite song, because--oh, because it was about Pierrot! And her +own Pierrot responded with a gay soldier ballad, a chanson de route +which he had picked up at the Noctambules; and even Caffiard sang--a +ridiculous ditty it was, which scored the English and went to a +rollicking air. They all shouted the refrain, convulsed with merriment +at the drollery of the sound:-- + + _"Qu'est ce qui quitte ses père et mère + Afin de s'en aller + S'faire taper dans le nez? + C'est le soldat d'Angleterre! + Dou-gle-di-gle-dum! + Avec les ba-a-a-alles dum-dum!"_ + +Caffiard was to leave them at Villennes after they should have taken +their apéritifs. They protested, stormed at him, scolded and cajoled by +turns, and called him a score of fantastic names--for by this time they +knew him intimately--as they sat in Monsieur Bodin's arbor and sipped +amer-menthe, but all in vain. Pierre had Mimi's hand, as always, and he +had kissed her a half-hundred times in the course of the afternoon. Mimi +had a way of shaking her hair out of her eyes with a curious little +backward jerk of her head when Pierre kissed her, and then looking at +him seriously, seriously, but smiling when he caught her at it. Caffiard +liked that. And Pierre had a trick of turning, as if to ask Mimi's +opinion, or divine even her unspoken wishes whenever a question came up +for decision--a choice of food or drink, or direction, or what-not. And +Caffiard liked _that_. + +He looked across the table at them now, dreamily, through his cigarette +smoke. + +"Pierrot," he said, after he had persuaded them to let him depart in +peace when the train should be due,--"Pierrot. Yes, that is it. You, +with your garret, and your painting, and your songs, and your black, +black sadness at one moment, and your laughter the next, and, above all, +your Pierrette, your bon-bon of a Pierrette:--you are Pierrot, the +spirit of Paris in powder and white muslin! Eigho! my children, what a +thing it is, la belle jeunesse! Tiens! you have given me a taste of it +to-day, and I thank you. I thought I had forgotten. But no, one never +forgets. It all comes back,--youth, and strength, and beauty, love, and +music, and laughter,--but only like a breath upon a mirror, my children, +only like a wind-ripple on a pool; for I am an old man." + +He paused, looking up at the vine-leaves on the trellis-roof, and +murmured a few words of Mimi's song:-- + + _"Pierrette en songe va venir me voir: + Bonsoir, madame la lune!"_ + +Then his eyes came back to her face. + +"I must be off," he said. "Why, what hast thou, little one? There are +tears in those two stars!" + +"C'est vrai?" asked Mimi, smiling at him and then at Pierre, and +brushing her hand across her eyes, "c'est vrai? Well then, they are gone +as quickly as they came. Voilà! Without his tears Pierrot is not +Pierrot, and without Pierrot"-- + +She turned to Pierre suddenly, and buried her face on his shoulder. + +"_Je t'aime!_" she whispered. "_Je t'aime!_" + + + + +[Illustration] + +The Next Corner + + +ANTHONY CAZEBY was a man whom the felicitous combination of an +adventurous disposition, sufficient ready money, and a magnificent +constitution had introduced to many and various sensations, but he was +conscious that, so far as intensity went, no one of them all had +approached for a moment that with which he emerged from the doorway of +the Automobile Club, and, winking at the sting of the keen winter air, +looked out across the place de la Concorde, with its globes of light, +swung, like huge pearls on invisible strings, across the haze of the +January midnight. He paused for a moment, as if he would allow his +faculties to obtain a full and final grasp of his situation, and +motioned aside the trim little club chasseur who stood before him, with +one cotton-gloved hand stretched out expectantly for a supposititious +carriage-check. + +"Va, mon petit, je vais à pied!" + +Afoot! Cazeby smiled to himself at the tone of sudden caprice which rang +in his voice, and, turning his fur collar high up about his ears, swung +off rapidly toward the Cours la Reine. After all, the avenue d'Eylau was +only an agreeable stroll's length distant. Why not go home afoot? But +then, on the other hand, why go home at all? As this thought leaped +suddenly at Cazeby's throat out of the void of the great unpremeditated, +he caught his breath, stopped suddenly in the middle of the driveway, +and then went on more slowly, thinking hard. + +It had been that _rarissima avis_ of social life, even in Paris, a +perfect dinner. Cazeby had found himself wondering, at more than one +stage of its smooth and imposing progress, how the Flints could afford +to do it. But on each recurrence of the thought he dismissed it with a +little frown of vexation. If there was one thing more than another upon +which Cazeby prided himself, it was originality of thought, word, and +deed, and he was annoyed to find himself, even momentarily, on a mental +level with the gossips of the American and English colonies, whose time +is equally divided between wondering how the Choses can afford to do +what they do, and why the Machins cannot afford to do what they leave +undone. + +People had said many things of Hartley Flint, and still more of his +wife, but no one had ever had the ignorance or the perversity to accuse +them of inefficiency in the matter of a dinner. Moreover, on this +particular occasion, they were returning the hospitality of the Baroness +Klemftt, who had, at the close of the Exposition, impressed into her +service the chef of the Roumanian restaurant, and whose dinners were, in +consequence, the wonder and despair of four foreign colonies. After her +latest exploit Hartley Flint had remarked to his wife that it was "up to +them to make good," which, being interpreted, was to say that it was at +once his duty and his intention to repay the Baroness in her own +sterling coin. The fact that the men of the party afterwards commended +Hartley's choice of wines, and that the women expressed the opinion that +"Kate Flint looked _really_ pretty!" would seem to be proof positive +that the operation of "making good" had been an unqualified success. + +Now, Cazeby was wondering whether he had actually enjoyed it all. Under +the circumstances it seemed to him incredible, and yet he could not +recall a qualm of uneasiness from the moment when the maître d'hôtel had +thrown open the doors of the private dining room, until the Baroness had +smiled at her hostess out of a cloud of old Valenciennes, and said, "Now +there are _two_ of us who give impeccable dinners, Madame Flint." Even +now, even facing his last ditch, Cazeby was conscious of a little thrill +of self-satisfaction. He had said the score of clever things which each +of his many hostesses expected of him, and had told with great effect +his story of the little German florist, which had grown, that season, +under the persuasive encouragement of society's applause, from a brief +anecdote into a veritable achievement of Teutonic dialect. Also, he had +worn a forty franc orchid, and had left it in his coffee-cup because it +had begun to wilt. In brief, he had been Anthony Cazeby at his +extraordinary best, a mixture of brilliancy and eccentricity, without +which, as Mrs. Flint was wont to say, no dinner was complete. + +But the sublime and the ridiculous are not the only contrasting +conditions that lie no further than a step apart, and Cazeby was +painfully conscious of having, in the past five minutes, crossed the +short interval which divides gay from grave. Reduced to its lowest +terms, his situation lay in his words to the little chasseur. With the +odor of the rarest orchid to be found in Vaillant-Rozeau's whole +establishment yet clinging to his lapel, Anthony Cazeby was going home +on foot because the fare from the Concorde to the avenue d'Eylau was one +franc fifty, and one franc fifty precisely ninety centimes more than he +possessed in the world. For a moment he straightened himself, threw back +his head, and looked up at the dull saffron of the low-hanging sky, in +an attempt to realize this astounding fact, and then went back to his +thinking. + +Well, it was not surprising. The life of a popular young diplomat with +extravagant tastes is not conducive to economy, and the forty thousand +dollars which had come to Cazeby at the beginning of his twenty-eighth +year had proved but a bad second best in the struggle with Parisian +gayety. His bibelots, his servants, Auteuil, Longchamp, his baccarat at +the Prince de Tréville's, a dancer at the Folies-Marigny, Monte Carlo, +Aix, Trouville,--they had all had their share, and now the piper was +waiting to be paid and the exchequer was empty. It was an old story. +Other men of his acquaintance had done the same, but they had had some +final resource. The trouble was, as Cazeby had already noted, that, in +his case, the final resource was not, as in theirs, pecuniary. Quite on +the contrary, it was a tidy little weapon, of Smith and Wesson make, +which lay in the upper right hand drawer of his marqueterie desk. He had +looked long at it that same afternoon, with all his worldly wealth, in +the shape of forty-two francs sixty, spread out beside it. That was +before he had taken a fiacre to Vaillant-Rozeau's. + +At the very moment when Cazeby was contemplating these doubtful assets, +a grim old gentleman was seated at another desk, three thousand miles +away, engaged upon a calculation of the monthly profits derived from a +wholesale leather business. But Cazeby père was one of the hopeless +persons who believe in economy. He was of the perverted opinion that +money hardly come by should be thoughtfully spent, or, preferably, +invested in government bonds, and he had violent prejudices against +"industrials," games of chance, and young men who preferred the gayety +of a foreign capital to the atmosphere of "the Swamp." Also he was very +rich. But Anthony had long since ceased to regard his father as anything +more than a chance relation. He could have told what would be the result +of a frank confession of his extremity as accurately as if the avowal +had been already made. There would have been some brief reference to the +sowing of oats and their reaping, to the making of a metaphorical bed +and the inevitable occupancy thereof, and to other proverbial +illustrations which, in a financial sense, are more ornamental than +useful,--and nothing more. The essential spark of sympathy had been +lacking between these two since the moment when the most eminent +physician in New York had said, "It is a boy, sir,--but--we cannot hope +to save the mother." The fault may have lain on the one side, or the +other, or on both, or on neither; but certain it is that to Anthony's +imagination Cazeby senior had never appealed in the light of a final +resource. + +Somehow, in none of his calculations had the idea of invoking assistance +ever played a part. Naturally, as a reasoning being, he had foreseen the +present crisis for some months, but at the time when the inevitable +catastrophe first became clear to him it was already too late to regain +his balance, since the remainder of his inheritance was so pitifully +small that any idea of retrieving his fortunes through its +instrumentality was simply farcical. The swirl of the rapids, as he had +then told himself, had already caught his boat. All that was left to do +was to go straight on to the sheer of the fall, with his pennant flying +and himself singing at the helm. Then, on the brink, a well-placed +bullet--no bungling for Anthony Cazeby!--and the next day people would +be talking of the shocking accident which had killed him in the act of +cleaning his revolver, and saying the usual things about a young man +with a brilliant future before him and everything in life for which to +live. + +And this plan he had carried out in every detail--save the last, to +which he was now come; and his was the satisfying conviction that not +one of the brilliant, careless men and women, among whom he lived, and +moved, and had his being, suspected for a moment that the actual +circumstances differed in the least from the outward appearances. He +thought it all over carefully now, and there was no play in the entire +game that he felt he would have liked to have changed. + +Sentiment had no part in the makeup of Anthony Cazeby. Lacking from +early childhood the common ties of home affection, and by training and +profession a diplomat, he added to a naturally undemonstrative nature +the non-committal suavity of official poise. But that was not all. He +had never been known to be ill at ease. This was something which gained +him a reputation for studious self-control. As a matter of fact it was +due to nothing of the sort. No one had ever come fairly at the root of +his character except Cazeby père, who once said, in a fit of passion, +"You don't care a brass cent, sir, whether you live and are made +President of the United States, or die and are eternally damned!" And +that was exactly the point. + +Something of all this had passed through Cazeby's mind, when he was +suddenly aroused to an appreciation of his whereabouts by the sound of a +voice, to find that the curious instinct of direction which underlies +advanced inebriety and profound preoccupation alike, had led him up the +avenue du Trocadéro, and across the place, and that he had already +advanced some little way along the avenue d'Eylau in the direction of +his apartment. The street was dimly lighted, but, just behind him, the +windows of a tiny wine-shop gave out a subdued glow, and from within +came the sound of a violin. Then Cazeby's attention came around to the +owner of the voice. This was a youngish man of medium stature, in the +familiar street dress of a French laborer, jacket and waistcoat of dull +blue velveteen, peg-top trousers of heavy corduroy, a crimson knot at +his throat, and a dark tam o'shanter pulled low over one ear. As their +eyes met, he apparently saw that Cazeby had not heard his first remark, +and so repeated it. + +"I have need of a drink!" + +There was nothing of the beggar in his tone or manner. Both were +threatening, rather; and, as soon as he had spoken, he thrust his lower +jaw forward, in the fashion common to the thug of any and every +nationality when the next move is like to be a blow. But, for once, +these manifestations of hostility failed signally of effect. Cazeby was +the last person in the world to select as the object of sudden attack, +with the idea that panic would make him easy prey. In his present state +of mind he went further than preserving his equanimity: he was even +faintly amused. It was not that he did not comprehend the other's +purpose, but, to his way of thinking, there was something distinctly +humorous in the idea of holding up a man with only sixty centimes to his +name, and menacing him with injury, when he himself was on his way to +the upper right hand drawer of the marqueterie desk. + +"I have need of a drink," repeated the other, coming a step nearer. +"Thou art not deaf, at least?" + +"No," said Cazeby, pleasantly, "no, I am not deaf, and I, too, have +need of a drink. Shall we take it together?" And, without waiting for a +reply, he turned and stepped through the doorway of the little wineshop. +The Frenchman hesitated, shrugged his shoulders with an air of complete +bewilderment, and, after an instant also entered the shop and placed +himself at the small table where Cazeby was already seated. + +"A vitriol for me," he said. + +Cazeby had not passed three years in Paris for nothing. He received this +remarkable request with the unconcern of one to whom the slang of the +exterior boulevards is sufficiently familiar, and, as the proprietor +leaned across the nickled slab of his narrow counter with an air of +interrogation, duplicated his companion's order. + +"Deux vitriols!" + +The proprietor, vouchsafing the phrase a grin of appreciation, lumbered +heavily around to the table, filled two small glasses from a bottle of +cheap cognac, and stood awaiting payment, hands on hips. + +"Di-ze sous," he said. + +There was no need to search for the exact amount. Cazeby spun his +fifty-centime piece upon the marble, added his remaining two sous by way +of pourboire, and disposed of the brandy at a gulp. + +"Have you also need of a cigarette?" he inquired, politely, tendering +the other his case. + +For some minutes, as they smoked, the diplomat and the vagabond took +stock of each other in silence. In many ways they were singularly alike. +There was in both the same irony of lip line, the same fair chiseling of +chin and nostril and brow, the same weariness of eye. The difference was +one of dress and bearing alone, and, in those first moments of mutual +analysis, Cazeby realized that there was about this street-lounger a +vague air of the gentleman, a subtle suggestion of good birth and +breeding, which even his slouching manner and coarse speech were not +wholly able to conceal: and his guest was conscious that in Cazeby he +had to deal with no mere society puppet, but with one in whom the +limitations of position had never wholly subdued the devil-may-care +instincts of the vagabond. The one was a finished model of a man of the +world, the other a caricature, but the clay was the same. + +"I am also hungry," said the latter suddenly. + +"In that respect," responded Cazeby, in the same tone of even +politeness, "I am, unfortunately, unable to assist you, unless you will +accept the hospitality of my apartment. It is but a step, and I am +rather an expert on bacon and eggs. Also," he added, falling into the +idiom of the faubourgs, "there is a means there of remedying the dryness +of the sponge in one's throat. My name is Antoine." + +"I am Bibi-la-Raie," said the other shortly. Then he continued, with +instinctive suspicion, "It is a strange fashion thou hast of introducing +a type to these gentlemen." + +"As a matter of fact," said Cazeby, "I do not live over a poste. But +whether or not you will come is something for you to decide. It is less +trouble to cook eggs for one than for two." + +Bibi-la-Raie reflected briefly. Finally he had recourse to his +characteristic shrug. + +"After all, what difference?" he said. "As well now as another time. I +follow thee!" + +The strangely assorted companions entered Cazeby's apartment as the +clock was striking one, and pressure of an electric button, flooding the +salon with light, revealed a little tea-table furnished with cigarettes +and cigars, decanters of Scotch whiskey and liqueurs, and Venetian +goblets of oddly tinted glass. Cazeby shot a swift glance at his guest +as this array sprang into view, and was curiously content to observe +that he manifested no surprise. Bibi-la-Raie had flung himself into a +great leather chair with an air of being entirely at ease. + +"Not bad, thy little box," he observed. "Is it permitted?" + +He indicated the table with a nod. + +"Assuredly," said Cazeby. "Do as if you were at home. I shall be but a +moment with the supper." + +When he returned from the kitchen, bearing a smoking dish of bacon and +eggs, butter, rye bread, and Swiss cheese, Bibi-la-Raie was standing in +rapt contemplation before an etching of the "Last Judgment." + +"What a genius, this animal of a Michel Ange!" he said. + +"Rather deft at times," replied Cazeby, arranging the dishes on the +larger table. + +"Je te crois!" said Bibi, enthusiastically. "Without him--what? +Evidently, it was not Léon Treize who built Saint Pierre!" + +The eggs had been peculiarly obstinate, as it happened, and a growing +irritability had taken possession of Anthony. As they ate in silence, +the full force of his tragic position returned to him. Even the +unwontedness of his chance encounter with Bibi-la-Raie had not wholly +dispelled the cloud that had been gradually settling around him since he +emerged from the Automobile Club, and, as they finished the little +repast, he turned suddenly upon his guest, in a burst of irritation. + +"Who are you?" he said. "And what does all this mean? Was I mistaken, +when you first spoke to me, in thinking you a mere voyou? Surely not! +You meant to rob me. You speak the argot of the fortifications. Yet here +I find you discoursing on Michel Angelo as though you were the +conservateur of the Uffizzi! What am I to think?" + +Bibi-la-Raie lit another cigarette, blew forth the smoke in a thin, gray +wisp, and thrust his thumbs into the arm-holes of his velveteen +waistcoat. + +"And _you_," he said, slowly, abandoning the familiar address he had +been using, "who are _you_? No, you were not mistaken in thinking I +meant to rob you. Such is my profession. But does a gentleman reply, in +ordinary, to the summons of a thief by paying that thief a drink? Does +he invite him to his apartment and cook a supper for him? What am _I_ to +think?" + +There was a brief pause, and then he faced his host squarely. + +"Are you absolutely resolved to put an end to it all to-night?" he +demanded. + +Cazeby made a small sign of bewilderment. + +"Ah, mon vieux," continued the other. "That, you know, is of no use with +me. You ask me who I am. For one thing, I am one who has lived too long +in touch with desperate men not to know the look in the eyes when the +end has come. You think you are going to blow out your brains to-night." + +"Your wits are wandering; that's all," said Cazeby, compassionately. + +"Oh, far from it!" said Bibi-la-Raie, with a short laugh. "But one does +when you have reached the stage where you _feel_ the promptings of +the Higher Reason, and live in accordance therewith, you will say +with Carpenter: + +"Lo! the healing power descending from within, calming the enfevered +mind, spreading peace among the grieving nerves. Lo! the eternal +saviour, the sought after of all the world, dwelling hidden (to be +disclosed) within each * * * * O joy insuperable." + + + + +"LET A LITTLE SUNSHINE IN." + +The young people's song--Good "New Thought" doctrine--Plenty of +sunshine in life, if you look for it--Don't make a dark dungeon of +your mind--Throw open the windows of your soul--How to let a little +sunshine in. + + +The other night, just as I was dropping off to sleep, a crowd of young +people passed along, returning from some social gathering. They were +bubbling over with mirth and joy, and every girl seemed to be talking +at the same time, the voices of the young men serving merely to +punctuate the sentences of their fair companions. Just after they +passed my window, some one started up a song, and the rest joined in. +I do not know the song they sang, but the chorus went something like +this: + + "Let a little sunshine in; + Let a little sunshine in; + Open wide the windows, + Open wide the doors, + And let a little sunshine in." + +I listened with pleasure to the words and cheerful air of the song and +said to myself: "Well, that's good enough 'New Thought' doctrine for +me." + +The young people went on their way singing. I, now wide awake, +listened and thought. The song grew fainter and fainter as the +distance between us grew greater, and at last I could not clearly +distinguish the words they sang, but the faint vibrations of the tune +still reached me, and I imagined that I could just hear the last words +of the refrain: + + "Let a little Sunshine in." + +Oh, if only those young people--and all young people--and all people +young or old--would take to their hearts these words, and "let a +little sunshine in." It is not sufficient that you merely agree that +the advice is good--that you merely repeat the words mechanically--you +must make thought take form in action, and not only say the words--not +only think them--but you must ACT them. Make them a part of your +life--incorporate the idea in your being--train yourself into the +habit of opening yourself to the sunshine of Life--get into the way of +letting it flow in. + + "Let a little Sunshine in." + +There is plenty of sunshine in life, if you only look for it. And +there is plenty of shadow in life, if you only look for it. But in the +things that seem all shadow to others, you will be able to find the +sunshine if you but train yourself to always look for it. And in that +which may seem bright sunshine to some, others will find nothing but +shade--they are troubled with a mental cataract that shuts out all the +rays of the sunshine of life. + + "Let a little Sunshine in." + +And when you learn to love the sunshine and look forward to seeing it +always, you seem to draw it to you. The Law of Attraction brings to +you your share of the sunshine with which the world is plentifully +supplied. And, if you fall into the habit of looking for and expecting +the shadow, the shadow will always be found. + + "Let a little Sunshine in." + +It is astonishing what a change the Mental Attitude of the person will +make. Change your Mental Attitude, and the whole world seems to +change. It is like taking off the smoked glasses that have caused the +world to seem dark and gloomy, and seeing the brightness and colors of +the world. + + "Let a little Sunshine in." + +Many of you have been making dark dungeons of your minds. You have +steadily shut out the sun, and your minds have become musty, damp and +mildewed. Across the floor crawl noxious creatures. The slimy form of +Fear drags itself slowly along, leaving its track behind; the hideous +shape of Jealousy eyes you from one corner--a creature of darkness; +the venomous reptile Hate shows its fangs; the vampire Worry flits +across the chamber. Fearful shapes are there glowering in the +darkness--frightful forms crouch in corners and recesses. All is +gloom, darkness, horror. A fit breeding place for the foul creatures +who fear the light--a fit nursery for monsters. Look within the dark +chambers of your mind--see what it really is--see what it generates. +Look within--look within. Ah, you see at last. No wonder you shriek +with terror--no wonder you turn away with horror. No, no, do not turn +away--look and see yourself as you are. You need the lesson. Now that +you see what you have been carrying around with you, and are sickened +at the sight, start to work to remedy the evil. Throw wide open the +doors; throw open the windows of the soul. + + "Let a little Sunshine in." + +Ah, yes, never fear, there is plenty of sunshine in the Universe. +Plenty for all of you. There is an infinite supply. Draw it to you. +Take it freely. It is there for _you_. It is your own--your very +own. It is as free as air and the material sunshine. There is no +tariff on it. It is not controlled by any trust or combine. It is not +adulterated. It is everywhere, everywhere. Ho! ye who are dwelling in +darkness! Here is Life and Happiness for you! Here is Peace for you! +Here is Joy for you! Joy, comrades, Joy! Open wide your windows; open +wide your doors. + + "Let a little Sunshine in." + +Yes, yes! I hear you say that you cannot dispel the gloom with which +you are surrounded. Nonsense. Do you not know that darkness is not a +positive thing--it is the essence of negation. It is not a real thing +at all--it is merely the absence of light. And here you have been for +all these years, believing that the darkness was a real thing that you +could not get rid of. Just stop for a moment and think. If a room in +your house is dark and gloomy, do you hire a man to shovel out the +darkness--do you attempt to do it yourself in your desire for light? +No, no, of course you do not. You just raise the shades, and throw +open the shutters and the sunshine pours in and lo! the darkness has +vanished. So it is with the gloom of the soul, the darkness of the +mind. It is a waste of energy to attempt to dig away the darkness--to +cast out the shadows. You'll never get light in that way. All that you +need to do is to recognize the advantage of light--the fact that light +is to be had--that there is plenty of it anxiously waiting to be let +in. Then all that you need to do is to + + "Let a little sunshine in; + Let a little sunshine in; + Open wide the windows, + Open wide the doors, + And let a little sunshine in." + + + + +THE HUNGER OF THE SOUL. + +The soul, as well as the body and mind, requires nourishment--The +want, a promise of the fulfillment--The law of unfoldment--Nourishment +provided when it is needed--Provided for in the Divine Plan--The feast +of good things. + + +The Soul, as well as the body and the mind, requires nourishment. We +have felt that hunger for spiritual knowledge which transcended our +hunger for bread--exceeded our craving for mental sustenance. We have +felt soul-hungry and knew not with what to appease it. The Soul has +cried out for food. It has been fed upon the husks of the physical +plane for so long that it is fairly starving for the proper +nourishment. It seeks this way and that way for the Bread of Life and +finds it not. It has asked this authority and that authority for +information as to where this food may be had--where could be obtained +the food that would nourish the Soul--but it has been given nothing +but the stone of Dogma and Creeds. At last it sank exhausted and felt +that perhaps there was no bread to be had. It has felt faint and weary +and almost believed that all was a delusion and a will-o'-the-wisp of +the mind--that there was no reality to it. It felt the chill of +despair creeping over it and all seemed lost. + +But we must not lose sight of the fact that just as the hunger of the +body implies that somewhere in the world is to be found that which +will satisfy it--that just as the hunger of the mind implies that +somewhere is to be found mental nourishment--so the mere fact that +this soul-hunger _exists_ is a proof that somewhere there is to +be found that which the Absolute has intended to satisfy it. The +_want_ is the prophecy of the fulfillment. Yes, and the want and +its recognition afford the means of obtaining that which will satisfy +the want. When, in the course of unfoldment either on the physical, +mental or spiritual plane, it becomes necessary for the well-being of +the unfolding Ego to draw to itself certain things which it requires +in the process of evolution, the first step toward the obtaining of +that necessary thing is the consciousness of a great and pressing +want--the birth of a strong desire. And then the desire grows stronger +and stronger, until the Ego becomes desperate and determines to obtain +the necessary thing at any cost. The obtaining of that thing becomes +the prime object in life. Students of evolution realize this fact +perhaps more than the rest of us. The subconsciousness of the plant or +animal becomes surcharged with this great desire, and all the +conscious and subconscious power of the living thing is put forth to +obtain that which is necessary for its development. + +And on the mental plane the same thing is true. The hunger for +knowledge, when it once possesses a man, will cause him to cut loose +from old environments, surroundings and everything else which has held +him, and he forces himself to the place where that knowledge may be +obtained--and he obtains it. If he only wants it hard enough he gets +it. When we think of Lincoln in his boyhood days, painfully and +laboriously striving for knowledge, lying on his side before the log +fire and reading his book by the light of its flames--and this after a +hard day's work such as only the boy on the farm knows--when we think +of this we may understand the effects of a strong desire possessing +the mind of man or boy, woman or girl. + +And this hunger for spiritual knowledge and growth, from whence comes +it? When we understand the laws of spiritual unfoldment we begin to +understand that the Ego is growing and developing--unfolding and +casting off old worn-out sheaths. It is calling into operation new +faculties--exploring new regions of the mind. In the super-conscious +regions of the Soul are many faculties lying dormant, awaiting the +evolutionary hour of manifestation along conscious lines. As the +faculties approach the hour of birth into the new plane they manifest +an uneasiness which is communicated to the subconscious and conscious +planes of the mind, causing a restlessness and uneasiness which is +quite disturbing to the individual in whom they are manifesting. There +is a straining for expression--a reaching forward for development--a +desire for growth which produces something akin to pain. All growth +and development is accompanied by more or less pain. We speak of the +beautiful growth of the plant--of the lily--and wish that we could +grow as easily and as painlessly as it does. But we forget that +_all_ growth means a breaking down--a tearing away--as well as a +building up and adding to. The lily's growth appears painless to us, +but if we were endowed with keen enough vision--with clear enough +sight--with a power enabling us to feel that which is going on within +its organism, we would be made aware that there is a constant change +going on--a tearing down of tissue, a using up of cells, a pressing +upon and breaking through of confining sheaths--all meaning growth, +development and unfoldment. We see only the birth of the new parts and +lose sight of the pain and destruction preceding it. All through life +is manifested the "growing pains" of development. All birth is +attended with pain. + +And so it is with the birth into consciousness of these unfolding +spiritual faculties. We feel an uneasiness, dissatisfaction, yea, even +pain, as we strive to call into conscious life these children of the +Soul. We feel that desire for something needed by our inner self and +we seek for it in all directions. We exhaust all of the pleasures of +life, so-called, and find no satisfaction there. We then endeavor to +find comfort and solace in intellectual pursuits, but without +obtaining that which we seek. We pore over the writing of the +philosophers and learned writers of the past and present, but find +them as but husks to the hungering soul. We seek in creeds and dogmas +that comforting something, the need of which we feel, but of the +nature of which we are ignorant--but we find no satisfaction there. +We, perhaps, go from creed to creed, from philosophy to philosophy, +from one scientific theory to another scientific theory, but still we +hunger. At last we get to a position in which we feel that life is not +worth the living and that all is a ghastly mockery. And so we go on +and on, seeking--ever seeking--but the quest is fruitless. + +Man on the physical plane has a comparatively easy time of it. He +lives as does the animal--he thinks as does the animal--he dies as +does the animal. The problems of life fret him not. He does not even +know of the existence of the problems of life. He is happy in his way, +and it almost seems a pity that he must be disturbed from his state +of animal content. But he _must_ be disturbed, not by you or by me +perhaps, but by the inevitable Law, which is working around and about +him, and in him. Sooner or later in the course of his development he +must be awakened. And he awakens upon the mental plane, and here his +troubles begin. On the mental plane everything seems beautiful for a +time. Man finds himself a new being and he goes on and on, feeling +himself a very god and reveling in his intellectual powers. But after +a time these things cease to satisfy him. The unfolding of the higher +faculties begin to annoy him, particularly as he cannot explain +them. His intellectual training has perhaps taught him to believe that +there was nothing higher than the mind--that religious feelings were +nothing but the result of the emotional nature and that he had +outgrown all that. But still he feels that Something Within, never +ceasing to annoy him--never ceasing to intrude upon his intellectual +consciousness certain _feelings_ entirely contrary to his theories. He +has grown to doubt the existence of a Supreme Being, and having read +Haekel's "Riddle of the Universe" feels that the question has been +satisfactorily settled for all time, and that the answer to all of +life's problems may be found in the tenets of his creed--Materialism. + +But, somehow, he is not at ease. He feels the pressure of the growing +Something Within and becomes quite restless. This goes on from time to +time and he seeks the Truth in all directions, rushing from one thing +to another in his desire to satisfy the cravings of the Soul, but all +the time denying that there is anything to be found. After a time he +becomes aware of a new state of consciousness developing within him, +and in spite of his mental revolts against any good thing coming from +within, he is forced to accept himself in his growing state, and to +realize that he may possess a Knowing other than that of the +intellect. It may take him a long time to accept this, but so long as +he rebels against it and struggles, so long will he feel pain. And +only when he catches a glimpse of the true state of affairs does he +open himself up to the Divine Unfoldment going on in his Soul, and +joyfully welcome the tearing away of confining mental sheaths, which +destruction enables the newly born faculty to force its way into the +conscious mentality. He learns to even aid in the unfoldment by +holding the thoughts conducive to spiritual development, and thus +assists in the bringing forth of the new leaf or flower of the Soul. +It has always been so. Man has gone through stage after stage of +unfoldment, suffering pain each time as the old sheaths are burst +asunder and discarded. He is prone to hold on to the old sheaths and +to cherish them long after they have served their purpose in his +growth. And it is only when he has reached the stage that many men are +now coming into a knowledge of that he understands the process of +growth and is willing and glad to aid in the development instead of +attempting to oppose it. He falls in with the workings of the Law +instead of trying to defeat it. + +Life is motion. We are moving onward and upward throughout the ages. +Man has passed over miles of The Path, but he will have to travel many +more before he sees the reason of the journey. But he has now reached +the stage where he may see that it all means something--all is a part +of a mighty plan--that this is a necessary stage of the journey, and +that around the bend of the road are to be found shady trees, and a +brook at which he may quench his thirst and wash away the dust of the +last few miles. + +This hunger of the Soul is a real thing. Do not imagine that it is an +illusion--do not endeavor to deny it. If you feel it you may rest +assured that your time is coming, and that there will be provided that +which will satisfy it. Do not waste your energy in running hither and +thither seeking for bread. The bread will be provided when it is most +needed. There is no such thing in Life as spiritual starvation. But +instead of seeking without for that which will nourish you, look +within. At each stage of the journey the traveler will find enough to +nourish him for the hour--enough to sustain him until he reaches the +next stage. You cannot be denied this nourishment. It is part of the +Divine Plan that it be provided for you. If you will look for it in +the right place you will always find it, and will be saved much +seeking and worrying. Do not be impatient because the feast is not set +before you at this stage. Be satisfied with that which is given, for +it suffices your needs at the present moment. By and by you will reach +the stage when the feast of good things will have been earned, and you +will be invited to feast and rest until you are ready for the next +stage of the journey. + +The great spiritual wave which is now sweeping over the world brings +with it great wants, but it also carries with it the means of +satisfying those wants. Do not despair. + + + + +LOOK ALOFT! + +The old sailor's advice--The warning cry--Peace and content--Mental +balance recovered--The glory of the Universe--All governed by Law--The +Law manifests everywhere--A reverent feeling of calm, peaceful +faith--Look aloft. + + +I recently heard a little tale about a boy who went to sea, in the old +days of the sailing vessel. One day he was ordered to go aloft, and +was urged on until he reached the highest possible point on the mast. +When he found that he could go no farther, he glanced down. The sight +terrified him and almost caused him to lose his grip and fall headlong +on the deck, far below. He felt dizzy and sick, and it seemed almost +impossible for him to maintain his hold on the mast. Far below was the +deck, looking so small as compared to the wide expanse of water on all +sides of it. The motion made him feel as if he was suspended between +heaven and earth, with nothing substantial to support him. He felt his +brain reeling and his senses leaving him, and all seemed lost, when +far away from the deck below, he heard an old sailor cry, "Look aloft, +lad! Look aloft!" Turning his eyes from the scene below the boy gazed +upward. He saw the blue sky, the fleecy clouds passing peacefully +along, looking just the same as they did when he had looked at them +while lying on his back on the green grass of the meadows in his +country home. A strange feeling of peace and content came over him, +and the feeling of dread, terror and despair passed away. His strength +and presence of mind came back to him, and soon he was able to slide +down the mast until he grasped a friendly rope, thence to the lower +rigging, and on until the deck was again reached. + +He never forgot the old sailor's advice given in the hour of need, and +when he would feel dazed and fearful of danger, he would invariably +look aloft until he recovered his mental balance. + +We may well take a leaf from the old sailor's note-book, and impress +his wisdom upon our minds. There's nothing so good in hours of trial, +doubt, sorrow and pain, as to "look aloft." When we feel that we +cannot see clearly with our spiritual vision--that our spiritual sight +is blurred and dim--that we lose faith and confidence, hope and +courage--that we feel the deadly sensation of despair and hopelessness +creeping over us and benumbing our senses, stilling our heart--then is +the time for us to listen to the warning shout: "Look aloft, lad; look +aloft!" + +When all seems lost--when darkness is closing around us--when we seem +to have lost our foothold and have no way of regaining it--when all +appears hopeless, gloomy and dreadful--when faith seems to have +deserted us, and the chill of unbelief is on us--then is the time for +us to shout to ourselves, "Look aloft--look aloft!" + +When we try to solve the riddle of the universe--the problem of +existence--by the aid of the intellect, unsupported by faith. When we +ask our intellects, "Whence come I? Whither go I? What is the object +of my existence? What does Life mean?" When we travel round and round +the weary path of intellectual reasoning, and find that it has no +ending. When we shout aloud the question of Life, and hear no answer +but the despairing echo of our own sad cry. When Life seems a +mockery--when Life seems to be without reason--when Life seems a +torment devised by a fiend--when we lose the feeling of nearness to +the Infinite Power that has supported us in the past--when we lose the +touch of the Unseen Hand. These are the times for us to look upward to +the source of Wisdom and Light. These are the times for us to heed the +cry of the Soul: "Look aloft; look aloft; look aloft!" + +Some clear night, when the moon is not shining, go out into the +darkness, and gaze upward at the stars. You will see countless bright +spots, each of which is a sun equaling or exceeding in size the sun +which gives light and life to our little earth--each sun having its +circling worlds, many of the worlds having moons revolving around +them, in turn. Look all over the heavens, as far as the eye can reach, +and endeavor to grasp the idea of the countless suns and worlds. Then +try to imagine that in space, far beyond the reach of human vision, +even aided by the telescope, are millions upon millions of other +worlds and suns--on all sides of us, on and on and on throughout the +Universe, reaching into Infinity. And then remember that all these +worlds hold their places and revolve according to Law. And then +remember that the microscope shows that Law manifests itself in the +smallest thing that can be seen by its use. All around you you will +see nothing but the manifestations of Law. And then, remembering that +the Infinite, which has us all in charge, takes note of the fall of +the sparrow, what has become of your fears and doubts and worries? +Gone is your despair and unbelief, and in their place is found a +reverent feeling of calm, peaceful Faith. + +Aye, there is much good sense in the old sailor's maxim. "When you get +rattled, LOOK ALOFT!" + + + + +TO-MORROW. + +The work and cares of to-day easy if we do not worry about those of +To-morrow--The mysterious To-morrow and its terrors--The way to meet +the cares of To-morrow--To-morrow's opportunities will come as surely +as To-morrow's cares--Law supreme--No need to be afraid--The real +To-morrow. + + +The work of each day would be a pleasure if we would refrain from +attempting to perform at the same time the work of to-morrow. The +cares of to-day would cease to disturb us, if we would refuse to +anticipate the cares of to-morrow. The work of to-day is easily +performed, notwithstanding the fact that we spoiled the pleasure of +yesterday by fretting about the tasks of the coming day. The cares of +to-day do not seem half so terrible as they appeared viewed from the +distance of yesterday, nor do we suffer nearly as much from to-day's +burdens as we did yesterday in bearing these burdens in anticipation. + +To-day is comparatively easy for us, but Oh, to-morrow. Aye, there's +the trouble--to-morrow. The past is gone, and its sorrows, cares, +troubles, misfortunes and work do not seem so terrible viewed from +this distance--the misfortunes of the past are now often known as +blessings in disguise. To-day is here, and we seem to be getting along +fairly well--excepting fearing the dawn of to-morrow. But +to-morrow--Oh! mysterious to-morrow--that delight of the child--that +bugaboo of the "grown up"--what shall we say of to-morrow? Who knows +what terrible monsters are lurking in its gloomy recesses--what +frightful cares are slumbering there--what dreadful shapes are there +crouching, with glowering eyes, awaiting our coming? No frightful tale +of childhood begins to compare in horror with this fantasy of +maturity--to-morrow. + +Yesterday, with all its troubles--to-day, with its pressing +tasks--affright us not, but to-morrow, ah! to-morrow. Tell us of the +morrow! Who knows what a day may bring forth? Tell us how to meet the +terrors of to-morrow! Forsooth, an easy task, good friends. The way to +meet the terrors of to-morrow is to--wait until to-morrow. + +The cares of to-morrow indeed! 'Twould be laughable if it were not so +pitiful. To-morrow's cares may come, will come, must come, but what of +to-morrow's opportunities, to-morrow's strength, to-morrow's chances, +circumstances, helpers? Don't you know that the supply of good things +does not cease with the close of to-day? Don't you know that in the +womb of the future sleep opportunities intended for your use when the +time comes? Don't you know that an earnest, confident expectation of +the good things to come will cause these good things to grow for your +use in the future? Well, it's so; they'll grow and grow and grow, and +then when you need them you will find them ripe and ready to pick. +Water them with Faith; surround them with the rich soil of Hope; let +them receive the full rays of the sun of Love, and the nourishing +fruit of Opportunity will be your reward--to-morrow. + +Did you ever shiver with dread at the thought of what would happen if +the sun should not rise to-morrow? Did you ever doubt that the grass +would grow and the trees take on leaves next Spring? Did you ever fear +that perhaps the Summer would not come? Oh, no, of course not! These +things have always happened and you have sufficient faith to know that +they will occur again. Yes, but you have been fearing that +opportunities, chances, circumstances, may not be present to-morrow. +Oh, ye of little faith do you not know that this is no world of +chance? Do you not know that you are working under the operations of a +great Law, and that these things are as much amenable to that Law as +are the seasons, the crops, the motion of the earth, the planets, this +and countless other solar systems, the UNIVERSE! + +The Law which regulates the motions of the millions of worlds, and +whose jurisdiction extends over Space--that Space the abstract idea of +which cannot be grasped by the puny intellect of man of to-day--also +takes cognizance of the tiny living organism too small to be seen +through our strongest microscope. The sparrow's fall comes under the +Law as well as the building of a magnificent series of solar systems. +And yet, man fears to-morrow. + +Of all living beings, man alone fears to-morrow. Children, lovers and +philosophers escape the curse. The first two look forward to it with +joy and confidence, having the love that casteth out fear; the +philosopher's reason teaches him that which the intuition of the other +two has grasped. The child intuitively recognizes that the infinite +supply is inexhaustible and naturally expects to-morrow's supply as he +does to-morrow's sun. He has faith in the Law, until Fear is suggested +into his receptive mind by those who have grown old enough to fear. +The child knows that "there are just as good fish in the sea as ever +were caught," but the "grown-up" fears that to-day's fish is the last +in the sea, and fails to appreciate to-day's haul by reason of his +worry about the possible future failure of the fishing industry. + +Oh No! I do not believe in just sitting down and folding my hands and +waiting for "mine own to come to me." I know that "mine own will come +to me," because I am doing well the work that the Law has placed +before me to do--that which lies nearest to my hand to-day. I believe +in work, good work, honest work, cheerful work, hopeful work, +confident work. I believe in the joy of work--the pleasure of +creating. And I believe that he who does his best work one day at a +time working with faith, hope and confidence in the morrow, with Fear +eliminated from his mind and replaced with Courage--I believe, I say, +that such a man will never find his cupboard empty, nor will his +children want for bread. + +And furthermore, I believe that to-morrow is what we make it by our +thoughts to-day. I believe that we are sowing thought-seeds to-day, +which will grow up over night and bear fruit to-morrow. I believe that +"Thought takes form in Action," and that we are, and will be, just +what we think ourselves into being. I believe that our minds and +bodies are constantly being molded by our thoughts, and that the +measure of man's success is determined by the character of his +thoughts. And I believe that when man will throw off the incubus of +Fear, the frightful vision of the night will vanish, and, opening his +eyes, in the place of the monster he will see the fair form and +smiling face of a radiant creature, who, bending over him with +love-lit eyes, will softly whisper, "I am TO-MORROW." + + + + +IN THE DEPTHS OF THE SOUL. + +Stores of information; rich mines of knowledge; uncut gems and +precious metal awaiting the discoverer--Psychic and spiritual +faculties--Strange attraction of soul to soul--The Rock of Ages--The +Voice of the Soul. + + +Deep down in the soul are stores of information awaiting to be brought +to the surface of consciousness. Rich mines of knowledge are +there--uncut gems rest there awaiting the day when they will be +uncovered and brought into the bright light of consciousness--rich +veins of precious metals are there awaiting in patience the day when +some Divine Adventurer will search for them and bring them to light. +The human mind is a wonderful storehouse, concealing all sorts of +treasures and precious things, only a fraction of which have been +discovered so far. + +We have faculties not yet recognized by the science of the +day--psychic and spiritual faculties--just as real as the recognized +faculties, playing an important part in our everyday lives, +particularly when we have been made aware of their existence. In many +of us these faculties are scarcely recognized, and many of us doubt +and deny their very existence. Others have a faint perception of their +existence, but do not know how to use them, and get but the slightest +benefit from them. Others have awakened to the wonderful faculties +which are developing and unfolding within them, and a few have gone so +far as to aid in this development of these higher faculties of the +mind, and have been almost startled at the results obtained. The +Orientals have their ways of development of these faculties, and we +Occidentals have ours. Each best serves the purposes of the particular +people using it. + +As we bring these faculties out of the realm of the super-conscious +into the field of consciousness, life takes on an entirely different +meaning, and many things heretofore dark are seen plainly and +understood. No one can understand the Oneness of things until his +spiritual faculties are sufficiently developed to make him _conscious_ +of it. Blind belief or reliance upon the words of another will never +do for the seeker after Truth that which is accomplished by a single +gleam of consciousness resting upon some of the hidden treasures of +the soul. One glimpse into the depths of the soul will do more than +the reading of thousands of books, the teaching of hundreds of +teachers. This glimpse, once had, will never be forgotten. Its reality +may be questioned at times--at other times the memory may seem dim and +unreliable--but it will return in all its freshness and brightness, +and even in the moment of doubt we cannot entirely escape it. + +Our real knowledge of the existence of GOD is not obtained from the +intellect. We can take up the subject of GOD and reason about it all +our life, only to find ourselves, in the end, in a worse muddle than +when we started. And yet one single ray of consciousness reaching down +into the depths of our inner being will bring to us such a complete +certainty of GOD'S existence and being, that nothing afterward will +ever shake our faith in the reality and existence of the Supreme +Power. We will not understand the nature of his being--his +existence--his power--but we will _know_ that he exists, and will +feel that peacefulness and infinite trust in him which always come +with the glimpse of the Truth. We will not understand any better the +many theories of Man regarding GOD and his works; in fact, we will +be more apt to turn away, wearied, from Man's discussion of the +subject--the attempt of the finite to describe and limit the infinite. +But we will _know_ that at the Center of things is to be found that +Universal Presence, and we feel that we can safely rest ourselves on +his bosom--trust ourselves in his hands. The cares, sorrows and trials +of Life seem very small indeed when viewed from the absolute position, +although from the relative position this world often seems to be a +very hell. + +Another glimpse into the recesses of the soul reveals to us the +Oneness of things. We see GOD as the great Center of things, and all +the Universe as but One. The Oneness of all Life becomes apparent to +us and we feel in touch not only with all mankind, but with all life. +The petty distinctions of class, race, rank, caste, nationality, +language, country fade away and we see all men as brothers. And we +feel a kindly feeling and love toward the lesser manifestations of +life. Even the rocks and the stones are seen as parts of the Whole and +we no longer feel a sense of separateness from any thing. We realize +what the Universe is, and in our imagination visit the most distant +stars and instinctively know that we would find nothing foreign to us +there--all would be but bits of the same thing. + +And we begin to understand those strange attractions of soul to soul, +instances of which have come to all of us. We realize that it is +possible to entertain a feeling of love for every living creature--to +every man or woman, the manifestations, of course, varying in degree +and kind, according to sex and closeness of soul relation. It makes us +more tolerant and causes us to see but ignorance in many things in +which we saw but sin before. It makes us feel pity rather than hate. +Ah, these little glimpses into the inmost recesses of the soul they +teach us many new lessons. + +And one of the greatest lessons that we may acquire in this way is the +recognition of the eternal life of the soul. We may believe, with +greater or less earnestness, in the doctrine of the immortality of the +soul, our beliefs and conceptions depending more or less upon the +teachings which we have received from early childhood, but until we +become conscious of that which lies within us, we are never really +certain--we do not know. Many good people will deny this statement, +and will say that they have never doubted the life of the soul after +death, but see how they act. When death comes into their houses they +mourn and cry aloud in their agony, and demand of GOD why he has done +this thing. They drape themselves in mourning and mourn and weep as if +the loved one had been destroyed and annihilated. All of their actions +and conduct go to prove that they have no abiding sense of the reality +of the continuance of life beyond the grave. They speak of the dead as +if they were lost forever--as if a sponge had been passed over the +slate of life and naught remained. How cold and hollow sounds the +would-be comforting words of friends and relatives, who assure the +mourning ones that the being who has just laid aside the body is +"better off now," and that all is "for the best," and all the rest of +conventional expressions that we make use of. I tell you that one who +has had a glimpse into what lies within him knows so well that he is +eternal that he finds it impossible to look upon death in the ordinary +way, and if he is not very careful he will be regarded as heartless +and unfeeling for the sorrows of others. And he will be regarded as a +fool in his views of life by those around him who attend church +regularly every Sunday, and who profess a full belief in all its +doctrines. If he considers that he himself is his soul, and that he is +as much an immortal being now as he ever will be--that his body is but +as a garment to cover him, or an instrument through which he manifests +himself--if he considers that he is in eternity now just as much as he +ever will be; that he cannot be destroyed by Mt. Pelee eruptions or +railroad accidents--if, in short, he feels these things so strongly +that they have become a part of his real everyday life--why, he is +looked upon as "queer" by those who hear these things taught them +every Sunday, and who would feel horrified if they were accused of +harboring a doubt regarding them. This is one of the things that go to +show the difference between "believing" a thing and "being conscious" +of it. + +Now, don't run away and say that I held that the church-goers have no +conception of the reality of the immortality of the soul, for I +haven't said any such thing. There are many church-goers who have +experienced a full realization of the feeling I mention, and there are +many more church-goers who have not. And there are many men and women +who scarcely ever enter within the walls of a church who have had this +experience, and it means more to them than all the preachments they +have ever listened to. It is not a matter of being "in-church" or +"out-of-church," it is a matter of spiritual development, that's all. +I attend churches of all denominations, and I find all of them good. +The service of the Catholic Church appeals to me, and so does the +meeting of some old-fashioned Methodist congregation. I do not accept +all the doctrines and theories I hear in the various churches, but I +manage to get some good out of all. If I have any preference whatever, +it is for an old-fashioned Quaker meeting, where, perhaps, not a word +is said from beginning to close, but where there is undoubtedly a +strong spiritual power manifested. I have even found much good in +attending a certain orthodox church, where the venerable preacher, who +does not believe in the "higher criticism" or creed revision, often +gives us a delightful sermon on the horrors of hell and the state of +the damned, including the unbaptized infants. I can listen to a sermon +like this with a thrill of delight--a feeling of intense joy which +comes to me because I have been given the inward assurance that there +exists a GOD who is Love, instead of the hating, wrathful, vengeful +creature that the poor preacher tries to make us believe is the +Infinite Power--the Universal Presence--the Loving Father. Oh, no, I +am not condemning churches--I like them all, and think that each one +is doing the best possible work for the particular people who are +attracted to it. I have listened to the exercises of the Salvation +Army, and have seen much good in it. How many of you New Thought +people, or you high-toned church members, would make half the +sacrifices for what you consider Truth that the Salvation Army soldier +or the Hallelujah lassie make every day of their lives? Stop a moment +before you laugh at them. Some of these people have more spirituality +in their little finger than many of us have in our whole bodies. + +There are times when we feel disturbed and full of unrest. We seek to +use our intellects and solve all the problems of life. We fret and +chafe under the restrictions which have been placed upon us. We wish +to KNOW all things. We reason this way and that way, follow up every +lane, alley and street in the city of Thought, but, alas, we find not +that which we seek. And in our search we are apt to forget that we +have within us an assurance that all is well with the world, and with +us. We rebel against the leadings of the Spirit--against the knowledge +that has come from the inner self--and we want to get our knowledge +over the old channels--by means of the Intellect. Well, at such times +we storm and fume and fret, and complain at our inability to solve the +problem. We set up ideas only to tear them down again. We assume and +then abandon one position after another, until there is nothing left. +And the end of all the intellectual debauch is to say finally, "I do +not know." And then, after the struggle is over, we see, just as +plainly as ever before, the glimpse of Truth that has come to us from +within--we hear the words of the soul--we have the same old +consciousness. We say to ourselves, "I may not get this thing +intellectually, but I KNOW it is true. I cannot doubt the voice of the +Soul." + +This knowledge which comes from within is like the rock against which +beat the storms of the sea--against which dash the waves which +completely cover it and which hide it from sight, until it seems that +it has disappeared forever from view, carried away by the attacking +waves. The lightning flashes, the thunder rolls, the fury of the +tempest seems concentrated against this rock, and the demon of the +storm seems intent upon destroying every particle of it--of tearing it +to little bits with which to strew the shores. All is darkness--all is +blackness--all is fury, raging and terror. After hours, the storm +subsides, and then later morning comes, and the first rays of the +rising sun kiss lovingly the rock which has stood the fury of the +storm, and has emerged unhurt, a witness to its superiority to the +elements. + +Storm away, ye who would destroy this rock--dash your waves of Doubt, +Logic, Criticism, Unbelief, Dogma, Theory, against this rock of the +Spirit. Exert yourself to the utmost--expend all the force that is +within you--do your best--do your worst. Tear and twist, pull and +wrench, beat and pound, and what have you accomplished? After the +storm has passed away--after the clouds have dispersed--when the sky +again is blue and the sun again is shining--the rock still stands, +undisturbed, unchanged, unshaken. And stand it will for ages and ages. +And Man shall begin to know of the stability and firmness of this +rock. He will begin to realize just what it means to him, and he will +know that while the waves that beat upon it are good and needful, and +not to be despised, that only upon the rock can he safely build. + +Do not despise the intellect and its teachings, but know that ye have +within ye another source of knowledge--that ye have spiritual +faculties which are developing and which you can use. And trust the +work of these faculties--listen to the voice of the Soul. + + + + +"FORGET IT." + +Why worry about the past?--Hugging old sorrows to your bosom--What to +do with them--Don't poison your life--Pain brings experience--Learning +your lesson--How to get rid of a gloomy thought--Throw it away--Forget +it. + + +One can often get some useful lesson from the slang and current +phrases of the day. There is something particularly attractive to me +about slang, and the pat phrases that are passed along from one to +another on the streets. Many of these phrases condense in a few words +certain practical truths that one could use as a basis for a sermon, +an essay, or even a book. They are the practical experiences of the +people crystallized in a catchy phrase. The phrase which I hear so +frequently on the street just now, "Forget it," seems to me to contain +much practical common sense, and if people would put it into practice +there would be many more brighter faces--many more lighter hearts. +What's the use, anyhow, of carrying around a long face or a heavy +heart, just because away back in the past something "went wrong" with +us, or even if we "went wrong" ourselves (and most of us have--I have, +I know)? What's the use? Forget it! + +Of course you will not forget the experiences of the past, and you do +not want to. That's one of the things we are living for--gaining +experience. When we have once really learned a thing through +experience, we never forget it--it is a part of us. But why bother +about the memory of the pain, the mortification, the "slip-up," the +heartache, the wounded feelings, the misplaced confidence, the thing +done in the wrong way, the chance you let slip by, the folly, the sin, +the misery, the "might-have-beens," and all the rest. Oh what's the +use? Forget it I say, forget it. + +If one is to worry about all the things that went wrong--all the +things that didn't come right--in the past; if he has to take out each +memory every day, and after carefully dusting it off, fondle and +caress it, and hug it close to his bosom; if he has to raise up these +ghosts from the past--these phantoms of long ago--these musty, +moth-eaten things--why he will have no time for the affairs of to-day. +He will lose all the joy of the now--all the pleasure of life of the +moment--all the interest in the things of to-day. Oh, dear, dear, +what's the use? Forget it--forget it. + +Some people are not happy unless they have some old faded sorrow +hugged up close to their bosoms, and they feel guilty if they happen +to smile and forget the old thing for even a moment. Oh, how they do +gloat over their own revamped unhappiness--how they enjoy the +relieving of the pains and sorrows, mistakes and ignorance of years +gone by. How they love to hold the fox to their sides and let it eat +out their heart. These people are really happy in the unhappiness, and +life would not be worth living if they were deprived of their pet +sorrows. Of course, if these people are really happy because they are +unhappy, I have no objection. Every man or woman has the right to +pursue happiness in his or her own way, and I suppose that that is as +good a way as any other, and I should not find fault if somebody +else's way is different from mine. But doesn't it seem like a pity to +see people wasting their time, energy, thoughts and life on these old +sorrows? If they must think of the past, why not think of the bright +things that came into their lives, instead of the dark ones? Think of +the moments of happiness, not of the moments of sorrow. Don't make a +tomb of your mind. Don't let that particular painful experience poison +your present life. Don't do it--don't do it. What's the use? Forget +it. + +Every bit of pain that has happened you has brought its experience to +you--you are better, wiser and broader for it. Look at it in that way, +and you will cease to mourn and wail and wring your hands over the +fact that in the past you "have done those things which you ought not +to have done, and have left undone those things which you ought to +have done." Nonsense! You have gained the experience and know better +now. If you were placed back in the same old position, and lacked the +experience that you have gained by just such things, you would do the +same old thing over again, and in the same old way. You couldn't help +it, because you would be the same old person. What you would like to +do would be to be placed back in the same position, and face the same +old temptation or problem, but you would want to take with you the +experience you have gained by your former mistake. You want the cake +and the penny at the same time. You want the experience without the +pain. Oh, yes, you do, now, that's just what you want--I've been +through it myself, and know all about it. You've gained the +experience, be satisfied. Some day you'll need that experience, and +will be glad you have it, and will see that it was worth all you've +paid for it. No, you don't see it that way? Well, maybe you haven't +had enough of it--haven't learned your lesson yet. If that is the +case, some of these days the law will drop you back into the pot, +until you're well done. The law is not satisfied with underdone +people. Oh, you're making a big mistake. Forget it--forget it. + +The people who carry these old things around with them generally get +themselves into the mental attitude that draws other things of the +same sort to them. Misery likes company, and a miserable thought also +likes companionship, and almost always manages to attract some other +miserable thing to it, to keep it from being lonesome. The only way to +get rid of a thought of this kind is to--forget it. + +Now if you have some pet thing that is gnawing out your vitals--is +corroding your heart--is poisoning your mind--take it out and look at +it for the last time. Give it a last long lingering gaze. Kiss it +good-bye. Weep over it if you like, for this is the last you will see +of it. Then throw open the window of your mind and pitch it out into +the outer darkness. + +FORGET IT! + + + + +"THE KINDERGARTEN OF GOD." + +Life a great school--Man a child learning his lesson--Preparing for +higher grades--The game-task--What it all means--Things as they +are--The rules wise and good--Each task means something--Greeting the +Kindergartner. + + +I see Life as a great school--Man as a tiny child, learning his little +lessons, performing his little tasks, playing his little games, +enjoying his little pleasures, suffering his little pains, +disappointments, trials and sorrows. + +I feel that we are in but the kindergarten stage of existence, +learning the first lessons of Life--fitting ourselves for the grander, +broader, fuller life in store for us. And I feel that this little +kindergarten experience will continue until we have learned its +lessons well--have firmly grasped the principles designed for our baby +minds. And I feel that when we have proven our ability to weave our +little mats--build our little blocks--draw our little pictures--mold +our little clay forms--sing our little songs--then, and not until +then, will we pass into a higher grade, where we will spell out the +lines of the Primer of Life, and acquire the elementary principles of +Cosmic Mathematics. And I feel that each little lesson must be +learned, thoroughly, before the next step is taken. And I feel that +every one of us must perform his own task--must memorize his own +lesson--before he can gain the experience--can profit by the knowledge +acquired in the performance of the task. We may be inspired by some +brighter pupil--be encouraged by the loving sympathy of some +fellow-scholar, but the task is _ours_ to perform, sooner or +later--and ours is the joy of accomplishment. + +I believe that as some children, even whilst fascinated by the +game-task of the kindergarten, know that it is only a childish task +and not the _real thing_ of life, so may we come to a point, where, +whilst enjoying the constantly changing play of life, we will realize +that it is but the training for greater things, and important only +in that sense. The perception of this fact by the child need not +interfere with his interest in the game--need not prevent him from +feeling the joy of _doing_, creating, working, gaining new experiences; +nor need it prevent _us_ from playing the kindergarten games of +grown-up life with a zest and interest, not alone because we +realize that we are learning valuable lessons, but, yea, even from +the very excitement and joy of the game itself. + +When we realize just what this view of Life means, we will find new +pleasures in everyday life--will learn to laugh with childish glee at +our little successes in molding the clay into the desired shape--in +the clever weaving of the mat. And we will learn to smile, through our +tears, if our little mat happens to tear in two--if our little clay +sphere drops to the floor and is shattered--if the hour's work is +destroyed. + +And we will learn our little lesson of Love--of Comradeship. We will +learn by experience that if we lead the narrow, selfish life we will +miss the joy that falls to the lot of those who have learned to +express more fully the love-nature within them--we will find that Love +begets Love--that the love-nature, expressed, attracts to itself the +love in the hearts of our little playmates. We will find that the +child who carries within him the love for others, and expresses that +love, need never want for friends or companions, need never suffer +from loneliness, need never fear being left out in the cold. The true +Personal Magnetism of the child (and the grown-up) consists largely +of--Love, which never fails in its drawing power. And we will learn, +from bitter experience, the folly of the idea of separateness from our +little playmates--will know that the standing apart brings nothing but +sorrow to us. We will realize that selfishness brings nothing but +pain--that giving has its pleasures as well as receiving. And we will +learn something of Brotherhood, and its goodness--we will have the +True Democracy of the kindergarten impressed upon us. These lessons +(and others) we will learn well, before passing on. + +We, like the child, often wonder what is the use of it all--fret over +our enforced tasks--chafe at the confinement--rage at the +restrictions, and, failing to comprehend it all, indulge in +complaints, protests, rebellion. And, like the child, we cannot expect +to understand the whyness of it all, certainly not until we pass +beyond the kindergarten stage of existence and reach the higher +grades. + +When one begins to realize _what he is_--begins to be conscious +of the I AM--begins to know things as they are--he gradually learns to +appreciate things at their true worth, and, although not released from +the necessity of playing out his kindergarten game tasks, is able to, +practically, _stand aside and watch himself play them out_. He +knows that he is gaining knowledge--is mastering his lessons--is +living-out, and out-living, his desires--is acquiring and storing up +new experiences--but he values things only at their final worth, and +is not deceived by the apparent value of the moment. He begins to see +things in their proper relations. He does not take himself (or things) +too seriously. He enjoys the pleasure of the game--but he knows it to +be but the play and pleasure of the child--he laughs, but is not +deceived. He suffers, also, the sorrow, grief, disappointment, +humiliation and chagrin of the child-nature--but even though the tears +are falling he, _knowing_, smiles. He laughs with joy--with pain +he cries, but he knows--he _knows_. He enjoys the playthings, +gifts, rewards, but he knows them for what they are--he knows. He +plays the games with the children who do not know--and well he +plays--but he knows. His disillusionment spoils not the sport--he +plays on (for play he _must_), knowing, but enjoying. Yes, enjoying +_because_ of the knowing. He knows that the child-things are good--but +he sees them as but shadows of the Good to come. He knows that he +"cannot escape from his own good." And he knows that the Good is also +in store for his playmates (though they know it not) and, being full +of love, he rejoices. + +He feels that the rules of the School are wise and good, and that, +though he cannot see it clearly now, INFINITE JUSTICE rules all, +as will in the end appear. He knows that promotion will be gained, +just as soon as earned. He knows that just as soon as he is able +to master a task, that task will be set before him--not a moment +before. And he knows that no task will be allotted him even one +moment before the possibility of its accomplishment. + +He knows that he is being tested, trained and strengthened, day by +day--that every unpleasant and disagreeable task has an important end +in view. And he knows that every task placed before him is in +accordance with a Law that takes cognizance of his powers, failings, +capabilities, short-comings--that understands him better than he does +himself. He knows that the very allotment of the task is a guarantee +of his ability to perform it. He knows that within him are latent +powers, potential forces, hidden knowledge, which will well forth from +his sub-conscious mentality when bidden by the Confident Expectation +of Intelligent Faith. + +And, knowing these things, he is filled with Courage--and presses +forth eagerly to the tasks of the day. And, knowing, he casts off all +Fear, Worry, Discouragement and Discontent, and, with the smile of +Love on his face and the joy of Faith in his heart, he greets THE +KINDERGARTNER with Confidence and Trust. + + + + +THE HUMAN WET BLANKET. + +Sees no good in anything--Expects the bad and gets it--Attracts it to +him--Depresses everything and everyone--Carries an aura of negative +depressing thought--Clammy--Puts out the fire of energy--Take warning. + + +Did you ever meet the Human Wet Blanket? + +To start with, he sees no good in anything. To him every man is a +rogue--every woman a schemer trying to pull the wool over the eyes of +some man. He looks for the Bad--expects to find it--and find it he +does. One generally gets what he looks for. He attracts to him that +for which he looks, and he cannot see any other qualities than those +possessed by himself. Everyone is trying to cheat him, and out-wit +him, so he thinks, and I have no doubt that the Law brings him a fair +share of people of this kind. In order to prevent other people from +taking advantage of him, he endeavors to take advantage of them in the +same small way that he fears they will use on him. The consequence is +the people with whom he has dealings are apt to give him a dose of his +own medicine. He trusts no man. He's so shrewd that he measures off a +spool of thread in order to be sure that the storekeeper has not +robbed him of a yard or two. And the funny thing is, that he sets in +motion the Law which causes the one short-measure spool in the case to +fall into his hands. He just _draws_ these things to him. He thinks +himself a marvel of cunning, and endeavors to manifest it in petty +practices, the result being that he attracts to himself all the little +schemers, and some of the big ones, who happen to be within the radius +of his attracting power, while the other type of people are repelled +by his mental attitude and thought-force. Funny, isn't it? + +Then he sees nothing but disaster ahead in any plan, and, sure, +enough, if he gets near enough to the plan to contaminate it, trouble +is sure to happen. As an attractor of Negative Thought he is a +glittering success. He seems to have a positive genius for doing +things the wrong way. And yet, he doesn't believe in the Attractive +Power of Thought or "any such nonsense." He's too shrewd to take any +stock in such ridiculous theories, although he exhibits in his life a +most convincing proof of the truth of New Thought teachings. + +He never says "I Can and I Will," and if he hears anyone around him +indulging in such heretical notions, he promptly proceeds to squelch +him by a few "Supposings," "Buts," "What ifs," and two or three gloomy +shakes of the head, and a few sighs. His motto seems to be "There's no +use trying, you can't do it." With him the country seems always to be +going to the dogs, and the poorhouse is constantly looming up before +him. + +I need scarcely add that Fear, Worry, Jealousy, and Suspicion are his +bosom friends. He holds these thoughts constantly, and they and the +rest of the negative brood are devouring him. They are making their +home in his mentality and are increasing rapidly, besides frequently +inviting their friends for a visit. + +Of course, it's nobody's business if he likes this sort of thing, but +it is not pleasant to come in contact with him. He is surrounded with +an aura of negative, depressing, gloomy, thought-force, which is +manifest to all with whom he comes in contact. Turn him loose in a +roomful of cheerful people, and in a few minutes the conversation has +lagged, the warmth of love and friendship has disappeared and things +begin to feel damp and chilly, and someone will begin to make inquiry +regarding the furnace or the steam radiators, and wondering why the +janitor does not keep up the fire on such a day. Approach him when you +feel fired with energy, ambition and push--when you feel that you can +go out and conquer any obstacle--and you will feel the clammy wet +blanket thrown over you, putting out your fire of energy, and in a +moment or two you will wonder "What's the use." That is, unless you +understand your business, and know how to throw off the influence of +the negative thought-waves emanating from this man. Look out for him. + +From the bottom of my heart, I pity this man and his kind. He gets +none of the sweet things of Life--he doesn't see them lying around. He +misses the joy of living. He sees everything through jaundiced eyes. +He knows nothing of the happiness of the clear head, warm heart, and +brotherly hand. He is so occupied in looking for the spoiled fruit on +the ground that he does not see the perfect fruit on the branches +above his head, begging to be picked. He is so much engrossed in the +mud upon the road, that he does not see the bright blue sky above his +head; the beautiful landscape; the children playing on the grass; the +mother nursing her babe; the old couple trudging along hand in hand. +These things do not exist for him. His mind is so full of Fear, +Suspicion, Distrust, and Petty Spite, that Love finds no room. But +even this is Good--for many find their way to Optimism only by first +sinking to the depths of extreme Pessimism. They reach the Celestial +City by the road that winds through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. +Even these things shall pass away. + +All's well. + + + + +AIM STRAIGHT. + +Fear attracts, as well as Desire--Learn to aim straight and aim at the +right thing--Examples--The bowler--The bicyclist and the car--The +bicyclist and the post--The boy and the marbles--Wisdom from the +babe--Look straight; Think straight; Shoot straight. + + +A strong Desire or a strong Fearthought is an aim at the thing desired +or feared. And in proportion to the degree of Desire or Fear, will we +be carried toward the thing at which we aim. Confident Expectation is +manifested in a Fearthought as well as in an earnest Desire, and when +we confidently expect a thing to happen we are carried toward it by an +irresistible force. It may seem strange to you to hear that Fear is +akin to Desire, but this is the truth. It matters not whether we call +it Desire or Fear, the gist of the matter lies in the Confident +Expectation. A faint Hope and a lurking Fear have about the same +attractive force--a Desire coupled with a firm belief in its +realization attracts strongly, but no more strongly than does a Fear +coupled with a feeling of certainty of its realization. The thing upon +which your Thought is firmly fixed or drawn toward, will be the thing +you will realize. Therefore Aim Straight. + +We have heard much of the Attractive Power of Thought as applied to +Desire. I will now say something to you about the same force called +into operation by Fearthought. It is far more pleasant for me to speak +of the bright side of the question, but I would be neglecting my duty +toward you if I failed to direct your attention to the reverse of the +shield. When you thoroughly realize that Thought-force works both +ways, you will know how to handle it, and will understand many things +that have heretofore been dark to you. You will learn to AIM STRAIGHT, +but will also learn to be careful at what you aim. You will learn to +avoid the aim inspired by Fear, and will hereafter use all your +energies to pointing your mental arrow at the bull's-eye of Happiness +and Success. + +Let us take a few facts from the physical plane in order to illustrate +things as they are on the mental plane of effort. Life has its +correspondences on all its planes, and by taking examples from one +plane, we will be able to more readily understand the workings of the +Law on other planes. + +Some time ago, I was talking to a number of people about this subject, +and gleaned from each an illustration of the workings of the Law of +Attraction on the physical plane. And each example although on the +physical plane, showed the power of Mind behind it. I will tell you +what some of these people said, and you can see for yourself just what +I mean. + +The first man was a printer, who after hours spent much time in +bowling, and who was looked upon as an expert in that game. He said +that some time before he was playing a game, and at a critical point +when he was taking aim and endeavoring to put the ball in between the +1 and 2 pins (a specially advantageous shot), his opponent spoke up +and said "Just watch him hit the 4 pin." I do not know anything about +bowling, but it seems that to hit the 4 pin is about the worst thing +that can happen to a bowler, outside of missing the pins altogether. +Well, to go on with the story, with the remark of his rival, +Fearthought entered the mind of the printer, and he couldn't get the 4 +pin out of his mind. He kept on looking at the place he wanted to hit, +but his mind was on the 4 pin, and he feared that he would hit it. To +use his own words, he "got rattled," and away went the ball striking +the 4 pin fair and square. He concluded the story by saying: "And so +instead of making a 'ten strike' I got only a 'split.'" Maybe you +understand those terms better than do I, but at any rate you will see +what a Fearthought brought to this typographical bowler in his little +game of ten-pins. Moral: When you wish to place the ball Energy +between the 1 and 2 pins of Life, don't allow Fearthoughts to switch +you off to the 4 pin, thereby giving you a "split" instead of the +coveted "ten-strike." + +Another friend told me that, a few days before, he had been riding on +the front bench of a grip-car on a Chicago cable-line. Hearing the +gripman break into the vernacular in a vigorous style, he looked up, +and saw a colored man on a bicycle trying to cross the track "on the +bias," as the girls say, just ahead of the car. There was plenty of +time--plenty of room--for the man to get across, but when he reached +the middle of the track Fearthought got hold of him, and in spite of +himself his wheel turned and he headed straight for the car. He headed +straight for the gripcar, just as if he had aimed at it, and the next +moment he went "bang" right into it. He escaped injury, but his wheel +was wrecked. When asked about it, he said that from the moment he got +afraid of the car his wheel "ran away with him," right into the thing +he Feared. Moral: Keep your mind fixed on the thing you want--not on +the thing you don't want. + +Another man, to whom I related the story of the man on the wheel, said +that he had the same trouble when he was learning to ride the wheel. +He was getting along pretty well and could manage to steer half-way +straight, although in a wobbly manner, until one day he happened to +see a certain telegraph pole in front of the place where he was +learning to ride. The pole seemed to hypnotize him, and from that day +he couldn't keep his front wheel away from it. He couldn't keep away +from that pole--he was afraid of it. The pole seemed to have magnetic +qualities and the result was "Bump." He remounted, over and over +again, but the result was the same. At last he made up his mind that +he was going to get ahead of that pole somehow, and he mounted the +wheel with his back toward the pole (but his Mind was still on it) and +lo! the front wheel described a semi-circle, and back to the pole he +went. Moral: Don't let a pole hypnotize you with Fearthought--keep +your Mind on the place to which you wish to go. + +But the best example was given by a boy who had kept his eyes open and +his thinker working. Maybe I had better tell you in his own words. +This is what he said, just as he said it: + +"Oh, pshaw!" said the Boy, "you're making a big fuss over nothing. +Every feller knows that you've got to _think_ about a thing if you +want to hit it, and if you think about the wrong thing, why, you'll +hit the wrong thing. If I fire a stone at a tin can, why, I just look +square at the can and think about the can for all I'm worth, and the +can's a dead one, sure. If I happen to let my mind wander to the cat +what's on the shed over to the left of the can--well, so much the +worse for the cat, that's all. _To shoot straight, you've got to aim +straight; and to aim straight you've got to look straight; and to look +straight you've got to think straight._ Every kid knows that, or he +couldn't even play marbles. If I get my heart set on a beauty marble +in the ring, I just want it the worst way and says I to myself, +'You're my marble.' Then I look at him strong and steady-like and +don't think about nothing else in the world but that beauty. Maybe I'm +late for school, but I clean forget it. I don't see nothing--nor think +nothing--but that there marble what I want. As the piece in my reader +says, it's my 'Heart's Desire,' and I don't care whether school keeps +or not, just so as I get it. Then I shoot, and the marble's mine. And, +at school, when our drawing teacher tells us how to draw a straight +line, she makes two dots, several inches away from each other. Then +she makes us put our pencils on the first dot and look steady at the +other and move our pencil towards it. The more you keep thinking about +the far off dot, and the less you think about the starting dot or your +hand, the straighter you're going to get your line. Wonst I looked +straight at the far-off dot with my eyes, but I kept thinking about a +red-headed girl on the other side of the room, and what do you think, +the line I was drawing slanted away off in her direction, although I +had kept my eyes glued on the far-away dot and never even peeped in +the kid's direction. That shows, sure, that it's the thinking as well +as the looking. See?" + +All of the examples above given contain within them the principles of +a mighty truth--a working illustration of a great law of Life. If we +are wise we will profit by them. Many things are happening around us +every day, from which we might gain lessons if we would only think a +little, instead of playing "follow my leader" and accepting other +people's thought, ready made. We have gotten so accustomed to these +"hand-me-down" thoughts, that we have almost forgotten how to turn out +thoughts for ourselves. The day has come when we are required to do a +little thinking on our own account, instead of humbly bowing before +moth-eaten Authority perched upon a crumbling base. The time has +arrived when we must strike out for ourselves, instead of following a +musty Precedent which has "seen better days." This is the age of the +Individual. This the time for the "I" to assert itself. + +I wish you would pay attention to what the Boy said. It is not the +first time that we have gone to the babe for wisdom. Although a child +has an imagination beyond our comprehension, he, at the same time, is +painfully and even brutally, matter of fact. He is continually asking: +"Why," and when we grown-ups are unable to answer him he answers the +question himself, often better than we could have done. He doesn't +theorize, but gets down to business, and works things out for himself. +This boy knew all about the Thinking part of the problems, and had put +it into practical application, while we were theorizing about it. He +had discovered that in order to get things we must first earnestly +Desire them; then Confidently Expect that we would get them; then go +to work to procure them. That's the true philosophy of getting things. +He tells us, about the marble, that he first "wanted it the worst way" +and "didn't care whether school kept or not" just so he got the +marble. Then he "looked strong and steady-like" at the marble, saying: +"You're my marble." Then he shot, and the marble was his. Can any of +you describe the process of getting things better than this? If we +grown-ups would only put into our daily tasks the interest and +attention that the boy put into his game of marbles, we would "get the +marble" oftener than we have been doing. + +Of course, it may be true, that the principal joy is in the getting of +things rather than in the possession of them--that the Game of Life is +like the game of marbles in that respect, but what of that? That +needn't spoil the game. The boy knows enough to enjoy playing for a +few marbles that may be obtained for a penny-a-fistful at the corner +store--but that fact doesn't bother him at all. He knows that when he +gets the marble it will not seem half so beautiful in the hand as it +did in the ring--but he gets ready to shoot for the next one with just +as much zest and enjoyment. He finds a joy in Living; Acting; Doing; +Expressing; Growing and Outgrowing, Gaining Experiences. Take a lesson +from the Boy--while you are in the Great Game, take a boy's interest +in it; play with a zest; play your level best, and _get the marble_. +The Boy instinctively knows that the joy of life consists of Living, +while we poor grown-ups vainly imagine that our pleasure will come +only in the trophies of the game--the glass-marbles of Life--and look +upon the playing of the game as drudgery and work imposed upon us as a +punishment of the sins of our forefathers. The boy lives in the Now, +and enjoys every moment of his existence--his winnings, his losings, +his victories, his defeats, while we, his elders and superiors in +wisdom groan at the heat of the day and the rigor of the game and are +only reconciled to our tasks by the thought of how we will enjoy the +possession of the marbles, when we get them at the end of the game. +The Boy sucks his orange and extracts every particle of its sweet +contents, while we throw away the juicy meat and aim only to secure +the pips. Oh, yes! the boy not only knows how to "get there," but he +has also a sane philosophy of Life. Many of us grown-ups are now +re-learning that which we lost with our youth. + +You will notice that the bowler, the bicyclists and the others, got +what they didn't want, because they were afraid of it, and allowed it +to distract their thoughts from the object of their Desire. To Fear a +thing is akin to Desiring it--in either case you are attracted toward +it, or it to you. It's a rule that works both ways. You must think +about the Thing you Want--not about the Thing you Don't Want, for the +thoughts you are thinking are the ones that are going to take form in +action, as the Boy said: "_You've got to think about a thing if you +want to hit it, and if you think about the wrong thing, why, you're +going to hit the wrong thing_." Watch your Ideal, not your Bugbear. +Concentrate on your Ideal--fix your thought and gaze upon it, like the +boy upon his marble--and don't allow Fearthought to sidetrack you. +Select the thing you want to be, and then grow steadily into it. Pick +out the thing you want, and then go straight and steadily to it. +Replace your old whine: "I Fear," with the New Thought shout: "I Can, +and I Will." Then you will experience an illustration of "Thought +taking form in Action." + +Look Straight; Think Straight; Shoot Straight; in these three things +lie the secret of Success. + + + + +AT HOME. + +Don't be afraid--You are at home--Not here by chance--You belong +here--YOU are the soul--YOU cannot be hurt--YOU cannot be +banished--YOU are right in the universe, and there is no +outside--Great things are before you--Make yourself at home. + + +Don't be afraid. You're living in your own home. This Universe was +built for you to inhabit--to occupy--to enjoy. Do not feel +strange--make yourself at home. The wonderful laws of nature--those +which have been discovered, and those which remain to be +discovered--are all laws for your use, when you grow large enough to +understand how to make use of them. + +Did you think you were here by chance, or that you were an alien? If +so, learn better. You are to the manor born--you are the heir. +Everything around the place is for your use, when you grow up. No one +can dispossess you--no one can put you out. You are at home. + +Do you long for another home? Do you fret and chafe at the trials and +troubles of this world, and imagine that somewhere else things will be +better? Well, they'll never be better for you until you have met and +conquered the trials and troubles of this place. You are just where +you belong. You are surrounded with just the things you need. You are +getting just what you deserve. And until you learn the truth of this, +you will have the same surroundings--the same environments. And then +when you learn that the things around you are all right--that you are +being treated justly--that you are getting just what you have +attracted, and are attracting, to yourself--then you will be ready for +the next step in the journey, and you will have new surroundings and +new environments--new tasks--new lessons--new pleasures. + +I hear some of you talking about Death. You seem to think that you +will be another order of being as soon as you take your last breath +upon earth. You talk about being a "spirit," bye-and-bye. Do I believe +this? Of course, I believe it. I _know_ it. But I also know something +else, and that is that you are a spirit now, just as much as you will +be in another world. Did you think that some wonderful essence was +going to grow from you, and that that essence would be what you call a +spirit? Nonsense! YOU are the spirit, and the not-you part which will +be discarded never was you. The You which says I AM is the real +thing--the real self--and the rest of you is but tools and instruments +which YOU are using. Why can't you see this? You talk about "my soul," +"my spirit," and so on. You make me tired. Why, the thing which is +thinking and speaking--YOU--is the "soul" or "spirit" of which you are +talking. You talk as if the physical part of you, which is changing +continually, was you. You are like the boy with the old knife. He was +continually having the knife repaired. He had had seven new blades and +three new handles put on it, and yet it was the same old knife. Why, +you could step right out of your body (and maybe you do, more than you +have any idea of) and it would be the same old YOU. You could discard +your body just as you do your clothes, and yet YOU would be the same +individual. There is a wonderful difference between individuality and +personality. One you cannot get rid of; the other may be changed. + +What's the use in being afraid? Nobody can hurt the real YOU. You +cannot be wiped out of existence. If a single spirit atom should be +destroyed, the entire structure would smash up. You cannot be banished +from the Universe, for there's nowhere else to put you. You cannot get +outside of the Universe, for _there's no outside_. There's no place +for you outside of everywhere. + +And you talk about time and eternity. Why, you're in eternity right +now. You are right in it this moment. It is always to-day--to-morrow +never comes. And you are right at home in the Universe, and always +will be. You are always there, for there's nowhere else to go. + +So what's the use in being afraid? Who's going to hurt you? They +can't kill YOU. They can't put you out of existence. They cannot +expel you from the Universe. So what are they going to do about it +anyhow? And, after all, who are "They?" You talk as if there were +outside forces and influences antagonistic to you. Outside of +what? No matter what beings of earth or air there may be, they +are creatures like yourself. They are all a part of the Whole +Thing--all made of the same material--all come from the hand of +the same maker--you are all cut from the same piece of goods. The +apparent differences are illusions--the difference and separateness +is only relative, and not actual. + +So, make yourself at home. Take a look around and see what a nice bit +of the Universe you have to live in. Some of your family have been +trying to occupy the whole house instead of only their share of it, +but those things are gradually working out, and all will be better +within a comparatively short time. This is going to be a better world +to live in when men take time to think a little. And you'll be around +to enjoy it when it comes--never fear. You cannot get away, even if +you want to. + +And, what's the use of waiting for to-morrow. There's lots of things +in which you can find happiness to-day, if you will only stop worrying +about to-morrow. The little child knows more about enjoying life than +you do. The little child feels at home anywhere and starts in to enjoy +it, and get the most out of it, until he grows old enough to be +hypnotized by the race belief. + +You are at home here. Just as much at home as is the fish in the +sea--the bird in the air. Realize this, and make the most of it. Stop +being afraid. Stop fretting. Stop worrying. Realize that yesterday, +to-day, and to-morrow, you are here in the Universe. It's a good +Universe, and it grows better as man grows in wisdom to take advantage +of its goodness. And it is not yet "sun-up" here. Great things are +before us. And you will see them and take part in them. Make yourself +at home, for you're going to be around here for some time. + + + + +THE SOLITUDE OF THE SOUL. + +Lorado Taft's group--Description--Each stands alone--Each is in touch +with every other--Soul communion in silence--Silence is the sanctuary +of the soul--The oneness of life and its apparent separateness--The +message. + + +In one of the rooms of the Art Institute, in Chicago, stands a +remarkable group, by Lorado Taft, the sculptor, entitled "The Solitude +of the Soul." The average visitor stops a moment and passes on, +commenting on the beauty of the figures composing this group. A few +hurry past, afraid to look at the figures, for they are nude--as naked +as the human soul before the gaze of its Creator. (Some people are +afraid of things not hidden by draperies--even the naked Truth shocks +them.) But the man or woman who thinks and understands--stops long +before this group, conscious that it tells the tale of a mighty truth. + +Around a large rock, stand four human figures--two men and two women. +They are so placed that but one figure is in full sight from any given +point of view, although the connection between any figure and the two +on each side of it may be seen. It is necessary to walk completely +around the group to see the idea of the sculptor--to read the story +that he has written into the marble. + +Each figure has an individuality. Each stands alone. And yet each +is in touch with the one behind, and the one before. Each one is +connected with all, yet each one stands alone. One figure extends a +hand to her brother just ahead of her, and on her shoulder rests the +tired head of the brother following her. Hand in hand, or head on +shoulder stand they, each giving to the other that human touch and +contact so dear to the soul craving that companionship of one who +understands. + +Each face shows sorrow, pain, and longing--that longing for that +complete union of soul with soul--that longing that earth-life cannot +satisfy. And each feels and knows that the other has the same longing. +And each gives to the other that comforting touch that says "I know--I +know." Each face shows a great human love mingled with its pain. Each +face shows resignation mingled with its grief. It is the old story of +human love and human limitations. It is also a story of deeper +import--the story of the soul. + +Every lip is closed. Each man and woman is silent. And yet each +understands the other. Soul is communing with soul, in the Silence. +And in the Silence alone can soul converse with soul. Words cheapen +the communication of soul to soul. With those who understand us well, +we can best commune in Silence. Hand in hand--cheek to cheek--sit +those who love well. The tale of love is told and re-told without a +word. Words serve their purpose in conveying the commonplaces of life, +but seem strangely inadequate to express the deeper utterances of the +soul. The tale of love--the story of sorrow--needs no words. The soul +understands the message of the soul--mind flashes the message to +mind--and all is known. The fondest memory of the one whom you loved +and lost, is not of moments in which he spoke even the most endearing +words. The memory most sacred to you is that of some great Silence +lived out with the loved one--some moment in which each soul drew +aside its veil and gazed with awe into the depths of the other soul. +Silence is the sanctuary of the soul. Enter it only with due +reverence. Uncover the head--tread softly. + +Each figure stands alone, and yet in touch with all the rest. Each is +apparently separate and yet each is but a part of the whole. Each +feels the frightful solitude which comes to the soul when first it +recognizes what it is. And yet, in that dreadful moment each knows +itself to be in touch with all of life. Each feels that intense +longing for a closer soul union--a reunion of the separated parts of +the whole. And yet each realizes the impossibility of the consummation +of that desire at this time--and they show their grief--they place the +head upon the shoulder of the other--they clasp the hand of the +other--they touch the flesh of the other--all as a symbol of the +desire for the union of the soul. + +This group is a symbol of the oneness of life and its apparent +separateness. A picture of the in-touchness of each part of the whole, +with every other part. A story of the pain of the soul in its awful +solitude--of its impotent striving for at-one-ment. A representation +of the communion of soul with soul, in the Silence. A tale of the +comfort and joy in the presence of another human form. A message of +The Brotherhood of Man. All this--and more--is in this group. + +I wonder if the sculptor saw it all, or whether he chiseled better +than he knew. Sometimes the Divine in man causes him to write +better--paint better--cut better--than he realizes. Others see much +more in his essays, stories, poems, paintings, statuary, than the +maker knew was there. And the man himself, after years have past again +views his work, and wonders at the new story he reads there. He feels +dazed at having portrayed truths of which he dreamt not while he +worked. There are within us unexplored depths, of the existence of +which we do not dream. And from these depths, now and then, rise into +our consciousness beautiful thoughts--beautiful images--which we +reproduce on paper--canvas--marble. We do not understand these things, +and we join with others in the feeling of wonder inspired by the sight +of the reproduction of that which came from the depths of our mental +being. And some, who have grown closer to the Real Self within them, +see beauties in our work to which we are blind. Not until the scales +fall from our eyes, do we realize the full meaning of our work. + +Some call this Inspiration. But those who have pierced the veil +know that it is inspiration from within, not from without. It is the +voice of the Divine spark within man, whispering to the consciousness +which is struggling to know better that Higher Self--a whisper of +encouragement and good cheer--a portent of the future--a glimpse of +the distant light--a bestowal of a few crumbs from the table of the +Spirit. + +I know not, I say, whether Lorado Taft knew what he chiseled. I know +not whether he is a man of deep spiritual insight. But this I do know, +that this group, "The Solitude of the Soul" is the work of the Spirit +within this man. And his work carries a deep spiritual message to +those who are ready to receive it. And in years to come this message +will be understood by thousands, for everyone who receives it to-day. +This work shall live long after its maker has forsaken the earthly +body that he now uses as an instrument. It will live because it +carries a message--because it conveys a mighty truth. + + + + +JERRY AND THE BEAR. + +The Law's plan of developing an individual--Folly of clinging to old +worn out sheaths--The story of Jerry and the Bear--Who Jerry was--He +meets the Bear--The fight--The result--The consequences--The change in +Jerry--The moral. + + +The Law, in its efforts to develop Man into a self-reliant being--into +an individual--first tries the simpler plan of bringing a steady +pressure to bear in the direction of gradual progress and growth, +impelling the man to think and act himself into a more positive +condition each day. After a while the man, feeling behind him the +steady push of Life, and being conscious of the attracting power of +the Absolute drawing him to higher things--leading him up the mountain +path of Attainment--learns to trust the propelling and attracting +power, and, ceasing his resistance, moves along in the direction of +gradual unfoldment and growth. He casts off sheath after sheath--and +grows. He does not attempt to impede or interfere with his +development, but cheerfully and joyfully presses forward to his +unfoldment. He finds pleasure in each stage, and should pain manifest +itself he knows it as the growing pains of the child--a promise of +greater things. + +There are some, however, who seem determined to cling to their old +sheaths, and resist the pressure of growth to the utmost. They are +unable to withstand the steady pressure, and the attracting power, +carrying them forward, and their resistance brings them much pain and +friction, and they are pushed this way and that by the pressure of the +growing Self, resisting and struggling all the time. The Law has +several ways of dealing with these people, for their own good, and +often, with a supreme effort, tears them from the surrounding sheath +to which they are clinging and forces them into a broader and wider +life, against their wishes and in spite of their struggles and cries. + +Many of us, looking back over our past lives, smile as we recognize +how we were forced into new fields of work and endeavor--how we were +broadened out in spite of ourselves--how we were torn from our old +surroundings and environments, in spite of our lamentations, +reproaches, and cries, and placed amid new scenes and faces. This +thing is repeated over and over again, until we learn the lesson and +cease to be unduly attached to persons and things, and become willing +to yield ourselves to the onward moving force and co-operate with the +Law instead of opposing it. + +Many men and women who steadily refuse to stand erect and assert their +independence, are deliberately worked into a position where they +_must_ declare their freedom from the things upon which they have +been leaning, and are forced to stand up and face conditions from +which they have shrunk all their lives. The Law has a way of picking +up those shivering mortals who stand around the river's edge, and +throwing them into the stream, bidding them to strike out and SWIM. +It prefers the easier way of teaching you to swim by degrees--of +acquiring knowledge by easy stages--but if you refuse to learn in this +way, it will resort to the vigorous plan just mentioned--but swim you +_must_, one way or the other. + +I am going to tell you a story--not a particularly pretty one, but one +that will give you an idea of what I mean, and how the plan works. +It's about animals--but many a truth has been conveyed by fables in +which animals were the actors, and this homely little tale from the +wilderness may convey to your minds the point of this talk better than +do my words. Here's the story: + +Once upon a time a man, away up in one of the Northwestern States, +owned a dog named "Jerry." He was not very much on looks--and less in +good qualities. He was not of any fancy breed--just Dog, that's all. +He had drifted on to the farm from Somewhere and had been kicked and +cuffed around in his early youth, until he was afraid to claim a right +to live at all. He grew up into a worthless animal--snapped at by +smaller dogs--bullied by those of his own size--looked down upon by +all. He expected to be kicked by everybody in sight--and, of course, +got kicked. (Men and dogs who go around expecting to be abused, always +draw upon them the thing they fear and expect.) His tail seemed a +magnet which attracted all the tin cans around that neighborhood. +Pitying did not seem to do him any good--it only made him more +miserable and abject than ever, just as it acts in the case of some +people. The poor chap gradually dropped down to the lowest state of +dogdom, and his case seemed hopeless. The farmer would drive to town +every once in a while, and Jerry would sneak along under the wagon, in +manner seeming to apologize for taking up even that space. His +appearance would be the signal for all the dogs of the several farms +along the road to chase down to the wagon, rout him out, and roll him +over in the dust, the performance being repeated at every farm to and +from the town. The farmer, at last, feeling that the dog was bringing +his establishment into disrepute, and knowing that "Hopkins' Jerry" +was becoming a township jest, determined to put an end to the animal's +unhappy career. But Destiny intervened--possibly in order to give me a +tale to point the moral of this talk--and to give you something to +remember in trying circumstances. + +Jerry strayed away from the farm one evening, being chased a part of +the distance by some of the smaller dogs who delighted in bullying +him. He traveled some distance from home and entered the woods. Bear +tracks had been discovered in that region, and some of the boys had +dug a pit, baiting it with some choice tid-bit pleasing to his +bearship, and covering it over with a thin roof which would yield to +a light weight. Jerry started across the roof, and in he went. Some +hours after a young bear came sniffing around, and he, too, dropped +in the pit. Then the trouble commenced. + +The bear feeling infuriated by his unceremonious drop, reached out for +Jerry and gave him a scratch which caused him to yell. The bear, +seeing that there was no fight in his opponent, chased him round and +round the pit, until it seemed only a matter of a few minutes more +until the dog would be relieved of his misery. Things took an +unexpected turn, however. The bear knocked Jerry over on his back, and +began giving him the finishing touches. This seemed to bring to life +the last remaining touch of self-respect left in the poor brute, and +with a mighty effort he sprang straight at the bear's throat and gave +him a bite in which was concentrated all the repressed bites of a +lifetime. The bear, with a roar, sprang back to the other side of the +pit. It was hard to tell which was the most surprised of the two, the +bear at the sudden courage of his opponent, or Jerry at the fact that +he could fight bear. The dog's self-respect and confidence went up +nearly to par. The bear's caution adjusted itself accordingly. After a +bit the bear cautiously worked his way over toward Jerry, but the dog +snarled fiercely and showed his teeth. They had several rounds before +things quieted down, and each time Jerry showed his mettle, and +although he was badly scratched he had bestowed upon the bear several +tokens of his valor. His self-respect and confidence was now an +assured thing, and the bear treated him with considerable deference +and consideration. After matters adjusted themselves, the bear and the +dog each retired to their respective sides of the pit, and declared a +truce. + +In the morning the boys came to the pit, shot the bear and lifted +Jerry out and carried him home. His tail was several inches shorter, +and one ear was missing, and his body was scarred and scratched like +the face of a Heidelberg student, but away down in his heart he felt +good--and he showed it. The farmer, feeling proud of the animal, +carefully nursed him until he was able to move around the house, and +then allowed him to go out of doors. As soon as he appeared the other +dogs made a rush for him, but something in his look caused them to +keep at a safe distance, and they contented themselves with barking at +him and keeping out of reach. He did not seem anxious to fight, but he +had that look of confidence in his eyes that kept them where they +belonged. He had ceased to fear. His tail no longer drooped between +his legs, but was held aloft as is the tail of every self-respecting +dog. And somehow, that tail did not have the attracting power for tin +cans that had formerly marked it. The boys recognized that Jerry had +advanced in the scale, and there was something about him that they +liked and respected. + +About ten days after the dog got well, the farmer took a trip to town, +and Jerry accompanied him, trotting along in an unconcerned manner, +alongside, behind, or any other place that suited him. As the first +farmhouse was reached the dogs came rushing down to have some fun with +our friend. They pitched into him as of yore. Something happened. The +pack ran yelping back to the house for surgical attention--and Jerry +trotted on just the same. This scene was repeated at every farm along +the road, Jerry repeating the object lesson each time, finishing up +his task by rolling into the dust the big bull terrier in front of the +postoffice, who, heretofore, had been the terror of the town. The +homeward trip was a triumphal progress for the dog, and all his old +foes vied with each other in tail-wagging and other demonstrations +designed to let Jerry know that they were proud to be his friends. But +he paid little attention to them--he had developed into a canine +philosopher. After that he led a happy life. He was not seeking fight, +but no boy or dog seemed to seek fight with him. He had cast out +Fearthought. He feared nothing that walked on legs. HE HAD MET BEAR. + +Now, some of my critics will call the attention of their readers to +the fact that I am advising fight. Not so, good friends. I am using +this dog story as an illustration, and am trying to show you how the +Law will sometimes force a man into tight quarters in order to bring +out his courage and self-confidence. It knows the man "has it in him," +and it proceeds to use vigorous methods to bring it out into action +providing, always, that the man has not developed it before. When a +man has been placed in a position where he faces the worst, and is +compelled to grapple with the bear, he finds that he has reserve force +within him of which he never dreamt before, and he puts forth all his +energy to save himself. He finds that when he boldly faces the +difficulty the difficulty seems as much afraid of him as he had been +of it. He gains more confidence, until at last he beats off the foe, +and rests secure in his own strength. He finds that to the man who has +abolished Fear and who can smilingly face any situation, Fate is very +respectful and obliging, although to the man who fears it is a +tormentor. In proportion to a man's fear will be his troubles. When he +reaches the position when he can laugh in the face of Fortune, he will +find her ceasing her coquetries and falling desperately in love with +him. + +And after the man has met the great difficulty--fought the mighty +fight--he finds that he has ceased to fear the little troubles and +trials of life--he feels his strength--he knows his source of power. +He holds his head erect and breathes in the pure air of heaven, and +feels the warm blood tingling through his veins. He has found himself. +HE HAS MET BEAR. + + + + +THE UNSEEN HAND. + +The consciousness of the hand--When it first was felt--Always +there--Now as the hand of a father--Now as that of a mother--A +lover--A brother--Always guiding--Always leading--A mystery--Some day +we will know the owner of the hand. + + +I have felt the Unseen Hand--have been guided by it--have felt the +kind but steady urge in the direction which it knew to be best, though +my Intellect failed to see the beauty of the road toward which the +Hand was directing me. For a time I rebelled against the impertinent +interference of that which seemed to be a thing apart from me--a +meddler--an unasked for helper. I had emerged from the dependent +state--the state in which I thought it necessary to lean upon others. +I gloried in my independence--my freedom--my ability to stand alone. +Finding that it was good to stand alone--reveling in the joy of my new +found freedom--rejoicing in the fact that the I AM within me was a +reality--feeling within me the ecstasy that comes from the recognition +of the reality of Individuality--I resented any interference from +outside. But the pressure of the hand was still here--it would take my +unwilling fingers within its own and lead me on--and lead me on. + +Finding that I could not get rid of this unseen helper--realizing that +it was intent upon guiding me in spite of my repeated assertions that +I was able to take care of myself--that I was big enough to walk +alone--I began to study the Something that was so determined to take +an active part in the affairs of my life--I started in to become +acquainted with it. + +I found that it had always been with me more or less, but that I had +not before recognized its presence. So long as I felt that I was not +able to stand erect upon my feet--so long as I feared--so long as I +failed to recognize the I AM--I was scarcely aware of this invisible +helper. But when I began to realize what I was--what was my place in +the Universal order of things--what were my possibilities--my +future--the presence of this unseen hand began to be manifest. When I +at length threw off the last fetter that had bound me--when I threw +back my shoulders and drew my first free breath--when I shouted aloud +with joy at my freedom and strength--when I realized the power that +was within me and at my command--when I started out to accomplish that +which my awakened mind told me was possible of attainment--when I +started to do these things _all by myself_--then I felt for the +first time the firm clasp of the unseen hand. + +Now gently guiding--now leading--now kindly restraining--now giving a +gentle urge toward people, things and conditions--now drawing me back +from the edge of a precipice--now directing toward a better path--now +giving me a gentle, firm pressure to reassure me of its presence when +I doubted--now allowing me to rest my weight upon it when I felt +tired--always there. + +At times this hand has placed before me conditions that seemed to me +to be anything but good. At times it has brought me pain. But I have +learned to trust it--have learned to trust it. The conditions that +have seemed to me to be undesirable have brought me to desirable +things. The pain that I have suffered has brought me pleasure. The +experiences that have come to me I would not wish to part with--the +more pain, the more experience; the more experience, the more +knowledge. + +I have learned to love this hand. And the owner of the hand seems to +feel and return this love, and now and then, by a sympathetic little +clasp, lets me know that I am understood. This hand sometimes seems to +be that of a Father--strong and firm--leading on with a confident air. +Again it seems to be that of a Mother--gentle and kind--leading me as +does the mother lead her child. Again it seems as the hand of a woman +who loves me--clinging and warm--neither leading nor being led--just +moving on clasped in mine--no words--but with a perfect understanding. +The owner of this hand seems to combine within itself the qualities of +both sexes--seems to have within itself all the attributes of Father, +Mother, Lover, Brother, Sister. It seems to respond to the human need, +in every direction. It seems always the hand of Love--even while +giving me pain. + +I have never seen the face of the owner of this hand. I have never +looked into its eyes. I have never seen its form, if form it has. But +I have been conscious, at times, of being lifted up in its arms and +being pressed close to its breast. I have felt the impulse of the +child, at such times, and have felt for the breast of the mother, and +have been conscious of the answering mother pressure as I was drawn up +close to the body of the owner of the hand. And, at times, have I felt +rebellious at the confining clasp, and have struggled and have even +beat against the breast with my puny fists as I insisted that I be +released from the clasping arms. But, mother-like, the owner of the +hand only drew me closer to the breast until I could feel the very +heart-throbs within the mother-body--could feel the vibrations +emanating from its life--could feel the warm breath upon my cheek as +the invisible face bent over me impelled by the mother love. + +Again, it takes on the father-form, and I place my little hand within +it, and feeling like the boy whose father is taking him on a journey, +I say "Lead Thou me on," and go cheerfully and with faith into new +lands--new surroundings--new fields. Why should I fear, have I not +hold of my father's hand? And the hand at such times rests upon my +shoulder, every once in a while, and I realize that the father feels a +pride in his son, and sees him growing in strength and knowing--that +the father looks forward to a time when he will be able to talk with +the boy who will then have grown in knowledge, and will be able to +understand some of the secrets of Life that the father will then +unfold to him. + +And, still again, the hand is that of the loving woman who is walking +along the path of Life with the man she loves. It is a tender +clasp--the fingers tingle with love--the arm presses close to mine. I +hear no voice--no words are needed--soul talks to soul in the silence. +We walk on and on and on. We understand. + +And, still again, the hand seems that of a brother--a twin brother. +Neither the protection of the father--the loving tenderness of the +mother--the thrill of the lover's touch--is there. I feel not that the +hand is that of a stronger being--I am conscious only of the brotherly +clasp--the touch of comradeship--the presence of an equal. I feel by +my side a helper--someone who will back me up in time of need. And I +stroll along by his side and laugh with joy. The joy of the boy is +again mine. The joy of companionship is again mine. And, lo the hand +of the brother seems to grow--he and I are again men. And something in +his hand-clasp seems to say to me, "Come, brother, let us go forth +into the unknown future. Let us have Faith. There are lands awaiting +our coming. Let us enjoy them. Let us explore them. Let us be filled +with the spirit of adventure, and go forth. Let us see--let us +feel--let us know." And I return the clasp, and say, "Aye, brother, +let us go forth. Whither thou goest there will I go. Thy joys shall be +my joy--thy pain my pain. Let us go forth--let us go forth to the +Divine Adventure." + +And, so, manifesting the attributes of all human relations, in turn, +and at the proper time, the owner of this unseen hand is near me. I +feel his presence--I am aware of his nearness. At times faith grows +faint, and I think it all a delusion--a phantasm--a dream. All seems +lost, and I weep. But, lo! in the midst of my despair, I feel the hand +upon my head--I know that it is a reality and, through my tears, I +smile. + +Shall I ever know the owner of this hand? Shall I ever see its face? +Shall I ever understand the mystery of its existence? I know not. But +faith whispers in my ear, "Wait! All is well! When the pupil is ready +the Master appears. When your eyes have a clear vision and can bear +the sight, then shall you see the Face of the owner of the hand. You +have entered the Path and there is no turning back. Go on--go on in +Faith, Courage and Confidence. Why should you doubt--have you not felt +the pressure of The Hand?" + +Aye, why should I doubt or question? Have I not felt the pressure of +the Unseen Hand? Open your hands, friends, that the Hand may clasp +yours as it has mine. While your hand is clenched in Anger and +Hate--while it clutches tight the gold it has snatched from the hand +of another--while the fingers are drawn together with Fear--it cannot +receive the Unseen Hand. Open it wide--reach it out--offer it in +friendly clasp--and you will feel within it the touch of that which +you seek. + +The Unseen Hand is waiting to clasp yours. Give it welcome--give it +welcome. + + + + +HOW SUCCESS COMES. + +Seeking success through mental powers--Holding the thought alone not +sufficient--How to get the real benefit of thought-force--Fall in with +the workings of the Law--Stand on your own feet--One step at a +time--"I Do" as well as "I Am." + + +Many of the men and women who have been seeking Prosperity by means of +the powers of the mind, have done so by "holding the thought," and +then folding their hands and calmly waiting for some "lucky" event to +happen, or in other words, for the long sought for prize to drop down +into the laps, from out of the Nowhere. Now, I have heard of a number +of cases in which things apparently came about in this way, although I +have always felt that a little investigation would have shown some +good and natural cause behind it all, but as a rule the law does not +work in this way--it does not leave the old beaten road of cause and +effect. It is no Aladdin's lamp which has merely to be rubbed in order +that glittering gems, and showers of gold, be poured out into the lap +of the owner, as he lies back on his cushions, lazily rubbing the lamp +with the tip of his little finger. The law expects from the man who +would invoke its mighty aid, a little honest work on his part. + +I think that the majority of those who have met with a greater share +of Success by means of the wonderful power of Thought, have met with +such Success not by having it fall from the skies, but by following +out the ideas, impulses, yes, inspiration, if you will, that have come +to them. The man who has turned his back upon the old negative Mental +Attitude--who has turned his face toward the rising sun--who has +allowed the voice of Faith again to be heard--who knows that the Law +which rules the motions of the worlds and still takes note of the +sparrow's fall, has his interest at heart and asks but for Faith--that +man, I say, finds that from time to time ideas will come into his mind +just when they are needed; will find that the Law takes cognizance of +all human needs and has prepared a way to satisfy them. He finds that +new ways are pointed out to him--avenues of escape from unbearable +conditions--signboards pointing out the right road, but he must have +FAITH in these little hints from the Infinite, and must follow them. +The Law will open the door to you, but will not push you in. And when +it finds that you refuse to see the open door, it softly closes it, +and not until many weary years have passed do you recognize what you +have missed. And the Law insists upon doing its work in its own good +way--not in _your_ way. You may know what you want, but you may not +know just the right way to get it, although you think you do. The +Law will give you many a hint, and many a gentle push in the proper +direction, but it always leaves you the liberty of choice--the right +to refuse. It does not insist upon your love, your Faith; that is, it +does not _make_ you love and have Faith, but until you _do_ love and +have Faith you are not conscious of the promptings of the Spirit, or, +at most, dismiss them as beneath your notice. Oh, ye of little Faith, +when will ye learn. + +The man who understands the workings of the Law, acts upon the tender +impulses imparted to him, without resistance. He does not ask to see +the end of the journey, but he sees the step just ahead of him very +plainly, and he hesitates not about taking it. He does not expect the +Law to bring RESULTS and place them in his hand. All he asks and +desires is that the way be pointed out to him, and he is willing and +ready to do the rest himself. The true man or woman does not wish to +be fed with a spoon. All they ask is that they may have a fair chance +to reach the source of supply, and they can manage to handle the spoon +themselves. If any man think that the Law is an incubator of +parasites--of leeches--of vampires--he is greatly mistaken. The lesson +of the Law is to teach every man to stand upon his own feet--to lean +not upon another--but at the same time to feel that he is guided by +the great Law of which he himself is a part, which manifests within +him as well as without him, and that, consequently, while placing his +trust in the Law, he trusts in himself. Not paradoxical at all, when +you have the key. + +Yes, yes, the Law expects every man to do well the work that lies to +his hand--and to do it well, whether it is irksome or distasteful or +otherwise; and as soon as he ceases to rebel and beat his wings +against the bars of the cage, the way is opened for the next step; and +if he does not take that step, he must work away until he learns to +take it. And so on, and on, the lesson of each task to be learned +before the next is presented. Work? why certainly you must work. +Everything in the Universe works unceasingly. When you learn to look +upon work as a joy and not a curse, then you are beginning to see your +way out of the grinding process. Then you are getting a glimpse of the +Promised Land. Why bless your hearts, Work is the best friend you +have, the only trouble is that you have treated it as an enemy and it +has paid you back in your own coin. When you learn to treat it as a +friend, it will be only too glad to make up, and you will get along +like two old cronies. + +Now, you people who have been sitting with folded hands and "calmly +waiting," and complaining that your own has not come to you, listen: +You are mistaken. Your own has come to you--that's just the trouble. +Your own is the thing you attract, and you have been attracting just +what has come to you. Start in to-day, determined to fall in with the +workings of the Law, and pay attention to the "I DO" side of things as +well as the "I AM," and you will receive new light. Great things are +just ahead of you, but you must reach out for them--they're not going +to drop into folded hands. This is the Law. + + + + +THE MAN WITH THE SOUTHERN EXPOSURE. + +Southern exposure as good a thing in a man as in a room--The man who +faces the sun--Lives one day at a time and does the best he knows how, +and is kind--Finds Joy and carries it to others--Simple, loving, +kind--Open yourself to the sun. + + +Did you ever go house hunting? Then you remember how the agent laid +much stress on the fact that certain rooms had a "Southern Exposure." +No matter how many other good qualities the house had, all was +subordinated to the fact that the best rooms faced the South--had the +longed for "Southern Exposure." The very words conveyed to your mind +the sensation of balmy breezes--the freedom from the rude blasts of +the North--the cheering rays of the Sun--plenty of light and healthful +vibrations coming from old Sol. Ah, that "Southern Exposure"--how much +the words convey. + +Now, if this "Southern Exposure" is such a good thing in a room, why +isn't it a good thing in a man? Did you ever meet the man with the +"Southern Exposure"--the man who faces the Sun? Do you recall how he +brought with him the inspiring Solar vibrations? Do you remember how +the wrinkles and frowns disappeared from the faces of those in his +presence? Do you remember how, long after he had departed, the memory +of his presence cheered you--the thrill of his thought vibrations +remained to stimulate? We all know this man with the "Southern +Exposure," God bless him. We couldn't get along without him. There are +a number of him, and he is scattered all over the globe. We call him +by different names, but he is always the same man. After we have felt +the cold Northern chill emanating from some of the cold, despondent, +negative people with whom we have come in contact, what a relief it is +to meet some one who carries with him the mellowing sunny, vibrations +of the South wind--the man with the "Southern Exposure." As the +vibrations of the Sun bring life, energy, and strength to all things +having life, so this sunny man brings positive, bright, cheerful and +happy thoughts to us, and stimulates, encourages and strengthens us. +He actually radiates sunshine and cheer in all directions, and thaws +out the natures that have become well nigh frozen from contact with +people of the other type. Oh, it's a great thing, this "Southern +Exposure" in a man or woman. + +This man faces the Sun. He is an optimist. He looks on the bright side +of things, and gets all there is in Life--he LIVES. He manages to +extract "fun" out of the most unpromising conditions and things, and +goes on his way with a smile, and a cheerful song, an abiding faith in +the Absolute. He lives his life, one day at a time, loving all of +God's creatures and letting the creatures know it--carrying a message +of hope, and courage, and a helpful suggestion to all mankind. He is +the salt of the earth, and Life would lose its flavor if he were taken +from us. And how smooth the pathway of Life seems made for him. It +matters not in what station he may be placed--what seemingly small +degree of material prosperity may come to him--what may be his +surroundings and environments--he makes the best of everything--he +still catches the rays of the Sun, and rejoices--he has the "Southern +Exposure." + +He is broad and tolerant--merciful and forgiving--devoid of Hate, Envy +and Malice--free from Fear and Worry. He minds his own business, and +grants you the same privilege. He is full of Love, and radiates it to +all the world. He goes through Life in his own sunny way, meeting +cheerfully the things that drive others to Despair and Misery--somehow +things seem to be smoothed out for him, and he passes over the stony +road, unharmed. His Peace comes from within--and all who meet him feel +his presence. He does not _seek_ after friends or love--Friendship and +Love come to him as a right--he attracts them. People are glad to see +him come, and sorry to see him go. Little children and animals are +drawn to him, and know him as their friend and lover. He is as much +at home in the tenement of the laborer as in the palace of the +wealthy--both places seem home to him, and their occupants on a level. +Brother to both Saint and Sinner is he, and he loves one as much as +the other, for he somehow feels that each is doing his best. He looks +for the good in the Sinner--not for the sin in the Saint--although he +knows that both exist. He is not a Pharisee--he recognizes within +himself all that is within both Saint and Sinner--he knows that he is +not without sin, so he dares not cast the first stone. The outcast +recognizes in him a brother--the woman who has passed through the +fiery furnace trusts him and is not afraid, for she knows that he +understands. He, being near the Sun, knows that it shines alike on +Saint and Sinner--he feels that when God withholds his Sunbeams from +his most disobedient child, then may he withhold his love from his +most degraded brother or sister. Until that time comes he sees fit to +love them. He does not Condemn--he lets God exercise that prerogative, +if he sees fit--he does not feel fit to act as Judge. He believes that +the Universe is conducted on sound business principles--that God knows +just what he is about and does not require any gratuitous advice from +Man. + +He works, and works well. He finds Joy in his work--pleasure in the +humblest tasks. He likes to Create things--and he is proud of that +desire, for he feels that it is an inheritance from his Father. He +does not seem to hurry--nor is he rushed. He has plenty of +time--Eternity lasts a long while, and he is in it NOW. He is not +afraid of Death--or even Life--he knows them as one. + +He goes about his way--doing his best--and letting the other fellow +alone. + +He has an abiding Faith in the Absolute--he believes in Infinite +Justice and Ultimate Good. He does not fear his Father--he cannot find +room for Fear where Love abides. He does not believe that there is a +bottomless pit into which his loving Father intends to plunge him--he +has too much confidence in his Father to think that. He believes that +there is enough Hell on earth to burn away the mistakes and ignorance +of Man. And he believes that all the burning ones will eventually +emerge purged of their dross. He knows that his Father is near him, +for he has felt the pressure of his hand. In the darkness of the night +he has felt the Father's presence--by the glare of the lightning flash +he has seen His form, for a moment, and that memory is burned into his +brain. He faces the Sun--this man with the "Southern Exposure." + +He is Simple, Loving, Kind. He is of the Elect. He is a prophecy of +the Future. And he is on the increase. On the Tree of Life are many +promising buds, which the Sun of the Spirit is nursing into beautiful +blossoms that will yet fill the world with the delicious fragrance of +Love. + +There are certain people who have come into our midst silently and +without announcement. They have found places waiting for them. They +have come to prepare the way for their brothers and sisters who +are in the womb of the future--they are working quietly to prepare +a home for their unborn brothers and sisters when they come. They +are the forerunners of the Coming Race. Smiled at--sneered +at--persecuted--reviled--pitied--it matters not. God has sent +them--they have his message to deliver--that's why they are here. +The world may raise its eyebrows--shrug its shoulders--tap its +forehead significantly--but these new people smile, they know, they +know. They see the misunderstanding multitude as mere babes in the +Spiritual knowing--many of them babes unborn--and they heed them +not. + +Take notice of these people--they are making their presence felt. They +are wielding a silent powerful influence, and are molding public +opinion far more than are the blatant reformers, the boastful leaders, +the bespangled figures strutting at the front of the stage. The people +who are thus being used--instruments in God's hands--are these quiet +men and women who are facing the Sun--these people with the "Southern +Exposure." + +If you feel the call to join the ranks of these people--do not resist, +but answer cheerfully "I hear; I obey; I come." Allow the seed to grow +into the plant, the plant to put forth leaves--bud and blossom. When +you feel the impulse, do not resist--open yourself to the Sun--receive +its vibrations--and all will be well. Be not afraid--have within you +that Love which casteth out Fear--place your hand in that of the +Absolute and say "Lead Thou me on." After long ages of wandering, you +are coming Home. + + + + +A FOREWORD.[1] + +An individualist--Wearing no ticket or label--No one has a corner on +Truth--Enough to go around--The Infinite Power back of all things--The +Real Self is Spirit--The Law of Attraction--Fearthought--The +Brotherhood of Man. + + +* * * * I generally call myself a Mental Scientist, and am so known +to my friends, but I merely use the term because it is broad and +comprehensive, not because I bear the ticket of any particular school +of the New Thought--not because I wear the badge of any special +leader. I am an Individualist. I believe in the right of every man to +think his own thoughts--to find his way to the Truth by whatever road +he may see fit, even if he prefers to cut across fields in getting +there. I believe that whilst all men are brothers, and each a part of +a mighty Whole, still each one must stand squarely upon his own +feet--must work out his own salvation--must do his own thinking. I +believe that Truth is everywhere--in everything, and that we may +uncover a bit of it wherever we may happen to dig. I do not believe +that any person has a corner on the Truth--a monopoly of Knowing. I do +not believe in Popes, in or out of the New Thought. Each of us will +uncover his own little bit of the Truth, but we must not imagine that +we have the Whole Thing. There's enough Truth to go around--and to +spare. + + [1] An extract from the article of this name in which the + author introduced himself to the readers of the magazine + "New Thought," upon assuming the position of co-editor, in + December, 1901. + +I believe that there is an Infinite Power in, and of, all things. I +believe that, although to-day we have but the faintest idea of that +Power, still we will steadily grow to comprehend it more fully--will +get in closer touch with it. Even now, we have momentary glimpses of +its existence--a momentary consciousness of Oneness with the Absolute. +I believe that the greatest happiness consists in maintaining toward +the Absolute the attitude of the trusting child, who, feeling no doubt +of the parent's love--no doubt of his wisdom--places his little hand +in that of the parent, and says: "Lead Thou me on." I believe that he +who feels towards the Absolute, the trustfulness of the babe which +places its little tired head close to the breast of the mother, will +also be conscious of the tender answering pressure, as the babe is +drawn just a little closer to the mother heart. I believe these +things--I have felt them. + +I believe that Man is immortal--that the Real Self is Spirit, which +uses mind and body as its tools, and manifests itself according to the +fitness of the tools. I believe that Man is rapidly growing into a +new plane of consciousness, in which he will _know_ himself as he +is--will recognize the I AM--the Something Within. Many are having +glimpses of the Truth every day--the first glimpses of the light of +the great Dawn are even now being perceived by those who are awake and +watching. + +I believe that the mind of Man contains the greatest of all +forces--that Thought is one of the greatest manifestations of energy. +I believe that the man who understands the use of Thought-force can +make of himself practically what he will. I believe that not only is +one's body subject to the control of the mind, but that, also, one may +change environment, "luck," circumstances, by positive thought taking +the place of negative. I know that the "I Can and I Will" attitude +will carry one forward to Success that will seem miraculous to the man +on the "I Can't" plane. I believe that "thoughts are things," and that +the Law of Attraction in the thought world will draw to one just what +he desires or fears. + +I believe that Fearthought is the root of more misery, unhappiness, +disease, crime, failure and other undesirable things than any one +thing in the world. I intend to attack this monster most vigorously, +through these columns. I intend going for him with the grace of God in +my heart, and a good hickory club in my hand. I will cause many of you +to tear out Fear by the roots--you don't need it about you. I will +preach the gospel of Fearlessness. There is nothing in the world (or +out of it) to fear except--Fear. + +I will also preach the gospel of Backbone to you--will insist upon +your inserting a steel-rod vertebra in the place of that india-rubber +affair that some of you are carrying around with you. You doubt this, +do you?--well, just you wait and see. + +I believe in the Brotherhood of Man. I believe in being Kind. I +believe in everyone minding his own business--and allowing everyone +else the same privilege. I believe that we have no right to +condemn--"let him who is without sin cast the first stone." I believe +that he who Hates, is an assassin; that he who Covets, is a thief; +that he who Lusts, is an adulterer; that the gist of a crime is in its +desire. Seeing this--looking into our own hearts--how can we Condemn? +I believe that Evil is but Ignorance. I believe that "to know all is +to forgive all." I believe that there is good in every man; let us +help him to manifest it. I believe in the absolute equality of the Man +and the Woman--sometimes I think that the odds are slightly in favor +of the Woman. I believe in the Sacredness of Sex--but I also believe +that Sex manifests on the Spiritual and Mental planes, as well as on +the Physical. And I believe that to the pure all things are pure. + +I also believe in the gospel of work--in "hustling." I believe in the +I DO, as well as the I AM. I know that the man who will take advantage +of the Power of the Mind, and who will manifest that power in action, +will go forward to Success as surely and as steadily as the arrow from +the bow of the skilled archer. + + + + +PARTNERSHIP. + +Next to marriage, partnership is the most important +association--Mental partnerships--Be careful whom you choose as your +mental partners--Get into partnership with the best thoughts--Dissolve +partnership with the other kind--"I Can, I Will; I Do, I Dare." + + +Next to marriage, a partnership arrangement is the most important +association into which a man or woman may enter. Its consequences are +far-reaching and difficult to escape, and to a very considerable +extent one is bound by the acts of his partners. This being the case, +it is of the utmost importance that one should exercise the greatest +diligence and care in selecting partners. If any of my readers were to +contemplate entering into a partnership agreement with others, he +would be sure to select those who were possessed of the most desirable +qualities, and those most conducive to success. He would carefully +avoid those possessed of Lack of Confidence, Fear, Worry, +Discouragement and others of the "I Can't" class. He would seek out +the Courageous, Confident, "I Can and I Will" men. He would keep away +from those in whom Hate, Malice, Jealousy, Envy, Bigotry and other +traits of Ignorance were strongly manifest. He would, in short, choose +those who possessed to the greatest possible degree the qualities most +conducive to Success and would as carefully avoid those possessed of +opposite qualities. There is no doubt of the truth of what I have just +said--every one of you will admit it. + +Now, I do not purpose telling you about business partnerships of the +ordinary kind--you know all about those--but I will call your +attention to the fact that you are every day forming partnerships of a +most important character and far-reaching in their effects, but of +which you probably have been unaware. When your attention is once +called to the matter, many things will seem clear to you that have +heretofore appeared quite dark, and you will be able to avoid +mistakes, in the future, that have been quite common in the past. This +is an important lesson, and I trust that you will give heed to what I +say. + +I have stated, in previous articles, that your mind is a mighty +magnet, attracting to itself the thoughts emanating from the minds of +others. Like attracts like in the world of Thought, and the prevailing +character of your thoughts will be manifested in the character of +thought waves drawn to you from the great ocean of thought. Your +thought mingles and coalesces with thoughts of a corresponding nature +sent out from the minds of others, and both you and the other senders +are strengthened in the mental attitude by reason of the joining of +forces. _You are entering into a mental partnership_ with those +unknown thinkers, and attracting them to you, and you to them. Why do +"birds of a feather flock together," in business and everyday life? +Simply because they are irresistibly drawn to each other by the Law +of Mental Attraction. The people with whom you are brought in contact +are those of the same mental key as yourself. You may not agree with +this statement, but a close analysis will prove it. The pushing, +"hustling," wide-awake man will attract to himself thought-partners +of the same stamp, while the man who is afraid is always sure to +find himself surrounded by people having the same defects. And not +only is this true in the sense that the Law brings you into actual +contact with people of the same mental key, but you are connecting +yourself with hundreds of others who are thinking along the same +lines, although you may never actually come in physical contact with +these people. You are going into partnership with them, and will +share in the firm's profits and losses, just as you would in case of +an ordinary business partnership. And it is easy to foretell upon +just what side of the firm ledger the balance will appear. + +When you approach a man on business, with your mind laden with +thoughts of Fear, Lack of Confidence, etc., you strike a similar +keynote in that man, and he instinctively feels that he has no +confidence in you or your business, and if he is a man whose +predominant note is Courage, he will feel the inharmony and get rid of +you as soon as he can. If, on the contrary, he is also a "I Can't" man +he will feel a fellow feeling for you, but it will do you no good; it +will be a case of "misery loves company," and the first thing you know +you will find yourself and that man in an earnest conversation about +"dull times," "poor crops," "the country is going to the dogs," "no +chance for a man nowadays," "we're all going to the poorhouse," etc., +etc. I've seen it happen many a time, haven't you? + +But if you are an "I Can and I Will" man, and he is the same, see how +different things are. He will warm up to you and will feel that he +understands you, and sooner or later you and he will do business with +each other, in fact, the arrangement is begun with your first meeting. +If you can get yourself in something like the same mental attitude of +a man with whom you wish to do business, you will get along with him, +never fear. + +When you have something in mind upon which you are working, and you +are at the same time maintaining the proper mental attitude, you are +placing yourself in psychic touch with every other man in the same +line who is holding the same mental attitude. You draw inspiration +from them, and both parties to the mental partnership share in the +profits. Both will share, to a certain extent, in each other's +progress and both will draw largely from the mental stock of those who +are working along the same lines, but who are holding a negative +mental attitude. In fact, the whole store of knowledge and progress +along those lines will be tapped by these partners holding the +positive mental attitude. New plans, ideas, combinations, schemes, +devices will spring into being in their minds, and they will not only +help each other, but will draw upon the less positive people. This +seems a hard law, but it is like all of Nature's laws, so severe that +we are forced sooner or later to learn the lesson. We learn by +experience only. This operation of the Law of Mental Attraction is a +good example of one of the meanings of that saying, so dark to many: +"To him that hath shall be given; to him that hath not shall be taken +away, even that which he hath." At any rate, that is the way the law +works. + +And it is not only in the matter of Success that this mental +partnership works. Its operations are manifest everywhere. You will +notice that the negative emotions draw to themselves people, thoughts +and things upon which they can feed. Let a man or woman manifest +Jealousy, and, lo! as if from the earth spring apparent causes for +that jealous feeling. All sorts of things seem to conspire to feed +"the green-eyed monster" into a state of fatness. And let a man or +woman get a notion that people are trying to "slight" them, and let +them continue to hold this thought, and it will soon seem to the poor +victim of Fearthought as if everybody in the world was determined to +snub, slight and tread upon him and hurt his feelings. If he persists +in this attitude, life will become a burden too heavy to bear, and +there will be no possible relief for him except a change of mental +front. Let one imagine that everyone is trying to cheat him, and he +will be a lucky man if he does not find that the things he feared have +come upon him. Let a man cherish thoughts of Hate and Malice, and +sooner or later he will become involved in all sorts of hateful, +malicious schemes and occurrences, with his partners whom he has drawn +to him. "He who lives by the sword shall die by the sword," is proven +every day. He who thinks every man is a rogue will see enough rogues +to justify him in his belief, and will probably end up by having +people think of him as a rogue--he will draw all sorts of roguish +people, things and circumstances to him. + +Did you ever start in the morning feeling cross and crabbed? Well, if +you did you probably found that after the inevitable domestic row over +the buckwheat cakes and coffee--after you had left your wife with +tears in her eyes, and the children in good shape to get into trouble +in school--that everyone seemed to "have it in for you." Some fellow +in the train seemed to deliberately tread on your pet corn, another +jostled you, and so on. When you got down to business, everything went +wrong, and unless you brought yourself up with a short turn you had a +dreadful time of it all day, and were glad when night came that you +might sleep it off. You will always find that there are plenty of +people waiting to go into mental partnership with you in such cases. +If you are looking for fight, you will get it. + +I tell you, friends, that people are all more or less in psychic touch +with each other, and the sooner we recognize this fact the better it +will be for us. This Law of Mental Attraction works either good or bad +for us, according to the uses we make of it. If we run contrary to the +law we will be taught lesson after lesson, until we learn something. +But if we fall in with the workings of the law we will reap the +benefits that come to Man when he masters and controls any of Nature's +great forces. + +Now, don't make partnerships of an undesirable kind. If you do you +will have to bear the consequences. If you have already formed such a +partnership, dissolve it at once and go into liquidation. After a +while you will have cleared up the old debts and straightened matters +out and will begin to do business on another basis. And I want to tell +you right here that you can get into the best mental firms in the +world if you only go about it right. They will not object to you if +you are a fit member, and, in fact, they could not keep you out even +if they wished. The doors will open at the magic touch of the spoken +word backed up by the proper mental attitude. Cut loose from the old +thought associations and form new connections. Get in touch with the +right kind of thought-waves, people and things. Cultivate the proper +mental attitude and demand an entrance to the firm you wish. Good men +are scarce in all branches of business, trades and professions. +There's room for you--away up at the top, too. Get what belongs to +you; do not be cheated out of your heritage. Assert yourself. Join +to-day that good, hustling firm, whose name on the signboard reads: "I +CAN, I WILL, I DO, I DARE." + + + + +THE SEEKERS. + +The secret of life--The riddle of existence--Sought now as +ever--The whyness of things--Attempts to answer the riddle--The +Seekers--Fantastic creeds and queer philosophies--Revamping old +ideas--The story of the man and the stars--The answer to be found +within the soul. + + "I laugh at the lore and the pride of man, + At the sophist schools and the learned clan, + For what are they all, in their high conceit, + When man in the bush with God may meet?" + + --Emerson. + + +Man is trying to reason out now as in the past, the secret of +Life--the riddle of Existence. He seeks to know from whence he comes, +whither he goes, and what is the object of his existence. He wants to +know the _whyness_ of things--what it all means. He is like the +squirrel in the cage, which exhausts itself in traveling the long road +of the wheel, only to find itself at the end of its journey just where +it started. Or worse still, like the newly-caged wild bird, he dashes +against the bars of his prison, again and again, in his efforts to +regain his freedom, until at last he lies weak and bleeding, a captive +still. + +It has ever been so, from the childhood of the race until the present +time. Sages, seers, prophets and philosophers have endeavored to +reason out the problem, but their labors have availed nothing, and the +riddle remains unanswered. Man has traveled over and over the circular +road of thought, only to discover that it has no beginning--no ending. +He thinks that he has explained things, but he has merely given them +names. All the scientific research, all the theological and +metaphysical speculation, has failed even to explain the sprouting of +the mustard seed. Life and Death is a mystery to the most brilliant +man of this civilization, as it was to the ignorant creature of the +stone age. Races, nations, civilizations rise and fall; creeds are +born, grow strong, weaken and die, but the secret remains a secret +still. + +The present day seems to have reawakened the latent desire of man to +see behind the veil. The pendulum which carried so many thinkers to +the materialistic extreme is beginning to swing in the opposite +direction, and is causing a strange and wonderful revival of ancient +creeds and philosophies. Those who have long since turned their backs +upon the accepted creeds now find themselves in the company of those +who still claim allegiance to the church, but who feel themselves +cramped by the creeds fashioned for them by their fathers. + +The leader of the New Thought, reaching the top of the mountain, often +finds himself face-to-face with a scientific _savant_ who has reached +the same place by climbing up the other side of the hill. And the +scientist and the New Thought man need not be surprised to find a +leader of advanced religious thought claiming a foothold on the top of +the same hill. But the trio, after they have congratulated themselves +upon reaching the summit and ending their journey look around them, +and lo! their mountain is but a foothill, and far above them, towering +higher and higher, rise range after range of the real mountains, the +highest peaks being hidden among the clouds! + +One has but to look around him to see how strenuous has grown the +search for the answer to the riddle. New creeds, philosophies, cults +and schools confront us at every turn. The past has been ransacked for +its discarded philosophies, which have been renovated and trimmed anew +for modern use. The dust has been brushed off many an old and almost +forgotten creed, which is pushed to the front under a new name and +with new trimmings. Plato is worked overtime to furnish the twentieth +century creed promoters with material to be done over. The wildest +dreams of the ancients are toned down a little, and boldly offered to +the eager multitude as the long sought for solution of it all. Priests +and teachers of all the religions of all lands are among us vying with +the priests and priestesses of the new philosophies and creeds of our +own land, and bidding for public favor. And these new home-made +philosophies, how frightfully and wonderfully are they made! The old +philosophies of Greece and Rome are skilfully dovetailed with the +creeds of the Orient, and the result is a thing differing from +anything ever seen before by gods or men. + +Brahmins, Buddhists, Confucians, Mahommedans and Sun Worshippers claim +thousands of followers in our land, and Isis and Osiris will before +long again be given a place and duly installed in the new Pantheon. +Thor and Odin will doubtless be revamped, and the rites of the Druids +revived. We are looking every day for the arrival on our shores of the +advance agent of the Joss propaganda from the Celestial kingdom. + +And the home product is, if possible, more fantastic and _bizarre_ +than the imported article. The wildest claims and statements are made +with an air of authority, and are accepted as "gospel" by the +adherents of the several sects. One does not know whether to sigh or +weep as he watches some of the modern prophets and prophetesses +strutting their little stage and cutting fantastic capers before high +heaven, thus adding to the gayety of the nations. The demand for these +things has been created, and nothing seems too highly spiced for the +devotees of the latter day creeds. + +And the followers of those strange prophets, what of them? Many of +them are mere excitement hunters; others that class of people +possessed of a consuming thirst for something new; some are honest +seekers for the Truth; and others are those who have cut away from +their old moorings and are drifting about, rudderless and without an +anchor, at the mercy of any stray current which may sweep them along. +There are thousands of people who never heard of the philosophies and +creeds of the ancients, who are now dazzled by the revamped doctrines +expounded by the modern prophets, and who, being impressed with the +strangeness and novelty of the (to them) new truths, accept them as +inspired and emanating from the ABSOLUTE. New gods have +arisen and also new devils. The "Malicious Mental Magnetism" of the +Christian Scientists is as much a devil to them as was the orthodox +devil of one hundred years ago to our forefathers. + +The new cults usually begin by performing cures by means of the power +of the mind and other natural laws, which they attribute to the +principles and teachings of their particular sects. Many of them now, +however, frankly admit that they are past the healing stage, and look +down upon the mere healing of disease as a thing too nearly allied to +the detested "material" plane to be seriously considered. The time of +the leaders is now principally occupied in announcing and elucidating +wonderful, high, spiritual truths for the seekers, soaring away up in +the clouds of transcendentalism, leaving their followers behind, +gaping upwards like a crowd at a country balloon ascension. + +Once upon a time there was a reformer who attended a public meeting, +and took part in an exciting debate on an important question of the +day. At last, heated, wearied and disgusted by the fruitless struggle, +he left the hall and started for home. It was a beautiful, cold +winter's night, and the heavens were studded with stars shining bright +through the clear frosty atmosphere. Pausing for a moment in his rapid +walk, he glanced upward. The stars were twinkling away merrily. They +did not seem to be at all disturbed by what had been going on in the +meeting. They appeared just the same as when, in years past, as a boy +he had looked at them with wondering eyes. As he gazed, a peaceful +calm came over him, and his worry, doubts and fears seemed very petty. +At last one little star appeared to notice him, and he thought he +could see it cast a good-natured glance downward, saying, in a +cheerful voice, "Why so _hot_, little man?" + +When we feel cast down with doubt, torn with anxiety, weak from loss +of faith, faint with fear, let us look aloft at the stars. When we see +those distant points of light, knowing them to be centers of solar +systems, knowing that beyond, beyond and beyond are countless other +suns and world, let us pluck up a little courage and realize that we +are a part of a mighty Law, a stupendous plan. Let us know that the +Power which called these things into life, and which is able to manage +them, and even greater things, has us in charge and will not allow us +to be destroyed. Let us know that we are but in the kindergarten stage +of existence and that we shall go on and on and on, from plane to +plane, ever onward and upward in the scale, until at last we shall be +able to spell out the lines of the primer of Life, and learn the +multiplication table of the Universe. + +Let us in the meanwhile live on in trust and hope; one day at a time; +living our own lives; doing our best work; getting the joy which comes +from the simple, human life; lending a helping hand. Let us abolish +Fear and Hate, and replace them with Courage, Confidence and Love. Let +us look for Good rather than Evil. Let us know failure as merely a +lesson in Success. Let us look upon Death as Birth. Let us do the best +we can with this world, knowing that the next world will find us +prepared for its task. Let us know that we are in Eternity right NOW. +Let us know that God is not so far away as we have been taught, for is +it not true that in Him "we live and move and have our being!" + +Let us preserve our sense of humor--for it will guard us against many +a fear, many a folly, many a delusion. + +And, finally, let us keep out of the throng which is rushing wildly +hither and thither, after leaders, prophets, sages, seers. Let us look +within ourselves and see the little flame which burns steadily there. +Let us know that we have within us the Light of the Spirit which +naught can extinguish. And let us say with good old Newman: + + "Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom + Lead thou me on. + The night is dark, and I am far from home; + Lead thou me on. + Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see + The distant scene; one step enough for me. + Lead thou me on." + + + + +MENTAL PICTURES. + +"I hang bright pictures in my mind"--Bright pictures encourage one; +gloomy ones depress--Get rid of your old gloomy mental pictures--Make +a bonfire of them--Get rid of the particularly miserable one, first of +all--Then put bright ones in their places. + + +"I now hang bright pictures in my mind," said a friend to me, +recently. Her remark explained to me without the necessity of further +words, the cause of her bright, cheerful and happy disposition, so +greatly in contrast with that of the despondent, fretful woman I had +known a few months ago. The change seemed so remarkable that one would +have almost expected her to have claimed some startling occurrence as +the cause of the wondrous transformation, instead of giving so +commonplace an explanation. + +But just think how much there is in this thought: "I hang bright +pictures in my mind." Stop a moment, and let the thought sink deep +into your inner consciousness. "Bright pictures in the mind," why not, +indeed? If we wish to make a chamber, or office, bright and cheery, we +see that nothing but pictures representing bright, cheerful subjects +are hung there. They may be the choicest engravings or paintings, or +they may be some little inexpensive things, but just so they are +bright and cheery the purpose is accomplished, and the room somehow +seems a happier, more joyous place than before. + +If we were preparing a new room for the occupancy of some dear one, +would we place there any but the brightest picture? Would we hang +there pictures of pain and misery, hate and murder, jealousy and +revenge, sickness, suffering and death, failure and discouragement? +Would we do this thing I ask you? Would _you_ do it? And if not, +why not, pray? Simply because you instinctively feel that the gloomy, +hateful subjects would react upon the loved one. And you know, is the +same way that the bright, cheerful, inspiring subjects are likely to +uplift, stimulate, encourage and make better the occupant of the +chamber. + +Have you ever noticed that some rooms always seem to exert a +beneficial effect upon you, while others seem to depress you? +Certainly you have. Well, the next time you go into these rooms, look +around a little and see if the explanation of your moods is not to be +found in the character of the pictures on the walls. You may not have +specially noticed them before, but your sub-conscious mental faculties +have taken up the impression, and the reflex action has affected you. +Who can resist the "fetching" qualities of a bright, baby face, +smiling from a little picture on the mantel, or on the wall? Not I, +for one. And who can help feeling the sense of comradeship for the +kindly St. Bernard whose great, affectionate eyes look down upon you +from the engraving on the other side of the room. And on the other +hand, who could--but, now I'm not going to describe the other kind of +pictures in this article. + +But now to get back to the "pictures in the mind." If the gloomy +pictures on the wall affect people, what do you suppose will be the +effect of carrying around gloomy, fearful, hateful, jealous, envious, +despondent mental pictures? Can any good come of lugging this trash +around with you? Come, now, be honest. Why don't you bundle up these +horrible chromos of the mind, and then make a bonfire of the lot. Now +is the time for a mental house-cleaning--get to work and clean out +these miserable daubs, and replace them with nice bright, cheerful, +happy, sunny, mental works of art. Do it to-day. You can't afford to +put it off until to-morrow--indeed you can't. + +Oh, yes, I know that you have grown attached to some of these old +mental pictures--you've had 'em around so long that you hate to part +with them. There's that particular miserable one at which you're so +fond of looking--you know which one I mean. You see, I know all about +it. You've been in the habit of standing before it with folded hands, +and gazing, and gazing, and gazing at it. And the more you gazed, the +more miserable you grew, until at last you felt that you would like to +lie down and die, only that there was some work to do around the +house, and you couldn't spare the time. Yes, _that's_ the picture +I mean. Take it down and put it on top of the bonfire pile, and touch +off the whole lot. Then go back into the house and hang up all the new +ones to be found, and the brightest one of the lot must hang in the +place of that dear old miserable one that you threw out last--that one +which was so hard to part with (the meanest one in the lot, always). + +And after you have done these things, how good you will feel. See how +bright and cheerful the sun is shining; how pure and fresh the air +seems--take a good long draught of it; look out the window and see the +fleecy white clouds floating across the sky; the sky itself--how blue +it is; and just listen to the bluebirds down by the old gate--Spring +must be coming. Ah, how good it is to be alive! + + + + +DON'T RETAIL YOUR WOES. + +A miserable habit--It grows as it is fed--A nuisance to friends and +neighbors--It brings to you more of the same kind--You will get what +you look for--Looking for trouble brings it--Don't imagine that you +are being "put upon"--Don't retail your woes. + + +Don't retail your woes. Do you think that it does you any good to go +around with a long face, telling your tale of woe to everyone whom you +can induce to listen to you? Do you think that it does you any good? +Do you think it helps you to overcome your troubles, or makes your +burden any lighter? No, I don't believe that you think any such +things. All your experience teaches you that people do not like to +listen to long-drawn-out tales of your troubles--they have enough of +their own. Even those who are always ready to lend a helping hand and +to give what aid they can to one who needs it resent being made +targets for a continuous fusillade of troubles, woes, griefs, etc. And +you know very well that a constant repetition of your own woes will +only make them seem greater and more real to you. And then the chronic +retailer of woe grows to be like the journalist--develops a keen scent +for matter to be dished out to others--she needs it in her business. +When one gets into this habit of carrying about tales to her friends, +she runs out of ready material, and eagerly looks around for more with +which to supply the demand. She becomes quite an adept at discovering +insults, sneers, double-meaning remarks, etc., on the part of her +friends and relatives, where nothing of the kind was intended, and she +rolls these things over and over in her mind like sweet morsels before +she serves them up with appropriate trimmings, to her listeners. + +You will notice that I say "her," in speaking of the victim of this +demoralizing habit, and some of my readers of that sex will +undoubtedly take me to task for blaming it on the woman instead of the +man. Well, you all know my ideas about the equality of the +sexes--about their being different, but one being as good as the +other, with the odds a little in favor of the woman. But I feel +justified in saying that this habit is one that seems to have a +special liking for women, and it generally picks out a woman for its +victim in preference to a man. When a man acquires this habit, he +becomes such a nuisance to his friends and associates that sooner or +later he will notice that they avoid him, and the chances are that +some blunt fellow will tell him that he has no time for listening to +tales of this kind, and that if he, the complainer, would display the +same energy in attending to his business that he does to peddling +around tales about how badly he has been used, he would not need any +sympathy. But woman, God bless her, does not like to hurt the feelings +of others in this way--she suffers the infliction in silence, and then +tells her friends how she has been bored. She will listen to her +woe-retailing friend, and seem to sympathize with her, and say, "Oh, +isn't it dreadful;" "how could she speak so harshly of you;" "you poor +dear, how you must have suffered;" "how could he have treated you so +unjustly," and other things of that kind. But when the visitor goes, +she yawns and says, "Dear me, if Mrs. Groan would only try to say +something more cheerful; she gives me the horrors with her tales about +her husband, her relatives, her friends, and everybody else." But Mrs. +Groan never seems to see the point, and she adds to her list of people +who have "put upon her," as she goes along, her tired-out friends +being added to the number, as their patience wears out. + +And then the effect upon the woman herself. You know the effect of +holding certain lines of thoughts; of auto-suggestion; of the +attractive power of thought, and you can readily see how this woman +makes things worse for herself all the time. She goes around with her +mind fixed upon the idea that everybody's hand is against her, and she +carries about with her an aura that attracts to her all the unpleasant +things in the neighborhood. She goes around looking for trouble, and, +of course, she gets it. Did you ever notice a man or a woman looking +for trouble, and how soon they found it? The man looking for fight is +generally accommodated. The woman looking for "slights" always gets +them, whether the giver intends them or not. This sort of mental +attitude fairly draws out the worst in those with whom we come in +contact. And the predominant thought draws to itself all the +corresponding thought within its radius. One who dwells upon the +fancied fact that everybody is going around trying to injure him, +treat him unkindly, sneer at him, "slight" him, and generally use him +up, is pretty sure to find that he has attracted to him enough people +who will humor his fancy, and give him what he expects. + +In "Thought Force" you will remember, I tell the story of the two +dogs. The one dog, dignified and self-respecting, whom no boy ever +thinks of bothering. The other dog, who expects to be kicked by every +passing boy, and who draws himself up, and places his tail between his +legs, and actually suggests the kick to the passing boy. Of course he +gets kicked. It's wrong for the boy to do it, I know, but the dog's +attitude is too much for the nature of the average boy. And +"grown-ups" are built upon the same plan. These people who are going +around in the mental attitude which invites unkind treatment, +generally manage to find someone who will have his natural meanness +drawn out to such a convenient lightning rod. And, in fact, such +people often generate harsh feelings in persons who scarcely ever +manifest them. Like attracts like in the world of thought, and one +draws upon him the things he fears, in many cases. + +But one of the most regrettable things about this woe-retailing woman, +is the effect the habit has upon her own mind and character. When we +understand how one is constantly building up character, adding a +little every day, and that our thoughts of the day are the material +which are going into our character-structure, it will be seen that it +is a matter of the greatest importance what kind of thoughts we think. +Thoughts are not wasted. They not only go out in all directions, +influencing others--attracting persons and things to ourselves--but +they have a creative effect upon our own mind and character. Thought +along a certain line will develop certain brain-cells to a great +extent, and the cells manifesting the contrary line of thought are +allowed to dwindle away and shrivel up. Now, when we have our minds +fixed upon the thought that we are long-suffering mortals, and that +everyone else is trying to do mean things to us; that we are not +appreciated, and that those who should care most for us are only +biding their time until they can hurt us; we are building up our minds +along that line, and we find ourselves in the habit of looking for the +worst in everybody, and we often manage to bring it to the surface, +even if we have to dig hard for it. + +Some of this class of people seem to take a particular delight in +bringing upon their head the harsh words and "slights" of others. Now, +I really mean this. I have seen people go around with that "I'm a worm +of the dust, please tread on me" air, and the same expression as that +in the eyes of the dog which expected to be kicked. And when somebody +would be nagged into saying or doing something that they would not +otherwise have thought of, the woe-seeker's eyes would assume an +expression of "I told you so," and "It's only poor me," and "It's all +I can expect, everybody wishes to crush me," and a few other assorted +thoughts of that kind. And then she will go to her room and moan and +weep, and dwell upon her miseries until they seem to be as large as a +mountain. And then the first chance she gets she will run around the +corner to a friend, and will retail all the new stock of woes which +she has accumulated, with fancy trimmings, you may feel sure, and the +friend will try hard to avoid showing that she is bored at the tale +she has so often heard, but will say nice little things, until the +mourner is sure that the whole world sympathizes with her, and she +feels a glow of righteous indignation, self-pity and martyrdom. Oh, +the pity of it all! These people go through the world, making things +harder for themselves, their friends, their relatives, and everyone +else with whom they come in contact. They are constantly seeking to +keep their stock fresh and attractive, and display more energy in +their retailing than the average man or woman does in business. + +This thing of looking for trouble is a very unfortunate thing in +families. As a rule, I think that woman gets the worst of it in family +troubles. The economic position places her at a disadvantage, and she +often suffers all sorts of horrible things, rather than have her +troubles made public. But I must say that _some_ women bring upon +themselves all that they get. I have known them to get in a frame of +mind in which they could see nothing but unkindness, where the utmost +kindness was meant. Man is not an angel--far from it--but the attitude +of some women is enough to bring out all the qualities other than +angelic. They assume that they are "put upon" and live up to that +idea. Every word that the man says is twisted and distorted into +something entirely different from what he intended. The mental +attitude produces moral astigmatism, and things are seen at the wrong +angle. All the little things that happen are promptly retailed to some +mischief-making neighbor, who is in the game for the excitement it +affords her, and who laughs at the wife behind her back, and talks +about her in turn to some third person. And the wife fairly draws upon +herself all sort of things that never would have happened otherwise. +She knows that her neighbor is waiting for to-day's budget of news, +and she, almost unconsciously, shapes things so that the facts +justifying the news are forthcoming. Did you ever notice that woman +who keeps her troubles to herself does not have nearly as much +bickering and strife in her household as the one who has acquired the +retailing habit? + +Don't retail your woes. Keep them to yourself, and they will die, but +spread them, and they will grow like weeds. You are making things +worse for yourself--are drawing things to you--and are spoiling your +mind, disposition and character by this miserable business of +retailing woes. + + + + +LIFE. + +There is in each of us a potential Something for expression--The +Something Within--The plant of life--No use trying to repress it, for +develop it must--Life has a meaning--Growth, development and +unfoldment--The lesson of life. + + +There is in each of us a potential Something, pressing forth for +expression and growth in the direction of ultimate Good--casting +off sheath after sheath in its progressive development and +unfoldment--impelled by the impulse imparted by the Primal +Cause--attracted upward by the Absolute. + +Failing to understand this impulse of the growing Something--seeking +relief from its steady pressure--we look upon it as an intruder, and +instead of allowing it to develop and grow naturally, we endeavor to +kill it, or to train its growth after our own petty notions. We fail +to see that this Something is like unto the plant which grows on +steadily and surely, from seed to blossom, until its potentialities +are fully expressed. We do not realize that this Plant of Life should +be allowed to grow as does the lily, freely and without restraint, +unfolding leaf after leaf, until the plant stands in its complete +beauty, crowned with its divine flower. + +We would train the plant into some fantastic shape--dwarf it as the +Chinese do the oak, that it may become the pretty ornament of the +parlor instead of the noble monarch of the forest. We would have it +grow _our way_, not according to the law of its being. We fancy +that we know what is best for it, losing sight of the fact that deep +down in the subconscious depths of its being reposes that which +directs its every effort toward the Good--forgetting that its +attraction toward the Absolute is drawing it steadily and irresistibly +in the right direction. We forget that the plant will fulfill these +impulses so long as there remains in it one atom of life. The seed in +the ground will express itself in its little shoot, often moving +weights a thousand times heavier than itself in its efforts to reach +the rays of the sun. The sapling may be bent and confined to the +ground, but its branches, following the laws of its being will +instinctively shoot upward. Restrict the growth of the plant, if you +can, but, nevertheless, it will move along the lines of least +resistance and grow toward the sun, in spite of your efforts. + +And so it is with the Plant of Life--the Something within us. We are +afraid to allow it to grow according to the laws of its being, but +wish to model it and shape it in accordance with the theories of +ourselves or others (more frequently the latter, for most of our ideas +on the subject are borrowed). We seem to imagine that the Intelligence +that thought the plant into existence did not understand its business, +and we are afraid that without the assistance of our mighty intellect +the poor thing will grow into a misshapen and unsightly thing. We +would alter the shape designed by its Maker, and would twist it into +the form approved of by the passing fashion of the hour. We would +substitute for the beauty and symmetry of Nature, our own fantastic +ideas of form. + +But, like the plant, this Something of ours will not submit to the +confining bonds--will not conform to the false standards which we +would set up for it. Submitting as long as it must, it stores up +reserve strength day by day and keeps up a continuous steady pressure +in the direction of its desire, and some day, by a supreme effort, it +throws off the interfering obstacles, and, obeying the laws of its +being, again grows toward the Sun. + +Life is growth. It moves along, pressing this way and that way, along +the lines of least resistance, drawing to itself that which it needs +for its complete expression and growth, using this thing and that +thing to-day, and discarding them to-morrow, after they have served +their purpose--after their helpful qualities have been extracted. It +assumes many forms in its growth, discarding sheath after sheath as +outgrown. Any attempt to compel it to retain a sheath, which has +become outgrown, will cause its life nature to revolt, and, in the +end, with a mighty effort, it will burst forth, tearing the confining +sheath into fragments. This Something may be restrained temporarily, +but its growth is as sure as the rising of to-morrow's sun, and its +attempted restraint only results, in the end, in a violent assertion +of its right to unfold and develop according to Law. + +When we finally come to realize that Life has a meaning--that we are +here for a purpose--that the process of spiritual evolution is being +expressed in us and through us--that our growth is in accordance with +Law--that the Absolute understands its business--then will we cease to +attempt to meddle with the Great Plan. We will then cease our futile +efforts to mold to our absurd and arbitrary shapes that which is +intended to grow in the beautiful form of Nature's designing. We will +realize that the power which called into being this Life of ours, knew +just what it was about--that this Power placed within that Life the +energy which is expressing itself in changing form and color, but +which has but one real object--growth toward the sun, and when we +realize this truth we will begin to have Faith, and will trust the Law +to do that which is best to be done--will realize the folly of +imagining that the weight of the Universe rests upon our shoulders. +Some of these days we will awaken to the fact that ours is the conceit +of the fly resting upon the mighty revolving wheel, imagining that the +fanning of his wings causes the wheel to revolve. Some of these times +the fly, tired with its exertions, will stop to rest for a few +moments, when it will find that the wheel continues to revolve quite +well, thank you, without its active assistance. We have been taking +our little selves quite seriously, indeed. The Something within is +moving steadily and surely toward its goal, and much of the pain of +life comes to us by reason of our efforts to restrict it--our efforts +to change its motion, direction, speed. It is a mighty aid to those +who understand and move along with it--but woe unto those who get in +its way and endeavor to obstruct its progress. If unobstructed, there +is no friction--if interfered with it manifests friction, which means +pain. + +This pain is the notice given us by the Law to the effect that we are +obstructing the growth of the Life Plant, and, if we are wise, we will +heed the warning. By conforming to the growth we will find that there +is little or no friction, and life begins to take on new pleasures. By +co-operating with the Law, and moving along with it, we will find that +things will "come our way" in a most unexpected manner. The Law is a +good friend and helper, and is of the greatest assistance to us, if we +but trust it to do its work well, in its own good way. We can use its +growing force to aid us in our daily pursuits, if we will trust it and +move along with it, but we must heed the first sign of friction and +understand that we are in some way interfering with its natural +growth. By living in accordance with the Law, instead of attempting to +oppose it, we will find that we are guided in the direction of places, +people and occupations best suited to develop us and to impart to us +the experience needed to round out our lives. A realization of this +fact by those who have experienced it, has given rise to the saying +"nothing ever _happens_." We find the teachers and helpers that we +require, and they find us. If we need certain information, we will +find it in some person or book, and will thus be placed upon the track +of that which we seek. + +The Law will sometimes accomplish its results in ways far different +from that which we would have supposed to be the best, but after time +has passed we can look back and will see that the way by which the +results were accomplished was the best possible under all the +circumstances. We may meet with some bitter disappointments, losses, +sorrows, but in the end these things will be seen as good--will be +seen as having been necessary to give us the experience needed--to +round out our characters--to enable us to understand. + +There are none who would be willing to part with the experience gained +from even the most painful events of their lives. After, say, ten +years have elapsed no man would be willing to have the memory and +recollection of his greatest pain eradicated; if at the same time he +would have to part with the experience and knowledge which have come +to him by reason of that pain. The pain and its resulting experience +have become a part of us, and we are not willing to be robbed of our +own. + +And we will realize, in looking backward, that if we had been living +in accordance with the Law in the past--if we had understood its +workings--these very sorrows, disappointments, losses, would have been +considered only in view of their ultimate good, and the very sting of +the pain would thus have been removed. When we learn to regard the +pain of to-day as we now do the pain of ten years ago, we may feel +that we are beginning to understand something of the operation of the +Law of Good. And when we reach this stage, we will find that the pain +is no longer _pain_, but only a form of Good. When we cease to cause +friction, friction no longer exists for us. + +The lessons of life _must_ be learned, sooner or later. It depends +upon us whether they shall be forced upon us, in spite of our +resistance, with much pain, or accepted by us, understandingly, with +knowledge. In one case we will have the pain which comes from opposing +the Law; in the other, we will learn the lesson equally well, without +the pain of the birching. The _lesson must be well learned in either +case_. Choose your method. + +Now, I do not wish to be understood as meaning that we should simply +fold our hands and wait for the Law to bring all things to us without +any labor on our part. Try this way, though, if you like, and see how +quickly the Law will rap you over the knuckles to remind you that a +task is set before you. The proper way is to take up the task that +lies nearest your hand (and some task is _always_ there) and do +it well, with the knowledge that the task has been placed there in +accordance with the Law. If the task is not to your liking, you will +know that that is the very reason that it has been placed before +you--you have a lesson to learn from it. When the time comes for a +change you will find a strong desire for a something else full-grown +within you. Now is your chance. Trust to the Law to aid you in working +out your desire. The desire is there in accordance with the Law--its +very existence is a promise of its fulfillment. With the aid of the +Law you will work out your desire. It is true that when you attain the +object of your desire, it may not be just what you had thought it--may +not be at all what you want. Well, what of that? You have learned the +necessary lesson--have lived out the desire and will now outlive it. +Something else will take its place. And you will be surprised at the +_way_ that Law has brought about the accomplishment of your desire. +You will learn another lesson in this. + +When you have learned to work on, merrily--doing your best--living +out each day's life--with Faith and Trust, Confidence and +Fearlessness--accepting the development of each day as meaning +ultimate Good--seeing and _feeling_ that the Law of Good is in full +operation--being willing to accept whatever it may bring you--then, +and not until then, good friend, will you begin to know what is LIFE. + + + + +LET US HAVE FAITH. + +Faith necessary in every human undertaking--You have faith in man, but +are afraid to trust GOD--The Universe if governed by Law--The Law is +in operation everywhere--Don't be afraid--You are a part of the +plan--Fall in with the Law--Have faith, have faith. + + +When you take a journey by rail, you step into the car, settle +yourself, take out a book and read, and give little or no thought to +the engine or engineer in charge of the train. You go rushing across +the country at the rate of fifty miles an hour, with no thought of +possible disaster or accident, and for the time forgetting that there +is such a person in existence as the engineer. You have absolute faith +in the careful management of the road, and in the intelligence of the +man who has been placed in the engine. The lives of yourself and +hundreds of fellow passengers are practically in the hands of one man, +and that man is a stranger to you--you have never seen him--you know +nothing of his qualifications--you only know that the management has +picked him out to safely conduct you across the country. + +You take a steamship to Europe and place yourselves in the hands of a +few men who are total strangers to you. You stake your life on their +skill, judgment and intelligence. You feel that they would not be +where they are unless the management of the line considered them +competent. It is all a matter of trust--of confidence. The same thing +is true when you take your seat on a trolley car or on the elevated +railroad, or even in a stage coach or a private carriage. In each case +you place yourself in the charge of another person in whom you have a +certain amount of confidence, although he may be comparatively, or +wholly, unknown to you. + +You place your wealth in a bank, having confidence in its management. +You have business dealings with men whom you scarcely know, trusting +to their honesty of purpose. In every transaction in life you are +compelled to have confidence in people. Your lawyer, your physician, +your grocer, your clerks are all taken on faith. One cannot get away +from it. If confidence were destroyed the wheels of modern life would +stop in a minute. The so-called hard-headed practical man may sneer at +Faith, but it underlies every manifestation of the life of this +civilization. + +Man has faith and confidence in Man, but is afraid to trust GOD. He +looks about him and sees millions of worlds, each in its appointed +place, each revolving in its own orbit. He has faith that at a certain +time each world will be in a certain position, which position may be +calculated centuries in advance--but he lacks faith in the Power that +created these worlds and keeps them in their places. He has faith in +certain Laws--but he doubts the existence of the Law-maker. He sees +the wondrous manifestation of Life in great and small. He takes +advantage of the telescope and the microscope and explores new +regions, and finds the Law in operation everywhere--but he doubts the +existence of a great Law which governs his life--his incomings and his +outgoings--his great deeds and his petty acts--he fails to realize the +truth of the saying that the hairs on his head are numbered, and that +not a sparrow may fall unnoticed. + +He seems to think that if there is a GOD, he must have made the world +and then ran away and left it to take care of itself. He fails to see +that Law must govern Man's life as it governs the unfolding of the +leaf, the development of the lily. He fails to see that law is in full +operation within him as well as without him. He fails to see that as +he opposes the operation of Law, pain comes by reason of the friction. +He fails to see that the only true philosophy is that which teaches +one to fall in with the operations of Law, and to let it work in him +and through him. + +Do you think for a moment that GOD does not know what he is about? Do +you doubt the Supreme Intelligence which knows all things and is +conscious of all things? Do you doubt the Supreme Power which +manifests itself in all forms of power? Do you doubt the Universal +Presence which is in all places at all times? Do you suppose that the +manifestation is everything, and the manifestor nothing? Poor man! + +Either the Universe is without Law--without meaning--without reason, +or it is the manifestation of Supreme and Infinite Reason. Either it +is the work of a Demon who sits somewhere and grins and gloats over +our misfortunes--our trials--our troubles--our pain--our follies, or +it is the work of an All-knowing--All-powerful--All-present +Intelligence-Power-Presence which has taken into consideration +everything within the Universe, down to the tiniest thing--down to the +merest detail. And if this last be true, then everything that happens +must be in accordance with Law--everything that happens to us must be +the very best thing that could happen to us at that particular time +and that particular place. + +Things are not run by blind chance--there is Law under everything. +Everything has some connection with every other thing--every person +has a relationship with every other person. All is One--the +manifestations are varied, but there is but One reality. There is a +great plan underlying all Life, and Life itself is in accordance with +that plan. Nothing ever _happens_. Every occurrence has a bearing +on every other occurrence. Chance has no part in the plan--everything +is in accord with well ordered laws. There is always an end in view in +every thought, word or act. We are constantly being used for the +benefit of the whole. There is no escape--and when we get to +_know_ we cease to wish to escape. He who understands not Law is +constantly struggling, striving, fighting and contending against it, +and, producing friction, he feels pain. He who understands something +of Law ceases to contend against it--he lets it work through him, and +is carried along with a mighty force, doing each day the best he knows +how, expressing himself in the best possible manner, sailing to the +right and to the left, with the wind and against the wind, but still +being borne on by the mighty current and resisting it not. He enjoys +every mile of the journey, seeing new sights and hearing new +sounds--moving on ever. He who understands not, rebels at being swept +along--he wishes to stay where he is, but there is no such thing as +staying--life is motion--life is growth. If you prefer to pull against +the tide--to row up stream--by all means do so. After a while you will +grow tired and weary, and will rest on your oars. Then you will find +that you are moving on just the same toward the unknown seas, and you +will find that it is much easier work rowing or sailing with the +current, or from one side of the river to another, than to attempt to +stay in the same place or to pull up the stream. + +All this fretting--all this worrying--all this contention and strife, +comes from a lack of Faith. We may assert fervently that we know that +All is Good, and that all is best for us, etc., etc., but have we +enough faith to manifest it in our lives? See how we endeavor to tie +on to _things_, people, and environments. How we resist the steady +pressure that is tearing us loose, often with pain, from the places to +which we have wished to stay fastened like a barnacle. The Life force +is back of us, urging us along--pushing us along--and move we must. +The process of growth, development and unfoldment is going on +steadily. What's the use of attempting to resist it? You are no more +than a water-bug on the surface of the river. You may dart here and +there, and apparently are running things to suit yourself without +reference to the current, but all the time you are moving along with +it. The water-bug plan is all right, just so long as we do not attempt +to stop the current or to swim right against it--when we try this we +find out very quickly that the current has something to say about it, +and before long we get so tired that we are willing to fall in with +the law behind the current. And yet even the opposition is good, for +it teaches us that the current is there--we gain by experience. The +New Thought does not teach people to stem the current or to swim up +stream, although some teachers and some students seem to be of that +opinion. On the contrary, the real New Thought teaches us of the +existence of the stream, and that it is moving steadily toward the Sea +of Good. It teaches us how to fall in with it, and be borne further +along, instead of attempting to hold back and become barnacles, or to +try to push back up the stream. It also teaches us to live in the +Now--to enjoy the darting backward and forward over the face of the +waters. It also tells us of the direction in which the current is +moving, that we may move along that way, without wasting our energies +in trying to go the other. It teaches us co-operation with Law, +instead of opposition to it. + +Why do we not have Faith? Why do we not see the great Plan behind it +all? Why do we not recognize Law? As we have seen, we place our +confidence in the engineer of the train--the pilot--the captain--the +coach-driver, and the other guiding hands and yet we hesitate to trust +ourselves in the hands of the Infinite. Of course, it makes no +difference to the Infinite whether or not we repose trust in it. It +moves along just the same, guiding and directing--steering and +regulating speed--it minds not our doubts and obstructions any more +than does the great driving-wheel mind the fly who is perched upon it +and who does not like the movement and attempts to stop it by +spreading out its wings and buzzing. The great wheel of the Universe +is moving around, steadily and mightily. Let us go with it. And while +we are going let us spare ourselves the trouble and folly of the +buzzing, wing-spreading business. + +Let us part with Fear and Worry. Let us cease our imagining that we +can run the Universe better than the engineer who has his hand on the +throttle. Let us cease imagining that GOD needs advice on the subject. +Let us stop this folly of saying "Poor God, with no one to help him +run things." Let us trust the engineer. Let us have faith--let us have +faith. + + + + +DO IT NOW. + +Do to-day's tasks now--Don't try to do to-morrow's work to-day, +but be sure and do the day's work Now--The baneful effects of +procrastination--Not fair to yourself--Demoralization attendant upon +putting off things--The world looking for people who can do things +Now. + + +If you have anything to do--do it. If you have any task to perform +to-day--do it Now. If the matter cannot possibly be performed to-day, +stop bothering about it, and get to work doing the things of to-day. +But don't get into that miserable habit of putting off things until +later in the day, or later in the week--do them _now_. The old +proverb: "Procrastination is the thief of time," is true, but it does +not go far enough. Procrastination is not only the thief of time, but +the thief of energy--the thief of efficiency--the thief of success. + +We have had much to say about living in the Now--about not dwelling in +the past or fretting about the future. And all this is true, and I +will probably say it over and over again during the year, because I +believe in it, and wish you to get acquainted with the idea. But +living in the Now does not merely mean the thinking of the thoughts of +to-day--the carrying of the burdens of to-day--the meeting of the +problems of to-day. It also means the doing of the WORK of to-day. + +To attempt to carry last year's burdens--or next week's +burdens--to-day, is folly of the worst kind, as you well know. But it +is equally foolish to put off to-day's work until to-morrow. It's not +treating to-morrow right--not giving it a chance. The Self of +to-morrow is not exactly the Self of to-day. That is, it has grown a +little and is the Self of to-day plus the added experience of the day. +And it is just as selfish for the Self of to-day to attempt to throw +his burdens upon the Self of to-morrow as it would be for you to +attempt to throw your burdens upon your brother or sister. It is not +only selfish, but it is hurtful to you--it impedes your growth. +To-day's work is set before you because of the lesson it contains, and +if you refuse to accept your lesson, you are the loser. You cannot get +away from the task. It will be placed before you again and again until +it is performed, and you might as well do it at once, and get your +lesson at the proper time, and not be compelled like the schoolboy to +"catch-up" in his work. By putting off things until to-morrow, you are +simply heaping up troubles for yourself to-morrow, as to-morrow's own +work will have to be done as well as your leftover tasks, and the +chances are that neither of them will be done properly. There's no +sense whatever in this habit of procrastinating. It is folly of the +worst kind. + +And not only in the immediate effects is procrastination hurtful to +one. One of the worst features of the case is the demoralizing effect +it has upon the whole mental attitude of the man. It cultivates +laziness, indecision, shiftlessness, slackness and many other +undesirable habits of thought and action. It manifests itself in +numberless ways in the character of the man who has allowed himself to +be tangled in it. It impairs his efficiency--affects his value. + +Then again, you are really unfair to yourself if you get in the way of +putting off things. You never have any time to yourself if you have a +number of old matters demanding your attention. The man who +procrastinates is never able to spare time for mental improvement, +because he always has some old loose ends to wind up--some old tangle +to straighten out. And he loses all idea of the value of time--of +getting the most out of every hour, every minute. The procrastinator +is the veriest drudge--he has his nose to the grindstone all the time. +He never has any time he can call his own. He is a slave to his own +habit of "laying things aside." Poor man. + +I am satisfied that half the failures of life--yes, three-quarters of +them--are due to the failure of persons to do the thing Now. Not only +because of what they lose directly by this habit, but because of the +effect it produces upon their character. The shiftless habit of +thought manifests itself in action. The thought and action, long +persisted in, will lead to a demoralization of the entire character of +the individual. He soon forgets how to do things right. And that is +where so many people fail. The world is looking for people who can DO +things--and who can Do Them Now. + +If you are one of the procrastinating kind, start in at once and get +over it. Put up a sign before your desk, your sewing machine, your +work-bench, or wherever you spend most of your time, and have these +words in big black letters on the sign:--"DO IT NOW!" By carrying the +thought of this NOW way of doing things, and letting it manifest +itself in action as frequently as possible, you will find that before +long your entire mental attitude regarding work has changed, and you +will find yourself doing things when they should be done, without any +particular effort on your part. The mind can be trained and taught to +do things right. It needs a little courage, a little perseverance, a +little will-power, but the result will pay you for your trouble. Start +in to cure yourself of this bad habit. Start in at once. Do it NOW. + + + + +GET IN TUNE. + +Marconi's wireless messages--Vibrations reach only the instruments +attuned to the sender--The same law in operation on the mental +plane--The correct pitch is the thing--Get in tune with the proper +vibrations--Get the messages from the best senders. + + +I have just finished reading an account of Marconi's wireless +telegraphy. It seems that when a message is sent from the Marconi +transmitter, the vibrations travel in all directions, and not alone in +the direction of the person to whom the message is sent. It would seem +to the reader, at first, that any instrument, in any direction from +the sender, could and would be affected by the vibrations and would +take up and record them. But such is not the case, for Marconi finds +that he can attune his receiving instrument to a certain pitch, and +that the instrument will receive and record only vibrations emanating +from a sending instrument attuned to the same pitch. This is true no +matter how near the instruments may be to each other, or in what +direction they may be from each other. And all instruments, +irrespective of number, that may be within sending distance, will +receive the message providing they are attuned to the same pitch. + +Now just notice how much this corresponds to what we know of the +working of Thought-force. People whose minds are attuned to a certain +pitch will receive the vibrations from the minds of others whose +mental keynote is the same. And if one maintains a high positive +keynote, he will not be affected by the vibrations emanating from the +mind of another who may have a low negative pitch. The nearer to our +pitch the mind of another may be, the more we feel the sympathetic +vibrations in our own mind; the greater the difference in the pitch, +the less we will feel in sympathy with him. This will account for the +instinctive likes or dislikes that many of us experience when coming +into the presence of other people. And how soon do people of kindred +vibrations seek out and find each other in a mixed assembly. Many +likes, unexplainable by any theory of personal appearance, etc., arise +from this cause. + +And as the Marconi instruments may have their pitch changed, so are +our mental keynotes changed from time to time as we adjust ourselves +to new conditions--as we grow. This will explain why two people, who +at one time seemed to be in perfect attunement with each other, will +drift apart until at last they seem to have scarcely a thought or +feeling in common, and yet both of them may be good people, really +anxious to be helpful to the other. + +But this is not the only way in which the working of the Marconi +system resembles the workings of the mind. I have often called your +attention to the fact that the holding of certain mental attitudes +resulted in the attraction to oneself of thought vibrations +corresponding to the general character or the thought held in the mind +of the person. Let a man be filled with the spirit of Jealousy, and +everything seems to feed that feeling. He hears of cases of +faithlessness on the part of other persons; every circumstance seems +to confirm him in his belief. The actions of the loved one seem doubly +suspicious--signs of guilt are seen in every expression, every move. +He draws to himself the thought-waves of other minds vibrating on the +same pitch--like attracts like. Let a man drop into the Fearthought +condition, and immediately he feels the rush of Fear to his mind. Let +him cast aside Fear, and attune himself to the Fearless pitch, and he +feels an influx of Courage, Fearlessness, Confidence, Energy and other +positive thoughts. + +And according to the character of your thoughts, will you draw to +yourself people calculated to co-operate with you and be of assistance +to you. Even things seem to shape themselves to fit in with the +keynote you have sounded. + +Not only do you attract to yourself people and things corresponding +with your mental pitch, but you send out thought-waves affecting +others creating impressions upon them. Go into the presence of an "I +Can and I Will" man, and, if you are of the same kind, he will +instantly perceive it and will be glad to talk to you. On the other +hand, approach a man of this kind, with your mind full of "I Can't," +and he will be conscious of inharmony and will want to be rid of your +presence at once. Be a man with the southern exposure, such as I +described to you in another article, and you will find that you will +extract and draw to yourself all the sunniness in the nature of people +with whom you come in contact. Be a human wet blanket, such as I have +described in another article, and you will find that you will get the +meanest qualities inherent in the nature of people with whom you come +in contact--in fact you will be able to attract only that kind of +people who are as musty and unwholesome as yourself. + +Get rid of the old negative notes. Start in and cultivate the +positive, joyous, active vibrations, until you reach the steady mental +pitch of the "New Thought" man. Then will all the negative vibrations +pass you by, finding no encouragement to enter your mentality--then +will you receive the bright, cheerful, happy, fearless vibrations +coming from others who have reached the same plane of thought. + +Get in tune--get in tune. + + + + +MENTAL TOXIN AND ANTI-TOXIN. + +A new toxin--The microbes in the thoughts we think--The new +anti-toxin--Thoughts may poison--Fear causes paralysis--Hate causes +insanity--Fear and Hate have killed their thousands--Gates' +experiments--How to overcome the poison of bad-thinking. + + +In these days of toxin and anti-toxin--of poison in sausages, oysters, +canned beef, ice cream--of anti-toxin serums (that often are more +deadly than the original toxin) for the prevention and cure of +tuberculosis, leprosy, pneumonia, typhoid fever, tetanus, bubonic +plague, diphtheria, and the rest of the list, it requires courage to +call the attention of the public to a new "toxin," even if at the same +time we furnish an anti-toxin that "anti-toxicates." + +We shudder at the thought of microbes and bacilli--and thereby attract +them to us; we filter our drinking water, after boiling all the life +out of it; we develop into microbe hunters, and see poison in +everything we wear, eat, drink or breathe. But we overlook the +microbes in the thoughts we think. We encourage the enterprising +doctor in his giddy chase after the nimble dollar, as he produces +anti-toxin serums to order. The poor, broken-down cart horse is worked +overtime in producing filthy pus and serum for the serum-maniac to +inject into our circulation. But we overlook the pure, harmless, +powerful anti-toxin obtained fresh from the cells of the brain--Right +Thinking. + +That Thoughts may poison, is a well-proven fact. Depressing thoughts +interfere with the cerebral circulation, impairing the nutrition of +the cells and nerve centers. The result is that the organs and tissues +manifest lost or impaired function--loss of general nutrition +follows--and a break-down is inevitable. Fear, worry, anger, envy, +jealousy, and other negative thoughts, reflect themselves most +disastrously in the human system. Fear has paralyzed nerve centers, +and turned the hair white over night. A mother's milk has been +poisoned by a fit of anger. Fear and Hate--father and son--have +produced insanity, idiocy, paralysis, cholerina, jaundice, sudden +decay of teeth, fatal anaemia, skin diseases, erysipelas, and eczema. +Epidemics owe their rapid spread and heavy death rate to Fear and +Ignorance. Epidemics may kill their dozens--Fear kills its thousands. +All the brood of negative, fearful, selfish, hateful thoughts manifest +themselves in physical conditions. Stigmata or marks upon the body, +caused by fear or desire, are quite common in the annals of medical +science and psychology. + +Professor Gates, of the Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C., in +his investigation of the effect of mental states upon the body, found +that irascible, malevolent and depressing emotions generated in the +system injurious compounds, some of which were extremely poisonous; +he also found that agreeable, happy emotions, generated chemical +compounds of nutritious value, which stimulated the cells to +manufacture energy. He says: "Bad and unpleasant feelings create +harmful chemical products in the body which are physically injurious. +Good, pleasant, benevolent feelings create beneficial chemical +products which are physically healthful. These products _may be +detected by chemical analysis_ in the perspiration and secretions +of the individual. More than forty of the good, and as many of the +bad, have been detected. Suppose half a dozen men in a room. One +feels depressed, another remorseful, another ill-tempered, another +jealous, another cheerful, another benevolent. Samples of their +perspiration are placed in the hands of the psycho-physicist. Under +his examination they reveal all these emotional conditions distinctly +and unmistakably." Remember, this is not "the airy fancy of some +enthusiastic Mental Scientist," but is the testimony of a leading +scientific investigator in the laboratories of the Smithsonian +Institution, one of the best known scientific institutions of the +world. "Chemical analysis," mind you--not "transcendental imaginings." + +Now I have said enough about the toxin and some little about the +anti-toxin of the Mind. I might go on for hours, stating example +after example; illustration after illustration, but the tale would +be just the same. Now what are you going to do about it? Are you +going to keep on poisoning yourself and those around you with vile, +malignant thoughts reeking with the miasmatic effluvia of Hate--emitting +the noxious exhalation of Fear and Worry? Or will you cease being a +psychic pest-house, and begin to fumigate and disinfect your Mind? +And after getting rid of all the microbes of Fear and Worry and the +bacilli of Hate, Jealousy and Envy, open wide the windows of the Mind +and admit the bright Sunshine of Love, and the bracing air of +Confidence and Fearlessness. + +Come, friends, let us get out of this habit of poisoning the air +with Fear, Worry and Hate Thought. Let us join the ranks of the +Don't Worry company--the Fearless brigade--the invincible, conquering +army of Love. Let us be bright, cheerful and happy--the other things +are not worth while. Let us be Confident, Expectant, Hopeful and +Fearless--these things are winners. Let us be filled with Love for all +men--and we will find that Life is one sweet song. Love, Faith and +Fearlessness, are the ingredients of Life's great Anti-Toxin. Try it +and be blessed. + + + + +Ella Wheeler Wilcox + +Undertakes New Work. + + FAVORITE AUTHOR BECOMES ASSOCIATE EDITOR OF THE NEW THOUGHT + MAGAZINE. BEST WRITING SHE HAS EVER DONE NOW APPEARING IN THAT + BRIGHT PUBLICATION. + +The many friends and admirers of Ella Wheeler Wilcox will be +interested to learn that this gifted author and thinker has connected +herself, in the capacity of associate editor, with the New Thought +magazine, and that hereafter her writings will appear regularly in +that bright publication, of which the aim is to aid its readers in the +cultivation of those powers of the mind which bring success in life. +Mrs. Wilcox's writings have been the inspiration of many young men and +women. Her hopeful, practical, masterful views of life give the reader +new courage in the very reading, and are a wholesome spur to flagging +effort. She is in perfect sympathy with the purpose of the New Thought +magazine. The magazine is having a wonderful success, and the writings +of Mrs. Wilcox for it, along the line of the new movement, are among +her best. Words of truth, so vital that they live in the memory of +every reader and cause him to think--to his own betterment and the +lasting improvement of his own work in the world, in whatever line it +lies--flow from this talented woman's pen. + +The magazine is being sold on all news stands for five cents. It is +the brightest, cleanest and best publication in its class, and its +editors have hit the keynote of all sound success. The spirit of every +bit of print from cover to cover of the magazine is the spirit of +progress and upbuilding--of courage, persistence and success. Virile +strength and energy, self-confidence, the mastery of self and +circumstances are its life and soul, and even the casual reader feels +the contagion of its vigor and its optimism. + +FREE.--The publishers will be pleased to send a handsome portrait of +Mrs. Wilcox, with extracts from her recent writings on the New +Thought, free. Address, The New Thought, 100, The Colonnades, +Vincennes Ave., Chicago. + + + + +A FULL LIST + +...OF... + +Important Books + +PUBLISHED BY + +The Psychic Research Company + +3835 VINCENNES AVENUE + +CHICAGO + +AT THE + +_UNIFORM PRICE OF_ $1.00 _EACH, POSTPAID_ + +[Pointing finger] Address all orders to Book Department THE PSYCHIC +RESEARCH COMPANY to insure prompt attention. Remit by POSTAL ORDER or +EXPRESS ORDER. If currency or stamps is sent, register the letter. If +personal check is used, add 10c. for exchange fee. ORDERS FILLED THE +DAY THEY ARE RECEIVED. + + +~Thought-Force~ (In Business and Every-Day Life) + +By WILLIAM WALKER ATKINSON + + A wonderfully vivid book answering the questions: Can I make my + life more happy and successful through mental control? How can I + affect my circumstances by my mental effort? Just how shall I go + about it to free myself from my depression, failure, timidity, + weakness and care? How can I influence those more powerful ones + from whom I desire favor? How am I to recognize the causes of my + failure and thus avoid them? + + Can I make my disposition into one which is active, positive, high + strung and masterful? How can I draw vitality of mind and body + from an invisible source? How can I directly attract friends and + friendship? How can I influence other people by mental suggestion? + How can I influence people at a distance by my mind alone? How can + I retard old age, preserve health and good looks? How can I cure + myself of illness, bad habits, nervousness, etc. + + "Thought-Force" gives an answer to questions like these. The book + has been universally commended for its clearness and simplicity. + + Bound in Purple Silk Cloth, Gold Lettering. Price, $1.00, postpaid. + With One Year's Subscription to New Thought, both for $1.35. + + +~Nuggets of the New Thought~ (In Press) + +By WILLIAM WALKER ATKINSON + + A series of essays by this forceful writer, constituting the cream + of his magazine articles upon New Thought topics. The famous "I + Can and I Will" essay forms the opening chapter. "The Secret of + the I AM," of which 40,000 copies have been sold, is also + contained in this volume. We heartily commend this book as + interpretative of the higher teaching. A most suitable gift book. + + Silk cloth, purple and gold. Price $1.00, postpaid. + With New Thought, One Year, both, $1.35. + + +~The Law of The New Thought~ + +By WILLIAM WALKER ATKINSON + + This is a plain answer to the oft repeated questions. "What Is The + New Thought?" "What does it mean?" "What principles does it stand + for?" "Is it different from what is called Mental Science, or + Christian Science?" The New Thought is quite different. It is so + broad and comprehensive in its bearing upon human life and human + happiness that it can only be defined by its name, New Thought. + Mr. Atkinson's new book not only explains what the law is upon + which New Thought is based, but teaches how it may be used to the + greatest good of men. + + Silk Cloth, Purple and Gold. Price, $1.00, postpaid. + With New Thought, One Year, $1.35. + + +~The Heart of The New Thought~ (In Press) + +By ELLA WHEELER WILCOX + + A new book of original essays by this gifted woman dealing with + The New Thought in practice. 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This book really + tells how to perform mind-reading. In this it is unique; no other + work to our knowledge, being really useful in this regard. + + Silk Cloth. Purple and Gold. Price, $1.00, postpaid. + With New Thought, One Year, $1.35. + + +~Series "D"~ + + Although this is the last of this series of books it is in some + respects the most important of any. A life-time of study and + practice will not exhaust its stores of knowledge. It deals with + Psychometry, Phrenology. Palmistry, Astrology, Mediumship and + Somnopathy. This last is a new word, coined by the author, Sydney + Flower, to define his discovery of a new method of educating the + young, i.e., during natural sleep. Of this method, a lady writing + in The Washington Post, of recent date, said: "I never punish my + little ones, I simply wait till they are asleep, and then I talk + to them, not loud enough, you understand, to wake them, but in a + low voice. I tell them over and over that they must be good, I + suggest goodness to them, for I think the mind is just as + susceptible to suggestion during the natural sleep as during the + working state. I concentrate my mind on it, and I am confident + that before long all mothers will adopt my method. It is the best + way I know of to bring up children." This method is fully + described by its discoverer in this work, and the endorsements of + prominent physicians are given in full. + + Silk Cloth, Purple and Gold. Price, $1.00, postpaid. + With New Thought, One Year, $1.35. + + +~The Mail-Order Business~ + +By SYDNEY FLOWER + + This little book, if we are to judge by the testimony of those who + have paid for and read it, exactly fills the need of the many men + and women who are now looking to the mail-order field as a means + of starting in business for themselves in a small way. This book + is very practical, very simple, very much to the point. It teaches + how to enter the mail-order field, manufacture goods, buy, sell + and advertise articles, keep a card-check system, set of books, + etc., in short, how to conduct a small mail-order business on a + limited capital. + + Silk Cloth, Purple and Gold. Price, $1.00, postpaid. + With New Thought, One Year, $1.35. + + +~The Mind's Attainment~ (In Press) + +By URIEL BUCHANAN + + Every reader of New Thought literature is familiar with the + charming literary style of Mr. Buchanan. This book, which will be + ready by the end of November, expresses more nearly the high + ideals of the author than anything he has hitherto published. It + gives the essence of a beautiful and Uplifting philosophy that + cannot fail to benefit and instruct humanity. + + Silk Cloth, Purple and Gold. Price, $1.00, postpaid. + With New Thought, One Year, $1.35. + + +THESE BOOKS ARE PUBLISHED AND OWNED BY + +THE PSYCHIC RESEARCH COMPANY, + +3835 VINCENNES AVENUE, + +CHICAGO. + + +All books are sold by this company upon the full refund principle of "Your +money back if the book does not suit you." + + + + + * * * * * * + + + + +Transcriber's note: + +Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. + +Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained +as printed. + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "I Fine You One Hundred Dollars and Costs!"] + +The Pony Rider Boys in New England + +or + +An Exciting Quest in the Maine Wilderness + +by + +Frank Gee Patchin + +Author of the Pony Rider Boys in the Rockies, The Pony Rider Boys in +Texas, The Pony Rider Boys in Montana, The Pony Rider Boys in the +Ozarks, The Pony Rider Boys in the Alkali, The Pony Rider Boys in New +Mexico, The Pony Rider Boys with the Texas Rangers, The Pony Rider +Boys on the Blue Ridge, etc., etc. + +Illustrated + +Philadelphia +Henry Altemus Company +Copyrighted, 1924, by +Howard E. Altemus + + +Printed in the +United States of America + + +Contents + + +CHAPTER I--A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT +The original wonder of Chillicothe. Tad makes a sacrifice for his +mother's sake. Plotters get their heads together. A Pony Rider Boy +left behind. A dash to the open country. + +CHAPTER II--CAMPING ON THE PISCATAQUI +Words of wisdom from the guide. Chunky's proposal is voted down. +Tad Butler surprises his fellows. An exhibition of horsemanship. "I +never saw anything like that outside of a circus." + +CHAPTER III--A JOYFUL REUNION +A gentleman in the woodpile. A name with a handle at both ends. Tad +voices his regrets. Indian Charlie John joins the outfit. Wild +howls startle the Pony Rider camp. + +CHAPTER IV--BAITING THE HONEY BEES +The Indian's pack lands on Chunky. "I'm killed! I'm killed!" Cale +Vaughn shows the boys how to lure the bees. Stacy gets a new idea. +Tad learns to walk up a tree. + +CHAPTER V--NEW TRICKS IN WOODCRAFT +Camp making a science. How to make a browse-bed. How to cache food +so animals cannot get it. Why the boy's fire always failed. Making +a fire in the rain. The woodsman's trick. + +CHAPTER VI--THE FAT BOY'S REVENGE +In the heart of the big woods. Coons hold nightly conversations. +Stacy loses himself six times in one morning. Oil of anise draws +unwelcome visitors. Bees in force attack the Indian. + +Chapter VII--STAMPEDED BY AN INTRUDER +A bear come to camp on the anise trail. Charlie John up a tree. +What happened when the bear kissed Chunky. "Fat boy him up a tree." +Tad ropes Mr. Bruin; then the fun begins. + +CHAPTER VIII--AN INTERRUPTED FORAGE +The bear gets a section of Tad's trousers. Boys take to the trees +and Bruin takes the camp. Cale shoots to kill. Stacy's practical +joke is exposed. "The boss bee was scouting me." + +CHAPTER IX--BEAR STEAK FOR BREAKFAST +Bruin causes a change of camp. Chunky's heart is weak when there is +work to do. Learning to make a "kitchi-plak-wagn" and a "kekauviscoe +saster." "Oh help!" wails Chunky. + +CHAPTER X--BLAZING A FOREST TRAIL +"Every time you turn around the scenery has shifted." Learning to +live in the woods. Birch bark lights the way. "Silver Face is +calling me." A difficult job done well. + +CHAPTER XI--FACING NEW OBSTACLES +Camping in the rain in the dark of night. "Don't be scared, boys, I'm +going to shoot!" Stacy decides that he has had enough. Tad Butler +noses out the way. + +CHAPTER XII--CHUNKY MEETS A BULL MOOSE +"Indians have sharp eyes." Stacy beholds a terrifying sight. +Charged by an angry moose. Too frightened to yell. The bull bumps +his head against a tree. + +CHAPTER XIII--AN EXCITING DAY IN CAMP +The fat boy slays his helpless victim. "I did it with my knife." +Chunky's boasts are loud and vigorous. Tad Butler makes a little +investigation on his own hook. The guide holds opinions about +Stacy's bravery. + +CHAPTER XIV--LAID UP BY AN ACCIDENT +Broken bones put the guide out of business. First aid to the +injured. Chunky lets the cat out of the bag. The timber cruiser +hears the story of the fat boy's prowess. "I guess I've got a right +to talk about myself if I want to." + +CHAPTER XV--A DISASTROUS JOURNEY +Bears strip the camp food. Charlie John and Stacy set out for town. +"I'd like to see the place where Chunky could not get into trouble." +The Indian returns alone. "Chunky is in jail at Matungamook!" + +CHAPTER XVI--BAD NEWS FROM THE FRONT +Pony Rider Boys go to their chum's assistance. A grilling night +journey. Charlie John leads the way. The arrival at the scene of +trouble. Twittering birds the harbingers of an eventful day. + +CHAPTER XVII--CHUNKY IN A PREDICAMENT +A frying pan awakens the Indian. "Game warden git fat boy!" What +came of Stacy's bragging. Called before the bar of justice. "Where +is the prisoner?" + +CHAPTER XVIII--THE VERDICT OF THE COURT +"Stacy did not leave much to the imagination, did he?" The same old +moose with new trimmings. "Stacy Brown, stand up!" The fat boy brags +to the court. The Professor voices his indignation. "One hundred +dollars and costs! Pay your fine or go to jail!" + +CHAPTER XIX--PAYING THE FIDDLER +"Can you cross my palm for $128.50?" Not money enough in the outfit +to pay Chunky's fine. Stacy loses his pony. Looks like a week of +fasting for the Pony Rider Boys. Dead broke in the Maine woods. The +wolf at the door. + +CHAPTER XX--"LOOK WHO'S HERE!" +Tad and Ned get a job and earn fifty cents. His companions punish +the fat boy. Cale Vaughn hears the news and hurried to town. The +guide proves himself a friend in need. + +CHAPTER XXI--YOUNG WOODSMEN ON THE TRAIL AGAIN +"I don't want to be like other folks." Blaze marks lead the boys +astray. Tad follows a year-old trail. On the verge of a panic. "We +are lost!" declares Butler. + +CHAPTER XXII--LOST IN THE BIG WOODS +"When you are lost sit down and think it over." Tad and Stacy find +themselves in a predicament. "There is nothing like being a cheerful +idiot." "Get ready for Trouble!" + +CHAPTER XXIII--AN EXCITING QUEST +The ponies stampeded. A raging moose wrecks the camp. Chunky up a +tree again. Tad shows his resourcefulness. Dishes are made from +bark. Dining with nature. + +CHAPTER XXIV--THE SIGNAL SMOKE +Tad rounds up the live stock. "Chunky would hoodoo the best organized +force in the world." Cale Vaughn on the trail of the lost. "Heap big +smoke!" Charlie John makes a discovery. The end of the long trail. + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT + + +"Here's Tad. He'll tell us," cried Walter Perkins. "Oh, Tad, how +long a trip is it to the Maine Woods from here?" + +"That depends upon whether you walk or ride," answered Tad Butler, +walking slowly up to the barn of Banker Perkins where three +brown-faced boys were sitting in the doorway, polishing bridles, +mending saddles and limbering up their lassos. + +"Of course you know what we mean," urged Ned Rector with a grin. + +"Yes, I know what you mean." + +"He isn't mean. You're the mean one," interjected Stacy Brown, +otherwise known among his fellows as Chunky, the Fat Boy. + +"Chunky, remember we are at home in Chillicothe now and are supposed +to set examples to our less fortunate fellow citizens. Any fellow +who can get into the village paper the way you have done ought to +hold his head pretty high," chuckled Rector. + +Stacy threw out his chest. + +"You mean that lion-catching article?" + +Ned nodded. + +"Yes, that was a pretty swell article. They think I'm the original +wonder here in Chillicothe." + +"You are. There can be no doubt of that," laughed Tad. + +"I'm glad you've come, Tad," continued Ned, turning to young Butler. +"We are planning for the new trip to the Maine Woods. I shall be +glad to get east. I've never been far east. Any of the rest of you +been east?" + +"Well, I have been out to Skinner's farm. That's east of the +village," declared Stacy Brown. + +"Please, please!" begged Ned, a pained expression appearing on his +face. "Leave all that sort of nonsense to entertain us after we get +into the woods. We don't mind so much your playing the fool when we +are away from home, but here it is different. We don't want to be +disgraced in this town where we are--" + +"Some pumpkins," finished Chunky. + +"Well, yes; that's it, I guess," agreed Ned. + +"We were waiting for you to talk over what we should take along," +declared Walter. "I have been studying and reading and talking with +Abe Parkinson, who, you know, used to live up in Maine. He says we +must travel very light; that going is hard up there in the woods. He +says we don't want an ounce of excess baggage, or we'll never get +anywhere. Do you know anything about it, Tad?" + +"Yes. I guess Mr Parkinson is right about that. It will be real +roughing, perhaps more so than anything you fellows ever have +experienced, for you will be a long way from civilization." + +"But we'll get plenty to eat, won't we?" begged Stacy, glancing +anxiously at Tad. + +"You usually do." + +"Chunky can browse on green leaves if we get out of food," chuckled +Rector. + +"Now, I call that real mean," complained the fat boy. "What did I +ever do to you to merit such a fling as that?" + +"You made a noise like a rattlesnake once and got me dumped into the +bushes. Remember that?" + +Chunky did. An appreciative grin spread over his round face. + +"I haven't got even with you for that, but I shall some day and mine +will be a terrible revenge. Br-r-r!" + +"Oh, fudge!" scoffed the fat boy. "You talk easily, but no one is +afraid of you." + +"We aren't here to fight," reproved Walter. "We are here to talk over +our journey, and now that Tad has arrived let's get to business, as +father would say." + +"Especially if you owed him money and couldn't pay it," laughed +Stacy. + +"Are you all ready, Tad?" + +Tad's face grew serious. + +"Boys, I'm afraid I can't go with you this time," answered Butler +in a low tone. + +"Can't go?" exploded the boys. + +"No, I think not, this time. Some other time, perhaps." + +"Nonsense! Is this some kind of joke?" demanded Rector. + +"It's no joke, Ned. I mean it." + +"But what--why--" + +"I'll tell you, boys." + +"Don't tell us. We can't bear to hear disagreeable things," mourned +Stacy. + +"Go on, Tad, we want to know," urged Walter. + +"Well, the whole thing is that Mother isn't well. She hasn't been +well all winter. She is not so well now as she was a month ago, +and--" + +Tad swallowed and moistened his lips with his tongue. + +"I couldn't think of leaving her alone, just now; no, not for +anything." + +"Then you won't go?" questioned Stacy. + +Tad shook his head. + +"That settles it. Neither will I," decided Chunky. + +"Oh, yes you will. You will go on just the same as before, and you +will have just as good a time. After you get out into the open again +you'll forget that I am not along." + +"What! Do you think I would trust my precious person to these +savages?" demanded the fat boy with a gesture that took in Ned Rector +and Walter Perkins. "Why, I'd never come back!" + +"No great loss if you didn't," muttered Rector. + +Tad laughed. + +"You are old enough to take care of yourself, Chunky. You will have +the Professor to protect you in case anything goes wrong." + +"No, we can't have it that way," declared Perkins, with a slow shake +of the head. "If you don't go, we don't. But really, I don't see +why you can't. My folks will look after Mrs. Butler, and--" + +Tad shook his head with emphasis. + +"My mind is made up," he said. + +"Oh, that's too bad," groaned the lads. "That's a burning shame," +added Stacy. "I'm hot all over. That's why I know it's a burning +shame." + +"Leave off joking," commanded Ned savagely. "This isn't anything to +laugh about. What appears to be the matter with your mother, Tad?" + +"I--I think it's her lungs," replied the boy a bit unsteadily. + +"What she needs is mountain air," declared Chunky. "I know. She +ought to go to the mountains." + +"I agree with you," said Tad. "It is my idea that I can get her to +go with me, for part of the summer at least, and then--" + +"What's the matter with taking her along with us?" interrupted +Rector. + +"No, that wouldn't do," answered Tad. "She couldn't stand it." + +"Of course she couldn't. That shows how much you know, Ned Rector," +scoffed Stacy Brown. + +"What do you propose to do all summer, Tad?" asked Ned thoughtfully. + +"Oh, I shall work at something. I'm not going to be idle. Perhaps +Mr. Perkins will have something to do that will keep me out of +mischief for the summer after I get back," answered Butler with a +faint smile. + +"It's my opinion that this is all foolishness," declared Ned. "I'm +going to see your mother." + +Tad laid a hand on Ned's arm. "Please say nothing to my mother about +it. My mind is made up, and that's all there is to it. Of course, +it will be a bitter disappointment to me not to go with you, but I +guess I shall get over it. It would be more bitter to me if +anything--anything happened to mother." + +"And Professor is coming on next week," muttered Walter. "I guess we +had better give it up for this season, fellows." + +"No. I won't have it that way," urged Tad. "You'll make me feel +worse about it if you do anything like that. Your plans are made." + +"Yes, we will let things stand as they are for the present," agreed +Rector. "But I shan't give up the idea that you are going with us. +Why--but what's the use in talking about it? Walt, is your father at +home?" + +"He is at the bank." + +"Then I'm going over to see him." + +"What about?" questioned Tad suspiciously. + +"I've got a little matter of business that I want to talk over with +him." + +"Want to borrow some money, eh?" grinned Chunky. + +"No, we'll leave that business to you." + +"That reminds me, Tad, could you--could you cross my palm for five +cents this afternoon?" asked the fat boy solemnly. + +"Eh? Do what?" + +"Cross my palm for five cents?" + +"Say, this is a new habit, isn't it, this borrowing money?" + +"Oh, I'll pay you back when I get my allowance," protested Stacy. + +"I wasn't thinking about that. Take my word for it, this borrowing +business is bad business," rebuked Tad. + +"Didn't I always pay you back everything I borrowed of you?" +protested Stacy indignantly. + +"Yes, yes, but--here's five cents. Will that be enough?" + +"Well," reflected the fat boy, "you might make it twenty-five if +you are flush today." + +Tad passed over a quarter, the other boys regarding the proceeding +with disapproving eyes. + +"Now that you have made a touch, is it permissible to ask what you +are going to do with all that money?" inquired Rector. + +"It is." + +"Well?" + +"They've got a lot of fresh buns over at the bakery. I can get +thirty-six of them for a quarter. It's a bargain, too." + +"Buns!" growled Ned in a tone of disgust. "Don't you ever think of +anything but something to eat?" + +"Yes--something that I haven't got to eat." + +"Go get your buns and pass them around," suggested Walter smilingly. + +"I guess not. There won't be more than enough for me," answered +Stacy. + +"There's selfishness for you," nodded Ned. + +But Ned did Stacy an injustice. The fat boy was simply teasing the +others. He intended to bring back the "bargain" and share it with +his companions, which he did shortly after that, though Tad was not +there to help eat the hot buns that Stacy brought. + +Little more was said on the subject nearest to the hearts of the +boys, but their disappointment was keen at Tad's decision not to +accompany them on their visit to the Maine Woods, for which place +they were to start within a few days. + +"I can't wait for the buns," said Tad. "I must be getting home, but I +will help you boys get ready for the trip and see you off." + +"No, you won't see us off," shouted Ned. "You will see yourself off +along with the rest of us." + +To this young Butler merely shook his head as he turned away, +retracing his steps towards home. For a few minutes after Tad's +departure, Ned Rector and Walter Perkins sat with heads closed +together, talking earnestly. Finally Walter got up and started for +his father's place of business at a brisk walk. Later in the +afternoon there was a conference between Walter and his parents. + +In the meantime, Tad had gone home. He had been insistent that he +would not leave his mother, and Mrs. Butler was fully as insistent +that he should accompany his companions on their coming journey. But +Tad was firm. It was the first time he ever had opposed his mother +so stubbornly. Mrs. Butler had been ailing for some time and Tad was +greatly worried over her condition. It was this concern for the +mother that was on the boy's mind now, rather than his disappointment +at not being able to go with his friends. There was only one +encouraging factor; his mother, while not well-to-do, was far from +being in want. Though she did not feel that she should incur the +expense of going away, Tad was determined that she should. + +Late in the afternoon Banker Perkins and his wife called at the +Butler home and had a long talk with Mrs. Butler. Tad had ridden +out of town on his pony to bring in some horses that had been shipped +in from the west to be sold. There were some "tough ones" in the +bunch of western stock, and none of the town boys could be induced to +help corral and drive in the stock for the owner. This work was a +recreation for Tad, and the five dollars a day that he received for +his services during the sale, in cutting out, roping and riding +mustangs for prospective buyers, he considered the easiest money he +had ever earned. Besides this, Tad's riding was an exhibition in +itself, and it drew scores of spectators. The result was that the +five dollars a day paid to Tad was a most excellent investment for +the owner. + +The coast being clear for the rest of the afternoon, Mr. Perkins and +his wife were uninterrupted in their talk with Mrs. Butler. Mrs. +Butler, like her son, possessed a mind of her own, and the banker had +some difficulty in bringing her around to his point of view, but +before the Perkinses left the Butler home Mrs. Butler had agreed to +their plans, not so much on her own account as that of the boy of +whom she was so justly proud. It was decided between them, however, +to leave matters as they were for the present. + +"I want to try the boy a little further," added the banker. "Of +course, I know him pretty well now, but if he goes through with what +he has declared he will, you need never worry about his success in +life. A boy who can do that is all right in every way." + +The week drew to a close. Tad had completed his work with the horse +dealer and collected his money, which he turned over to his mother on +Saturday night. + +"At this rate I'll be able to retire by and by," smiled the lad. + +"You will have more money to spend on your trip this summer," was the +reply. + +"Yes. My trip with you to the mountains." + +"Oh, no, I didn't mean that. You know what I mean, Tad." + +"I'm not going, mother. My mind is made up." + +"Will it be much of a disappointment to you if you do not go with +your friends?" + +"Now, you know it won't," replied Tad playfully, as he passed an arm +around his mother's waist. "What fun could I possibly have that would +compare with going away with you and seeing you grow back into +perfect health?" + +Mrs. Butler smiled proudly, though she sighed at the thought of the +pleasant jaunt that her son offered so readily to give up. + +A few days later the other boys decided that they would go on without +Tad if they must, though they grumbled a good deal. Tad Butler came +forward, taking a hearty interest in all their preparations for this +hike in the saddle. He put their kits in shape, made a new lariat +for Ned Rector, mended the tents, and in general threw himself as +heartily into all the advanced work as though he were going himself. +On the day of their departure Professor Zepplin arrived to take +charge of the party, as he had been doing for several seasons past. + +Three of the boys and the Professor rode to the station, there to car +their stock, Tad plodding along on foot, feeling strangely unfamiliar +with himself at such a time. Yet, from young Butler's face, one +would have thought him the happiest of all the party that gathered at +the station, and perhaps down in his heart he was happy, knowing that +he was doing what he knew to be his duty to the mother that he loved +so well. There was a real shadow, however, on the happiness of his +companions--the inability of Tad to go with them on their summer's +outing. + +Mr. Perkins was at the station to see the boys off. He, with Tad and +half a hundred villagers, stood on the platform waving their hats and +shouting their good-byes to the departing Pony Rider Boys. As the +train pulled out, Stacy Brown was observed hanging over the railing +of the rear coach wiping his eyes and pretending to weep, while the +spectators laughed at the funny sight. + +Mr. Perkins turned inquiringly to Tad. + +"Well, Tad, I suppose this isn't a particularly happy occasion for +you?" he said. + +"Why not sir?" + +"Don't you feel the least bit disappointed that you are not on that +train yonder?" + +"Of course I am disappointed, but I am satisfied that I have done +right. That's the best sort of happiness after all. Don't you think +so, Mr. Perkins?" + +For answer the banker extended an impulsive hand, clasping Tad's in a +strong, appreciative grip. Tad walked back with Mr. Perkins, leaving +him at the latter's place of business, then the lone Pony Rider Boy +strolled meditatively homeward. + +Reaching the yard, Tad walked around to the stable, which he entered, +and stepping into the stall of his pony, he patted the little animal +affectionately. + +The pony whinnied appreciatively. + +"Well, old boy," said Tad, "you are disappointed just the same as am +I. But we'll have a good many nice rides this summer. We'll ride +out every night to fetch Deacon Skinner's cows home, and maybe we'll +rope one now and then just to keep our hands in. Shall we have a +little ride now just to forget, you know? All right, come along +then." + +The pony backed from its stall as if fully understanding the words of +its master. A few moments later Tad was galloping away from town, +the little hoofs of his pet mount throwing up a cloud of dust on the +broad highway that led to the open country and the fresh green +fields. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +CAMPING ON THE PISCATAQUI + + +A full week had passed since the departure of the Pony Rider Boys +from Chillicothe. During that time they had leisurely made their way +toward their destination, having gone by way of New York and up Long +Island Sound on a boat. Eventually they had reached Bangor, on the +Penobscot, whence they proceeded in a northwesterly direction to +Dover, a short distance from where they were now encamped on the +banks of the Piscataqui river. + +At Dover they had been joined by the guide who was to accompany them. +The latter was Cale Vaughn, a raw-boned, jolly-faced Yankee, much +more talkative than had been most of the guides on their previous +wanderings. Cale, it was said, was the best woodsman in the north, +a man who simply could not be hopelessly lost in the woods. +Professor Zepplin was asking the guide about this same thing as they +lounged at their campfire after having eaten their breakfast on this +cool but glorious spring morning. The Professor wanted to know if it +were possible for a man to be so good a woodsman that he could not +be lost. + +"If there is such a man I'd like to set eyes on him," answered the +guide. + +"Have you ever been lost in the big woods?" questioned Stacy, hoping +to draw out some of Cale's experiences. + +"More times than I've got hairs in my head." + +"Then there isn't much hope for us after we reach the forest yonder," +declared Ned Rector, nodding toward the faint fringe of deep green +that lay to the northwest of them. + +"It's easy enough to keep track of yourself if you follow a few +simple rules," answered Vaughn. + +"And what are they?" asked Walter. + +"Water always runs down hill," reminded the guide with a significant +smile. + +"Eh? Of course it does," scoffed Stacy. "Did anyone ever see it run +uphill?" + +"I've known folks that thought it did," chuckled the guide. + +"Why, I can show you watercourses where you'd be willing to stake +your life the water was running in a certain direction, whereas it's +going the other way." + +"Humph!" grunted Chunky. "They couldn't fool me that way." + +"You think so?" laughed Cale. + +"I know so," retorted Stacy. + +"Well, now suppose we were standing beside a stream, say like the +river before us, only in a place where the direction of the current +deceived you. I said the water was running that way, the way it +does, and you declared it was moving in the other direction, how +would you prove whether you were right or wrong?" + +Stacy puffed up with importance. + +"That's easy." + +"Well, answer Mr. Vaughn's question," commanded the Professor. + +"Why, I'd throw Ned Rector's hat into the water. If it floated that +way, I'd win. If it floated the other way, Mr. Vaughn would win. In +either case Ned would lose," answered the fat boy solemnly. + +"You win," grinned the guide. + +"He wouldn't win if he threw _my_ hat in the water," growled Rector. +"Don't let me catch you tossing my hat overboard." + +"Oh, I'd see to it that you didn't catch me," jeered the fat boy. + +"That's funny. Even Tad would have laughed at that," spoke up +Walter. + +"I am afraid Tad isn't laughing just now," said Ned. + +"No, I'm laughing for him. Ha, ha, ha! Haw, haw!" brayed Stacy. + +"You were speaking of getting lost," Professor Zepplin reminded the +guide. + +"Yes. Another important thing to keep in mind is that the sun rises +in the east and sets in the west. By keeping these things in mind +you are likely to find your way." + +"Provided you know where you are going in the first place," observed +Stacy. "I don't. I'm lost before I find myself when I get in the +woods." + +"We will take a few lessons in woodcraft when we get into the spruce +forest," promised Cale. + +"By the way, we don't seem to be making much headway in that +direction," answered Rector. "We have been loafing here for a whole +day. Why the delay?" + +"We are waiting for Charlie John," replied the guide. + +Charlie John, it may be explained here, was a half-breed Indian whom +the party was taking along to do the rough work, to bear the extra +burdens, to help cut a path for them when they found themselves in a +thicket too dense to permit the passage of the ponies. None of them, +except the guide, had seen Charlie, but Cale said the fellow was all +right so far as behavior was concerned, though Charlie was not +overburdened with brains. + +"We've got too much of that here already," replied Ned. "That's +what's the trouble with our outfit." + +Stacy strolled over to Rector, gravely snipped off the latter's hat +and holding it top-up shook the hat vigorously. + +"Nothing doing," said the fat boy, replacing the hat on the head of +its owner, while Ned's face flushed, and the others laughed. + +"I decline to be disturbed by Chunky's antics," howled Ned. "He +thinks he's funny, but no one else does. When do you think that +lazy half-breed will be along, Mr. Vaughn?" + +"He should be here some time today," answered Cale. "If you boys want +something to do why don't you go fishing? There's plenty of fish in +the river here." + +"Let Chunky do the fishing," drawled Ned. "It needs a lazy man to +make a good fisherman." + +"Oh!" cried Stacy, his face breaking out into a broad smile. "Now I +understand. Remember that fine mess of trout that Ned caught when we +were in the Rockies? I wish I could fish like that. I'd be willing +to be called a lazy one." + +"I know what you are going to get, young man," answered Rector, +slowly getting to his feet. + +"What am I going to get?" + +"You're going to get the opportunity to prove whether you are lazy or +not, for I'm going to throw you into the river right now." + +"You can't do it," retorted Stacy belligerently. + +"I'll show you whether I can or not." + +The Professor opened his mouth to reprove the two boys, then closed +it again, a smile curling his lips, causing the bristling beard to +bristle still more fiercely. + +With arms about each other, struggling, red of face, perspiring, Ned +Rector and Stacy Brown staggered down the sloping bank towards the +river, each striving with all his strength to get the upper hand of +the other. + +Splash! + +The two boys disappeared in the water. + +"Can they swim?" asked the guide, glancing a bit anxiously at the +Professor. + +"Like fish," answered Professor Zepplin tersely. + +About that time two bobbing heads appeared above the water, only to +disappear again, leaving some froth and a sea of bubbles on the +surface. When next they appeared they were a long way from shore, +but were swimming toward the bank, each with a hand on the other's +coat collar, swimming with one hand. + +"Look at the twin fish," howled Walter. + +The swimmers did not answer him. They were too busy looking after +themselves. Ned started to get to his feet as they reached shallow +water, but Stacy was ahead of him. The fat boy butted Ned in the +stomach, whereupon Stacy very calmly sat down on his companion's +head, which was under water. + +"Let him up!" cried Walter. + +"Get off! He'll drown!" shouted the guide. + +"Don't get excited. It will do him a lot of good to drown a few +times. I've always observed that drowned persons are extremely well +behaved persons." + +The guide gripped Stacy by the collar and dragged him from his +victim, while Walter was helping Ned up. Ned was purple in the face. +He had been under water about as long as was good for him, though not +quite long enough to suit the fat boy. A few seconds more, however, +and Rector would have thrown Chunky, whereupon it would have been the +fat boy's turn to swallow some water. + +"I--I slipped," explained Ned between chokes. + +"So I observed," replied Stacy solemnly. + +"That was very rough and ungentlemanly, Stacy," rebuked the +Professor. + +"Rough on Ned, yes, sir. You would have thought so if I'd been +sitting on your head under water." + +"Never mind, Prof--Professor. I'll take--take care of him," coughed +Rector. + +"You tried to a little while ago. Mr. Vaughn, who won that bout?" + +"You win on points," laughed the guide. + +"If I had been a fish I'd have won in every other way. I'll tell you +what, Ned. You said I was the lazy man and I ought to do the fishing. +I'll do it and give you a chance to show how active you are. I will +fix up a hook and line, then you jump in the water and swim around +the bait just like a trout. You can make a grab for the hook once in +a while it you want to. If I catch you by the upper lip I'm a good +fisherman. If I don't, you are a good fish. What do you say?" + +The others did the saying before Rector had a chance to speak. +Chunky's proposition was too much even for the gravity of Professor +Zepplin, whose body shook with laughter. + +"Think I'm a trout?" growled Ned. + +"No, you're a clam." + +Ned started for Stacy, really angry now, but he was halted by the +stern voice of the Professor. + +"Young gentlemen, this thing has gone far enough. You will lose your +tempers, then there will be trouble." + +"Lose our tempers?" demanded Stacy. "Why, I'm so mad now that I'm +speechless. Look out for me. Somebody hold me!" + +"We miss Tad Butler. He was the one who held you in check, as I see +the matter now," nodded the Professor. + +"I wasn't aware, Professor, that Chunky had ever been in check," +smiled Walter. + +"That's what I say," agreed Ned. "It is high time something were done +to curb him. There is no telling what he may not do now that Tad +isn't here. I wish he were." + +Stacy did not answer for the moment. He was gazing off over the +rugged landscape with wondering eyes. Finally he turned, thrusting +both hands in his trousers pockets, his chest swelling with +importance. + +"You win," he said. + +"Win what?" demanded Ned sullenly. + +"Your wish." + +"I haven't made any wish. What did I wish?" + +"You wished Tad Butler were here." + +"Huh! I wish my wish might come true." + +"I told you it had." + +"What do you mean, Chunky?" questioned Walter suddenly. + +"Why, Tad's here now. You fellows don't use your eyes. You can't +any of you see beyond the ends of your noses." + +The eyes of Professor Zepplin were twinkling. Cale Vaughn was +regarding the lads quizzically. All at once Walter Perkins uttered +a wild yell and bounding to his feet started off at a lively sprint. +Ned rubbed his eyes, scarcely believing what they saw. + +A horseman was galloping toward them at a fast gait. The figure of +the horseman was slight, clad in khaki, a broad-brimmed sombrero +waving in one hand. + +"Whoo-oo-pee!" yelled the horseman, his voice coming to them faintly. + +"It _is_ Tad!" howled Ned, then he too started off at a run. + +"They are a lively crowd, sir," observed the guide, turning to the +Professor. + +"You will think so before you get through with this job," answered +the Professor grimly. "I have had several seasons of it, and I'm +thankful to be able to say that I am still able to be about, though +I have been on the verge of nervous prostration more than once." + +The horseman, Tad Butler in reality, was now rapidly bearing down on +the camp. Walter was far ahead of the pursuing Ned, but Chunky made +no attempt to run out to meet his companion. He was still standing +with hands in trousers pockets solemnly regarding the scene. + +Walter and Tad were nearing each other, when the former stumbled and +fell. + +Tad raised a hand and Walter, understanding, lifted one hand also, +whereupon Tad charged him at a gallop. The horseman swerved at the +second when it seemed as if he must run down the kneeling boy, then +the palms of the two lads met with a smack, Tad having leaned from +the saddle. To the amazement of Cal Vaughn, who was not much of a +horseman, the slender form of Walter Perkins seemed to rise right up +into the air without effort on his part. + +Walt landed astride of the pony just behind the rider, and at touch +of spur the little pony straightened out and reached for the camp at +a full run, nearly bowling over Ned Rector, who barely got out of the +way in time to save himself from being run down. + +"Well, what do you think of that?" exclaimed the guide. "I never saw +anything like that outside of a circus." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A JOYFUL REUNION + + +"Howdy, fellows," greeted Tad laughingly as he leaped from his pony, +followed by Walter who, less gracefully, fell off. "Didn't look for +me just yet, did you?" + +Professor Zepplin had hurried forward; his face was wreathed in +smiles as he grasped the hand of the Pony Rider Boy. + +"This is Mr. Vaughn, our guide," announced the Professor. + +"I am very glad to know you, sir," answered Tad, smiling up into the +strong face of Cale Vaughn, winning that gentleman's regard on the +instant. + +"And, ahem! This is Mr. Stacy Brown, the handy man," announced +Chunky, pushing his way to the front and extending a hand to Tad. + +"Hello, Chunky. Not growing thin, are you?" + +"Be kind enough not to call attention to my superfluities. I am +somewhat sensitive, you know." + +"I beg your pardon," answered Tad gravely. + +Just then Ned Rector came running in, puffing and blowing. + +"Is that the way you treat me after I have run a mile more or less to +welcome you?" demanded Ned, as Tad gripped him in a bear-like +embrace. + +"My, you're wet!" laughed Tad, holding Rector off to look at him. + +"Yes, he's been in bathing with his clothes on," observed the fat boy +solemnly. "Something ought to be done to break him of such slovenly +habits. But how do you happen to be here, if I may be so bold as to +inquire?" + +"Don't you know?" questioned Tad, glancing at the smiling faces +around him. + +Stacy shook his head. + +"Come over and sit down, and I'll tell you about it. By the way, +have you folks anything to eat? I'm starving." + +"You're not getting Chunky's disease, are you?" sneered Ned, trying +to appear greatly displeased, but not making much of a success of +the attempt. + +"I am afraid I am, boys. Well, Mr. and Mrs. Perkins fixed it up to +have Mother go with them to the mountains. You see, Mrs. Perkins is +rather delicate and Mr. Perkins wanted her to go to the mountains, +where he had taken a cottage for the summer. Of course he couldn't +be with her all the time, having to attend to his business at home, +so he asked Mother to go along for company. In fact, I guess he +insisted. Mother agreed. I think she did so that I might join you +boys. I came with them as far as Utica, N.Y. You see, they went to +the Adirondacks. I had to come on after they had made those plans. +I think Mr. Perkins fixed it up on purpose, so we would all be +satisfied. I knew Mother would be in good hands and I knew she would +feel better about it if I came on and joined you." + +"But how did you find us?" urged Rector. + +"Why, they told me, at the village, that you were camping out here. +They gave me directions so I couldn't miss you." + +"Hm-m-m!" mused the fat boy, screwing up his features and regarding +Tad narrowly. "How did you know we were in this part of the country?" + +"Everybody in New England knows that," laughed Tad. + +"Yes, they know Chunky is here," agreed Ned. + +"It strikes me that there is a gentleman of color in the woodpile," +observed Stacy. "In fact, I might say there are several of them +hidden in the stove wood." + +"Yes, I reckon you're right. And you didn't know a thing about it?" +chuckled Butler. + +Stacy shook his head. + +"But we may have had our suspicions--our suspicions, you understand?" +said the fat boy. "Still, there are several things that need +explanation." + +"Professor, you knew about this all the time, didn't you?" demanded +Ned. + +The Professor stroked his beard. + +"I see no harm in saying that I did." + +"He was in the conspiracy, boys, but I didn't know a thing about it +until the day before I left Chillicothe," said Tad. + +"Then Professor Zepplin knew about it before we left home, eh?" +questioned Stacy. + +"I guess he did," admitted Walter. + +Stacy fixed a stern gaze on the smiling Walter Perkins. + +"You in this thing, too, Walt?" he demanded. + +"I plead guilty," answered Perkins, flushing violently. + +"Well, I call it a shame to deceive innocent boys like that. But, +sir," added Chunky, turning pompously to Tad Butler, "I welcome you +in the name of the Pony Rider Boys. We will now kill the fatted +calf." + +"In other words, Stacy Brown," interjected Rector. "It's a good thing +you are here, Tad. There is no holding Chunky. Why, you have no +idea how he is acting. Am I right, Professor?" + +"I will admit that Stacy is at times inclined to be rude," nodded +Professor Zepplin. + +"Everyone is against me," growled Stacy. "Everything I do is the +wrong thing and nothing that I do is right. You fellows don't stop +to think what tame affairs these trips would be without somebody to +poke fun at. I am the mark for everyone. The trouble with me is +that I am not valued at my true worth. Mr. Vaughn, have you learned +to know me well enough to realize how valuable I am to this company?" + +"I'll confess that I should be lonesome without you," agreed the +guide with a nod. + +"There, I'm glad someone in this outfit has the sense to recognize a +good thing when he sees it. How about a fire for cooking?" + +"I will build the fire," cried Tad, proceeding at once to heap the +sticks into a little pyramid under the crane that Cale had arranged. +Butler eyed the contrivance critically. "It is plain to be seen that +someone has been camping before. That is an excellent idea." + +Tad soon had a blazing fire going. In the meantime, Stacy had +hastened to fill the kettle, while Vaughn got out the edibles, the +others busying themselves in setting the table, which in this +instance was a blanket stretched over four stakes driven into the +ground, with saplings for stringers, and over which the blanket +was stretched taut. + +None of these arrangements escaped the keen eyes of Tad Butler. Soon +the odor of boiling coffee and frying bacon was in the air, and +though the campers had had their breakfast only an hour or so before, +each began to sniff the air appreciatively. + +"Smells good, doesn't it?" grinned Stacy. "Sort of gives me an +appetite, too." + +"I don't think you need an odor to give you an appetite, unless you +have changed a great deal since I saw you last," answered Tad Butler. + +All were soon gathered about the table, and though the forenoon was +not yet half ended, each seemed to possess a midday appetite. Tad +told them about the trip from Chillicothe, which had been uneventful, +then made them tell him all about their experiences since they left +home. Cale Vaughn found so much amusement in the conversation that +every little while he forgot to eat. Stacy always reminded him that +he wasn't doing his duty by the food. + +"Do we move today?" asked Tad. + +"We are waiting for the Indian," said the guide. + +"The who?" wondered Tad. + +"Oh, a fellow with two handles to his name, but without any name to +nail them to," answered Stacy. + +"He means Charlie John," explained Ned. + +"Charlie John? That _is_ a funny name," smiled Butler. + +"It might be handy, too. In case you woke up and wanted to say +something to him in a hurry, it wouldn't make any difference whether +you called him John Charlie or Charlie John or just plain Charlie or +just plain John," said Chunky. "Handy kind of name, isn't it?" + +Tad agreed that it was, especially for lazy folks, to which Ned and +Walter also agreed most heartily. + +"When is this man with the double-back-action name expected?" asked +Tad. + +"Oh, today sometime," replied Vaughn. "Today with Charlie means any +time between midnight last night and midnight tonight, so we might as +well make up our minds to remain here until tomorrow. We shall get +an early start in the morning and make a good bit of a hike tomorrow, +and we'll be in the woods some time tomorrow." + +"Over yonder?" asked Tad, nodding toward the dark blue ridge on the +horizon. "How far it it?" + +"About twenty miles as the crow flies." + +"Or the hawk flops," added the fat boy, who, by this time, under the +influence of the hot sun and the hotter victuals, was perspiring +freely. + +Tad regarded Stacy quizzically. + +"Chunky, you look like a steamed pudding," he laughed. + +"Yes, an underdone one," suggested Ned. + +"That may be," agreed Stacy solemnly. "But I can keep on baking till +I am done, while you are so tough on the outside that the inside of +you never would get done." + +"Ned, I guess that one reached the spot," chuckled Walter. + +"Never touched me," grinned Rector. + +"There! What did I tell you?" demanded Stacy triumphantly. "His +outside shell is so thick that you couldn't break through it with a +mall." + +"Did Father send any word to me?" asked Walter, for the time being +putting an end to the argument. + +"Oh, yes, I forgot. I have a letter for you in my pocket," replied +Tad, flushing. "How careless of me." + +"Had I done that you fellows wouldn't have stopped talking about it +for a month," complained Stacy. + +Walter Perkins was too deeply engrossed in his letter to give heed, +but after he had read it through he read the letter aloud to his +companions. + +"You haven't any letters for me secreted about your person, have you, +Tad?" questioned Chunky humbly. + +"No; that is the only letter I have, or had," answered Tad. + +"Chunky, perhaps you will get yours in the next mail," suggested Ned. + +"Yes; I expect that it will come by airplane route, but I hope it +isn't a package. It might hit someone when it fell." + +"You wouldn't object were it a package of food, would you?" +questioned Tad teasingly. + +"Well, that might make a difference," agreed Stacy. "In that event +perhaps I could stand having it land on my head." + +Tad, during the afternoon, got better acquainted with Cale Vaughn. +He found the guide to be a well-read and intelligent man, different +from the type of guide that the Pony Rider Boys had known on their +previous summer outings in the saddle. Cale was less taciturn, too, +and seemed to take the keenest possible delight in the jokes and +pranks of the boys that he was to guide through the Maine wilderness. + +Vaughn was not much of a horseman, and he had brought a pony along, +not because he expected to ride much, but because he needed something +to carry his pack. When Cale was looking over Tad's pony, "Silver +Face," the boy discovered that the man knew little about horses, +though Tad was too polite to mention the fact. + +That evening they gathered about the campfire with all hands relating +experiences. Stacy Brown recounted, for Cale's benefit, how he had +seen visually just before the plate happened to be put in and +reproduced by it unmistakably. Upon the many images thirty-eight canals +were counted in all, and one of them, the Nilokeras, double. Thus did +the canals at last speak for their own reality themselves. + + + + + PART III + + THE CANALS IN ACTION + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + CANALS: KINEMATIC + + +So far in our account of the phenomena we have regarded the lines, the +spots, and everything that is theirs solely from the point of view of +their appearance at any one time. In other words, we have viewed them +only from a static standpoint. In this we have followed the course of +the facts, since in this way were the canals first observed. We now +come to a different phase of the matter,—the important disclosure, +with continued looking, that these strange things show themselves to be +subject to change. That is, they take on a kinematic character. This at +once opens a fresh field of inquiry concerning them and widens the +horizon of research. It increases the complexity of the problem, but at +the same time makes it more determinate. For while it greatly augments +the number of facts which must be collected toward an explanation of +what the things are, these once acquired, it narrows the solution which +can apply to them. + +The fact of change in the Martian markings forces itself upon any one +who will diligently study the planet. He will be inclined at first to +attribute it to observational mistakes of his own or his predecessor’s +making, preferably the latter. But eventually his own delineations will +prove irreconcilable with one another, and he will then realize the +injustice of his inference and will put the cause, where indeed it +rightly belongs, on the things themselves. Confronted by this fact he +will the more fully appreciate how long and systematic must be the +study of him who would penetrate the planet’s peculiarity. Just as the +recognition of something akin to seasonal change came to Schiaparelli, +because of his attending to the planet with an assiduity unknown to his +predecessors; so it became evident that to learn the laws of these +changes and from them the meaning of the markings, there was necessary +as full and as continuous a record of them as it was possible to +obtain. For this end it was not enough to get observations from time to +time, however good these might be, but to secure as nearly as might be +a complete succession of such, day after day, month after month, and +opposition after opposition. The outcome justified the deduction. And +it is specially gratifying to realize that to no one have the method +and the results thus obtained appealed with more force than to +Schiaparelli himself. + +Perseverance in scanning the disk long after the casual observer had +considered it too far away for observational purposes, resulted in +Schiaparelli’s detection of the canals, and this through a +characteristic of theirs destined to play a great part in their +history, their susceptibility to change. He tells us in his _Memoria I_ +how Aeria and the adjoining regions showed blank of any markings while +the planet was near in 1877 and the disk large and well shown, and then +how, to his surprise, as the planet got farther away and the disk +shrank, lines began to come out in the region with unmistakable +certainty. Thus to the very variability which had hidden them to others +was due in Schiaparelli’s hands their initial recognition. + +Flux affecting the canals was apparent from the outset of my own +observations. No less the subject of transformation than the large dark +regions was the network of tenuous lines that overspread them. At times +they were very hard to make out, and then again they were comparatively +easy. Distance, instead of rendering them more difficult, frequently +did the reverse. Nor was the matter one of veiling. Neither our own +atmosphere nor that of Mars showed itself in any way responsible for +their temporary disappearance. It was not always when our atmospheric +conditions were best that the lines stood out most clearly, and as to +Martian meteorology there was no sign that it had anything whatever to +do with the obliteration. Long before the canals were dreamt of, +veiling by Martian clouds or mist had been considered the cause of +those changes in the planet’s general features, which are too extensive +and deep-toned wholly to escape observation even though none too +clearly seen. It was early evident to me that they were not the cause +of general topographic change, and equally clearly as inoperative in +those that affected the canals. In short, nothing extrinsic to the +canal caused its disappearance; whatever the change was, its action lay +intrinsic to the canal itself. + +On occasion canals in whole regions appeared to be blotted out. The +most careful scrutiny would fail to disclose them, where some time +before they had been perfectly clear. And this though distance was at +its minimum and definition at its best. Even the strongest marked of +the strange pencil lines would show at times only as ghosts of their +former selves, while for their more delicate companions it taxed one’s +faith to believe that they could ever really have existed. Illumination +was invoked to account for this, and plays a part in the effect +undoubtedly. For at plumb opposition the centre of the disk for two or +three years has shown less detail than before and after that event. +This is probably due not, as with the moon, to the withdrawal of +shadows, but to the greater glare to which the disk is then subjected. +But this is not the chief cause of the change. + +Still more striking and unaccountable was the fact that each canal had +its own times and seasons for showing or remaining hid. Each had its +entrances upon the scene and its exits from it. What dated the one left +another unaffected. The Nilokeras was to be seen when the Chrysorrhoas +was invisible, and the Jamuna perfectly evident when the Indus could +scarcely be made out. + +[Illustration: Showing seasonal change. + +I.] + +So much shows in the two drawings here reproduced. The increase of the +Ganges and the advent of the Chrysorrhoas are noticeable in the second +over the first. + +[Illustration: Showing seasonal change. + +II.] + +Seasonal changes seemed the only thing to account for the phenomena. +And in a general sense this was undoubtedly the explanation. To learn +more about the matter, to verify it if it existed, and to particularize +it if possible, I determined to undertake an investigation permitting +of quantitative precision in the case. A method of doing this occurred +to me which would yield results deserving of consideration from the +amount of data upon which each was based and capable of being compared +with one another upon an equal footing from which relative information +could be derived. It seemed wise to determine from the drawings the +degree of visibility of a given canal at different seasons of the +Martian year, and then to do this for every important canal during the +same period of time. The great number of the drawings suggested this +use to which they might be put. For from a great accumulation of data a +set of statistics on the subject could be secured in which accident or +bias would be largely eliminated and the telling effect of averages +make itself felt. + +To render this possible it was necessary that the drawings should be +alike numerous, consecutive, and extended in time. These conditions +were fulfilled by the drawings made by me at the opposition of 1903. +Three hundred and seventy-two drawings had then been secured, and they +covered between them a period of six months and a half. They were also +as consecutive as it was possible to secure. During a part of the +period the planet was seen and drawn at every twenty-four hours, from +April 5, namely, to May 26, or for forty-six consecutive days. Though +the rest of the time did not equal this perfection, no great gap +occurred, and one hundred and forty-three nights were utilized in all. +Furthermore, as these drawings were all made by one man, the personal +equation of the observer—a very important source of deviation where +drawings are to be compared—was eliminated. + +But even this does not give an idea of the mass of the data. For by the +method employed about 100 drawings were used in the case of each canal, +and as 109 canals were examined this gave 10,900 separate +determinations upon which the ultimate result depended. That each of +these determinations was independent of the others will appear from a +description of the method itself on which the investigation was +conducted. To understand that method one must begin a little way back. + +As the two planets, Mars and the Earth, turn on their axes the parts of +their surfaces they present to each other are constantly changing. For +a feature on Mars to be visible from a given post on earth, observer +and observed must confront each other, and, furthermore, it must be day +there when it is night here. But, as Mars takes about forty minutes +longer to turn than the Earth, such confronting occurs later and later +each night by about forty minutes, until finally it does not occur at +all while Mars is suitably above the horizon; then the feature passes +from sight to remain hidden till the difference of the rotations brings +it round into view again. There are thus times when a given region is +visible, times when it is not, and these succeed each other in from +five to six weeks, and are called presentations. For about a fortnight +at each presentation a region is centrally enough placed to be well +seen; for the rest of the period either ill-placed or on the other side +of the planet. + +If a marking were always salient enough it would appear in every +drawing made of the disk during the recurrent fortnights of its +display. If it were weaker than this, it might appear on some drawings +and not on others, dependent upon its own strength and upon the +definition at the moment, and we should have a certain percentage of +visibility for it at that presentation. While if it changed in strength +between one presentation and the next, the percentage of its recording +would change likewise. Definition of course is always varying, but if +its value be noted at the time of each drawing this factor may be +allowed for more or less successfully. Making such allowance, together +with other corrections to produce extrinsic equality, such as the +planet’s distance, which we need not enter upon here, we are left with +only the marking’s intrinsic visibility to affect the percentages; that +is, the percentages tell of the changes it has successively undergone +and give us a history of its wax and wane. + +From drawings accurately made it is possible to add to the accuracy of +the percentage by noting in each, not only the presence or absence of +the marking, but the degree of strength with which it is represented. +This was done on the final investigation in the present case, and it +was interesting to note how little difference it made in the result. + +The longitude of each canal was known, and the longitude of the central +meridian of each drawing was always calculated and tabulated with the +drawing, so that it was possible to tell which drawings might have +shown the canal. Only when the position of the canal was within a +certain number of degrees of the centre of the drawing (60°) was the +drawing used in the result, allowance being duly made for the loss upon +the phase side. Each drawing, it should be remembered, was as nearly an +instantaneous picture of the disk as possible. It covered only a few +minutes of observation, and was made practically as if the observer had +never seen the planet before. In other words, the man was sunk in the +manner. Such mental effacement is as vital to good observation as +mental assertion is afterward to pregnant reasoning. For a man should +be a machine in collecting his data, a mind in coördinating them. To +reverse the process, as is sometimes done, is not conducive to science. + +When the successive true percentages of visibility of a given canal had +thus been found, they were plotted vertically at points along a +horizontal line corresponding in distance from the origin to the number +of days after (or before) the summer solstice of the Martian northern +hemisphere. The horizontal distance thus measured the time while the +vertical height gave the relative visibility. The points so plotted +were then joined by a smooth curve. This curve reproduced the +continuous change in visibility undergone by the canal during the +period under observation. It gave a graphic picture of the canal’s +change of state. It seemed, therefore, proper to call it the canal’s +cartouche or sign manual. + +In this manner were obtained the cartouches of 109 canals. Now, as the +presence or absence of any canal in any drawing was entirely +irrespective of the presence or absence of another, each such datum +spoke only for itself, and was an entirely independent observation. The +whole investigation thus rested on 10,900 completely separate +determinations, each as unconditioned by the others as if it existed +alone. + +As every factor outside of the canal itself which could affect the +latter’s visibility was taken account of, and the correction due to it +as nearly as possible applied before the cartouches were deduced, the +latter represent the visibility of the canal _due to intrinsic change +alone_. In other words, they give not the apparent only but the real +history of the canal for the period concerned. + +Important disclosures result from inspection of the cartouches. This we +shall perceive by considering what different curves mean in the case. +If the canal were an unchangeable phenomenon, for any reason whatever, +its cartouche would be a _straight line parallel to the horizon_ of the +diagram. This is evident from the fact that the visibility would then +never vary. If, on the other hand, it were waxing and waning, and the +wax or wane were uniform, the cartouche would be a straight line +_inclined to the horizontal_; rising if the canal were increasing, +falling when it decreased. Lastly, if the rate of change itself varied, +the cartouche would be a curve concave or convex to the line denoting +the time, according as the rate of change of the growth or decay grew +greater or less. + +To see this the more clearly, we may set over against the cartouche the +canal character it signalizes:— + + Cartouche. Character. + + A horizontal straight line. Canal invariable. + A straight line tilted up on the right. Canal increasing steadily. + A straight line tilted up on the left. Canal decreasing steadily. + A curved line descending, concave from Canal decreasing, but more + above. and more slowly. + A curved line ascending, concave from Canal increasing, but more + above. and more rapidly. + A curved line descending, convex from Canal decreasing more and + above. more rapidly. + A curved line ascending, convex from Canal increasing more and + above. more slowly. + A curved line first descending, then Canal decreasing more and + ascending, concave from above more slowly to a minimum, + throughout. thence increasing + more and more rapidly. + A curved line first descending, then Canal increasing more and + ascending, convex from above more slowly to a maximum, + throughout. thence decreasing + more and more rapidly. + +If the cartouche first falls and then rises, this shows the canal to +have passed through a minimum state at the time denoted by the point of +inflection; if it rises first and falls afterward, this betokens in the +same way a maximum. Thus the cartouches reveal to us the complete +history of the canals,—what changes they underwent and the times at +which these occurred. The cartouche, then, is the graphic portrayal of +the canal’s behavior. It not only distinguishes at once between the +dead and the living, as we may call the effect of intrinsic change, but +it tells the exact character of this change,—the way it varied from +time to time, the epoch at which the development was at its minimum or +its maximum for any given canal, and lastly, its actual strength at any +time, thus giving its relative importance in the canal system. For the +height of the curve above the diagrammatic horizon marks the absolute +as well as the relative visibility and enables us to rank the canals +between themselves. + +Now, the first point it furnishes a criterion for is the real or +illusory character of the canals. If a line be due to illusion, whether +optical or physical, it can vary only from extrinsic cause, since it +has no intrinsic existence. If, therefore, all extrinsic cause be +allowed for, the cartouche of this ghost must needs be a _horizontal +straight line_. Even if the extrinsic factors to its production be +imperfectly accounted for, their retention could only cause systematic +variations from the straight line in all the lines, which would +themselves vary systematically, and these factors could therefore be +detected. + +This criterion is absolute. Unless all the cartouches were +approximately straight lines, no illusion theory of any kind whatever +could explain the facts. Even then the lines might all be real; for +unchangeable reality would produce the same effect on the cartouches as +illusion. In the case therefore of horizontal straight line cartouches, +we should have no guarantee on that score of reality or illusion; but, +on the other hand, curves or inclined straight lines in them would be +instantly fatal to all illusion theories. + +Turning now to the 109 cartouches obtained in 1903, the first point to +strike one’s notice is that all but three of them are curves and that +even these three must be accepted with a caveat. Here, then, the +cartouches dispose once and for all of any and every illusion theory. +They show conclusively that the canals are real objects which wax and +wane from some intrinsic cause. + +The second result afforded by the cartouches is not of a destructive, +negative character,—however valuable the destruction of bars to +knowledge may be,—but of a constructive, positive one. It does not, +like the first, follow from mere inspection, but is brought to light +only by comparison of all the cartouches. In a positive way, therefore, +its testimony is as conclusive as it was in a negative direction. For +that 10,900 separate and independent data should result in a general +law of development through either conscious or unconscious bias, when +those data would have to be combined in so complicated a manner for the +result to emerge as is here the case, is impossible. Chance could not +do it and consciousness would require a coördinate memory, to which +Murphy’s nine games of chess at once would be child’s play. + +Of the 109 canals examined 106 showed by their cartouches that they had +been during the whole or a part of the period in a state of change. But +the change was not the same for all. In some the minimum came early; in +others, late. Some decreased to nothing and stayed there; others +increased from zero and were increasing still at the time observations +closed. + +Latitude proved the means of bringing comparative order out of the +chaos. When the canals were ranged according to their latitude on the +planet, a law in their development came to light. To understand it, the +circumstances under which the canals were presented must be considered +as regards the then season of the planet’s year. In 1903 the planet +passed on February 28 through the point of its orbit where the summer +solstice of the northern hemisphere occurs. One hundred and twenty-six +days later took place the first snowfall in the arctic and subarctic +regions, an event that denoted the beginning of the new polar cap; from +which date the snow there gradually increased. Its autumnal equinox the +planet did not reach till August 29. Now, the canals were observed from +thirty-six days before the summer solstice of the northern hemisphere +to one hundred and forty-seven days after that event. We may tabulate +the dates as follows:— + + ================+===========+================ + DAY FROM | VERNAL | CORRESPONDING + SUMMER SOLSTICE | LONGITUDE | DATE ON EARTH + ----------------+-----------+---------------- + -30 | 77° | June 9 + 0 | 90° | June 22 + +30 | 103° | July 6 + +60 | 117° | July 20 + +90 | 131° | August 4 + +120 | 146° | August 20 + +150 | 162° | September 5 + ================+===========+================ + +The vernal longitude is the longitude of the planet in its orbit +reckoned from the vernal equinox. From the table it appears that the +cartouches cover the development of the canals from about June 6 to +September 1 of the Martian northern hemisphere for the current but to +us undated year, _ab Marte condita_. + +The 109 canals included all the more conspicuous canals on the planet +at that opposition, all those that lent themselves by the sufficient +frequency with which they were seen to a statistical result. They lay +spread all the way between the edge of the polar cap in latitude 87° +north to the extreme limit south, at which the then tilt of the north +pole toward the earth permitted of canal recognition. This southern +limit was in about latitude 35° south. Farther south than this vision +became too oblique, amounting as it did, with an adverse tilt of +twenty-five degrees to start with, to something over sixty degrees, for +detection of such fine markings to be possible. Between the two limits +thus imposed, by the perpetual snow on the one side and the +observational tilt on the other, the 109 canals were distributed by +zones as follows:— + + =================+===============+=========== + ZONE | LATITUDE | NUMBER OF + | | CANALS + -----------------+---------------+----------- + North Polar | 87° N.-78° N. | 1 + Arctic | 78° N.-66° N. | 9 + Sub-Arctic | 66° N.-51° N. | 9 + North Temperate | 51° N.-37° N. | 11 + North Sub-Tropic | 37° N.-24° N. | 18 + North Tropic | 24° N.-12° N. | 21 + North Equatorial | 12° N.- 0° N. | 14 + South Equatorial | 0° N.-12° S. | 17 + South Tropic | 12° S.-24° S. | 7 + South Sub-Tropic | 24° S.-37° S. | 2 + =================+===============+=========== + +As the latitude of a canal in the investigation was taken as that of +its mid-point, such being the mean value of its successive parts, the +latitudes about which information was obtained lay within the limits +given above, the most northern canal, the Jaxartes N having for its +mid-latitude 78° north, and the most southern, the Nectar, that of 27° +south. + +The zones comprised each a belt of territory about thirteen degrees +wide, the first being less solely because in part occupied by the +permanent polar cap. + +The curves of all the canals in a given zone have been combined into a +mean curve or cartouche for that zone; and then the cartouches for the +several zones have been represented and ranged according to latitude on +the accompanying plate. Consideration of these mean canal cartouches is +very instructive. In the first place not one of them is a straight +line, either horizontal or inclined. All are curves and, with the +exception of the top one, all show a minimum or lowest point during the +period under observation. From this point they rise with the time, or +to the right on the plate. A black star marks this minimum, and is +found farther and farther to the right as one goes down the plate; that +is, as one travels from the neighborhood of the arctic regions down to +the equator and then over into the planet’s southern hemisphere. +Drawing now a line approximately through the stars and remembering that +the minimum means the date at which the canal started to develop, we +see that the canal development began at the border of the north polar +cap and thence continued down the disk over the planet’s surface, as +far as observation permitted the surface to be seen, which was some +thirty-five degrees into the other hemisphere. This is the first broad +fact disclosed by the cartouches. + +[Illustration: _MEAN CANAL CARTOUCHES_ + +P.L.] + +Furthermore, the development took place at an approximately uniform +rate. This is shown by the fact that the line passing through the black +stars is approximately straight; for such straightness means that +progression down the disk as measured by the latitude bore throughout +the same ratio to the time elapsed. + +Looking at them again we notice that the three topmost cartouches, +those of the north polar, arctic, and sub-arctic canals respectively, +dip at the right before the end of the observations, while the other +seven were still rising when those observations were brought to a +close. A reason for this, or at least a significant coincidence, is to +be found in the dotted line pendent from the top of the table and +labelled “First Frosts.” This dotted line denotes the date at which the +first extensive frost occurred in the polar regions; for even before +this time patches of white had appeared north of the Mare Acidalium, +denoting the on-coming of the cold. The frost did not last but came and +went and came again just as it does on earth, growing more insistent +and long-lived at each fresh fall. Its sphere of operation was confined +to the three zones in question. Even these zones it by no means +covered, merely blotching them in places with fungi-like patches of +frost. Beyond them south it never extended during the period of the +observations; indeed, it hardly entered the sub-arctic zone at all at +this very beginning of the polar winter. For it was only August 20 +then. The coincidence of the isotherm as betrayed by the deposition of +frost with the dividing line between the canal-development curves that +dip down at this season and those that still continue to rise is +suggestive. + +It becomes all the more so when the three cartouches are considered +seriatim. The most polewards, the north polar one, had sunk to zero +sometime before the first extensive frost occurred; the second, the +arctic, did so later than its northern neighbor, probably just before +the epoch in question; while the third, practically outside the zone of +deposition, was behind both the others in its descent. Inspection of +the drawings upon which the cartouches are based confirms an inference +deduced from this: that it was cold that killed, not frost that +covered, them, which was responsible for their obliteration. The +drawings show that the canals ceased to be seen before the white +patches were evident. Now this would be the exact behavior of +vegetation. It would be killed, turned brown by freezing, and so +rendered invisible to us against its ochre desert background, before +the cold had grown intense enough to cover that ground with a solid +white carpet of frost. At the opposition of 1905, however, the extreme +northern canals were visible after the snow had covered all the country +about them, being evident as lines threading the new cap. + +These three cartouches furthermore show each a maximum, and what is +significant the maximum occurs later in time for each, according as the +zone lies remote from the pole. A red star marks this maximum and shows +that the time of greatest development for the three zones was +respectively:— + + 41 days after the summer solstice for the North Polar. + 61 days after the summer solstice for the Arctic. + 95 days after the summer solstice for the Sub-Arctic. + +We now pass to the other curves, those that were unaffected by cold. +Though in these the minima themselves show the law of latitudinal +progression, the wavelike character of the advance is even better +disclosed by the curves. As the eye follows them down the page, the +advance of the wave to the right is plainly apparent. The slope of the +wave is much the same for all, implying that a like force was at work +successively down the latitudes. + +It will be noticed next that in all the mean cartouches the gradient is +greater after the minimum than before it. The curves fall gently to +their lowest points and rise more steeply from them. Such profile +indicates that the effects of a previous force were slowly dying out +down to the minimum and that then an impulse started in to act afresh. +This explains the attitude of the canals that died out. In them the +effect of the old force shows as in the others, but no impulse came in +their case to resuscitation. + +It seems possible to trace this force to an origin at the south. For +beginning with the north sub-tropic zone the gradient on the left shows +less and less steep southward to the south sub-tropic zone. Such a +dying-down swell is what should be looked for in an impulse which had +travelled from the south northward, since the wave would affect the +more northern zones last, and less of a calm period would intervene +between the two impulses from opposite poles. + +The cartouches, then, state that the canals began to develop after the +greatest melting of the polar cap had occurred; that this development +proceeded down the latitudes to the equator, and then not stopping +there advanced up the latitudes of the other hemisphere. In the next +place they show that in the arctic region the development was arrested +and devolution or decay set in as it began to get cold there, the most +northern canals being affected first. Finally, that a similar wave of +evolution had occurred from the opposite pole some time before and had +then passed away. And this evidence of the cartouches is direct, and +independent of any theory. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + CANAL DEVELOPMENT + + _Individually Instanced_ + + +As an interesting instance of the law of development we may take the +career of the Brontes during this same Martian year; the Brontes +witnessing individually to the same evolutionary process that the +canals collectively exhibit. + +The Brontes is one of the most imposing canals upon the planet. It is +not so much its length which renders it a striking object, though this +length is enough to entitle it to consideration, being no less than +2440 miles. Its direction is what singles it out to notice, for it runs +almost north and south. For this reason it swings into a position to +hold the centre of the stage for a time with the precision of a +meridian, as the planet’s rotation turns its longitude into view. The +points which it connects help also to add to its distinction. For the +Sinus Titanum at its southern end and the Propontis at its northern are +both among the conspicuous points of the disk. The latter is but twelve +degrees farther east than the former, while it is sixty-six degrees +farther north. This long distance,—from nearly the line of the tropics +in the southern hemisphere to mid-temperate regions of the +northern,—the canal runs in an absolutely straight course. + +Its north and south character commends it for any investigation of +canal development, since it runs in the general direction that +development takes. Its great latitudinal stretch further fits it for a +recorder of changes sweeping down the disk; so that both in direction +and length it stands well circumstanced for a measure of latitudinal +variations. The fact that it is usually a fairly conspicuous canal does +not detract from its virtue in this respect. It was first recognized at +Flagstaff in 1894. But once realized, so to speak, it was possible to +identify it with a canal seen by Schiaparelli and supposed by him to be +the Titan; indeed, it played hide and seek with that canal throughout +his drawings. In 1894 both it and the Titan were so well seen that its +separate existence was unmistakable, causing it to be both recognized +and named. It is, like the Titan, one of the sheaf of canals descending +the disk from the Sinus Titanum, and lies just to the east of the Titan +in the bunch. In 1896 it was also prominent; and at both these +oppositions most so from its southern end, its northern one being more +or less indefinite, especially in 1894. + +In 1901 it was not the same. Instead of being the conspicuous canal it +had been in earlier years, it was now so faint as with difficulty to be +made out. It remained so to the close of observations. It was now under +suspicion. Its behavior in 1896-1897 had led to the supposition that +not only were seasonal changes taking place in it, but that those +changes were such as to point to a law in the case with which its +conduct in 1901 fayed in. The suspicion did not, however, become a +certainty till the opposition of 1903. The length of time during which +the disk was then kept under scrutiny resulted in the method of its +metamorphosis being discovered. + +[Illustration: I. February 25.] + +At the very start of observations its longitude chanced to be nearly +central and it was made out; but so far off was the planet that only +its northern part could be detected, because, as afterward appeared, +this part was the stronger, the canal being decidedly inconspicuous, +whereas other canals, the northern and even the Pallene and the Dis, +were strongly marked. At the next presentation the planet was nearer, +and details previously hidden for the distance now came out. Among them +was the Brontes, which, showing better than in January, could be traced +all the way to the Sinus Titanum. A drawing (I) made on February 25 and +reproduced in the text shows its appearance at the time. Its emergence +under neared conditions only served to accentuate its relative +inconspicuousness, for it showed now notably inferior to the northern +canals, and this not only in the matter of general visibility, but in +the character it displayed. It was a line of hazy definition, +contrasting thus with the sharp dark forms of its northern neighbors. + +[Illustration: II. March 30.] + +[Illustration: III. April 3.] + +As the planet steadily approached the earth, and the canals to the +north became better and better seen, the Brontes instead of sharing in +the general improvement did exactly the opposite. It grew less visible +when it should have grown more so, if distance had been the cause of +its appearance. It was now only to be seen at the north, even when it +was seen at all; a state of things exemplified in Drawings II and III. + +[Illustration: IV. May 4.] + +As the planet now went away and detail should have dimmed, the Brontes +proceeded to do the opposite. One had almost said it was actuated by a +spirit of contrariety. For now when it had reason to grow faint it grew +in conspicuousness; just as, before, when it should have become +evident, it had declined. Distinctly farther off and smaller as the +planet was at the next presentation, the Brontes had clearly developed +both in tone and in the amount of it visible. This was in May (Drawings +IV and V). In June bad seeing prevented good observations, but in July, +Drawing VI, when the region again came round, the Brontes, in spite of +the then greatly increased distance, asserted itself so strongly that +even in not very good seeing its presence could not be passed by. + +[Illustration: V. May 7.] + +This contrariety of behavior had about it one very telling feature. +That the canal waxed or waned in exact opposition to distance and even +toward the last to seeing too, showed conclusively that neither +distance nor definition could in any way be held responsible for its +metamorphoses. A very fortunate circumstance, this of the observations, +for it directly eliminated size of disk, phase, and seeing, for which +correction are none too easy to make, and which in the minds of the +sceptical could always remain as unexplained possibilities of error. + +[Illustration: VI. July 18.] + +The mean-canal cartouches show synthetically, and all the more +conclusively for being composite, the laws of the flux of the canals. +Something more of vividness, however, is imparted by the actual look of +one of the constituents during the process. It is the difference +between seeing a composite picture made from a given group of men and +the gazing on the actual features of any one of them. So much is gained +by the drawings across the page of the Brontes at different stages of +its evolution during the period here concerned. But in another way, +too, the one canal may be made to yield a more lifelike representation +of the process than a number taken together are capable of affording. +In the mean-canal cartouches each canal is treated as an entity; but it +is possible to consider a canal by parts, and by so doing to see it in +action, as it were. It occurred to me to treat the Brontes in this way. +For this purpose I divided the canal into sections, five of them in +all, between the point where it left the Propontis, at a spot called +the Propropontis, to where it ended in the Sinus Titanum. The first, +the most northern, extended as far as Semnon Lucus, the southernmost +outpost of the Propontis congeries of spots. The second continued on +from these to Eleon, the junction where the Erebus crossed. The third +thence to Utopia, where the canal met the Orcus; the fourth to an +arbitrary point in latitude 8° south, and the fifth and last to the +Sinus Titanum. The lengths of these sections were respectively: 12°, +16°, 15°, 12°, and 13°. Each of the sections was then treated as if it +were a separate canal and its cartouche found. To the cartouches’ +determination there were available drawings: + + January 21-25 12 drawings. + February 23-March 2 15 drawings. + March 28-April 5 14 drawings. + April 26-May 8 27 drawings. + June 3-16 6 drawings. + July 11-21 16 drawings. + ------------------- + 90 drawings in all. + +The cartouches are given in the plate opposite, which is constructed +precisely like the one for the mean canal cartouches presented on page +298. The mid-latitude of the section and its mid-longitude are given in +the margin with its description. + +[Illustration: BRONTES + +Showing Successive Development South + +_January to July, 1903_ + +P.L.] + +Examining them now we note a family resemblance between the successive +cartouches. All sink slowly on the left to rise sharply from their +lowest point to the right. Such resemblance betokens the action of one +and the same cause. + +Next, although the curves are resemblant, each has been, as it were, +sheered to the right as one reads down; that is, the action took place +later and later as the latitude was north. + +Lastly, the dying out of a previous impulse can be traced in the +cartouches, which shows that the canals were quickened six months +previously from the south polar cap, as they were now being quickened +from the north polar one. + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + + HIBERNATION OF THE CANALS + + +Connected with the conduct of the canals is a phenomenon, examples of +which were early noted in a general way by Schiaparelli and later, but +of which the full import and exhibition only came to light during the +opposition of 1903 by a very striking metamorphosis: what may be called +the hibernation of a canal for a longer or shorter term of years. What +observation discloses is certainly curious. For several successive +oppositions a canal will be seen in a definite locality, as regular in +seasonal recurrence as it is permanent in place, a well-recognized +feature of the disk. Then to one’s surprise, with the next return of +the planet, it will fail to appear, and will proceed to remain +obliterate without assignable cause for many Martian years, until as +unexpectedly it will be found what and where it was before. Neither to +deposition of hoar-frost, such as frequently whitens whole regions of +Mars, nor to other circumstances can be attributed its disappearance. +Without apparent reason it simply ceases to be and then as simply comes +back again. + +Such bopeep behavior is quite beyond and apart from the seasonal change +in visibility, to which all the canals are by their nature subject. For +being creatures of the semi-annual unlocking of the water congealed +about the polar caps, they quicken into growth and visibility, each in +its season, and as regularly die out again. Different, however, is the +phenomenon to which I now refer. In it not a seasonal but a secular +change is concerned. The season proper to the canal’s increase will +recur in due course, and the canals round about it will start to life, +yet the canal remains unquickened. Nothing responds where in years the +response was immediate and invariable. The canal lies dormant spite of +seasonal solicitation to stir. + +Such curious hibernation was early hinted to the keenness of +Schiaparelli, and most incomprehensible as well as difficult of +verification at that stage the phenomenon was. That the absence was a +fact, however, he assured himself, although he was not able to prove an +alibi. But at the last opposition an event of the sort occurred which, +from the length of time the planet was kept under observation, combined +with continued suitableness of the seeing, unmasked the process. In the +light of what then happened, taken in connection with the side-lights +thrown upon it by the canal’s past and by the knowledge we have +meanwhile gained of the planet’s physical condition, the riddle of the +phenomenon may in part at least be read, and most interesting and +instructive the reading proves to be. + +Among the initial canals detected by Schiaparelli, in 1877, was a +tricrural set of lines recalling the heraldic design of three flexed +legs joined equiangularly above the knees. It lay to the east of the +Syrtis Major, and he called its three members the Thoth, the Triton, +and the Nepenthes. Starting from the head of his gulf of Alcyonius, at +a point now known to be occupied by the oasis called Aquae Calidae, the +Thoth started south inclining westward as it went, till in longitude +267° and latitude 15° north, it met the Triton, which had come from the +Syrtis Minor with similar westward inclination. To the same point in +the same manner came the Nepenthes. Part way along the course of the +latter was to be seen a small dark spot, the Lucus Moeris, which he +estimated at four degrees in diameter. Some of the markings were easier +than others, the easiest of all being the Lucus Tritonis, a largish +dark spot at the common intersection of all three canals; but that none +of the markings were remarkably difficult is sufficiently shown by +their detection at this early stage of Schiaparelli’s observations. It +is worth noting also that he discovered the southern ones first; the +Thoth not being seen till March, 1878. As his then recognition of these +canals witnesses, they must have been among the most evident on the +disk. And the point is emphasized by the fact that he failed at this +opposition to detect the Phison and the Euphrates as separate markings. + +Much the same the three canals appeared to him at the next opposition +of 1879, the Thoth being seen at its several presentations from October +5, 1879, to January 11, 1880. + +At the next opposition a noteworthy alteration occurred, the full +significance of which escaped recognition. Schiaparelli saw, at the +place where the Thoth had been, two lines which he took for a +gemination of that canal, one of which followed the course of the old +Thoth, while the other went straight from the Sinus Alcyonius to the +Little Syrtis, or, more precisely, to the junction of the Triton and +the Lethes. It was not the Thoth, however, but something unsuspected, +of more importance. + +In 1884 the Thoth showed really double, the western line being much the +stronger, “una delle piu grosse linee que si vedessero sul disco.” That +neither branch went farther than the meeting-place with the Nepenthes +argues that it was indeed the Thoth that was seen. Schiaparelli himself +had no doubt on the subject, although he drew the double canal he saw +due north and south from the tip of the Sinus Alcyonius to the +junction, but nevertheless along the 263° meridian. + +In 1886 and 1888 the system was in all essentials, what it had been in +1877 and 1879, except that the Thoth and Nepenthes were double and were +more minutely seen. + +Here, then, was a system of canals and spots which for six Martian +years had been a persistent and substantially invariable feature of the +Martian surface. Any changes in it had been of a secondary order of +importance, while its general visibility was of the first. It is +possible, then, to judge of my perplexity when in beginning my +observations in 1894 no sign of the system could I detect. Of neither +the Thoth, the Triton, the Nepenthes, nor the Lucus Moeris was there +trace. And yet, from the other canals visible, it was evident that the +disk was quite as well seen as it had been by Schiaparelli. Not only +were practically all his canals there, but many much smaller ones were +to be made out. And the same was true of the spots, a host of such not +figured by him appearing here and there over the planet’s surface. + +Nor was this all. Instead of the Thoth, another canal showed straight +down the disk from the Syrtis Minor to the Aquae Calidae. This canal +was as unmistakable as the Thoth had been before to Schiaparelli. It +was among the first to be detected, and continued no less conspicuous +to the end, the dates at which it was seen being July 10, August 14, +and October 21. I called it the Amenthes, identifying it with the canal +so named in Schiaparelli’s chart published in _Himmel und Erde_, of the +_ensemble_ of his observations from 1877 to 1888. But in his Memoirs he +never called it so, seeing it, indeed, only in 1881-1882, and deeming +it then the Thoth. Nevertheless, in 1894, it was the conspicuous canal +of the region, and, what is more, had come, as it proved, to stay. + +The invisibility of the Thoth continued for me the same during the +succeeding oppositions of 1896-1897 and 1901. At the former opposition +I drew it in 1896 on July 28, August 26, September 2, October 5-9, +seeing it single; and in 1897 on January 12-19, February 21, and March +1. It was single but with suspicions of doubling in January, and was +indubitably double in February. As for the Thoth, I had come to +consider it and the Amenthes one, attributing their diversity of +depiction to errors in drawing. For while the Thoth remained +obstinately invisible, the Amenthes presented itself as substitute so +insistently as to make one of the most obvious canals upon the disk. + +One exception only was there to this state of things. On June 16, 1901, +my notes contain this adumbration of a something else: “Amenthes +sometimes appeared with a turn to it two-thirds way up; two canals +concave to the Syrtis Major.” + +[Illustration: Amenthes alone in February.] + +So matters opened at the opposition of 1903. With the advent of the +planet and the presentation in due course of Libya in February, the +Amenthes duly appeared, much as it had showed at the opposition before, +only less salient. It was a confused and seemingly narrower double. +Suspected on the 16th of that month, it was definitely seen from the +18th to the 23d. Of the Thoth no mention is made either in the notes or +in the drawings. When the region came round again, in March, the +Amenthes was still there, showing more feebly, however, than it had in +February, in spite of better seeing and the fact that the planet had +considerably neared. Clearly the canal was fading out; a fact further +witnessed to by the following note made on March 25: “Throughout this +opposition thus far the dark triangle tipped by Aquae Calidae has been +sharply divided in intensity from the Amenthes, which is very narrow +and exceedingly faint.” Still was there no trace of the Thoth. + +[Illustration: Amenthes feebler and still alone in March.] + +With the April presentation entered a new order of things. When the +region first became visible, on the 16th, the Amenthes could still be +seen and alone; but on the 19th, as the relative falling back of the +Martian longitudes swung the region nearer the centre of the disk, the +Thoth appeared alongside of it. On the 20th the Thoth showed alone. +Unmistakable it was and just as Schiaparelli had drawn it, accompanied +by the Triton and the curved Nepenthes. The thing was a revelation. +What before I had seen only in the spirit of another’s drawings stood +there patent to me in the body of my own; while the Amenthes, to which +I had so long been accustomed, had vanished into thin air. Only a trace +of it was now and then to be made out. So startlingly strange was the +metamorphosis that I could not at first trust my eyes, and questioned +the broken line, which had replaced the straight, for some ocular +deception. But nothing I could do would rectify it. The Amenthes was +gone and the Thoth stood in its stead. + +[Illustration: Appearance of Thoth with Triton and curved Nepenthes. +Amenthes vanished. April 20.] + +At the next presentation, May 26 to June 8, the phenomena were +repeated, and with increasing clarity. And then of a sudden, on May 29, +I saw the long-given-up Lucus Moeris. There it was indubitably. And its +definiteness was the most astonishing part of the affair. It was no +question of difficult detection. Indeed, I had not been on the lookout +for it, having searched the region too often fruitlessly before to have +left incentive to search again. And so, when I was not searching, the +thing of its own accord stepped forth to sight. It was a small round +dot, like to any other oasis, and showed, as it were, a black pearl +pendent by the Nepenthes from the Syrtis’s ear. For the Libyan bay made +a dark projection of the sort high up on the Syrtis’s eastern side, +from which the Nepenthes, precisely as Schiaparelli had drawn it, +curved down to the point where the Thoth and Triton met. All three +canals were geminated, the gemination being about three degrees wide. + +[Illustration: Advent of the Lucus Moeris. May 29.] + +And now occurred the last act in the drama. In July the Amenthes +reappeared, showing alongside of the Thoth-Nepenthes, and thus removing +any possible doubt as to their separate identity. It had, indeed, +become the stronger of the two, having gained in strength in the +interval between June and July and the Thoth-Nepenthes having lost. The +lines were in process of relapsing into the _status quo ante_. Had +these three presentations not been watched, the brief apparition of the +Thoth-Nepenthes had been missed and with it the revealing of its +curious character, and of certain deductions thereupon. + +[Illustration: Amenthes with Thoth-Nepenthes. July.] + +First among these is a truth of which I have long been convinced; to +wit, that when a seeming discordance arises between the portrayals of a +canal, it is commonly not a case of mistake nor of change, but one of +separate identity. The canal has not shifted its place, nor has an +error been committed; the fact is that one canal has been observed at +one time, another at another. + +So it was here, and thus were the old and the new observations +reconciled. There had been no mistake in either. Two separate canals +accounted for the discrepancy, and only an unfounded distrust of the +accuracy possible in such observations was to blame for any failure to +recognize the fact. + +Now, scrutiny of the notes upon the appearance of the two canals, +together with their labeling by the seasonal longitudes of the planet +at the dates they were made, discloses a curious relation between the +two. The seasonal longitudes are important, as they date the phenomena +according to the Martian calendar. Ordered thus, the successive aspects +reveal first a seasonal change in each canal and then over and above +this a secular one. And this secular change was such as to cause the +two canals to alternate in visibility. When the one was present the +other was not, and _vice versa_. + +[Illustration: + +CARTOUCHES + +OR + +CURVES OF VISIBILITY + +OF + +AMENTHES, THOTH AND THEIR COMBINATION.] + +We shall see this more clearly and at the same time bring out a curious +relation between the two systems, the broken bow of the +Thoth-Nepenthes-Triton and the straight arrow of the Amenthes, while +looking at the cartouches of the Thoth, the Amenthes, and a combination +of both given in the plate on previous page. + +The antithetical character of the two canals is apparent. But what is +further interesting, the combination cartouche of both bears a singular +resemblance to that of the mean canal of the north tropic zone, the +zone to which both canals belong. Here, then, is a combination which is +perfectly regular while each of its constituents is anomalous. + +And now we come to something as important: at the opposition of 1905 +the curious alternation metamorphosis was enacted anew. The Amenthes +appeared, disappeared to be replaced by the Thoth, and then reappeared +again beside the other. This corroboration of behavior showed the +previous observations to have been due to no mistake, and only served +to deepen the interest in this last and more singular phase of canal +conduct. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI + + ARCTIC CANALS AND POLAR RIFTS + + +Last in time but not least in importance of the details of canal +development to be detected is one that connects these strange features +directly with the melting of the polar caps. The cartouches showed that +such connection was to be inferred; the facts now to be recorded depict +it by an identity of place between certain phenomena of the two +subjects following one another in order of time. + +On January 8, 1897, while scanning the planet, I was suddenly ware of a +rift in the north polar cap. It ran a little to the west of south from +where it started in at the cap’s edge and went clean through to the +limb, the pole being then slightly tilted away from us. At the time it +seemed to be the first rift ever seen in that cap; but on opening a +little later Schiaparelli’s _Memoria Quarta_, which had just arrived, +the first thing my eye fell on was a drawing of a rift in the north +polar cap observed by him when the planet had held the like attitude +toward the Earth thirteen years before. Reference to its longitude +showed it to be the identical rift, seen again after all these years +and the only one so far seen in the northern cap. + +At the next opposition more rifts were detected, one in especial on +December 27, running from Arethusa Lucus, then upon the edge of the +cap, athwart the snow in a northwesterly direction. + +In the forepart of the opposition of 1901, which in its Martian season +corresponded to that in 1897, when the rift had been observed, many +rifts were detected in the cap, and among them one traversing the cap +north-northeasterly in longitude 136°. + +So far the season when the cap had been observed was that when the +rifts were in process of forming. The ground they and the snow-cap +covered had not yet at any opposition been uncovered. + +It was only when my observations began in the latter half of the +opposition of 1901 that, the season on Mars having so far advanced, all +snow in those latitudes had melted. Then appeared, however, the canal +Hippalus, an arctic canal of some importance, lying on that part of the +planet previously occupied by the polar cap. When later studying the +observations on the rifts I remembered this canal, and turning to the +drawing made some months before to compare the two critically, +discovered that the canal occupied the precise position held earlier by +the rift. One had said the rift had never vanished, but that the white +surrounding it had simply turned to ochre. Here, then, was a striking +coincidence of place, too exact to be the result of chance. + +Impressed by the identity, I examined all the other rifts seen early in +1901, comparing them with the arctic canals seen later, to the finding +of no less than five cases of the same coinciding positions. + +The importance of the identification here made of an arctic canal with +a previous rift in the polar cap has led me to make a list of the +canals thus identified at this opposition. + + ==========+===========================+============================= + | VISIBLE AS A RIFT | VISIBLE AS A CANAL + ----------+---------------------------+----------------------------- + Hypanis | January 1 and February 4 | April 18 (?), May 20, 22, + | | 27, June 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 25 + Hippalus | January 19 and February 4 | April 18, May 27 + Rhombites | February 4 | May 27 + Python | February 20 | March 31 + Zygatis | January 18, 19 | May 7, June 3 to 8 + ==========+===========================+============================= + +If it be asked why these canals do not appear recorded at the March +presentation as either the one phenomenon or the other, the answer is +twofold. First, because they showed as shadings lost amidst a shaded +mass; and, secondly, the observations at several oppositions indicate a +great amount of haze over the region at that season of the Martian year. + +We may now go back to the very first rift, that of 1897. The Martian +season grew later with each succeeding opposition, and it so chanced, +abetted by this fact, that the delaying snow was never seen covering +that part of the planet again and so, of course, not the rift. The +Martian summer in those high latitudes came on, and with it brought the +great arctic canal, the Jaxartes, into conspicuousness. The canal in +consequence had been observed for some time before it proclaimed itself +the apotheosis of a rift and that of the first and most important rift +of all. Comparison of position, however, entirely confirmed the +conjecture and added another and the most striking of all to the list. + +These six canals, on the whole the largest which run into the northern +cap, have thus a dual character. Starting originally as rifts, they +later come out unmistakably as canals. So that we may say in general +that the two phenomena are different seasonal states of the same thing. +This instantly explains the rifts, the origin of which we found of so +difficult, not to say impossible, interpretation before in these pages, +and incidentally it confirms what we deduced on other grounds as the +character of the canals; to wit, strips of vegetation. For if the cap +covered desert and fertility alike, it is precisely over the latter +that it would first melt. + +Vegetation has the property of melting snow. The metabolism of the +plant, like that of the animal, though in a less degree, generates +caloric. A living animal is warm, even the so-called cold-blooded ones, +in some sort, and a growing plant is too. The chemic processes +concerned give off heat, though in such small quantities that we are +often not aware of it. While the plant lies dormant it stays cold, but +the moment its sap begins to run under the rays of the spring sun it +rises in temperature above its winter surroundings. All it needs to +this awakening is sun and water, and both it gets in its place in the +polar cap after the passing of the vernal equinox. The time, therefore, +is suitable, for it is not till after that equinox is passed that any +of the above phenomena occur. In consequence the snow about it melts +and the plants themselves show as dark rifts splitting the cap. + +This quite unexpected identity of two seemingly diverse phenomena, and +the unsolicited support its only explanation lends to the general +theory, is an instance of what is constantly occurring as observation +of the planet is pushed farther and farther. Facts every little while +arise which prove to fit into place in the scheme when neither the +facts nor their fitness could have been foreseen. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII + + OASES: KINEMATIC + + +Subject to change also are the oases; and in the same manner apparently +as the canals. They grow less evident at a like season of the Martian +year. They do this seemingly by decreasing in size. Whereas in the full +expanse of their maturity they show as round spots of appreciable +diameter, as the season wanes they contract to the smallest discernible +of dots. All but the kernel, as it were, fades out, and even this may +disappear from sight. The Phœnix Lake in its summer time is a very dark +circular spot, small indeed yet of definite extension; in its winter it +shrinks to a pin point, and is often not visible at all. Sometimes the +husk apparently persists, a ghostlike reminiscence of what it was, with +the kernel showing dark-pointed in its centre. Thus the Lucus Lunae +appeared at the opposition of 1905. A faint wash betokened the presence +of the Lucus, through which now and again a black pin-point pierced. + +In this visible decrease of size we get a revelation as to what takes +place impossible in the case of the canals, the tenuous character of +which precludes more than inference as to the process. + +Like the canals, latitude, together with the suitable season of the +planet’s year, are the determining factors in their development. In +what corresponded to our July of the northern hemisphere the oases in +the sub-arctic and north temperate zones were conspicuous; black spots +that showed in profusion along the parallels of 40°, 50°, and 60° +north. At the same time the equatorial ones, those along the +Eumenides-Orcus, which had been most evident in 1894, hardly came out. +It had been their time then as it was that of the others now. The law +of development is not so simple as on the earth, depending, like that +of the canals, not only upon the return of the sun, but upon the advent +of the water let loose from about the polar caps. Thus the equatorial +oases are subject to two seasonal quickenings, one from the north, the +other from the south. + +In regard to their method of evolution or devolution a most curious +observation happened to me in 1903. Usually the oases are of solid tone +throughout; equally sombre from centre to circumference. But in this +case such uniform complexion found exception. On March 1, 1903, the +Ascraeus Lucus came out strangely differentiated, a dark rim inclosing +a less dark kernel. The sight was odd enough to command comment in the +shape of a sketch which accompanied the note, and the further remark +that other spots had similarly that year affected the like look. That +the effect was optical did not seem to me the case. Other spots at +other times showed nothing of the sort. If it was due to objective +cause it gathers circumstance from what was then the Martian time of +year. For the season was such that the spot should then have been in +process of waning; and the effect would indicate that in so doing the +tone of the centre went first, that of the circumference fading last. +This would be in accordance with a growth proceeding outward and a +decay that followed in its steps. + +When to this we add the look of the oases at the antithetic +season,—often a faint shading only, with or without a darker pin-point +at its core,—we are led to the belief that the area of the oasis is +unchangeable and that its growth means a deepening of tint. + +So far, then, as it is possible to particularize them, the oases +develop from a small nucleus, perhaps twenty miles in diameter, perhaps +less, and from this spread radially till they attain a width of +seventy-five or one hundred miles. If the oasis be associated with a +double canal, this maximum width exactly fits the space between the +twin lines. Even when no double enters the oasis, the size is about the +same. This size attained, they hold it for some months. Then they +proceed to fade out to their initial nucleus, and after a sufficient +rest the process starts over again. + +With the carets something of the same sort seems to take place—if we +may consider as betokening a general law the fact that in 1894 the +carets at the mouths of the Phison and Euphrates developed before their +affiliated canals. But about them much less is yet known, and we must +be content to say that the observations of 1905 made at the opposite +season of the canal’s year seem to bear this out. + + + + + PART IV + + EXPLANATION + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII + + CONSTITUTION OF THE CANALS AND OASES + + +As rational science does not rest content with raw results, it now +becomes obligatory, by marshaling the facts to suitable discussion, to +seek to find out what they mean. Now, so soon as we scan these +phenomena for some self-interpretation, we perceive one characteristic +of the lines which at once appears to direct us to their nature and +justifies itself as a signpost with increasing certainty as we read on. +This trait is the very simple yet most significant one of showing +intrinsic change: the lines alter in visibility with time. This primary +proclivity we do not even need the cartouches to establish. That the +lines change is palpable to any one who will watch them long enough. +Schiaparelli was struck by the fact early in his study of the planet, +and it forces itself on the notice of any careful observer who compares +his own observations with one another at intervals. But though the +cartouches are not needed to a first revelation of mutability, they +serve to certify and precise it to much further information on the +subject. For, that these changes are not extrinsic, that is, are not +caused by varying definition, distance, or illumination, they make +patent even to those who have never seen the things themselves by +disclosing respective differences of behavior in lines similarly +circumstanced optically. The change is therefore intrinsic, and the +question arises to what can such intrinsic change be due. + +In searching for cause, attention is at once attracted by another +series of transmutations that manifests itself upon the disk, in the +orderly melting of the polar caps. For the existence of the two sets of +metamorphoses suggests the possibility of a connection between them. +The inference is strengthened when we note that not only are both +periodic, but that furthermore the period of the two is the same. Each +polar cap runs through its gamut of change in a Martian year; the +canals also complete their cycle of growth and decay in a Martian +twelvemonth. The only difference between the two is that each polar cap +has but one maximum and one minimum in the course of this time, while +most of the canals have two of each, though the maxima are not alike +nor the minima either. + +Not only is the period of the two series of changes the same, but the +one follows the other. For the development of the canals does not begin +till the melting of the polar cap is well under way. Now, as the polar +cap disintegrates it gives rise, as we have seen, to a dark belt of +blue-green which fringes its outer edge and retreats with it as it +shrinks. This tells, directly or indirectly, of a product let loose. +After this belt has been formed the canals nearest to it proceed to +darken, then those a little farther off follow suit, and so the wave of +visibility rolls in regular routine down the disk. Here, then, at the +outset we have a chronic connection between the two phenomena, the +disintegration of the cap and the integration of the canals. + +Of water we saw that the caps were undoubtedly composed, and to water, +then, let loose by the melting of the cap, we may inferably ascribe the +thaumaturgy in the development of the canals. But it is not necessary +to suppose that this is done directly. That the increased visibility of +the canals can be due to a bodily transference of water seems doubtful, +if for no other reason than the delay in the action. Considerable time +intervenes between the disappearance of the cap and the appearance of +the canals, except in the case of such as have been covered by it. +Transformation consequent upon transference, however, would account for +hesitancy. A quickening to vegetal growth would produce the counterpart +of what we see. If, set free from the winter locking up, the water +accumulated in the cap then percolated equatorward, starting vegetation +in its course, this would cause the increased visibility of the canals +and at the same time explain the seeming delay, by allowing for the +time necessary for this vegetation to sprout. This is certainly the +most satisfactory explanation of the phenomena. + +Thus started, the vegetal quickening would pass down the planet’s +surface and give rise to what we mark as seasonal change. But, though +in one sense of seasonal character, a little consideration will show +that it would be quite unlike the seasonal change which we know on +earth. + +Could we see our earth from some standpoint in space, we should mark, +with the advent of spring, a wave of verdure sweep over its face. If +freedom from cloud permitted of an unimpeded view, this flush of waking +from winter’s sleep would be quite evident and could be seen to spread. +Starting from the equator so soon as the sun turned north, it, too, +would travel northward, and, distancing the sun, arrive by midsummer +well into the arctic zone. Here, then, we should note, much as we note +it on Mars, a tint of blue-green superpose itself successively upon the +ochre ground; but the mundane and the Martian vegetal awakening would +differ in one fundamental respect; the earthly wave would be seen to +travel from equator to pole, while the Arian travels from pole to +equator. Though clearly seasonal in character, both of them, the +transformations would be opposite in action. Some other cause, then, +must be at work from what we are familiar with on earth. This other +cause is the presence or absence of moisture. + +Two factors are necessary to the begetting of vegetal life, the raw +material and the reacting agent. Oxygen, nitrogen, water, and a few +salts make up the first desideratum, the sun supplies the second. +Unless both be present, the quickening to life never comes. Now, the +one may be there and the other not, or the other there and the one not. +On earth the material including water is, except in certain destitute +localities, always present; the sun it is that periodically withdraws. +Observant upon the return of the sun is therefore the annual recurrence +of vegetal growth. + +On Mars, on the contrary, water is lacking. This we now know +conclusively from other phenomena the disk presents which have no +connection with the present investigation and are, therefore, +unprejudiced witnesses to the fact. No permanent bodies of water stud +its surface. That the so-called seas are traversed by dark lines +permanent in place is one of several proofs of this. The only surface +water the planet knows comes from the melting of its polar caps. +Vegetation cannot start until this water reaches it. Consequently, +though the sun be ready, vegetation must wait upon the coming of the +water, and starting from near the pole follow the frugal flood +equatorward. + +[Illustration: PHENOLOGY CURVES—EARTH. + +* = Dead Point of Vegetation. + +(From paper in _Proc. Amer. Phil. Soc._, by Percival Lowell.)] + +[Illustration: PHENOLOGY CURVES—MARS. + +* = Dead Point of Vegetation. + +(From paper in _Proc. Amer. Phil. Soc._, by Percival Lowell.)] + +Now, such contrariety of progression to what we should observe in the +case of the earth could we view it from afar is exactly what the curves +of visibility of the canals exhibit. Timed primarily, not to the return +of the sun but to the advent of the water, vegetal quickening there +follows, not the former up the latitudes but the latter down the disk. +For better understanding, the two curves of phenological quickening, +the mundane and the Martian, are shown in the diagrams. The plates +represent the surfaces of the two planets, that of the earth being +shown upside down with south at the top so as to agree with the +telescopic depiction of the topography of Mars. The stars mark the +epoch of the dead-point of vegetation at successive latitudes; the time +increasing toward the right. The curves, it will be noticed, are bowed +in opposite ways. The bowed effect is due in part to Mercator’s +projection; in part it may represent a real decrease in speed with +time. But what is strikingly noticeable is the opposite character of +the advance to the right, the one curve running up the disk, the other +down it. This shows that the development of vegetation proceeded in +opposite directions over the surface. + +Thus is the opposed action upon the two planets accounted for, and we +are led to the conclusion that the canals are strips of vegetation fed +by water from the polar caps, and that the floral seasons there as +affecting the canals are conditioned, not as they would be with us, +directly upon the return of the sun, but indirectly so through its +direct effect upon the polar snows. + +Once adventured on the idea of vegetation, we find that it explains +much more than the time taken by the wave of canal-development down the +disk. It accounts at once for the behavior of the canals in the three +northern zones: the polar, arctic, and sub-arctic. The mean cartouches +of these three zones dip down at their latter end instead of rising +there, as is the case with the cartouches of the mean canals farther +south. This dip denotes that the most northern canals were waning +already by the middle of their August, though the others showed no such +tendency; while the date of the deposition of the frost in these +northern latitudes shows that they were started upon their course +toward extinction before the snow itself had covered them. In other +words, they were not obliterated but snuffed out. That their decline +was thus preparatory to the coming of the first snowfall or frost-fall, +sufficiently severe to whiten the ground so that it did not melt the +next day, is suggestive of their constitution. It is clear that they +were not abruptly cut off by the frost, but were timed by nature to +such extinction. Vegetation would behave in just this way, since +evolution would accommodate the career of a plant to its environment. + +The first question to present itself chronologically in the canals’ +annual history is connected with the size of the cap. Unfortunately for +the simplicity of the phenomena, the cap is not an extensionless source +of flow, but an extended surface melting from the outer edge in. It +would seem, therefore, that water liberated from the outer parts should +have an effect before the main body of it were ready to begin its +general march down the disk. There should be, one would think, at least +a partial action, locally, before the main action got under way. Now, +there are certain canals that show cartouches increasing apparently +from the time observations began, and the most pronounced is the +Jaxartes, which lies of all the canals observed the farthest north. +Now, the cartouches were founded on canals quickened from the north +polar cap. The farther north the canal, therefore, the greater the +likelihood of its showing the phenomena. + +That we note such canals is therefore not only not subversive, but +actually corroboratory, of the law it seems at first to shake. That all +the canals of these zones do not show a like cartouche-profile is not +necessary, a part of them being dependent, not upon the earlier, but +upon the later liberated flow, and thus partaking in the general law, +which grows uniform lower down the latitudes. + +As the action from one polar cap proceeds, not only down to the +equator, but across it into the planet’s other hemisphere, it appears +that much, at least, of the surface of Mars has two seasons of vegetal +growth, the one quickened of the north polar cap, the other of the +southern. How far the polar spheres of action overlap it is not +possible at present to affirm, as the canals at this opposition were +only visible to 35° south latitude. That the north polar quickening +goes down so far is vouched for, and it is probable from other observed +phenomena that it goes farther. + +The alternate semi-annual quickening also discloses itself directly in +the cartouches; the previous semestral growth from the south polar cap +actually showing in them before the impulse from the north began. The +slow falling of their curves to the minimum preceding their later rise +is nothing less than the dying out of the effect started six months +before from the south. The gentler gradient of their fall proclaims a +gradual lapse, just as the subsequent sharper rise points to the advent +of a fresh impulse. And this deduction seems to be borne out by another +circumstance. There is some evidence of decrease in the pre-minimal +gradient southward. This is telling testimony to the source whence the +impulse came. For if it originated at the south and traveled northward, +the southern canals would be the first to be affected and the first to +die out, and thus show a longer dead season, exhibited in the +cartouches as a more level stretch. + +Lastly, the explanation of the canals as threads of vegetation fays in +with the one which has been found to meet the requirements of the +blue-green areas; while the fact that they prove to develop as they do, +reversely to what would take place on earth, is exactly what all we +have latterly learnt about the surface conditions of the planet would +lead us to expect. + +From what has just been said we see that the latest observations at +Flagstaff confirm the earlier ones, and, what is especially +corroborative, they do so along another line. The former were chiefly +static, the latter kinematic. In other words, the behavior of the +canals in action bears out the testimony of their appearance at rest. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX + + LIFE + + +Study of the fundamental features of Martian topography has disclosed, +as we have seen, the existence of vegetation on the planet as the only +rational explanation of the dark markings there, considered not simply +on the score of their appearance momentarily, but judged by the changes +that appearance undergoes at successive seasons of the Martian year. +Thus we are assured that plant life exists on the planet. We are made +aware of the fact in more ways than one, but most unanswerably for that +trait to which vegetation owes its very name,—its periodic quickening +to life. Thus the characteristic which has seemed here most distinctive +of this phase of the organic, so that man even christened it in +accordance, has proved equally telltale there. + +Important as a conclusion this is no less pregnant as a premise. For +the assurance that plant life exists on Mars leads to a further step in +extramundane acquaintance of far-reaching import. It introduces us at +once to the probability of life there of a higher and more immediately +appealing kind, not with the vagueness of general analogy, but with the +definiteness of specific deduction. For the presence of a flora is +itself ground for suspecting a fauna. + +Of a bond connecting the two we get our first hint the moment we look +inquiringly into the world about us, that of our own earth. Common +experience witnesses to a coexistence which grows curious and +compelling as we consider it. For it is not confined to life of any +special order, but extends through the whole range of organisms of both +kinds from the lowest to the highest. Algæ and monera, orchid and +mammal, occur side by side and with a certain considerate poverty or +richness, as the case may be. Luxuriance in the one is matched by +abundance in the other; while a scanty flora means a poor fauna. This +of which we have been aware in regions round about us from childhood +grows in universality as we explore. Wherever man penetrates out of his +proper sphere he finds the same dual possession of the land or the sea, +and a similar curtailing or expanding of both tenantries together. No +mountain top so cold but that if it grow plants, it supports insects +and animals, too, after its kind; no desert so arid but that creeping +things find it as possible a habitat as life that does not stir. Even +in almost boiling geysers animalcula and confervæ share and share +alike. Only where extreme conditions preclude the one do they equally +debar the other. + +Proceeding now from the fact to its factors we perceive reasons for +this tenure in common of the land by the vegetal and animal kingdoms. +Examination proves the two great divisions of the organic to be +inextricably connected. It strikes our notice first in the relation of +plants to animals. It is of everyday notoriety that animals eat plants, +though it is less universally understood that in the ultimate they +exist on nothing else. Plants furnish the food of animals; not as a +matter of partial preference but of fundamental necessity. For the +plant is the indispensable intermediary in the process of metabolism. +Without plants animals would soon cease to exist, since they are unable +to manufacture their own plasm out of the raw material offered by +inorganic nature. They must make it out of the already prepared plasm +of plants or out of other animals who have made it from plants. So that +in the end it all comes back to plant production. The plant is able to +build its plasm out of chemical substances; the animal cannot, except +in the case of the nitro-bacteria, begin thus at the lowest rung of the +alimentary ladder. + +But the converse of this dependence is also largely true. Plants are +beholden to animals for processes that in return make their own life +possible. The latter minister to the former with unconscious service +all the time, and with no more arrogant independence than do our +domestics generally nowadays. The inconspicuous earthworm is the +fieldhand of nature’s crops, who gets his own living by making theirs. +Without this day and night laborer the soil for want of stirring had +remained less capable of grass. Above ground it is the same story. +Deprived of the ministrations of insects many kinds of plants would +incontinently perish. By the solicited visits of bees and other +hymenoptera—what generically may be classed by the layman as +flutter-bys—is the plant’s propagation made possible. Peculiarly well +named, indeed, are the hymenoptera, seeing that they are the great +matrimonial go-betweens, carrying pollen from one individual to another +and thus uniting what otherwise could not meet. Spectacular as this +widespread commerce is, it forms but portion of the daily drama in +which animals and plants alike take part. From forthright bargainings +of honey for help, we pass to less direct but no less effective +alliance where plants are beholden to animals for life by the killing +of their enemies or the weeding-out of their competitors, and from this +to generic furtherance where the interdependence becomes broadcast. In +the matter of metabolism the advantage is not all upon one side. In the +katabolic process of that which each discards are the two classes of +life mutually complimentary,—the waste of the one being the want of +the other,—carbonic acid gas being given off by the animal, oxygen by +the plant. In biologic economy it is daily more demonstrable that both +are necessary constituents to an advancing whole, and that each pays +for what it gets by what it gives in return. + +That they are thus ancillary as well as coexistent today leads us to +confront for them a community of origin in the past; and further study +confirms the inference. Both paleontology and entomology, or the +science of the aged and the science of the young, prove such ancestry +to be a fact. By going back from the present into the past, or, what +amounts to substantially the same thing, by descending in the scale of +life to the lowest known forms of organism, we find proof of +concomitance, cogent because congenital. At the time when inorganic +chemical compounds first passed by evolution into organic ones, the +change was of so general a character that even such tardy +representatives of it as survive today tax erudition to tell to which +of the two great kingdoms they belong, the vegetal or the animal. +Simplest and most primitive of known organisms are the chromacea, +unnucleated single cells as Haeckel has shown, and next to them in +order come many of the bacteria, also of simple unnucleated plasm. So +little do the majority of the bacteria differ morphologically from the +chromacea, that on the score of structure the two are not to be +catalogued apart. Both are as elemental as anything well can be, which +only their diet serves to divide. Each is an organism without organs, +thus belying the dictionary definition of both animals and plants. +Etymologically they are not organic yet manifestly are alive, and only +in their action are unlike. The chromacea are plasm-forming beings, and +therefore they are plants; the bacteria are plasm-eating beings, and so +are animals. Even this distinction is not always preserved. As Haeckel +tells us: “the nitro-bacteria which dwell in the earth having the +vegetal property of converting ammonia by oxidation into nitrous acid +and this into nitric acid, using as their source of carbon the carbonic +acid gas of the atmosphere. They feed, like the chromacea, on simple +inorganic compounds.” Here, then, we have, close to the threshold of +organic life, unorganized organisms, roughly speaking coeval and +differing in a sense but little, either of them, from inorganic +crystals; and yet the one is an animal, the other a plant. Progenitors +of the two great divisions of life, they were themselves concomitantly +evolved, either side by side or as offshoots both of a common stock. +Now, if the ancestors of the two great organic kingdoms were thus +simultaneously produced here, we are warranted in believing that they +would similarly be produced elsewhere, given conditions suitably alike. +In consequence, if we detect the presence of the one, we already have +an argument for inferring the other. Not to complete our syllogism +would be to flaunt a lack of logic in nature’s face. + +Rationally viewed, then, the general problem of life in other worlds +reduces itself to a question of conditions. Since certain physical +results follow inevitably upon certain physical premises, if we can +assure ourselves of the proper premises we may look to nature for their +conclusion. _A priori_, then, the possibility of life becomes one of +habitat. If the environment be suitable life will ensue. What makes for +such a mediary _milieu_ is, like most cosmic processes, in its +fundamentals of interesting simplicity; for the production of a proper +nidus depends primarily upon the mere size of the body parentally +concerned. If a planet be big enough it will inevitably bring forth +life, because of conditions suitable to its generating; if too small it +will remain sterile to the end of time. + +That size should be the determining factor whether a planet shall be +fecund or barren may seem at first thought strange. Yet that it is so +admits of no rational doubt. All that we see of bodies about us shows +its truth, and what we have learnt of cosmic process enables us in some +sort to discern why. In order for evolution, such as we mark it upon +the earth, to be possible, the parent body must have been at one time +at a high temperature, since only under great heat can the primal +processes occur. But for this generation of caloric the aggregate mass +of the particles, the falling together of which makes the planet, and +their stoppage its internal heat, must be large. The sun’s rays alone +are insufficient to cause the necessary temperature; the heat must come +from within, though it be helped from without. Even here the action is +abetted by a large body. For a planet to entrap the sun’s rays or even +to preserve its own internal warmth, an atmosphere is needed, and it +takes a large body to retain an atmospheric covering sufficiently long. +Yet without it not only would there be no suitable state, but no medium +in which organic or even inorganic reactions could go on. Lastly, +water, the essential nidus for the organism’s early stages, has its +presence similarly conditioned. For this, like the atmosphere, would +from a small body speedily vanish away. Thus the planet itself is the +life-producing body, although the sun furthers the process when once +begun. + +That the needed substances are planetarily present, what we know of the +distribution of matter astronomically sufficiently attests. What we +find in meteorites shows that the catastrophe which preceded our +present solar system’s birth scattered its elemental constituents +throughout its domain, and thus when they came to be gathered up again +into planets that these must have been materially the same. The manner, +not the matter, then, is alone that about which we are concerned. + +Now, if the mass of matter gravitating together to form a planet be +sufficient to produce the proper inorganic conditions, the organic must +follow as a matter of course. That the organic springs from the +inorganic is not only shown by what has taken place on earth, but is +the necessary logical deduction from its decay back into the inorganic +again. As Nägeli admirably observes: “The origin of the organic from +the inorganic is, in the first place, not a question of experience and +experiment, but a fact deduced from the law of the constancy of matter +and force. If all things in the material world are causally related, if +all phenomena proceed on natural principles, organisms which are formed +of and decay into the same matter must have been derived originally +from inorganic compounds.” + +The original oneness of the two, the fact that the organic sprang from +the inorganic, is shown by the cousinly closeness of the lowest organic +with the highest inorganic substances. The monera are suggestive of +crystals in their uniformity of structure. Both are homogeneous or +approximately so. Again, both grow by taking from what they come in +contact with that which they find suitable and so add to their body by +homogeneous accretion. Finally, when grown too large for single life, +they part into similar crystals or split into identical cells. The +difference between the division of the crystal and the fission of the +cell is small in kind; much less than that later differentiation in +genesis into parthenogenesis and sexual reproduction. Yet here we +unhesitatingly trace an assured relationship. It were straining at a +gnat to swallow a camel to doubt it in the other. + +Just as the two behave analogically alike in their own action, so do +they observe a like attitude toward nature. They thus point to their +common origin. The monera are resemblant of chemical compounds in their +superiority to external influences. To outward conditions of +temperature and humidity the chromacea are much as sticks and stones. +Some species may remain for long frozen in ice, Haeckel observes, and +yet wake to activity so soon as it thaws. Others may be completely +desiccated, and then resume their life when put in water after a lapse +of several years. Thus both in their deathlike lives and in their +living immortality the chromacea are close to inorganic things. + +From preference, however, these lowest forms of life affect what to us +would be unbearable temperatures. Many of the chromacea live in hot +springs at temperatures of 123° to 176° Fahrenheit, in which no other, +that is, no higher, organism can dwell. This choice of habitat is in +line with the other details of their evolutionary career. For it, too, +is in keeping with the conditions of crystalline growth, halfway as it +were on the road to them; the forming of crystals beginning at a +temperature higher still. And we perceive from it that the passing of +the inorganic into the organic is brought about by a lowering of the +temperature of the parent planet. This again, is in line with the +evolution of chemical complexity. Let the heat become less, and higher +and higher chemical compounds, finally the organic ones, become +possible. That evolution is nothing else than such a gradually +increasing chemical synthesis is forced on one by study of the facts. +Once started, life, as paleontology shows, develops along both the +floral and the faunal lines side by side, taking on complexity with +time. It begins so soon as secular cooling has condensed water vapor to +its liquid state; chromacea and confervæ coming into being high up +toward the boiling-point. Then, with lowering temperature come the +seaweeds and the rhizopods, then the land plants and the lunged +vertebrates. Hand in hand the fauna and flora climb to more intricate +perfecting, life rising as temperature lowers. + +We perceive then that, considered _a priori_, the possibility of life +on a planet is merely a question of the planet’s size; and then +pursuantly that the character of that life is a matter of the planet’s +age. But age again is a question of size. For the smaller its mass the +quicker the body cools, and with a planet, growing cold means growing +old. Within the bounds that make life possible, the smaller the body +the quicker it ages and the more advanced its denizens must be. Just +how far the advance goes we may not assert dogmatically in a given +case, since not relative age alone but absolute time as well is +concerned in it. It may be that nature’s processes cannot be hurried, +and that for want of time development may in part be missed. But from +general considerations the limit of the time needed seems well within +most planetary careers. + +Now, the aspect of the surface of Mars shows that both these conditions +have been fulfilled. Mars is large enough to have begotten vegetation +and small enough to be already old. All that we know of the physical +state of the planet points to the possibility of both vegetal and +animal life existing there, and furthermore, that this life should be +of a relatively high order is possible. Nothing contradicts this, and +the observations of the last ten years have rendered the conclusion +then advanced only the more conclusive. Even the evidence of the past +state of the planet confirms that given by its present one. That with +us life came out of the seas finds its possible parallel in the fact +that seas seem once to have existed there, leaving their mark +discernible to-day. Life, then, had there as here the wherewith to +begin. That we find air and water in both shows that it had the means +to continue once begun. That it then ran a like course is further +witnessed by what we now detect. The necessary premises, then, are +there. More than this. One half of the conclusion, vegetal life, gives +evidence of itself. + + + + + CHAPTER XXX + + EVIDENCE + + +Of the existence of animal life upon a far planet any evidence must, of +necessity, assume a different guise from what its flora would present. +Plant life should be, as on Mars we perceive it is, recognizable as +part and parcel of the main features of the planet’s face. In no such +forthright manner could we expect an animal revelation. The sort of +testimony which would render the one patent would leave the other +obstinately hid. + +So long as animate life was in the lowest sense animal, it would not be +seen at all, though it were as widespread as the vegetal life all about +it. Reason for this lies in their receptive character. Plants are +fixtures; where they start they stay; while from the nature of their +food, derived directly from the soil and from the air, and conditioned +chiefly by warmth and moisture, like forms inhabit large areas and by +their massed effect make far impression. With animals it is otherwise. +They feed by forage, from beetle to buffalo, roaming the land for +sustenance. Thus, both for paucity of number and from not abiding in +one stay they must escape notice at a distance such that as individuals +they fail to show; to say nothing of the fact that the flora usually +overtop the fauna, and so help to hide the latter while appearing +itself distinct. Any far view of our earth gives instance of this. Seen +from some panoramic height, forest and moorland lie patently outspread +to view, yet imagination is taxed to believe them tenanted at all. +Unless man have marred the landscape not a sign appears of any living +thing. One must be near indeed to note even such unusual sights as a +herd of buffalo in the plains or those immense flights of pigeons, that +in former years occurred like clouds darkening the air. From the +standpoint of another planet, through any such direct showing animal +existence would still remain unknown. + +Not until the creatures had reached a certain phase in evolution would +their presence become perceptible; and not then directly, but by the +results such presence brought to pass. Occupancy would be first +evidenced by its imprint on the land; discernible thus initially not so +much by the bodily as by the mind’s eye. For not till the animal had +learnt to dominate nature and fashion it to his needs and ends would +his existence betray itself. By the transformation he wrought in the +landscape would he be known. It is thus we should make our own far +acquaintance; and by the disarrangement of nature first have inkling of +man. + +That it is thus we should betray ourselves, a consideration of man’s +history will show. While he still remained of savage simplicity, a mere +child of nature, he might come and go unmarked by an outsider, but so +soon as he started in to possess the earth his handicraft would reveal +him. From the moment he bethought him to till the ground, he entered +upon a course of world-subjugation of which we cannot foresee the end; +but he has already advanced far enough to give us an idea of the +process. It began with agriculture. Deforestation with its subsequent +quartering of crops signalized his acquisition of real estate. His +impress at first was sporadic and irregular, and in so far followed +that of nature itself; but as it advanced it took on a methodism of +plan. Husbandry begot thrift, and augmented wants demanded an +increasing return for toil; and to this desirable end systematization +became a necessity. At the same time gregariousness grew and still +further emphasized the need for economy of space and time. In part +unconsciously, man learnt the laws that govern the expenditure of force +and more and more consciously applied them. Geometry, unloosed of +Euclid, became a part of everyday life as insidiously as M. Jourdain +found that he had been talking prose. Regularity rules to-day, to the +lament of art. The railroad is straighter than the turnpike, as that is +straighter than the trail. Communication is now too urgent in its +demands to know anything but law and take other than the shortest path +to its destination. Tillage has undergone a like rectification. To one +used to the patchwork quilting of the crops in older lands the +methodical rectangles of the farms of the Great West are painfully +exact. Yet it is more than probable that these material manifestations +would be the first signs of intelligence to one considering the earth +from far. Our towns would in all likelihood constitute the next; and, +lastly, the great arteries of travel that minister to their wants. +Their scale, too, would render them the first objects to be observed. +Farming as now practiced in Kansas or Dakota gives it a certain +cosmical concern; fields for miles turning in hue with the rhythm of +the drilled should impress an eye, if armed with our appliances, many +millions of miles away. + +Even now we should know ourselves cosmically by our geometrical +designs. To interplanetary understanding it is this quality that would +speak. Still more so will it tell as time goes on. As yet we are but at +the beginning of our subjugation of the globe. We have hardly explored +it all, still less occupied it. When we do so, and space shall have +become enhancedly precious, directness of purpose with economy of +result will have partitioned so regularly the surface of the earth as +to impart to it an artificiality of appearance, and it becomes one vast +coördinated expanse subservient entirely to the wants of its +possessors. Centres of population and lines of communication, with +tillage carried on in the most economic way; to this it must come in +the end. + +Nor is this outcome in any sense a circumstance accidental to the +earth; it is an inevitable phase in the evolution of organisms. As the +organism develops brain it is able to circumvent the adversities of +condition; and by overcoming more pronounced inhospitality of +environment not only to survive but spread. Evidence of this thought +will be stamped more and more visibly upon the face of its habitat. On +earth, for all our pride of intellect, we have not yet progressed very +far from the lowly animal state that leaves no records of itself. It is +only in the last two centuries that our self-registration upon our +surroundings has been marked. With another planet the like course must +in all probability be pursued, and the older the life relatively to its +habitat the more its signs of occupation should show. Intelligence on +other worlds could then only make its presence known by such material +revelation, and the sign-manuals of itself would appear more artificial +in look as that life was high in rank. Given the certainty of +plant-life, such markings are what one would look to find. Criticism +which refuses to credit detail of the sort because too bizarre to be +true writes itself down as unacquainted with the character of the +problem. For it is precisely such detail which should show if any +evidence at all were forthcoming. + +If, now, we turn our inquiry to Mars, we shall be fairly startled at +what its disk discloses. For we find ourselves confronted in the canals +and oases by precisely the appearances _a priori_ reasoning proves +should show were the planet inhabited. Our abstract prognostications +have taken concrete form. Here in these rectilineal lines and roundish +spots we have spread out our centres of effort and our lines of +communication. For the oases are clearly ganglia to which the canals +play the part of nerves. The strange geometricism which proves +inexplicable on any other hypothesis now shows itself of the essence of +the solution. The appearance of artificiality cast up at the phenomena +in disproof vindicates itself as the vital point in the whole matter. +Like the cachet of an architect, it is the thing about the building +that established the authorship. + +Though the Earth and Mars agree in being planets, they differ +constitutionally in several important respects. Even to us the curious +network that enshrouds the Martian disk suggests handicraft; it implies +it much more when considered from a Martian standpoint. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXI + + THE HUSBANDING OF WATER + + +That the canals and oases are of artificial origin is thus suggested by +their very look; when we come to go further and inquire into what may +be their office in the planet’s economy, we find that the idea in +addition to its general probability now acquires particular support. +For this we are indebted in part to study of their static aspect, but +chiefly to what has been learnt of their kinematic action. + +Dearth of water is the key to their character. Water is very scarce on +the planet. We know this by the absence of any bodies of it of any size +upon the surface. So far as we can see the only available water is what +comes from the semi-annual melting at one or the other cap of the snow +accumulated there during the previous winter. Beyond this there is none +except for what may be present in the air. Now, water is absolutely +essential to all forms of life; no organisms can exist without it. + +But as a planet ages, it loses its oceans as has before been explained, +and gradually its whole water supply. Life upon its surface is +confronted by a growing scarcity of this essential to existence. For +its fauna to survive it must utilize all it can get. To this end it +would be obliged to put forth its chief endeavors, and the outcome of +such work would result in a deformation of the disk indicative of its +presence. Lines of communication for water purposes, between the polar +caps, on the one hand, and the centres of population, on the other, +would be the artificial markings we should expect to perceive. + +Now, it is not a little startling that the semblance of just such signs +of intelligent interference with nature is what we discern on the face +of Mars,—in the canals and oases. So dominant in its mien is the +pencil-like directness of the canals as to be the trait that primarily +strikes an unprejudiced observer who beholds this astounding system of +lines under favorable definition for the first time, and its +impressiveness only grows on him with study of the phenomena. That they +suggested rule and compass, Schiaparelli said of them long ago, without +committing himself as to what they were. In perception the great +observer was, as usual, quite right; and the better they are seen the +more they justify the statement. Punctilious in their precision, they +outdo in method all attempts of freehand drawing to copy them. Often +has the writer tried to represent the regularity he saw, only to draw +and redraw his lines in vain. Nothing short of ruling them could have +reproduced what the telescope revealed. Strange as their depiction may +look in the drawings, the originals look stranger still. Indeed, that +they should look unnatural when properly depicted is not unnatural if +they are so in fact. For it is the geodetic precision which the lines +exhibit that instantly stamps them to consciousness as artificial. The +inference is so forthright as to be shared by those who have not seen +them to the extent of instant denial of their objectivity. Drawings of +them look too strange to be true. So scepticism imputes to the +draughtsman their artificial fashioning, not realizing that by so doing +it bears unconscious witness to their character. For in order to +disprove the deduction it is driven to deny the fact. Now the fact can +look after itself and will be recognized in time. For that the lines +are as I have stated is beyond doubt. Each return of the planet shows +them more and more geometric as sites are bettered and training +improves. + +Suggestive of design as their initial appearance is, the idea of +artificiality receives further sanction from more careful +consideration, even from a static point of view, on at least eight +counts:— + +1. Their straightness; + +2. Their individually uniform size; + +3. Their extreme tenuity; + +4. The dual character of some of them; + +5. Their position with regard to the planet’s fundamental features; + +6. Their relation to the oases; + +7. The character of these spots; and, finally, + +8. The systematic networking by both canals and spots of the whole +surface of the planet. + +Now, no natural phenomena within our knowledge show such regularity on +such a scale upon any one of these eight counts, _a fortiori_ upon all. +When one considers that these lines run for thousands of miles in an +unswerving direction, as far relatively as from London to Bombay, and +as far actually as from Boston to San Francisco, the inadequacy of +natural explanation becomes glaring. + +These several counts become more expressive of design the farther one +looks into them. Straightness upon a sphere means the following of an +arc of a great circle. The lines, then, are arcs of great circles. Now, +the great circle course is the shortest distance connecting two given +points. The canals of Mars, then, practice this economy; they connect +their terminals by the shortest, that is, other things equal, by the +quickest and least wasteful path. Their preserving a uniform width +throughout this distance is an equally unnatural feature for any +natural action to exhibit, but a perfectly natural one for an unnatural +agent. For means of communication for whatever cause would probably be +fashioned of like countenance throughout. Their extreme tenuity is a +third trait pointing to artificiality; inasmuch as the narrower they +are, the more probable is their construction by local intelligence. +Even more inexplicable, except from intent, is their dual character. +For them to parallel one another like the twin rails of a railway +track, seems quite beyond the powers of natural causation. Enigmatic, +indeed, from a natural standpoint, they cease to be so enigmatic viewed +from an artificial one; and this the more by reason of what has lately +been learnt of the character of their distribution. That they are found +most plentifully near the equator, where the latitudinal girth is +greatest, and thence diminish in numbers to about latitude 60°, where +they disappear,—and this not relatively to the amount of surface but +actually,—is very significant. It is quite incapable of natural +explanation, and can only be accounted for on some theory of design +such as lines of communication, or canals conducting water down the +latitudes for distribution. So that this distribution of the doubles is +in keeping with the law of development disclosed by the canals _en +masse_. Channels and return-channels the two lines of the pair may be, +but about this we can at present posit nothing. The relation may be of +still greater complexity, and we must carefully distinguish between +surmise and deduction. + +The position of the canals, with regard to the main features of the +disk, has a cogency of its own, an argument from time. The places from +which the lines start and to which they go are such as to imply a +dependence of the latter upon the former chronologically. The lines are +logically superposed upon the natural features; not as if they had +grown there, but as if they had been placed there for topographic +cause. Those termini are used which we should ourselves select for +stations of intercommunication. For the lines not only leave important +geodetic points, but they travel directly to equally salient ones. + +The connection of the canals with the oases is no less telltale of +intent. The spots are found only at junctions, clearly the seal and +sanction of such rendezvous. Their relation to the canals that enter +them bespeaks method and design. Centring single lines, they are +inclosed by doubles, a disposition such as would be true did they hold +a pivotal position in the planet’s economy. + +The shape of the oases also suggests significance. Their form is round, +a solid circle of shading of so deep a tone as to seem black, although +undoubtedly in truth blue-green. Now, a circular area has this peculiar +property, that it incloses for a given length of perimeter the maximum +of space. Any other area has a longer inclosing boundary for the +surface inclosed. Considering each area to be made up of onion-like +envelops to an original core, each similar in shape to the kernel, we +see that the property in question means that the average distance for +points of the circular area from the centre is less than the same +distance for those of any other figure. This has immediate bearing on +the possible fashioning of such areas. For sufficient intelligence in +the fashioners would certainly lead to a construction, where the +greatest area could be attended to at the least expenditure of force. +This would be where the distance to be traveled from the centre to all +the desired points was on the average least; that is, the area would be +round. + +But last and all-embracing in its import is the system which the canals +form. Instead of running at haphazard, the canals are interconnected in +a most remarkable manner. They seek centres instead of avoiding them. +The centres are linked thus perfectly one with another, an arrangement +which could not result from centres, whether of explosion or otherwise, +which were themselves discrete. Furthermore, the system covers the +whole surface of the planet, dark areas and light ones alike, a +world-wide distribution which exceeds the bounds of natural +possibility. Any force which could act longitudinally on such a scale +must be limited latitudinally in its action, as witness the belts of +Jupiter or the spots upon the sun. Rotational, climatic, or other +physical cause could not fail of zonal expression. Yet these lines are +grandly indifferent to such compelling influences. Finally, the system +after meshing the surface in its entirety runs straight into the polar +caps. + +It is, then, a system whose end and aim is the tapping of the snow-cap +for the water there semiannually let loose; then to distribute it over +the planet’s face. + +Function of this very sort is evidenced by the look of the canals. +Further study during the last eleven years as to their behavior leads +to a like conclusion, while at the same time it goes much farther by +revealing the action in the case. This action proves to be not only in +accord with the theory, but interestingly explanatory of the process. + +In the first place, the canals have shown themselves, as they showed to +Schiaparelli, to be seasonal phenomena. This negatives afresh the +possibility of their being cracks. But furthermore, their seasonal +behavior turns out to follow a law quite different from what we know on +earth and betokens that they are indebted to the melting of the polar +cap for their annual growth, even more directly than to the sun, and +that vegetation is the only thing that satisfactorily accounts for +their conduct. But again this is not all. Their time of quickening +proceeds with singular uniformity down the disk, not only to, but +_across the equator_. Now, this last fact has peculiar significance. + +So large are the planetary masses that no substance can resist the +strains due to the cosmic forces acting on them to change their shape +till it becomes one of stable equilibrium. Thus a body of planetary +size, if unrotating, becomes a sphere except for solar tidal +deformation; if rotating, it takes on a spheroidal form exactly +expressive, as far as observation goes, of the so-called centrifugal +force at work. Mars presents such a figure, being flattened out to +correspond to its axial rotation. Its surface, therefore, is in fluid +equilibrium, or, in other words, a particle of liquid at any point of +its surface at the present time would stay where it was, devoid of +inclination to move elsewhere. + +Now, the water which quickens the verdure of the canals moves from the +neighborhood of the pole down to the equator as the season advances. +This it does, then, irrespective of gravity. No natural force propels +it, and the inference is forthright and inevitable that it is +artificially helped to its end. There seems to be no escape from this +deduction. Water flows only downhill, and there is no such thing as +downhill on a surface already in fluid equilibrium. A few canals might +presumably be so situated that their flow could, by inequality of +terrane, lie equatorward, but not all. As we see on the earth, rivers +flow impartially to all points of the compass, dependent only upon +unevenness of the local surface conditions. Now, it is not in +particular but by general consent that the canal system of Mars +develops from pole to equator. + +From the respective times at which the minima take place, it appears +that the canal-quickening occupies fifty-two days, as evidenced by the +successive vegetal darkenings to descend from latitude 72° north to +latitude 0°, a journey of 2650 miles. This gives for the water a speed +of fifty-one miles a day, or 2.1 miles an hour. The rate of progression +is remarkably uniform; and this abets the deduction as to assisted +transference. The simple fact that it is carried from near the pole to +the equator is sufficiently telltale of extrinsic aid, but the +uniformity of the action increases its significance. + +But the fact is more unnatural yet. The growth pays no regard to the +equator, but proceeds across it as if it did not exist into the +planet’s other hemisphere. Here is something still more telling than +its travel to this point. For even if we suppose, for the sake of +argument, that natural forces took the water down to the equator, their +action must there be certainly reversed and the equator prove a +dead-line to pass which were impossible. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXII + + CONCLUSION + + +That Mars is inhabited by beings of some sort or other we may consider +as certain as it is uncertain what those beings may be. The theory of +the existence of intelligent life on Mars may be likened to the atomic +theory in chemistry in that in both we are led to the belief in units +which we are alike unable to define. Both theories explain the facts in +their respective fields and are the only theories that do, while as to +what an atom may resemble we know as little as what a Martian may be +like. But the behavior of chemic compounds points to the existence of +atoms too small for us to see, and in the same way the aspect and +behavior of the Martian markings implies the action of agents too far +away to be made out. + +But though in neither case can we tell anything of the Bodily form of +its unit, we can in both predicate a good deal about their workings. +Apart from the general fact of intelligence implied by the geometric +character of their constructions, is the evidence as to its degree +afforded by the cosmopolitan extent of the action. Girdling their globe +and stretching from pole, to pole, the Martian canal system not only +embraces their whole world, but is an organized entity. Each canal +joins another, which in turn connects with a third, and so on over the +entire surface of the planet. This continuity of construction posits a +community of interest. Now, when we consider that though not so large +as the Earth the world of Mars is one of 4200 miles diameter and +therefore containing something like 212,000,000 of square miles, the +unity of the process acquires considerable significance. The supposed +vast enterprises of the earth look small beside it. None of them but +become local in comparison, gigantic as they seem to us to be. + +The first thing that is forced on us in conclusion is the necessarily +intelligent and non-bellicose character of the community which could +thus act as a unit throughout its globe. War is a survival among us +from savage times and affects now chiefly the boyish and unthinking +element of the nation. The wisest realize that there are better ways +for practicing heroism and other and more certain ends of insuring the +survival of the fittest. It is something a people outgrow. But whether +they consciously practice peace or not, nature in its evolution +eventually practices it for them, and after enough of the inhabitants +of a globe have killed each other off, the remainder must find it more +advantageous to work together for the common good. Whether increasing +common sense or increasing necessity was the spur that drove the +Martians to this eminently sagacious state we cannot say, but it is +certain that reached it they have, and equally certain that if they had +not they must all die. When a planet has attained to the age of +advancing decrepitude, and the remnant of its water supply resides +simply in its polar caps, these can only be effectively tapped for the +benefit of the inhabitants when arctic and equatorial peoples are at +one. Difference of policy on the question of the all-important water +supply means nothing short of death. Isolated communities cannot there +be sufficient unto themselves; they must combine to solidarity or +perish. + +From the fact, therefore, that the reticulated canal system is an +elaborate entity embracing the whole planet from one pole to the other, +we have not only proof of the world-wide sagacity of its builders, but +a very suggestive side-light, to the fact that only a universal +necessity such as water could well be its underlying cause. + +Possessed of important bearing upon the possibility of life on Mars is +the rather recent appreciation that the habitat of both plants and +animals is conditioned not by the minimum, nor by the mean temperature +of the locality, but by the maximum heat attained in the region. Not +only is the minimum thermometric point no determinator of a dead-line, +but even a mean temperature does not measure organic capability. The +reason for this is that the continuance of the species seems to depend +solely upon the possibility of reproduction, and this in turn upon a +suitable temperature at the critical period of the plant’s or animal’s +career. Contrary to previous ideas on the subject, Merriam found this +to be the case with the fauna of the San Francisco Peak region in +northern Arizona. The region was peculiarly fitted for a test, because +of rising a boreal island of life out of a sub-tropic sea of desert. It +thus reproduced along its flanks the conditions of climates farther +north, altitude taking the part of latitude, one succeeding another +until at the top stood the arctic zone. Merriam showed that the +existence of life there was dependent solely upon a sufficiency of +warmth at the breeding season. If that were enough the animal or plant +propagated its kind, and held its foothold against adverse conditions +during the rest of the year. This it did by living during its brief +summer and then going into hibernation the balance of the time. Nature +in short suspended its functions to a large extent for months together, +enabling it to resurrect when the conditions turned. + +Hibernation proves thus to be a trait acquired by the organism in +consequence of climatic conditions. Like all such it can only be +developed in time, since nature is incapable of abrupt transition. An +animal suddenly transported from the tropic to a sub-arctic zone will +perish, because it has not yet learnt the trick of winter sleeping. +While still characterized by seasonal insomnia it is incapable of +storing its energies and biding its time. But given time enough to +acquire the art, its existence is determined solely by the enjoyment of +heat enough at some season to permit of the vital possibility of +reproducing its kind. + +Diurnal shutting off of the heat affects the process but little, +provided the fall be not below freezing at the hottest season. So much +is shown by the fauna of our arctic and sub-arctic zones, but still +more pertinently to Mars by the zones of the San Francisco Peak region, +since the thinner air of altitude, through which a greater amount of +heat can radiate off, is there substituted for the thicker one of +latitudinally equal isotherms. Here again with the diurnal as before +with the seasonal it is the maximum, not the mean, or, till low, even +the minimum temperature, that tells. + +Now, with Mars the state of things is completely in accord with what is +thus demanded for the existence of life. The Martian climate is one of +extremes, where considerable heat treads on the heels of great cold. +And the one of these two conditions is as certain as the other, as the +condition of the planet’s surface shows conclusively. In summer and +during the day it must be decidedly hot, certainly well above any +possible freezing, a thinner air blanket actually increasing the amount +of heat that reaches the surface, though affecting the length of time +of its retention unfavorably. The maximum temperature, therefore, +cannot be low. The minimum of course is; but as we have just seen, it +is the maximum that regulates the possibility of life. In spite, +therefore, of a winter probably longer and colder than our own, organic +life is not in the least debarred from finding itself there. + +Indeed, the conditions appear to be such as to put a premium upon life +of a high order. The Martian year being twice as long as our own, the +summer is there proportionately extended. Even in the southern +hemisphere, the one where the summer is the shortest, it lasts for 158 +days, while at the same latitudes our own is but 90 days. This +lengthening of the period of reproduction cannot but have an elevating +effect upon the organism akin to the prolongation of childhood pointed +out by John Fiske as playing so important a part in the evolution of +the highest animals. Day and night, on the other hand, alternate there +with approximately the same speed as here, and except for what is due +to a thinner air covering reproduce our own terrestrial diurnal +conditions, which as we saw are not inimical to life. + +In this respect, then, Mars proves to be by no means so bad a habitat. +It offers another example of how increasing knowledge widens the domain +that life may occupy. Just as we have now found organic existence in +abyssal depths of sea and in excessive degrees of both heat and cold, +so do we find from exploration of our island mountains, which more than +any other locality on earth facsimile the Martian surface, its +possession there as well. + +Another point, too, is worth consideration. In an aging world where the +conditions of life have grown more difficult, mentality must +characterize more and more its beings in order for them to survive, and +would in consequence tend to be evolved. To find, therefore, upon Mars +highly intelligent life is what the planet’s state would lead one to +expect. + +To some people it may seem that the very strangeness of Martian life +precludes for it an appeal to human interest. To me this is but a +near-sighted view. The less the life there proves a counterpart of our +earthly state of things, the more it fires fancy and piques inquiry as +to what it be. We all have felt this impulse in our childhood as our +ancestors did before us, when they conjured goblins and spirits from +the vasty void, and if our energy continue we never cease to feel its +force through life. We but exchange, as our years increase, the romance +of fiction for the more thrilling romance of fact. As we grow older we +demand reality, but so this requisite be fulfilled the stranger the +realization the better we are pleased. Perhaps it is the more vivid +imagination of youth that enables us all then to dispense with the +hall-mark of actuality upon our cherished visions; perhaps a deeper +sense of our own oneness with nature as we get on makes us insist upon +getting the real thing. Whatever the reason be, certain it is that with +the years a narration, no matter how enthralling, takes added hold of +us for being true. But though we crave this solid foothold for our +conceptions, we yield on that account no jot or tittle of our interest +for the unexpected. + +Good reason we have for the allurement we feel toward what is least +like us. For the wider the separation from the familiar, the greater +the parallax the new affords for cosmic comprehension. That which +differs little yields little to the knowledge already possessed. Just +as a longer base line gives us a better measure of the distance of the +sun, so here the more diverse the aspects, the farther back they push +the common starting-point and furnish proportionately comprehensive +insight into the course by which each came to be what it is. By +studying others we learn about ourselves, and though from the remote we +learn less easily, we eventually learn the more. Even on the side, +then, that touches most men, the personal, the strangeness of the +subject should to the far-seeing prove all the greater magnet. + +One of the things that makes Mars of such transcendent interest to man +is the foresight it affords of the course earthly evolution is to +pursue. On our own world we are able only to study our present and our +past; in Mars we are able to glimpse, in some sort, our future. +Different as the course of life on the two planets undoubtedly has +been, the one helps, however imperfectly, to better understanding of +the other. + +Another, more abstract but no less alluring, appeals to that desire +innate in man to know about the cosmos of which he forms a part and +which we call by the name of science. Study of Mars responds to this +craving both directly by revelation of the secrets of another world and +indirectly by the bearing of what we thus learn upon our understanding +of the laws of the universe. For the facts thus acquired broaden our +conceptions in every branch of science. Some day our own geology, +meteorology, and the rest will stand indebted to study of the planet +Mars for advance along their respective lines. Already the most alert +of those professing them are lending ear to information from this +source, and such cosmopolitanism can but increase as the years roll on. +Today what we already know is helping to comprehension of another +world; in a not distant future we shall be repaid with interest, and +what that other world shall have taught us will redound to a better +knowledge of our own, and of that cosmos of which the two form part. + +[Illustration: _Lowell Observatory._ MARS 1905.] + + + + + INDEX + + + _Adamas_, unmistakable double in 1903, 214. + + _Aeria_, white in, 76; + ruddy color of, 148. + + Air (see Atmosphere), 86; + necessity of, to life, 166, 167; + as important to astronomical calculations, 7. + + Air-waves, 250, 251, 273. + + Albedo, low, 162, 167. + + Algæ, 349. + + _Amenthes_, hibernation of, 317-324. + + Animalcula, in almost boiling geysers, 349. + + _Aonium Sinus_, two doubles suspected in, 242. + + _Aquae Calidae_, 208, 253, 315. + + Archæan age of the earth, 132, 133, 138. + + Areography, 20-31; + beginning and progress of, 109; + three periods in, 24. + + Arizona, 16; + in desert belt, 13; + plateau of, 18. + + _Arnon_, convergent double, 240. + + Artificiality, of canal system, 366, 368, 369, 370, 374; + of oases, 366, 371. + + _Ascraeus Lucus_, 331; + embraced by the double Gigas, 257. + + _Astaboras_, connection with Lucus Ismenius, 260-263. + + Atmosphere, of Mars, 62, 63, 71, 78, 79, 87; + shown to exist, 80, 82, 83, 84, 163, 167; + rare, 85, 86, 162, 167; + effect on temperature, 80; + constituents of, 162, 164, 166, 168. + + Autumn, length of Martian, in northern hemisphere, 35, 48; + in southern, 35, 48. + + Axial tilt, 34, 36, 55, 155, 161; + determinations of, 34, 36, 155; + determines character of seasons, 34, 36; + effect of, on presentation of arctic and antarctic regions, 70; + effect of, on temperature of arctic and temperate regions, 88. + + + Bacteria, plasm-eating beings, 353. + + Barometric pressure, 63, 85. + + Beer, 23, 26, 109. + + Bilateralism, 208; + inherent attribute of canals, 209. + + Blue band, surrounding polar caps, 39, 40, 42, 43, 56, 61, 63, 71, + 161, + 162, 168, 338, 339. + + Blue-green areas (see Dark Regions), 32, 67, 163; + taken for seas, 110. + + British Nautical Almanac, 35. + + _Brontes_, development of, 304-312. + + + Cambrian era of Earth, 139. + + Camera, the, 272; + advantage of, 273; + slower than the eye, 273; + stars the peculiar province of, 273, 274. + + Canals, 11, 32, 163; + discovery of, 24, 26; + considered straits, 27; + regularity of, 28, 29; + unnatural in look, 173; + manner of introduction of, 174; + conditions necessary to seeing of, 174-177, 282, 283; + pencil-like lines, 177, 179, 367; + definite in direction, 178; + name, 180; + width of, 179, 180, 182; + length of, 183; + visible by virtue of length, 181; + oddities of, 183; + number of, 184; + systematic arrangement of, 184, 185, 187-191, 248; + connect with polar caps, 325, 339, 373; + import of system of, 338, 372, 373; + intrinsic change in, 283, 284, 337, 338; + what they are not, 185-187, 373; + zonal distribution of, 188, 189; + departure-points, 190; + dependent on general topography, 191; + of later origin than main features, 191, 247; + kinematic character of, 281-303; + effect on, of illumination, 284; + drawings of, numerous and + consecutive, 286; + coördination of data, 288, 289; + curves of visibility of (see Cartouches), 289, 290; + geometricism of, 175, 206, 365, 367, 368; + polar, 327. + + Canals in the dark regions, 30, 31, 243-248; + of the southern hemisphere, 245; + of the northern hemisphere, 246, 247; + detection of, 243, 245; + deprived seas of marine character, 243; + part of canal system, 244, 245, 247. + + Caps (see Polar Caps). + + Carbon dioxide, 39, 161, 164-168. + + Carbonic era of Earth, 134, 141, 142. + + Carets, 265-270; + natural formations, 231, 232; + form and position of, 266, 267; + reason for shape of, 268; + associated with canals, 267, 269; + help in solution of riddle, 270; + act like oases, 333. + + Cartouches of the canals, 289-303; + interpretation of, 291-293, 299-303, 344-347; + arranged by latitudes, 294; + showing first frosts, 299; + minimum points of, 297, 344; + maximum point of, 301; + mean canal, 297, 298. + + Cenozoic times, 144. + + _Cerberus_, obliterated by white spot, 75. + + Change, 4, 281; + shown in polar caps, 37, 338; + in blue-green areas, 113, 114, 115, 120, 122-127, 163, 164; + in canals, 168, 169, 205, 283-285, 314, 337, 338; + in oases, 250-252, 330, 331, 337, 338. + + Chromacea, 352; + plasm-forming beings, 353; + close to inorganic things, 357; + in hot springs, 357, 358. + + _Chryse_, 90, 102. + + Climate, 82-89; + one of extremes, 87; + temperature, theoretic and observed, 87; + non-glaciation the rule, 88. + + Clouds, 55, 71, 73, 89, 163, 165, 283, 284; + but few exist, 83, 165; + none over blue-green areas, 92; + of tawny dust color, 106; + probably dust storms, 165; + prove existence of atmosphere, 167. + + Cold, 87, 167, 299. + + _Coloe Palus_, in connection with double canals, 257, 258, 263. + + Color, 74, 148; + of Mare Erythraeum, 122. + + Confervæ, in almost boiling geysers, 349, 358. + + Cretaceous era of the earth, 136, 143, 151, 152. + + Crystals, conditions of formation, 357. + + + Dana, 131, 139, 140. + + Dark Regions, 122-125; + thought to be seas, 110, 111; + named in accordance, 110, 113; + change in aspect cast doubt on + marine character of, 113, 114; + change in, considered seasonal, 115, 120, 127, 163, 164; + marine character lost, 30, 115-118, 163, 164; + vegetation tracts, 119-127, 163, 164, 168, 169, 170; + below level of surrounding surface, 130, 164; + former ocean basins, 120, 129, 131; + latitudinal development in, 123, 124, 126, 127. + + Dawes, 21, 23, 249, 250, 268. + + Day, Martian, length of, 34, 160, 166. + + Desert regions of the earth, 13, 149-155; + as observatory sites, 12, 13; + help explain Mars, 16, 17, 156; + color of, 149, 151; + compared with color of Mars, 150, 163; + vegetation in, 150; + position of, 153, 154; + due to winds, 154. + + Desertism, 16, 89, 153-158. + + Deserts (see Reddish-ochre regions). + + _Deuteronilus_, 259-261. + + Development of canals, latitudinal law of, 299, 302, 375; + follows melting of polar caps, 302, 338-340; + across equator, 373, 375. + + Devonian era of the earth, 141. + + Diaphragm, the great, 265. + + Diplopia, 196. + + _Djihoun_, narrowest double, 228-230; + embouchure of, 219-220; + connection with Luci Ismenii, 260, 262. + + Double Canals, first seen by Schiaparelli, 28, 192; + impression of, 193, 204; + two classes of, 224; + require steady definition, 194; + phenomena of, 194, 205, 208, 212, 213; + physical bond between the constituents of, 226; + connection with bays, 232; + optical theories of, 196-203; + not illusions, 195-203, 209; + widths of, 205, 206, 221-224, 229, 230, 233; + length of, 205; + seasonal change in, 205; + constituents of, 204; + original line of, 216, 217; + number of, 205, 209; + list of, 210, 211; + gemination period of, 212, 213; + direction of, 234-236; + zonal distribution of, 236-239, 370; + distribution in longitude, 236; + tropical phenomena, 239, 240, 241, 242; + compared with single canals, 240; + convergent, 240; + avoid blue-green areas, 241; + connect with blue-green areas, 242. + + Dust storms, 90, 165. + + + Earth, tilt of axis of, 34; + seasons on, 35; + polar caps of, 38, 41, 44, 45, 51, 54, 69; + rainfall on, 79; + viewed from space, 340; + vegetal quickening opposite to that on Mars, 344. + + Eccentricity of orbit, effect on seasons, 46, 48, 52. + + Elevations on limb, 96, 97; + measurement of, 98. + + _Elysium_, white in, 75, 76. + + Eocene era of the earth, 144. + + Eopaleozoic era, 140. + + _Euphrates_, 221, 231, 249, 258-261, 266, 267, 316; + continuously double, 213; + curious relation to the Portus Sigaeus and Phison, 218, 219. + + Evolution, 362, 366, 367; + planetary, 363, 364; + advance in, dependent on environment, 145, 146. + + Exploration, polar, 54. + + Eye, relation to camera, 272-274. + + + Farms in Kansas and Dakota, 363. + + _Fastigium Aryn_, 269; + origin of longitudes, 23, 74. + + Fauna, 361; + of northern Arizona, 18; + linked with flora, 349, 350, 358. + + Flagstaff, Arizona, 16. + + Flammarion, 21, 23, 202. + + Flora, 361; + linked with fauna, 349, 350, 358; + fixtures, 360. + + Focal length, of objective in photographing canals, 275. + + Franz Joseph Land, 45. + + Frosts, first arctic, 299, 300, 345; + suggestive of, 87. + + + Galileo, 20, 39. + + _Ganges_, 270; + peculiar development of, 226-228; + widest double, 228, 229. + + Gemination, 214-221; + seasonal phenomenon, 212, 213; + conditioned by convenience, 218-221. + + Geology, shows the growing of the land, 131-138. + + _Gigas_, embracing the Ascraeus Lucus, 257. + + _Gihon_, embouchure of, 232. + + Gravitation, law of, 160. + + Gravity, effect on atmosphere, 62; + force of, on Mars, 63. + + Green, 21, 23, 24. + + + Habitability, 159. + + Haeckel, 352, 353, 357. + + Haze, at melting of caps, 56, 64-66, 90, 93, 165; + recurrent, 94. + + Heat, 46, 47, 50, 146, 155. + + _Hellas_, 81, 90, 91; + in winter, 58, 59; + ruddy color of, 148. + + Herschel, Sir W., 34, 37. + + Hibernation of canals, 313-324, 379. + + _Hiddekel_, embouchure of, 232; + connection with Luci Ismenii, 260-262. + + _Hippalus_, identical with rift, 326, 327. + + Hoarfrost, 78, 79, 81; + at equator, 79; + in southern hemisphere, 80, 92. + + Huyghens, 23, 26, 108. + + + Ice sheet, effect of, 52. + + Illumination, oblique, 97; + for measuring elevations, 98. + + Illusion theories of canals, disproved, 293. + + Image of sun, not reflected from dark areas, 112. + + Insolation, 47, 79, 91. + + Intelligence on other worlds, method of making itself known, 364. + + Islands south, 91, 244; + effect of, on isothermal lines, 92. + + + _Jamuna_, original line of, 216, 217. + + _Jaxartes_, polar canal, 328. + + Jupiter, 33, 372. + + Jurassic era of the earth, 136, 143, 144. + + _Juturna Fons_, a square oasis, 263. + + + Kaiser, 21, 23, 249. + + Kinetic theory of gases, 83, 146, 147, 164. + + _Kison_, convergent double, 240. + + + _Lacus Hyperboreus_, 246. + + Lampland, 197, 225, 275. + + Lick Observatory, 100. + + Life, necessity of air and water to, 17, 166, 167, 341; + thin cold air no bar to, 18; + maximum temperature determinative of, 19, 378, 380. + + Life on Earth, 349-353; + dependent on conditions, 349-355, 357, 379, 380. + + Life on Mars, 169, 376; + vegetal, 348, 359; + probably of high order, 348, 359, 377, 378, 381, 382; + evidence of, 360-365. + + Limb-light, evidence of atmosphere, 84, 162, 167. + + Longitudes, origin of, 23, 74. + + Lowell Observatory, Annals, 31, 81; + Bulletin, 201. + + _Lucus Ismenius_, 19, 258; + only double oasis, 259; + association with canals, 260, 261. + + _Lucus Lunae_, 330. + + _Lucus Moeris_, 208. + + + Maedler, 21, 23, 26, 109. + + Mammal, 349. + + Maps, of Mars, 20-24, 26-29. + + _Mare Acidalium_, 115, 242, 246-252; + white in, 80; + darker than the Mare Erythraeum, 127. + + _Mare Cimmerium_, 267. + + _Mare Erythraeum_, 113; + irregular lines in, 30; + in 1903, 122-124; + in 1905, 124-126. + + _Mare Icarium_, 207. + + _Mare Sirenum_, 92, 110, 114, 267. + + Maria, on the moon, 109, 111; + not seas, 112, 113; + on Mars, 110; + not seas, 117; + southern hemisphere, 31. + + Matter, distribution of, 355. + + Mercator’s projection, 22, 344. + + Merriam, 18, 19, 379. + + Mesozoic times of the earth, 135, 142, 144, 151. + + Meteorology of Mars, 63, 93. + + Moisture, 86, 154. + + Monera, 349, 357; + suggestive of crystals, 356. + + Months, Martian, different from our own, 36. + + Mountains, not visible on Mars, 100; + measurement of, 97-100; + limit of height visible, 100; + on Moon, 98, 99. + + + _Naarmalcha_, association with Luci Ismenii, 260, 261. + + Nägeli, 356. + + Nansen, 54. + + Naval Observatory at Washington, 16. + + _Nectar_, shows white, 59. + + Neopaleozoic times of the Earth, 140. + + Neptune, 33. + + Nicks in the coastline (see Carets). + + _Nilokeras_, double, 209; + photographed, 225. + + _Nilosyrtis_, unlike other canals, 262. + + Nitro-bacteria, 350, 353. + + Nitrogen, 83, 164, 166, 341. + + _Nix Olympica_, 74, 78. + + North America, geologic history of, 133-137. + + + Oases, detected later than canals, 30, 249; + three stages in appearance of, 250-252; + number of, 252; + kinds of, 252-254, 263; + shape of, 253, 371; + position of, 254-257, 263; + connected with canals, 256, 257, 262, 371; + disprove diplopic theory, 258; + objectivity of, 263; + in dark regions, 163, 244, 263, 264; + kinematic character of, 330-333; + latitudinal progress of change in oases, 331; + evolution of, 331, 332; + intrinsic change in, 337, 338; + at junction of canals only, 255, 371. + + Observations, mutual corroboration of, 165, 166; + among mountains, 7. + + Organic Evolution, origin of, 356. + + Orology, of Mars, 62. + + Ovid, 25. + + Oxygen, 83, 164, 166, 167, 341. + + + Paleozoic times on the Earth, 135. + + Permian period, 142. + + Personal equation, eliminated, 287. + + Phenological quickening, on Earth, 342; + on Mars, 343. + + _Phison_, 221, 231, 249, 258, 266, 267, 316; + continuously double, 213; + connection with Euphrates and Portus Sigaeus, 218, 219. + + _Phœnix Lake_, 330. + + Photographs of the canals, 225, 275-277. + + Photography, celestial, 271-277. + + Physiographic conditions, on Mars, 68, 128. + + Pickering, W. H., 330. + + _Pierius_, 71. + + Polar caps, phenomena of, 37, 41, 61; + key to comprehension of planet, 37; + compared with those of earth, 41, 46; + composition of, 39, 161, 168, 339; + making of new, 94; + position of, 68; + aspect of, 56, 57; + maxima and minima of, 38, 41-44, 47-53, 55-57, 66-68, 162; + fission of, 61. + + Polar seas (see Blue band); + fresh water, 162. + + Poles, Martian, determination of, 36. + + _Pons Hectoris_, 78. + + _Portus Sigaeus_, nicks in the coastline, 207, 266, 267; + embouchure to Phison and Euphrates, 218. + + Precipitation, 51, 79, 154, 155; + effect on glaciation, 52. + + Presentation, a, defined, 287, 288. + + Probability, law of, 160. + + Projections on the terminator, 77, 81, 96, 100, 104, 165; + color of, 102; + cause of, 104-107; + great one of 1903, 101-104; + of 1900, 104. + + _Propontis_, the, 242; + canals in, 247; + oases in, 256. + + _Protonilus_, association with Luci Ismenii, 260. + + _Pseboas Lucus_, 207, 250, 253, 263; + anomalous position of, 262. + + + Quaternary epoch of the Earth, 137. + + + Reddish-ochre regions, 153, 155; + deserts, 149, 156, 163; + variations of tint in, 32, 148, 149, 151. + + Rifts in polar cap, 61-63, 67, 162, 325-329; + permanent in place, 61, 62; + not depressions, 62, 63, 162; + coincide with canals, 326-328; + explanation of, 328, 329. + + Rotation, early noted, 108, 109; + how determined, 34; + time of, 34, 160; + disclosed by markings, 32-34, 108. + + + _Sabaeus Sinus_, 23, 207, 268, 269. + + San Francisco Peaks, 18, 19, 149, 379, 380. + + Saturn, 33. + + Scepticism, 27, 28, 204. + + Schaeberle, 30. + + Schiaparelli, 11, 15, 21, 23, 24, 26, 27, 29, 30, 31, 34, 68, 74, 75, + 81, 114, 115, 120, 121, 173, 177, 186, 192, 212, 217, 221, 247, 249, + 265, 282, 313, 314, 325, 337, 367, 373. + + Seas (see Dark Regions). + southern, 92; + formerly on Mars and the Moon, 129; + internal absorption of, 147. + + Seasonal change, metabolic, 169; + in canals, 168, 169, 285, 373. + + Seasons, like our own, 34, 35, 166; + length of, 48, 79, 161; + of vegetal growth, 346, 347. + + Secular change, in canals, 314. + + Silurian era of the Earth, 134, 138, 140. + + Sky, blotting out of, 14; + measure of extinction of, 16. + + Sky, Martian, 89; + clear, 165. + + Slipher, 101, 103. + + Snow, 345; + limits of, on Earth and Mars, 108. + + _Solis Lacus_, 23, 242. + + Spring, Martian, 35, 48; + haze in, 94. + + S.S. Challenger, concerning south polar cap of earth, 45. + + S.S. Pagoda, 45. + + Subsidiary snow patches, 67, 73. + + Summer, Martian, length of, 35, 48, 381. + + Surface, relatively flat, 62, 76, 97, 164; + covered by canal network, 243; + clear-cut in good air, 258; + in fluid equilibrium, 374; + indicative of thin air, 162, 167. + + Surface features, reality of, proved, 26, 33. + + _Syrtis Major_, 22; + first marking made out, 23. + + + _Tempe_, white in, 77, 80. + + Temperature, 78, 147, 165, 166; + effect on life, 358. + + Terminator, projections on, 77, 81, 96, 100-107, 114, 165; + depressions on, 164. + + Terrane, 108, 265. + + Terraqueousness, shown by earth, 128, 131. + + Terrestriality, follows terraqueousness, 129, 131, 137, 144-146; + earth’s oceans contracting in size, 131; + inevitably, 131, 146; + as shown by Mars and the Moon, 128, 130, 131; + as shown by the geologic history of earth, 131-137; + as shown by paleontology, 138-144; + making a better habitat, 145, 146. + + Tertiary times of the Earth, 137, 151. + + _Thoth-Nepenthes_, peculiar course of, 208; + hibernation of, 315-324. + + _Titan_, 305. + + Triassic era, 136, 142, 152. + + _Trivium Charontis_, canals and oases in, 251, 252, 256. + + Twilight arc, shows thin air, 85, 162. + + + Uranus, 33. + + + Vegetation, 79, 119-127, 163, 166, 169, 301; + color of Mare Erythraeum, 122-126; + proof of, 170; + theory supported by rifts in polar cap, 329; + most satisfactory explanation of phenomena of canals, 339, 341, 344, + 345, 347, 348, 373; + two seasons of growth of, 346; + melts snow, 328. + + + Water, dearth of, 128, 161, 163, 166, 168, 169, 341, 366; + loss of, inevitable, 131; + speed of flow of, 375; + from polar caps, 340, 374. + + Water-vapor, from polar caps, 83; + in atmosphere, 162, 168. + + Weather, 66, 89, 95. + + _Wedge of Casius_, 242; + canals in, 247; + oases in, 251, 252, 256. + + Welkin, man-manufactured, 13-15. + + White spots, 32, 165; + similar in look to polar caps, 73; + location and season of, 74, 76-79, 80, 81; + + White spots, permanency of, 73, 76; + indication of temperature, 80, 165. + + Winds, 154. + + Winter, Martian, 35, 48. + + World, Mars another, 4, 5, 169; + evolution of a, 16, 128, 131, 155-158, 358. + + + Year, of Earth, 35; + of Mars, 35, 161. + + + + + A COMPENDIUM OF SPHERICAL ASTRONOMY + With its applications to the determination and reduction of positions + of the fixed stars + By SIMON NEWCOMB + + Cloth 8vo $3.00 net + + -------------- + + CONTENTS + + PART I. PRELIMINARY SUBJECTS + +CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY. NOTES AND REFERENCES. + +CHAPTER II. DIFFERENCES, INTERPOLATION, AND DEVELOPMENT. NOTES AND + REFERENCES. + +CHAPTER III. THE METHOD OF LEAST SQUARES. Section I. Mean Values of + Quantities. II. Determination of Probable Errors. III. Equations of + Condition. NOTES AND REFERENCES. + + PART II. THE FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES OF SPHERICAL ASTRONOMY + +CHAPTER IV. SPHERICAL COÖRDINATES. Section I. General Theory. II. + Problems and Applications of the Theory of Spherical Coördinates. + +CHAPTER V. THE MEASURE OF TIME AND RELATED PROBLEMS. Section I. Solar + and Sidereal Time. II. The General Measure of Time. III. Problems + Involving Time. + +CHAPTER VI. PARALLAX AND RELATED SUBJECTS. Section I. Figure and + Dimensions of the Earth. II. Parallax and Semi-diameter. + +CHAPTER VII. ABERRATION. + +CHAPTER VIII. ASTRONOMICAL REFRACTION. Section I. The Atmosphere as a + Refracting Medium. II. Elementary Exposition of Atmospheric + Refraction. III. General Investigation of Astronomical Refraction. + Notes and References to Refraction. + +CHAPTER IX. PRECESSION AND NUTATION. Section I. Laws of the + Precessional Motion. II. Relative Positions of the Equator and + Equinox at Widely Separated Epochs. III. Nutation. Notes and + References to Precession and Nutation. + + PART III. REDUCTION AND DETERMINATION OF POSITIONS OF THE FIXED STARS + +CHAPTER X. REDUCTION OF MEAN PLACES OF THE FIXED STARS FROM ONE EPOCH + TO ANOTHER. Section I. The Proper Motions of the Stars. II. + Trigonometric Reduction for Precession. III. Development of the + Coördinates in the Powers of the Time. NOTES AND REFERENCES. + +CHAPTER XI. REDUCTION TO APPARENT PLACE. Section I. Reduction to Terms + of the First Order. II. Rigorous Reduction for Close Polar Stars. + III. Practical Methods of Reduction. IV. Construction of Tables of + the Apparent Places of Fundamental Stars. Notes and References. + +CHAPTER XII. METHOD OF DETERMINING THE POSITIONS OF STARS BY MERIDIAN + OBSERVATIONS. Section I. Method of Determining Right Ascensions. II. + The Determination of Declinations. + +CHAPTER XIII. METHODS OF DERIVING THE POSITIONS AND PROPER MOTIONS OF + THE STARS FROM PUBLISHED RESULTS OF OBSERVATIONS. Section I. + Historical Review. II. Reduction of Catalogue Positions of Stars to a + Homogeneous System. III. Methods of Combining Star Catalogues. + + NOTES AND REFERENCES + + List of Independent Star Catalogues. + Catalogues made at Northern Observatories. + Catalogues made at Tropical and Southern Observatories. + + APPENDIX + +EXPLANATION OF THE TABLES OF THE APPENDIX.—I. Constants and Formulæ in + Frequent Use. II. Tables Relating to Time and Arguments for Star + Reductions. III. Centennial Rates of the Precessional Motions. IV. + Tables and Formulæ for the Trigonometric Reduction of Mean Places of + Stars. V. Reduction of the Struve-Peters Precessions to the Adopted + Values. VI. Conversion of Longitude and Latitude into R. A. and Dec. + VII. Refractions. VIII. Coefficients of Solar and Lunar Nutation. IX. + Three-place Logarithms and Trigonometrical Functions. + + -------------- + + THE MACMILLAN COMPANY, 64-66 Fifth Avenue, New York + + Transcriber's Notes + + + Ditto marks have been replaced by the text they represent. + + Some presumed printer's errors have been corrected, including + normalizing punctuation. Further corrections are listed below: + + Printed text Corrected text Page + MITGLIED DER MITGLIED DER + ASTRONOMISCHE GESELLSCHAFT ASTRONOMISCHEN GESELLSCHAFT Title page + terrrane terrane 108 + seem seems 247 + + + + + + + + + + + + + + ESSAYS ON + THE GREEK ROMANCES + + + BY + ELIZABETH HAZELTON HAIGHT + _Professor Emeritus of Latin, Vassar College_ + + + _NEW YORK_ + LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. + M D CCCC XLIII + + + HAIGHT + ESSAYS ON THE GREEK ROMANCES + + + COPYRIGHT · 1943 + BY LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO., INC. + + + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THE + RIGHT TO REPRODUCE THIS BOOK, OR + ANY PORTION THEREOF, IN ANY FORM + + PUBLISHED SIMULTANEOUSLY IN + THE DOMINION OF CANADA BY + LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO., TORONTO + + + FIRST EDITION + + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + _To_ + BLANCHE FERRY HOOKER + IN HONOR AND FRIENDSHIP + + + The Publication + of this book was made possible + by the + J. LEVERETT MOORE RESEARCH FUND + IN CLASSICS + and the + LUCY MAYNARD SALMON FUND + FOR RESEARCH + established at Vassar College + in 1926 + + + + + _PREFACE_ + + +If all the world loves a lover, as the old proverb says, then this my +book should win wide fame. For these Greek Romances of the first to the +fourth century of our era seem still to be singing the immemorial +refrain from the old spring-time song of “The Vigil of Venus”: + + Cras amet qui numquam amavit, + quique amavit cras amet. + + “Let those love now, who never lov’d before; + Let those who always lov’d, now love the more.” + +At a time when fiction is the most popular form of literature, these +wonderful old Greek stories of love, adventure and worship are half +forgotten and rarely read except by the scholar. Yet here, as in epic, +lyric, elegy, drama, oratory and history, the Greeks were pioneers. In +the second and third centuries they had created four different types of +romance (of love, of adventure, the pastoral, the satiric) which were to +have great influence on French, Italian and English fiction. The student +of comparative literature, the student of the history of fiction cannot +afford to neglect these pioneer Greek novels. + +Their appeal, however, should be just as great for the general reader as +for the scholar. For here are stories that mirror the life of the +Mediterranean world in the Roman Empire with all its new excitements of +travel, piracy, kidnapping, the new feminism, the new religious cults. +And through all the different types of romance except the satiric the +Love-God holds supreme sway over the hearts of men. So human, so +vivacious are the love-stories that I offer to my readers Longus’ +assurance of profit in his introduction to his Pastoral Romance: + + “I drew up these four books, an oblation to Love and to Pan and to the + Nymphs, and a delightful possession even for all men. For this will + cure him that is sick, and rouse him that is in dumps; one that has + loved, it will remember of it; one that has not, it will instruct. For + there was never any yet that wholly could escape love, and never shall + there be any, never so long as beauty shall be, never so long as eyes + can see. But help me that God to write the passions of others; and + while I write, keep me in my own right wits.”[1] + +My hope in writing on the Greek Romances is that I may lure readers back +to them. My essays aim to be guideposts pointing the way. I venture to +suggest that along with my book readers should peruse at least four +novels of different types for which good translations are available. +These are _Chariton’s Chaereas and Callirhoe_ by Warren E. Blake +(beautiful in English and format) and three volumes of _The Loeb +Classical Library_: _Daphnis and Chloe by Longus_, Lucian’s _True +History_ (in Lucian vol. I) and the Latin novel which combines the +different Greek types into one great synthesis, Apuleius’ +_Metamorphoses_. If I can win new readers for these my favorites, my +writing will be as successful as it has been happy! + +It is a pleasure once again to express grateful thanks to publishers and +authors who have allowed me to quote material. I am indebted to the +Harvard University Press for its courtesy in allowing me to quote freely +from volumes in _The Loeb Classical Library_; to the Clarendon Press, +Oxford for the use of material from R. M. Rattenbury, “Romance: the +Greek Novel,” in _New Chapters in the History of Greek Literature_, +_Third Series_, from F. A. Todd, _Some Ancient Novels_, from J. S. +Phillimore, “Greek Romances” in _English Literature and the Classics_, +and from _The Works of Lucian of Samosata_ translated by H. W. Fowler +and F. G. Fowler; to Longmans, Green and Co., for the use of a quotation +from F. G. Allinson, _Lucian Satirist and Artist_; to the University of +Michigan Press for the use of Warren E. Blake’s translation of Chariton; +to the Columbia University Press for permission to quote from S. L. +Wolff’s _The Greek Romances in Elizabethan Prose Fiction_; and for +generous permissions for quotations from Professor M. Rostovtzeff and +Professor B. E. Perry. + +My writing has been greatly facilitated by the cooperation of the staff +of the Vassar Library, especially of Miss Fanny Borden, Librarian, who +has provided me with a study in the Library, patiently borrowed many +books from other libraries for me and shown unfailing interest in my +work. A constant stimulus to my writing has been the appreciation of my +colleagues and students expressed in invitations to read different +chapters of this volume to the Classical Journal Club and to the +Classical Society. Finally my profound gratitude is due to the donors of +the funds which made possible the publication of these Essays. + + + + + _CONTENTS_ + + + CHAPTER PAGE + I. The Greek Romances and Their Re-dating. 1 + II. Chariton’s _Chaereas and Callirhoe_. 14 + III. The _Ephesiaca_ or _Habrocomes and Anthia_ by Xenophon of + Ephesus. 38 + IV. The _Aethiopica_ of Heliodorus. 61 + V. _The Adventures of Leucippe and Clitophon_ by Achilles Tatius. 95 + VI. _The Lesbian Pastorals of Daphnis and Chloe_ by Longus. 119 + VII. Lucian and his Satiric Romances: the _True History_ and + _Lucius or Ass_. 144 + VIII. A Comparison of the Greek Romances and Apuleius’ + _Metamorphoses_. 186 + Index 203 + + + + + ESSAYS ON + THE GREEK ROMANCES + + + + + I + _THE GREEK ROMANCES AND THEIR RE-DATING_ + + +The term “Greek Romances” is applied to long stories in Greek prose, +written from the end of the first to the beginning of the fourth century +before Christ and later imitated by Byzantine writers. It was one of +these last, Nicetas Eugenianus, who prefixed to his own romance a +prelude of verses which described their content: + + “Here read Drusilla’s fate and Charicles’— + Flight, wandering, captures, rescues, roaring seas, + Robbers and prisons, pirates, hunger’s grip; + Dungeons so deep that never sun could dip + His rays at noon-day to their dark recess, + Chained hands and feet; and, greater heaviness, + Pitiful partings. Last the story tells + Marriage, though late, and ends with wedding bells.”[2] + +The subjects listed in these lines are typical of nearly all the novels. +An author selected new names for his hero and heroine and portrayed the +same quest for love and adventure. The young pair always marvellously +handsome fall desperately in love and plight their eternal fidelity in a +sacred oath. Soon they are separated by misadventure or the cruel will +of Fortune and suffer alone every misfortune and temptation, but by +superhuman effort and often by the aid of the gods, they at last emerge +triumphant and chaste and fall in exultation into each other’s arms. + +It was just because of this similarity of pattern that it became the +fashion for critics to belittle these melodramas, to emphasize their +similarities, and to disregard their individual characteristics and +enthralling style. Erwin Rohde’s great critical study, _Der griechische +Roman_, was perhaps the first to treat them with the serious +consideration which they deserve. Now Rohde’s theories have to be in +large part rejected because of new discoveries in papyri which have +necessitated the re-dating of the extant novels and adding to their +study fragments of novels hitherto unknown which help establish new +types and give a basis for a new critique. + +My own discussion is to be concerned with the novels themselves, their +individual characteristics, their literary qualities, viewed on the +basis of their new dating. For this reason I shall spend little time on +the famous theories of the origins of the Greek Romances and on their +precursors. For my purpose of intensive, literary study it is enough to +present these in outline. + +In regard to the origins of the Greek Romances, two special theories +must be mentioned since they have had more vogue than any others. These +are the theories of Erwin Rohde and of Bruno Lavagnini. Erwin Rohde in +_Der griechische Roman_, which first appeared in 1876, recognized two +essential elements in the Greek Romances: stories of love and stories of +travel. He studied the precursors of these two types. He finally +affirmed that the synthesis of the two, the romance, is a direct product +of the rhetorical schools of the Second Sophistry which flourished in +Greece during the Empire. Rohde based his work on the extant romances +and the summaries of Photius (Patriarch of Constantinople, 858-886) and +believing that none of this material antedated the second century of our +era, he constructed his theory that “Greek romance was a product of the +_Zweite Sophistik_, and had no direct connection either with the short +story as represented by the Milesian Tales or with any Greek or +Alexandrian literary form.”[3] W. Schmid in the third edition of Rohde +(1914) summarized in an Appendix the new discoveries and theories after +Rohde’s death. + +I omit a résumé of the work of Huet,[4] Dunlop,[5] Chassang[6] and of +Chauvin,[7] all significant in their times, to present a theory which is +now more striking. In 1921 Bruno Lavagnini in a learned monograph, _Le +Origini del Romanzo Greco_, traced the development of the Greek romance +from local legends of Magna Graecia, Greece proper, the Greek Islands +and Asia Minor. He found support for his theory in the titles of many of +them: + + Ἐφεσιακά by Xenophon of Ephesus, + Βαβυλωνιακά by Xenophon of Antioch, + Αἰθιοπικά by Heliodorus, + Κυπριακά by Xenophon of Cyprus, + Ῥοδιακά, Κωακά, Θασιακά by + +a Philippus of Amphipolis, which Suidas mentioned. In his study he took +into account the novelle or short stories which Rohde believed had no +influence on the novel, and studied the Μιλησιακά, the short _Love +Romances_ of Parthenius, the fragment of the _Aitia_ of Callimachus, +_Acontius and Cydippe_. He showed that Rohde had entirely neglected the +important influence of the novella in the Greek romance and had been +mistaken in his insistence on the fundamentally different character of +the two. Rohde claimed that the novella was realistic, the romance +idealistic and hence declared that any derivation of the romance from +the novella was impossible. Lavagnini recognized other influences in the +development of the romance, especially those of satire and of the new +comedy, but he maintained that an essential feature was the historical. +He admitted that in the use of his local legends the events are +projected into an ideal and remote past. + +The tendency in the new criticism of the Greek Romances, notably in the +work of Aristide Calderini,[8] is not to seek for any one main source +for their “origins,” but rather to consider all possible precursors in +the field of fiction who directly or indirectly influenced them. Their +name is legion and they appear in the fields of both poetry and prose. +For from the earliest times of Greek literature the art of narration was +in use. Epics presented narratives of war in the Iliad, of adventure in +the Odyssey, of love in Apollonius Rhodius. Drama produced narrative +speeches particularly in tragedy in the role of the messenger. Elegiac +poetry developed subjective-erotic stories, based on myths, or history, +or real life, and written in lyric mood in narratives or letters. Idyls +finally portrayed against a pastoral setting the outdoor loves of +shepherds. + +In prose, there are full-grown novelettes combining love and adventure +embedded in the Greek historians: Herodotus’ story of Candaules’ +wife,[9] the story of Rhampsinitus’ treasure,[10] the story of the love +of Xerxes,[11] the story of Abradatas of Susa and Panthea in Xenophon’s +_Education of Cyrus_ which Whibley calls “the first love-story in +European prose.”[12] Short stories or novelle in prose are known from +the accounts of the Milesian Tales and from Parthenius’ miniature _Love +Romances_. The Μιλησιακά were written in the second century B.C., by +Aristides of Miletus and a collection of them was translated into Latin +by Cornelius Sisenna who died 57 B.C. Their character was definite: they +were erotic stories of a lascivious type. Their philosophy of life was +that all men—and women—are sinners, and this belief was embodied in +episodes from every-day life. Their amorality was such that the Parthian +Surena was horrified when in the Parthian War of 53 B.C., a copy of the +Milesian Tales was found in the pack of a Roman officer. Other short +local tales, for example those of Sybaris and of Ephesus, shared these +characteristics of realism, irony and disillusion. + +Parthenius of Nicaea wrote a collection of short _Love Romances_ of a +very different type. This Greek elegiac poet of the Augustan Age wrote +his _Love Romances_ in Greek prose as a storehouse for his friend, +Cornelius Gallus, to draw upon for material for epic or elegiac verse; +and for this reason he put them forth in the briefest and simplest form +possible. Most of them are unfamiliar stories even when they are about +well-known mythological characters. In many the love tales are set +against a background of war. Short as they are, both their subject +matter and style are significant for the development of Greek prose +fiction. + +Moreover, the work of the rhetorical schools must be considered among +the forerunners of the novel, both in Greek and Latin. Although we know +now that the Greek Romances were being written before the time of the +New or Second Sophistry which Rohde postulated to be their origin, still +in the Greek Romances as well as in the _Satyricon_ and in Apuleius’ +_Metamorphoses_, there are many illustrations of the influence of the +practice cases of the rhetorical schools. A study of the _Controversiae_ +in Seneca the Elder and in the pseudo-Quintilian, a study of _The Lives +of the Sophists_ by Philostratus demonstrates that in these school +exercises where “oratory became a theatrical fiction”[13] lay many first +drafts of a new literary genre, the romance.[14] + +It is a pity that Erwin Rohde could not have lived to revise himself his +great work on the Greek Romances in the light of the new discoveries +about them. No scholar has yet arisen equipped with his tremendous +erudition and penetrating criticism to succeed him worthily. Perhaps +indeed the time has not yet come to write a new critical history of the +Greek romance, for at any time added discoveries may demand still +further revision of dates and consideration of types. But at this stage +it is essential to review the new discoveries and to try to estimate +their significance. This outline is based on three important summaries: +the introduction by Aristide Calderini to his translation of +Chariton;[15] the “Appendix on the Greek Novel” by Stephen Gaselee in +the edition of _Daphnis and Chloe_ and Parthenius in _The Loeb Classical +Library_;[16] and the chapter on “Romance: the Greek Novel” by R. M. +Rattenbury in _New Chapters in the History of Greek Literature, Third +Series_.[17] + +Most spectacular and important of the new discoveries was that of the +fragments of the Ninus Romance, first published in 1893. They were found +on an Egyptian papyrus, on the back of which are written some accounts +of A.D. 101. The writing of the romance is so clear and beautiful that +it is dated by experts as belonging to the first century B.C. As +Rattenbury says: “The Ninus Romance is therefore the only pre-Christian +specimen of its kind; it is indisputably two centuries earlier than the +earliest of the completely extant romances (Charito), and probably as +much earlier than any of the known fragments.”[18] The remains consist +of two separate fragments with parts of five columns on the first and of +three on the second. Gaselee writes of the content:[19] “in the first +(A) the hero, Ninus, and the heroine (unnamed), deeply in love with one +another, approach each the other’s mother and set forth their love, +asking for a speedy marriage; in the second (B) the young couple seem to +be together at the beginning, but almost immediately Ninus is found +leading an army of his Assyrians, with Greek and Carian allies, against +the Armenian enemy.” + +Fragment A is short enough so that we can read Gaselee’s translation of +it:[20] + + Ninus and the maiden were both equally anxious for an immediate + marriage. Neither of them dared to approach their own mothers—Thambe + and Derceia, two sisters, the former Ninus’ mother, the latter the + mother of the girl—but preferred each to address themselves to the + mother of the other: for each felt more confidence towards their aunts + than towards their own parents. So Ninus spoke to Derceia: “Mother,” + said he, “with my oath kept true do I come into thy sight and to the + embrace of my most sweet cousin. This let the gods know first of + all—yes, they do know it, and I will prove it to you now as I speak. I + have travelled over so many lands and been lord over so many nations, + both those subdued by my own spear and those who, as the result of my + father’s might, serve and worship me, that I might have tasted of + every enjoyment to satiety—and, had I done so, perhaps my passion for + my cousin would have been less violent: but now that I have come back + uncorrupted I am worsted by the god of love and by my age; I am, as + thou knowest, in my seventeenth year, and already a year ago have I + been accounted as having come to man’s estate. Up to now I have been + nought but a boy, a child: and if I had had no experience of the power + of Aphrodite, I should have been happy in my firm strength. But now + that I have been taken prisoner—thy daughter’s prisoner, in no + shameful wise, but agreeably to the desires both of thee and her, how + long must I bear refusal? + + “That men of this age of mine are ripe for marriage, is clear enough: + how many have kept themselves unspotted until their fifteenth year? + But I am injured by a law, not a written law, but one sanctified by + foolish custom, that among our people virgins generally marry at + fifteen years. Yet what sane man could deny that nature is the best + law for unions such as this? Why, women of fourteen years can + conceive, and some, I vow, even bear children at that age. Then is not + thy daughter to be wed? ‘Let us wait for two years,’ you will say: let + us be patient, mother, but will Fate wait? I am a mortal man and + betrothed to a mortal maid: and I am subject not merely to the common + fortunes of all men—diseases, I mean, and that Fate which often + carries off those who stay quietly at home by their own fire-sides; + but sea-voyages are waiting for me, and wars after wars, and I am not + the one to shew any lack of daring and to employ cowardice to afford + me safety, but I am what you know I am, to avoid vulgar boasting. Let + the fact that I am a king, my strong desire, the unstable and + incalculable future that awaits me, let all these hasten our union, + let the fact that we are each of us only children be provided for and + anticipated, so that if Fate wills us anything amiss, we may at least + leave you some pledge of our affection. Perhaps you will call me + shameless for speaking to you of this: but I should indeed have been + shameless if I had privily approached the maiden, trying to snatch a + secret enjoyment, and satisfying our common passion by the + intermediaries of night or wine, or servants, or tutors: but there is + nothing shameful in me speaking to thee, a mother, about thy + daughter’s marriage that has been so long the object of thy vows, and + asking for what thou hast promised, and beseeching that the prayers + both of our house and of the whole kingdom may not lack fulfilment + beyond the present time.” + + So did he speak to the willing Derceia, and easily compelled her to + come to terms on the matter: and when she had for a while dissembled, + she promised to act as his advocate. Meanwhile although the maiden’s + passion was equally great, yet her speech with Thambe was not equally + ready and free; she had ever lived within the women’s apartments, and + could not so well speak for herself in a fair shew of words: she asked + for an audience—wept, and desired to speak, but ceased as soon as she + had begun. As soon as she had shewn that she was desirous of pleading, + she would open her lips and look up as if about to speak, but could + finally utter nothing: she heaved with broken sobs, her cheeks + reddened in shame at what she must say, and then as she tried to + improvise a beginning, grew pale again: and her fear was something + between alarm and desire and shame as she shrank from the avowal; and + then, as her affections got the mastery of her and her purpose failed, + she kept swaying with inward disturbance between her varying emotions. + But Thambe wiped away her tears with her hands and bade her boldly + speak out whatever she wished to say. But when she could not succeed, + and the maiden was still held back by her sorrow, “This,” cried + Thambe, “I like better than any words thou couldst utter. Blame not my + son at all: he has made no over-bold advance, and he has not come back + from his successes and his victories like a warrior with any mad and + insolent intention against thee: I trust that thou hast not seen any + such intention in his eyes. Is the law about the time of marriage too + tardy for such a happy pair? Truly my son is in all haste to wed: nor + needest thou weep for this that any will try to force thee at all”: + and at the same time with a smile she embraced and kissed her. Yet not + even then could the maiden venture to speak, so great was her fear + (_or_, her joy), but she rested her beating heart against the other’s + bosom, and kissing her more closely still seemed almost ready to speak + freely of her desires through her former tears and her present joy. + The two sisters therefore met together, and Derceia spoke first. “As + to the actual (marriage?),” said she....” + +In fragment B the seventeen-year-old warrior is found marshalling his +forces, “seventy thousand chosen Assyrian foot and thirty thousand +horse, and a hundred and fifty elephants,” and at the end beginning the +advance at the head of his cavalry: + +And stretching out his hands as if (offering sacrifice?), “This,” he +cried, “is the foundation and crisis of my hopes: from this day I shall +begin some greater career, or I shall fall from the power I now +possess.”[21] + +In this Ninus Romance as we have it, the name of the heroine is not +mentioned, but her mother’s name is Derceia and that is a close variant +of Derceto, the name of the divine mother of Semiramis in the usual +legend. So although the type is different from that of the queen of +Babylon, the character is probably hers. It seems evident that this +early novelist was, then, building his romance around historical +characters. Rattenbury points this out and also shows conclusively that +the characteristics of all the other romances are indisputably present +in this early fragmentary story:[22] + + “The impetuous but honest Ninus reappears clearly enough in the + Theagenes of Heliodorus, and the lovesick maiden of unassailable + virtue and almost intolerable modesty might be the heroine of any + Greek romance.” + +Ninus pledges his faith as later heroes take an oath. He like them is +the toy of Eros or Aphrodite. In the extant romances, + + “The characters, the treatment, and even the plots are almost + stereotyped; and yet one difference is observable—a tendency to + abandon an ostensibly historical background in favour of a purely + fictitious setting. The relative dates of the authors are by no means + certain, but the fortunate discovery of papyrus fragments of Charito + and Achilles Tatius supports the view, probable on other grounds, that + Charito is to be considered the earliest, and Achilles Tatius the + latest. It is therefore of interest to notice that Charito, though his + hero and heroine are creatures of his imagination, introduces some + historical characters and some historical events; his main story is + fictitious, but he seems to have been at pains to lend it a historical + flavour. Heliodorus, somewhat later, presents a picture of a fairly + definite historical period, but no more; his characters are all + fictitious and there is no historical authority for the sequence of + events which he describes. Achilles Tatius degrades romance from the + realm of princes to the level of the bourgeoisie. His story is frankly + fictitious, and he evidently had no feeling that romance should be + related to history.” + +Rattenbury goes on to illustrate his theory of the change from the +semi-historical to the purely fictitious romance by a study of the +Alexander Romance and the new fragments of other stories. The +pseudo-Callisthenes Alexander Romance in the oldest version extant is +dated about A.D. 300. But papyrus fragments indicate that a large part +of the material in it goes back to a time shortly after Alexander’s +death. From the evidence of our late pseudo-Callisthenes version which +probably followed tradition it would seem that history was treated as +fiction and little attention paid to the love-story of Roxane which +could have furnished such a lively erotic interest. New fragments of +other romances show other great rulers used as heroes.[23] One is the +Egyptian prince, Sesonchosis, called by the Greeks Sesostris. +Mythological characters too become protagonists in romances: Achilles +and Polyxena; the Egyptian Tefnut, daughter of Phre, the sun-god, who +took her adventures in the shape of a cat wandering in the desert of +Ethiopia. Other fragments run true to the general type of the Greek +Romances in manifesting now this, now that characteristic. + +The sum total of all the fragments discovered up to date gives +convincing evidence of two important facts: first, the extant Greek +Romances are only a small part of the output of this genre; second, the +dating of all the fragments places them between the end of the first and +the beginning of the fourth century of our era. The Ninus Romance is the +earliest fragment, Chariton’s the earliest complete romance, that of +Achilles Tatius the latest. On this framework a chronological list of +the extant novels arranged on the basis of proved data and the +probabilities of internal evidence and comparisons, shapes like this: + + The Greek Romances + _Date_ _Author_ _Title_ + I Century B.C. Unknown The Ninus Romance (frag.) + Before A.D. 150 Chariton of Chaereas and Callirhoe + Aphrodisias + II Century A.D. Lucian of Samosata A True History Lucius or + Ass (an epitome of the + lost _Metamorphoses_) + II-III Centuries Xenophon of Ephesus Ephesiaca, Habrocomes and + A.D. Anthia + II-III Centuries Heliodorus of Emesa Aethiopica, Theagenes and + A.D. Chariclea + II-III Centuries Longus Daphnis and Chloe + A.D. + About A.D. 300 Achilles Tatius of Clitophon and Leucippe + Alexandria + _Byzantine_ + XII Century A.D. Eustathius Hysmine and Hysminias + XII Century A.D. Nicetas Eugenianus Charicles and Drusilla + (verse) + XII Century A.D. Theodorus Prodromus Dosicles and Rhodanthe + (verse) + XII Century A.D. Constantine Aristander and Callithea + Manasses (verse) + Also known by translation or abstract + II-III Centuries Unknown Apollonius of Tyre (Latin + A.D. translation) + II-III Centuries Iamblichus, a Babyloniaca, Rhodanes and + A.D. Syrian Sinonis (abstract in + Photius) + II-III Centuries Antonius Diogenes The Wonderful Things + A.D. beyond Thule (abstract + in Photius) + Not before A.D. pseudo-Callisthenes Alexander Romance + 300 + +It is to be observed that from internal evidence Xenophon of Ephesus +probably came before Heliodorus. Longus is _sui generis_, and so stands +apart from the typical genre of the novels; in fact is a unique specimen +of another type, the pastoral romance. + +The new discoveries from the papyri with the consequent re-dating of all +known material has given a strong impetus to new study of Greek +Romances; new editions of text with translation are being brought out by +English, French, Italian and American scholars.[24] The introductions to +some of these editions, especially those of Calderini and Dalmeyda, are +the first distinguished literary work in the field since Rohde with the +exception of Samuel Lee Wolff’s monograph on _The Greek Romances in +Elizabethan Prose Fiction_, New York, 1912. + +The time has now come for a literary study in English which will make +available foreign criticism and present perhaps some new ideas. I plan +to discuss in successive chapters Chariton, Xenophon of Ephesus, +Heliodorus, Achilles Tatius and Longus, and to suggest something of +their influence. Then I shall take up the Λούκιος ἢ ὄνος attributed to +Lucian and his _True History_ and finally I shall show the synthesis of +the novel of adventure and the true Greek romance of love in the great +Latin novel, Apuleius’ _Metamorphoses_. + + + + + II + _CHARITON’S_ CHAEREAS AND CALLIRHOE + + +There are two reasons for beginning a perusal of the Greek Romances with +Chariton’s _Chaereas and Callirhoe_. It is “the earliest Greek romance +of which the text has been completely preserved.” It is “a lively tale +of adventure in which a nobly born heroine is kidnapped across the sea +from Syracuse to Asia Minor, where her beauty causes many complications +and she is finally rescued by her dashing lover.” I quote from Warren E. +Blake whose publication of the Greek text and a literary translation of +it are a monument to American scholarship. + +The date of the manuscript of this novel has been proved to be not later +than the middle of the second century A.D., by the recent discoveries of +papyrus fragments of it.[25] Warren Blake comments on the significance +of these discoveries:[26] + + “In view of the complete absence in ancient literature of any certain + allusion to Chariton, he was long supposed to be the latest of the + authors of Greek romance, and was dated, purely by conjecture, about + 500 A.D. But by a turn of fortune as truly remarkable as any + attributed by Chariton himself to that fickle goddess, three scraps of + his book have been turned up in Egypt during the last forty years. One + of these scraps was found in company with some business documents + which date from about the end of the second century of our era. + Inasmuch as the place of discovery was a small country town to which + new works of literature would not likely penetrate immediately on + publication, and since in any case an expensive book is almost sure to + be preserved longer than day-by-day business papers, we seem quite + justified in setting the date of publication back some twenty-five or + even fifty years. Thus it is probable that this novel was written at + least as early as the middle of the second century, only about one + hundred years later than most of the books of the New Testament.” + +The identity of the author is made known by the first sentence: “I am +Chariton of Aphrodisia, secretary to the advocate Athenagoras.” +Aphrodisia was a town in Caria in southern Asia Minor. Its locality +helps little in expanding the autobiography of the author out of this +one crisp sentence. But the romance itself reveals more of his +personality. His fondness for court-room scenes and his elaborate +descriptions of them are what we would expect from a secretary to a +ῥήτωρ or advocate. His learning is evident from his many literary and +mythological references. And occasionally he steps out of the role of +the impersonal narrator into his own character and speaks in the first +person to his reader. We will come to feel rather sure of his interests +and tastes as we read his πάθος ἐρωτικόν. + +Before proceeding to outline the plot of the eight books of this +romance, it will be well to clarify the story by presenting a list of +the characters. + +The chief characters are: + + _Chaereas_, the handsome young Greek hero, son of Ariston of Syracuse + _Callirhoe_, the beautiful young Greek heroine, daughter of + Hermocrates, a famous general of Syracuse + _Polycharmus_, a young Greek, the devoted friend of Chaereas + _Hermocrates_, the general of Syracuse + _Theron_, a pirate + _Dionysius_, the governor of Miletus + _Mithridates_, satrap of Caria + _Artaxerxes_, king of the Persians + _Statira_, his wife, queen of the Persians + _Pharnaces_, the governor of Lydia and Ionia + _Rhodogyne_, the sister of Pharnaces, daughter of Zopyrus, wife of + Megabyzus, a Persian beauty. + +The minor characters of importance are: + + _Leonas_, a slave-dealer of Miletus + _Plangon_, a female slave of Dionysius + _Phocas_, slave and overseer of Dionysius, husband of Plangon + _Artaxates_, the eunuch of Artaxerxes + _Hyginus_, a servant of Mithridates. + +The list of characters reveals at once a connection of Chariton’s novel +with the Ninus Romance because of the use of historical characters. +Hermocrates, the great general of Syracuse who defeated the Athenians in +the naval battle, 414 B.C., is the father of the heroine and is referred +to repeatedly with the greatest pride. Artaxerxes, the king of the +Persians, appears in person in courts and in wars. Historical events too +are mentioned as if to give a background of reality: the contests +between the Syracusans and the Athenians; the war between the Greeks and +the Persians; the rebellion of Egypt against Persia; the merit of Cyrus +the Great in organizing the army. + +Against such a background of plausible reality, the plot develops along +three main lines of interest: love, adventure and religion. The story +begins with the introduction of the radiant young hero and heroine of +Syracuse when they fall in love at first sight at a festival of +Aphrodite. Almost immediately they are married, but their ecstatic +happiness is short, for Callirhoe’s many other suitors, angry at her +choice, plot revenge. They make her husband jealous by false stories of +a lover whom his bride favors, and, by staging a surreptitious admission +to his house of a lover of Callirhoe’s maid, convince Chaereas that his +wife is faithless. In passionate fury he dashes to his wife’s room and +when Callirhoe overjoyed at his unexpected return rushes to meet him, he +kicks her with such violence in the middle of her body that she falls +down, to all appearance dead. Chaereas is tried for murder and pleads +for his own condemnation, but is acquitted against his will by the +appeal of Hermocrates. + +Callirhoe is now given a magnificent funeral and buried with much +treasure. The heroine, however, who had only fainted, soon revives, but +while she is bemoaning her sad fate, a band of pirates, led by Theron, +breaks open the tomb, steals the treasure, kidnaps the girl, then sets +sail with all speed for the east. At Miletus, Theron sells Callirhoe as +a slave to Dionysius, a noble Ionian prince. He soon falls in love with +his slave, but learning her story (except the fact that she was already +married which Callirhoe omits) respects her tragic position and woos her +with delicacy and consideration. Callirhoe, on finding that she is two +months with child, decides to accept the advice of the maid Plangon and +marry Dionysius to give her baby a father. Plangon assures Callirhoe +that the child will be considered a premature seven months baby, and she +secures from Dionysius a promise to bring up as his honored children any +sons of the marriage. Book III tells how Chaereas found the tomb empty; +how Theron was captured, forced to tell the truth by torture and +crucified; how Chaereas and his bosom friend Polycharmus went on a +warship to Miletus in search of Callirhoe but were captured and sold as +slaves to Mithridates, satrap of Caria. + +Now Mithridates too had fallen in love with Callirhoe on seeing her at +Miletus. On returning to Caria he discovers the identity of his slave +Chaereas just in time to save him from crucifixion because of an +uprising of his fellow-slaves, and tells him that his wife is now +married to Dionysius. Chaereas writes a letter to Callirhoe full of +penitence and of love and Mithridates forwards it by Hyginus, his +faithful slave, adding another letter of his own promising Chaereas and +Callirhoe his aid. Unfortunately these letters fall into the hands of +Dionysius himself and that noble prince, in his mad passion for his +wife, conceals from her the news that Chaereas is alive and makes a plot +for the protection of his own interests. He appeals to Pharnaces, +governor of Lydia and Ionia, who is also in love with Callirhoe, to help +a scheme he has made. Pharnaces thus prompted writes a letter to +Artaxerxes, King of the Persians, accusing Mithridates of trying to +corrupt Dionysius’ wife. The great King then summons Mithridates to a +trial for plotting adultery and sends also for Dionysius and Callirhoe. + +The court scene is full of magnificence and surprises. Mithridates has +no fear because in answer to the denunciations of Dionysius he is able +to produce as a witness Chaereas who swears to his innocence and +friendship. Mithridates is acquitted and departs. Then the King +dismisses the court for five days before adjudging whose wife Callirhoe +is to be since now she has two living husbands. Meanwhile he intrusts +the lady for safe keeping to his wife, Statira. Dionysius is torn +between the promptings of passion and reason. Chaereas is in despair at +the possibility of losing Callirhoe again. And Artaxerxes, the King, +like all the other great gentlemen in the story, falls madly in love +with Callirhoe for her beauty. + +The King’s passion makes him postpone the court trial a month on the +pretext of a dream which demanded sacrifice to the gods. His eunuch +tries to persuade the heroine to do herself the honor of submitting to +the King’s embraces, but only horrifies and offends her purity. Now +Fortune again takes a hand in separating once more Chaereas and +Callirhoe, for a revolt of the Egyptians is announced, the King must be +off to war, and as usual the queen and her suite go with him. Callirhoe +accompanies the queen by royal orders. + +Dionysius of course serves as one of the King’s generals. He has a +crafty piece of news conveyed to Chaereas that in reward for his +faithful service the King had given him Callirhoe. Chaereas, believing +this false story, and no longer caring to live, enlists with the +faithful Polycharmus in the Egyptian army to fight against his rival. He +is allowed to collect an army of three hundred Greeks in memory of +Thermopylae and with them captures Tyre. News of this loss makes the +Persian King so anxious that he decides not to travel with all his +retinue, but to leave the women on the little island of Aradus. Chaereas +who is proving a valiant warrior soon takes the island and discovers +Callirhoe among his captives. Both faint on seeing each other but since +joy never kills, they soon recover and reunited tell all and forgive +all. + +Word suddenly comes that the Persian King has defeated the Egyptians and +their King is dead. Chaereas and his men decide to sail home to +Syracuse, but first in response to the plea of Callirhoe Chaereas sends +his prisoner, the queen Statira, back to the King because she had +befriended Callirhoe in her woes. Callirhoe without the knowledge of +Chaereas writes a beautiful and affectionate letter of farewell to +Dionysius, intrusting to him the care of her son. (Dionysius still +believes he is the boy’s father!) The ship of Chaereas is driven by fair +winds to Sicily where Hermocrates and the people of Syracuse receive the +hero and heroine in amazement and joy. Chaereas tells the story of all +their adventures and Callirhoe ends the tale with a prayer to Aphrodite: +“I beg thee, never again part me from Chaereas, but grant us both a +happy life, and death together.” + +With this simple outline of the plot before us let us study the way in +which the story is told. Notable first of all are the shifting scenes, +for the action moves rapidly from Syracuse, to Miletus, to Caria, to +Babylon, to the sea, to Tyre, to the island of Aradus and then at last +back to Syracuse after the full circle of adventures. The contrast +between the free Greek city of Syracuse and the oriental kingdoms is +constantly emphasized, but it is the love of adventure for adventure’s +sake that spices the narrative. The settings include, besides +picturesque descriptions of localities, court-room scenes which are full +of contrasts: the murder-trial of Chaereas in Syracuse and the trial of +Theron also; the arraignment of Mithridates for adultery before the +Great King in Babylon. Pageantry of weddings and of religious ceremonies +also enrich the plot. + +The characters are painted in bold, rich colors. Hero and heroine are so +beautiful that they can be compared only to great works of art: Chaereas +resembles the pictures and statues of Achilles, Nireus, Hippolytus, +Alcibiades. Callirhoe is now Aphrodite incarnate, now Artemis. Love is +enflamed by their great beauty and enters through their eyes at their +first sight of each other. Chaereas is proud and arrogant because of his +looks and so passionate that he is unrestrained in his anger when he +believes Callirhoe false. The kick which he gave his bride is a blot on +his character which the reader finds harder to condone than Callirhoe +did. She declares that cruel Fortune forced her husband to this act, for +he never before had struck even a slave. He is also so mercurial that he +repeatedly gives way to despair and is repeatedly saved from committing +suicide by his devoted friend and companion, Polycharmus. He appears in +more heroic guise as a warrior when he joins the Egyptians against +Artaxerxes and Dionysius, resolved to die in battle, and wins a great +naval victory. He is generous in sending the captive queen back to her +lord. And he fulfills the ideals of romantic chivalry by declaring to +Callirhoe at the end that she is the mistress of his soul. + +Callirhoe like Helen had the gift of fatal beauty so that all men who +saw her fell in love with her and she incurred for a time the jealousy +of Aphrodite. But in spite of every temptation her spirit remained +virginal and she was persuaded to marry Dionysius only to give a nominal +father to her unborn child. She meets misfortune with natural tears, but +with more fortitude than Chaereas shows. And she rules her anger even +when the eunuch of King Artaxerxes makes insulting proposals to her by +remembering that she had been well brought up and as a Greek taught +self-control. She handles difficult situations with a woman’s intuitive +tact as when she writes a consoling farewell letter to Dionysius, +without letting her husband have the pain of knowing of it and its +tenderness. By it she secures Dionysius’ care for the son he still +believes his own. She wins from Chaereas with gentle tact a promise to +send back the captives Statira and the beautiful Rhodogyne to the +Persians. And in meek devotion at the end she essays to win even the +goddess Aphrodite to complete reconciliation. + +Polycharmus is a type more than an individual, for he is to Chaereas +what Achates was to Aeneas, the faithful friend who accompanies him +through all adventures. With boyish zeal, he hides from his parents in +Syracuse his plan to go with Chaereas on his search for Callirhoe, but +he appears on the stern of the ship as it sails in time to wave a +farewell to his father and mother. His chief function is to encourage +Chaereas and prevent his suicide. At the end on their return to Syracuse +he is rewarded by being given Chaereas’ sister for a bride and a part of +the spoils of war for a dowry. + +Dionysius is a sympathetic and noble character; indeed his sins are all +for love. He is in deep mourning for his dead wife when Callirhoe is +purchased as a slave by his manager. Although he believes that no person +who is not free-born can be truly beautiful, he is overwhelmed with love +at the first sight of Callirhoe. With tactful sympathy he draws out her +story and believes it. He never forces his passion upon her, but woos +her delicately through his maid-servant, Plangon, and is overjoyed when +Callirhoe finally consents to legal marriage for the purpose of raising +a family. Even then in spite of his desire he delays the marriage that +he may do Callirhoe the honor of a great wedding in the city. His +happiness is complete to his mind when after seven months a son is born. +So it is because of his sincere love that when he hears that a Syracusan +warship has arrived to demand Callirhoe back, he commends his slave +Phocas who out of loyalty to his master had persuaded barbarians to +destroy the ship and its crew. Dionysius’ only anxiety is that since +some of the men escaped, Chaereas may still be alive. This last fact he +conceals from Callirhoe and to comfort her for Chaereas’ supposed death +persuades her to erect a cenotaph to her first husband’s memory. Later +when he receives the intercepted letter of Chaereas to Callirhoe, he +faints with grief and fear, but coming to he believes the letter forged +as part of a plot of Mithridates to win the favor of his bride, so he +accuses Mithridates to the Great King. Summoned to Babylon to the trial +he is in constant terror, for “he looked on all men as his rivals” +knowing the devastating effects of Callirhoe’s beauty. When Chaereas is +produced alive in the trial, he argues valiantly for the retention of +his wife with some telling thrusts at Chaereas, but finally when he has +lost his love, he bears his grief like a man, having remarkable +self-control, treasuring Callirhoe’s affectionate letter as true solace, +and devoting himself to her son. Dionysius, as Callirhoe reminds him +once, is a Greek with a Greek education. + +Among the orientals, resplendent princes appear often only to be +numbered among the disconsolate lovers of Callirhoe and because of their +passion to assist in furthering the complications of the plot. Such are +Mithridates and Pharnaces. More individualized portraits are painted of +King Artaxerxes and Queen Statira. Oriental magnificence is the aura of +the Great King’s personality whether he appears presiding in the +court-room, or hunting in Tyrian purple with golden dagger and elegant +bow and arrow on his caparisoned horse, or riding to war with his great +army and his retinue: his queen, her attendants, his eunuchs, all their +gold and silver and fine raiment. Yet through this rich setting appears +a wise ruler who takes counsel of his advisers in times of crises, +listens judiciously to evidence in the court-room, and in war follows +the military traditions of Cyrus the Great. But he has his human side: +is influenced by wine, loneliness and the dark, and succumbs to +Callirhoe’s beauty though he is married to a great and subtle queen. +Hoping to win the object of his passion he is not above machinations +with his eunuch who acts as his go-between and with optimistic hope of +success even has Callirhoe taken along with the queen when he goes to +war. Yet when Statira is restored to him by Chaereas’ magnanimity, he +welcomes her warmly although her news that Callirhoe is with Chaereas is +like “a fresh blow upon an old wound.” He appears most human after +hearing Statira’s story of all that happened, for he is filled with +varied emotions: wrath at the capture of his dear ones, sorrow at the +departure of Chaereas, and final gratitude that Chaereas had ended the +possibility of his seeing Callirhoe. Out of his own conflict of +emotions, he breaks gently to Dionysius the news of his loss of +Callirhoe and calls him away from personal sorrow by giving him higher +responsibility in the realm. Artaxerxes is really made to appear in the +novel as the Great King. + +Statira is no less the queen. She is delighted when her husband suddenly +intrusts Callirhoe to her care, regarding his action as an honor and a +sign of confidence. She encourages Callirhoe with tactful sympathy and +secures needed rest for her, keeping away the curious ladies who hurry +to the palace to call. After a few days Statira can not resist asking +Callirhoe which husband she preferred, but her curiosity is not rewarded +for Callirhoe only weeps. As time goes on Statira’s jealousy is aroused +because Callirhoe’s beauty outshines her own and because she is fully +aware of the significance of the King’s more frequent visits to the +women’s quarters. So when Artaxerxes is preparing to start off for war, +the queen does not ask what will become of Callirhoe because she does +not wish to have to take her, but the King at the end demands her +presence. Apparently Statira never betrayed her jealousy to Callirhoe, +for after Chaereas took captive all the women in Aradus, Callirhoe has +only praise for her kindness to relate to Chaereas and calls Statira her +dearest friend. Her generous happiness in being able to return Statira’s +courtesy by sending her back to her husband wins from Statira a just +encomium: “You have shown a noble nature, one that is worthy of your +beauty. It was a happy sponsorship indeed which the King intrusted to +me.” Callirhoe on parting commends her child to the queen’s care and +secretly consigns to the queen her letter to Dionysius. Statira is still +a subtle enough woman to enjoy telling the King at once on her return +without her rival: “You have me as a gift from Callirhoe.” + +Set off against the Great King of the Persians is Hermocrates, the +general of Syracuse who defeated the Athenians. His greatness as an +admiral is matched by his leadership as a citizen. At the trial of +Chaereas for the murder of Callirhoe it is Hermocrates whose generous +plea in his daughter’s name secures from the people a vote of acquittal. +He listens to the wish of the people assembled when they urge him to +marry his daughter to Chaereas. When Theron, the pirate, is captured and +the crowd at Syracuse is milling about him, Hermocrates insists on a +public trial for him in accordance with the laws and after the evidence +is presented it is by a vote of the people that he is condemned. Then +Hermocrates asks the people to vote to send a ship in search of his +kidnapped daughter as a reward for his patriotic services. Callirhoe’s +pride centers in her father no less than in her Greek blood. Her reunion +with her father at the end of the romance is almost as moving as her +restoral to Chaereas. Hermocrates shines forth in untarnished glory as a +patriotic admiral, a leader of thought in a democratic state, and a +devoted father. + +The minor parts are painted with less subtlety. Theron, the villain of +the story, is a black-hearted pirate dominated only by gain and +self-interest, ready to save his life at the expense of his +fellow-sailors. Slaves are presented as vivaciously as they are in +comedy. Plangon, the maid of Dionysius, is a shrewd, cunning +opportunist, ready to serve her master’s interests but not without +kindness to the distraught Callirhoe in her plight of pregnancy. +Artaxates, the eunuch of Artaxerxes, is venal, wily, complaisant and +low-minded. As the confidant of Artaxerxes he takes his cues from his +master’s words, and solicits his favor by an attempt to seduce +Callirhoe’s heart for him. As a eunuch, a slave and a barbarian (says +Chariton) he could not conceive that Callirhoe would not yield to the +wishes of the King. When he is unable to persuade her by flattery, he +threatens her with the King’s vengeance. And when her words betray her +love for Chaereas, Artaxates can call her only a poor, foolish girl for +preferring a slave to the Great King of the Persians. + +The use of the crowd by Chariton is another link between his romance and +drama, for it often fulfills the function assumed by the chorus in +tragedy, that is, the part of the spectator who comments on the action +and interprets it. It is the people of Syracuse in assembly that +persuades Hermocrates to wed his daughter to Chaereas. The crowd votes +the crucifixion of Theron and attends it. At Miletus the crowd joins in +Dionysius’ prayer to Aphrodite to protect Callirhoe and her son. The +crowd at Babylon is struck dumb with amazement at the radiance of +Callirhoe. And when the Great King is to decide whether Chaereas or +Dionysius is to be her husband, all Babylon becomes a court-room as the +people discuss the rival partners. At the end of the romance, all the +harbor of Syracuse is filled with men to watch the ship come in, and +when Chaereas and Callirhoe are revealed on it, the crowd bursts into +tears. All rush to the theater and demand that there at once Chaereas +tell them his adventures. “Tell us everything,” they keep shouting. They +groan at his misfortunes. They offer prayers for the future of his son. +They shout assent to his proposal to make his three hundred valiant +Greek soldiers fellow-citizens of Syracuse. Indeed the crowd is +constantly the background of the action of the romance. + +Various mechanical devices used in the development of the plot show +Chariton’s art of narration. Conversation as any novel demands is +constantly used. Soliloquies are introduced frequently: at some +emotional crisis, Chariton, instead of describing the thoughts and +feelings of his characters, has them burst into speech to themselves. +Callirhoe on hearing of the supposed loss of Chaereas with the warship +laments his death and the destruction of her father’s gallant vessel. +Later beside the Euphrates river when she can no longer see “the ocean +which led back to Syracuse,” she upbraids cruel Fortune for driving her +farther and farther from home. Again, in horror at the proposals of the +eunuch, she laments all her misfortunes and expresses her resolve to die +as befits Hermocrates’ daughter rather than become the mistress of the +Great King. So too Dionysius on the return of Chaereas, after attempts +at self-control, bursts forth with despair and jealousy into a lament +over the imminent loss of his love. At the same time Chaereas, believing +that Callirhoe loves Dionysius and will never return to him from the +wealthy Ionian, utters a bitter lament before attempting to hang +himself. + +Letters also are an important means of developing the plot in the Greek +Romances, especially in Chariton. He uses seven letters.[27] Chaereas’ +first letter to Callirhoe is an impassioned love-letter with an appeal +for forgiveness and for an assurance that she still loves him. This is a +crucial letter in the plot because it is sent by Bias of Priene to +Dionysius himself who conceals it from Callirhoe. Bias sends a brief +business letter with it. Pharnaces, governor of Lydia, on the +instigation of Dionysius writes a letter to Artaxerxes accusing +Mithridates of trying to seduce Dionysius’ wife. This letter is +important for the plot, because it motivates the trial of Mithridates. +The Great King on receiving it dispatches two laconic business letters +to Pharnaces summoning Dionysius and to Mithridates calling him to +trial. The other two letters do not affect the plot, but reveal the +characters of the senders. These are the letters in Book VIII of +Chaereas to Artaxerxes and of Callirhoe to Dionysius. Chaereas proudly +sends back Statira unharmed as the gift of Callirhoe to the Great King. +Callirhoe with a woman’s intuition comforts Dionysius for her loss by +gratitude for his protection, by assuring him that she is with him in +spirit in the presence of her son whom she intrusts to his care. She +begs him not to marry again, but to bring up the daughter of his first +wife and her own son, eventually marry them to each other and send him +to Syracuse to see his grandfather. She includes a message to Plangon +and ends with an appeal to good Dionysius to remember his Callirhoe. It +is hardly strange that Callirhoe concealed this masterpiece of +epistolography from her jealous husband, Chaereas. + +The taking of an oath is often an important feature of Greek Romances. +In Chariton, Dionysius swears solemnly by the sea, by Aphrodite and by +Eros that he will marry Callirhoe according to the Greek laws “for the +begetting of children” and will bring up any child she bears.[28] Dreams +too play their part in the plot. In a dream Dionysius sees an apparition +of his dead wife as she looked on her wedding-day. His slave Leonas +interprets the dream as prophetic of his coming happiness with the newly +purchased slave, Callirhoe.[29] Callirhoe in her sleep sees a phantom of +Chaereas who says to her: “My wife, I intrust our son to you.” This +dream determines her to bring up her baby and so to marry Dionysius.[30] +In Babylon when she is dreading having to appear in court, she has a +dream of her happy wedding to Chaereas in Syracuse. The maid Plangon +interprets the dream as a good omen for future happiness.[31] King +Artaxerxes had a dream of gods demanding sacrifice so he proclaimed a +festival of thirty days throughout Asia. This delayed his decision +between Chaereas and Dionysius, hence was most important for the plot +because wars arose before the court was held and in them Chaereas and +Callirhoe came together.[32] + +Apparent deaths are a common device of the Greek novelists and +Chariton’s plot turns on two, the supposed death of Callirhoe from +Chaereas’ blow and her subsequent burial; the reported death of Chaereas +on his warship. Concomitant with such deaths are the unexpected +reappearances which add the element of surprise, so essential for the +characters and the crowd. + +Descriptive passages are few and brief in Chariton and are often worked +out in a suggestive simile rather than in a conspicuous purple patch. +Chaereas was as “radiant as a star. The flush of exercise bloomed on his +glowing face like gold on silver.” Callirhoe, recognizing her lover, +became more stately and lovely than ever, as a flickering lamp again +flares up when oil is poured in.[33] Public ceremonies are described at +more length: the funeral procession of Callirhoe,[34] her wedding to +Dionysius.[35] Space is given too to the description of Artaxerxes’ +hunt, that favorite ancient sport;[36] to storm at sea;[37] to war.[38] +But all these descriptions are concise in their picturesqueness. + +Finally clarity in the narrative is secured by repeated résumés of the +story either by the characters or by the author himself. Callirhoe tells +her tragic tale to Dionysius with such sincerity that he believes it and +honors her as a free-born woman.[39] Polycharmus relates his adventures +with Chaereas to Mithridates and thereby saves his friend and himself +from crucifixion.[40] Chaereas at the end unfolds the whole Odyssey of +his wanderings to the populace in the theater of Syracuse.[41] At the +beginning of Book V Chariton epitomizes all the preceding part of the +novel and at the beginning of Book VIII he recapitulates the preceding +book and reassures his audience about the final book. + + “Furthermore, I think that this last book will be the most pleasant of + all to my readers, and in fact will serve as an antidote to the tragic + events of the former ones. No more piracy or slavery or court trials + or battles or suicide or war or capture here, but true love and lawful + marriage! And so I am going to tell you how the goddess brought the + truth to light and revealed the unsuspecting lovers to each other.” + +The happy ending which Chariton here forecasts is an essential feature +of a Greek romance. For in this type of literature in which Chariton is +a pioneer, virtue must triumph. The ethics demands that the hero and +heroine must be noble in character as well as in station and that +therefore justice must be done to virtue. The hero we have seen must +possess personal courage and military courage. He must be capable of +emotional devotion, first of all to his lady, then to his friend, and +always to his father. His faults are those of pride, arrogance and +passion and his moments of brutality are condoned by his contemporaries +on account of his passionate temperament. He can be generous to his +foes. He can show pity to the unfortunate. But his sympathies, even when +the type is embodied in as noble a character as Dionysius, are evoked by +the free-born in distress, rarely by slaves. The virtues of the heroine +are first of all chastity, then loyal devotion to parents, husband and +child, pride of family, generosity of spirit and sympathy. She is +capable of resolute decision and heroic action if her chastity is +menaced or her dear ones are in danger. Standards different from our own +best ones appear in the general attitude towards slaves as an inferior +class and in the brutality manifested in the hero’s kick, in executions +on the cross, in torture of witnesses. Cleverness and deception are +traits which are prized more highly than we admit now. The noblest +sentiments expressed are in behalf of liberty and patriotism. + +Religion plays so important a part in the romance that it demands a full +treatment. Chariton’s novel is dominated by two cults: the worship of +the abstract goddess Fortune, the worship of the goddess of love, +Aphrodite. At the end of Book I Callirhoe, just after she has been sold +as a slave, in a soliloquy, upbraids cruel Fortune for all her troubles, +for the goddess made her lover her murderer, surrendered her to +tomb-robbers and now has let her be sold as a slave. Again Callirhoe, +when she finds that she is pregnant, reproaches Fortune for letting her +bear a child to be a slave. And on the banks of the Euphrates in another +soliloquy Callirhoe again charges Fortune with all her miseries and +blames her for taking “delight in persecuting one lone girl.” +Mithridates tells Chaereas: “The whims of Fortune have involved you in +this melancholy drama.” Queen Statira, when captured, exclaims that +Fortune has preserved her to see this day of slavery. And the author of +the romance as well as the characters repeatedly attributes to Fortune +the strange and sad misadventures of his hero and heroine. Callirhoe, +Chariton says, “was overcome by the stratagems of Fortune, against whom +alone human reason has no power. She is a divinity who loves opposition, +and there is nothing which may not be expected of her.” Throughout the +romance Fortune seems to be conceived not as blind chance, but as a +baleful goddess, who takes delight in cruelty and torture. + +In conflict with her machinations is the power of the goddess of love +whom the young lovers worship. As clearly as in a Greek tragedy +Aphrodite’s influence is predominant throughout the romance. At the very +beginning, Chaereas and Callirhoe see each other for the first time at a +festival of the goddess and immediately fall in love. The end of the +romance is the prayer of thanks which Callirhoe offers to Aphrodite in +her temple at Syracuse. Callirhoe is so beautiful that over and over she +seems Aphrodite incarnate, now to the slave-dealer, Leonas, now to +Dionysius, now to the crowd at the time of her marriage to Dionysius, +now in Babylon. Prayers for aid are constantly offered to the goddess by +Callirhoe, by Chaereas, by Dionysius, by Artaxerxes, and these +worshippers offer their petitions in her temples in Syracuse, in +Miletus, in Babylon, in Aradus and in Cyprus. Her power is acknowledged; +her favor is asked. Chaereas discovers Callirhoe is alive by seeing a +golden statue of her which Dionysius had dedicated in the temple of +Aphrodite near Miletus. Chariton himself in his résumé at the beginning +of Book VIII records the influence that Aphrodite had in his story. When +Fortune was maneuvering to have Chaereas leave his wife behind at +Aradus, all unaware of her presence, “this seemed outrageous to +Aphrodite,” says Chariton, “who, though she had previously been terribly +angered at Chaereas’ uncalled-for jealousy, whereby he had insolently +rejected her kindness after receiving from her a gift more superlatively +beautiful even than Paris’ prize, was by now becoming reconciled with +him. And since Chaereas had now nobly redeemed himself in the eyes of +Love by his wanderings from west to east amid countless sufferings, +Aphrodite felt pity for him, and, as she had in the beginning brought +together this noble pair, so now, having harried them long over land and +sea, she was willing once more to unite them.” + +The final consideration about Chariton must be the style of his work. +And first of all the inquiry rises to our lips: how did the secretary of +Athenagoras become so distinguished in the art of narration? Homer, I am +convinced, is the master from whom, as Dante from Vergil, he took his +beautiful style. The romance is rich in literary allusions, but beyond +all others Homer is quoted repeatedly (twenty-four times indeed) and +with great effectiveness. Sometimes a mere transitional phrase is +adopted: + + “while the words were yet on his lips.”[42] + +In descriptions the brevity and simplicity of Homer are used with such +nicety that the language often trails off naturally into the very words +of the epic. In the thirty day festival at Babylon + + “the sweet savor arose to heaven eddying amid the smoke.”[43] + +Men are pictured fighting and in their close array + + “buckler pressed on buckler, helm on helm, and man on man.”[44] + +And as the conflict joined and Chaereas rushed against his enemies, he + + “smote them right and left and there rose a hideous moaning.”[45] + +Artaxerxes in his court is compared to Zeus among the assembled +gods.[46] A phantom of Chaereas appears to Callirhoe resembling him + + “in stature, and fair eyes, and voice, and the raiment of his body was + the same.”[47] + +When Callirhoe came into the court-room in Babylon, + + “she looked just as the divine poet says that Helen did, when she + appeared to ‘them that were with Priam and Panthöos and Thymoëtes ... + being elders of the people.’[48] At the sight of her, admiring silence + fell, ‘and each one uttered a prayer that he might be her + bedfellow.’”[49] + +Besides this use of Homeric phrases in descriptions, quotations are +frequently introduced in conversations as if Chariton found only Homer’s +words expressive to convey the thought of one character to another.[50] +But far more important than such uses of Homeric phraseology is the +intensification of emotional coloring by a quotation from Homer at a +crisis of poignant feeling. When Callirhoe’s nurse calls her to get up +for it is her wedding day, + + “her knees and heart were unstrung,” + +because she did not know whom she was to marry.[51] When Chaereas is +told that his wife is an adulteress, + + “a black cloud of grief enwrapped him, and with both hands he took + dark dust and poured it over his head and defiled his comely + face.”[52] + +When Chaereas is determined to set sail in winter in search of his +kidnapped bride, his mother begged him to take her with him and cried in +Homer’s words: + + “My child, have regard unto this bosom and pity me if ever I gave thee + consolation of my breast.”[53] + +When Dionysius suddenly learned at a banquet that Chaereas was alive +from reading his letter to Callirhoe, + + “his knees and his heart were unstrung.”[54] + +When Artaxerxes was smitten with love for Callirhoe, he lay awake all +night, + + “now lying on his side, now on his back, now on his face.”[55] + +When Chaereas and Callirhoe had their ecstatic reunion on Aradus, + + “when they had had their fill of tears and story-telling, embracing + each other, + + ‘they came gladly to the rites of their bed, as of old.’”[56] + +Enough illustrations of Chariton’s use of Homer have been given to show +the manner of it. Different explanations of Chariton’s constant use have +been advanced. Schmid thinks it is an indication of the influence of the +Menippean satire with its mingling of prose and verse. Jacob believes it +due to Chariton’s desire to make his style poetic. Calderini is more +understanding. He thinks that Chariton, thoroughly familiar with Homer, +quoted him to express worthily some noble thought and that he saw the +peculiar emphasis which a quotation from Homer could give to the +expression of a sudden, violent emotion. He also uses episodes from +Homer (the appeal of Hecuba from the wall to Hector,[57] the apparition +of Patroclus before Achilles,[58] the Homeric τειχοσκοπία).[59] More +than all, his style is usually Homeric in its brevity and simplicity; +and in his use of quotations, of scenes and of style he is the first +example of those relations between epic and romance which became so +important in the mediaeval literature of the west.[60] + +Other literary influences are apparent. The Milesian Tales may have +suggested Miletus as the locality for the love-story of Dionysius. The +Ninus Romance is the precursor of the historical element which paints a +background of realism through the use of historical characters, notably +Hermocrates and Artaxerxes, and through allusions to actual wars. Drama +contributed the language of the stage to the description of the action. +And at one crisis when Chaereas, who is believed dead, is produced by +Mithridates in court, Chariton explains: + +“Who could worthily tell of the appearance of the courtroom then? What +dramatist ever produced so incredible a situation on the stage? Indeed, +you might have thought that you were in a theater, filled with a +multitude of conflicting passions.”[61] In another passage Mithridates +says Fortune has forced the lovers to enact a very sad tragedy.[62] New +comedy contributed types of characters (particularly the slaves), spicy +dialogue and at least two quotations.[63] The influence of history and +especially of Herodotus is apparent in the use of local history, in +narratives of adventure, in depiction of the adulation of the eastern +sovereign, in the reflection of the great struggle between the west and +the east. The influence of the rhetorical schools is seen in the court +scenes which in both their cases and speeches are strangely like those +of the _Controversiae_ of Seneca and the _Declamationes_ of Quintilian. + +All these different literary forces combined to produce a style of +narration in Chariton which is at the same time simple and ingenuous, +yet rhetorical. His startling baroque effects are achieved by just this +variation from simple concise epic narrative with strong Homeric +coloring, to intense dramatic moments of high tragedy, to comic scenes +of slaves’ intrigues, to love passages which before had found expression +only in poetry. Probably Chariton learned the effective use of +parallelism, contrast and surprise from the schools of rhetoric, but he +wields all his various tools with such success that he has carved out a +new form of literature in his prose romance. + + + + + III + _THE_ EPHESIACA _OR_ HABROCOMES AND ANTHIA + _BY XENOPHON OF EPHESUS_ + + + “Let me not to the marriage of true minds + Admit impediments. Love is not love + Which alters when it alteration finds, + Or bends with the remover to remove: + + Love’s not Time’s Fool, though rosy lips and cheeks + Within his bending sickle’s compass come; + Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, + But bears it out even to the edge of doom. + If this be error and upon me prov’d, + I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.” + +Shakespeare’s famous CXVI sonnet is the lyric _credo_ of those who +believe that love can triumph over adversity, old age and even death +itself. The lines just quoted are the quintessence of lyric romance. + +Suppose now that the romantic novel or the modern cinema wishes to +feature this same theme: “True love lasts.” How would either one convey +the idea? I am going to show you by a concrete and melodramatic +illustration. Here is a script for it.[64] + +A young Greek who has been seeking over the world his kidnapped bride +has come to Sicily, his resources nearly gone. An old fisherman +Aegialeus gives him hospitality. It is night. The young man and the old +man tell each other their sad love stories. The old man is now speaking: + +“I was a wealthy young Spartan and loved a Spartan girl, Thelxinoe. She +returned my love and presently we had, no one knowing it, our heart’s +desire. But my darling’s parents proposed to marry her to another +Spartan. So we fled secretly together and Sparta pronounced sentence of +death on us both. We managed to travel to Sicily. Here we lived in dire +poverty, but in our happiness we forgot all else because we were +together. Soon my dear died, but her body was not buried. I have her +with me and I love her always and I am with her.” After these words he +led Habrocomes into an inner room and showed him the mummy that had been +Thelxinoe. She was old now, but she appeared beautiful to her husband. +“To her,” said he, “I always talk as if she were alive. I sleep here +with her; I eat near her. If I come back tired from my fishing, the +sight of her comforts me. For I do not see her as you do, my son. I see +her as she was in Lacedemon, as she was when we fled. I see the night of +our first love. I see our flight together.” + +The young Greek exclaims: + + “O my own dearest love, shall I ever find you even dead? Here to + Aegialeus the body of Thelxinoe is the great comfort of his life. Now + I have learned that age sets no bounds to true love.” + +This story of the second or third century A.D. might seem too macabre to +be possible if the _New York Times_ of Nov. 12, 1940 had not recorded +such a case at Key West, Florida. Karl Tanzler van Cosel, aged X-ray +technician, had removed the body of Elena Hoyas Mesa from its crypt and +had kept it in his bed-room for seven years. He said he had hoped to +restore it to life. Perhaps Xenophon of Ephesus who wrote this story of +Aegialeus and his mummy had heard some such “true story” which he +embodied in his novel. In any case, he has given us here an illustration +of how the theme “true love is eternal” may be pictured in a realistic +romance. Think how dramatic this scene would be in a movie: the small +inner bed-room of the fisherman’s hut suddenly lighted; the old man +getting his young friend to help him remove the front of the coffin, +then looking rapturously at the mummy inside and reaffirming before it +his life-long love. That is my illustration of the heart of a realistic +Greek romance. + +Almost nothing is known about Xenophon of Ephesus who wrote it. Suidas +mentions his romance the _Ephesiaca_ in ten books (instead of the +present eight) and speaks also of a work he wrote on the city of +Ephesus. Xenophon probably was a native of Ephesus, for he shows +intimate acquaintance with many details of the cult of Artemis there. +His date can be given only approximately, but considerable internal +evidence helps us to place him. He imitates certain passages in +Chariton, so he must be later than the second century A.D. Certain +references are very important. He is later than Augustus, for he refers +to the prefect of Egypt and of course there was none until after 30 +B.C.[65] He mentions the Irenarch of Cilicia, and this official was not +known before Hadrian.[66] He refers to the Artemision of Ephesus as if +it were at the height of its glory and contemporary.[67] It was pillaged +and burned by the Gauls in 263 and only in part rebuilt. But, as +Dalmeyda points out,[68] these details give us only vague indications of +the date. Until some fragment of papyrus which can be dated is +discovered, we can place Xenophon merely with some probability about the +end of the second century of our era. + +The novel itself is simple in language and brief in scope, but +complicated in plot from many kaleidoscopic changes of scenes. There are +so many exits and reentries of the characters that we lose track of +them. The brevity of the narrative, the laconic expressions of emotion +in it have made certain critics maintain the theory that it is only an +epitome of a story, or a kind of scenario written as a preliminary +sketch of a longer work. It seems to me possibly an intentionally short +romance written briefly and simply by an author whose taste was akin to +that of Chariton and who perhaps was intentionally showing a definite +reaction against the verbosity of other novelists. + +Partly because of the brevity of the romance a synopsis of the plot has +to be long. So much is crowded into small space, so many rapid +transitions from scene to scene are made, that a full sequential outline +must be given before we can study the significance and color of the +romance. Here then is the plot. The chief characters are: + + _Habrocomes_ of Ephesus, the handsome hero + _Anthia_ of Ephesus, the beautiful heroine + _Apsyrtos_, a pirate chieftain + _Manto_, the daughter of Apsyrtos + _Moeris_, a Syrian, husband of Manto + _Lampon_, a goatherd, slave of Manto + _Hippothoos_, a brigand + _Perilaos_, a high police official of Cilicia + _Eudoxos_, a physician + _Psammis_, a rajah of India + _Araxos_, an old soldier in Egypt + _Cyno_, his wicked wife + _Aegialeus_, a Syracusan who kept a mummy + _Polyidos_, a captain in Egypt + _Rhenaea_, his jealous wife + A procurer of Taras + _Leucon_, a male slave of Habrocomes and Anthia + _Rhode_, a female slave, his wife + +In Ephesus lived a lad named Habrocomes who was sixteen years old. The +beauty of his person was matched by the nobility of his soul. He had one +great fault, pride. And he scorned Eros as less handsome than himself +and unable to control a man against his will. Eros enraged armed himself +against this arrogant boy. It was the time of the festival of Artemis. +At this festival it was the custom to select fiancés. There was a great +procession of young men and women. Anthia, daughter of Megamedes and +Evippe, led the girls, and she was garbed as Artemis. She was so +beautiful that the crowd forgot handsome Habrocomes though a few +exclaimed: “What a couple Habrocomes and Anthia would make!” Here was +Eros’ opportunity. After the procession broke up and all were attending +the sacrifice in the temple, the two saw each other and were vanquished. + +Day by day, night by night love dominated them until both were worn out +by longing. Their parents not knowing what this strange malady was sent +embassies to the oracle of Apollo at Claros. The god diagnosed their +illnesses as the same, needing the same cure; he foretold long suffering +for both, dangerous travel by sea, kidnapping, imprisonment, death and +burial, but he promised final salvation through the goddess Isis and +happy days. + +The parents of Habrocomes and Anthia, puzzled and grieved by the oracle, +decided that at least they must use the remedy suggested by the god. So +Habrocomes and Anthia were married, and they did not fear the future +because of their present joy. As time went on, however, it seemed +necessary to the happy pair and to their parents that they should +fulfill the oracle by going on a journey. On the ensuing voyage both +swore mighty oaths (Anthia by Artemis) to be faithful to each other +always. Next they put in at Rhodes for rest. Habrocomes and Anthia hand +in hand visited all the city and dedicated golden armor to the sun-god +in his temple. Then they sailed to Egypt, but the ship was becalmed and +one night Habrocomes had a frightful dream. A giantess clad in red +appeared to him who set fire to the ship, destroyed all the sailors and +saved only himself and Anthia. He awoke in terror and terror became +reality. Phoenician pirates arriving in a great trireme boarded the ship +and drove the sailors into the sea where they drowned. Then they fired +the ship, but took captive Habrocomes and Anthia and bore them off to +the country near Tyre. Corymbos, one of the pirates, became enamored of +Habrocomes; his bosom companion fell in love with Anthia, but before +they could accomplish their wicked designs on them, the chief of the +pirate band Apsyrtos arrived and appropriating the handsome young pair +as part of his booty took them to Tyre. + +This was the beginning of worse troubles, for while Apsyrtos was away on +business, his daughter Manto fell in love with Habrocomes and made +advances to him through a slave and a letter. When he refused to satisfy +her desires, for vengeance she accused him to her father of having tried +to rape her. Apsyrtos had Habrocomes flogged, tortured and cast into +prison. Anthia contriving a secret visit to her husband told him she had +been given as a slave to Manto and must accompany her to Syria, where +Manto’s newly acquired husband Moeris lived. The two slaves of +Habrocomes and Anthia, Leucon and Rhode, were sold into a distant land. +Manto to disgrace Anthia as much as possible married her to one of her +humblest slaves, Lampon, a goatherd. But Lampon pitying Anthia on +hearing from her own lips her story respected her and never made her his +actual wife. In Tyre Apsyrtos happened to find the love-letter which his +daughter had written to Habrocomes. Learning from it his unjust +treatment of Habrocomes he released him from prison, gave him his +freedom, and made him steward of his house. + +Meanwhile in Syria Anthia’s fatal beauty had inflamed Manto’s husband +Moeris with a mad passion for her. He confided this to the goatherd +Lampon begging for his aid. Lampon to save Anthia went secretly and told +Manto her husband’s designs. Manto in jealous fury ordered Lampon to +kill the woman. In sorrow he told Anthia all and together they planned +that instead of killing her he should sell her as a slave in some remote +district. He managed to hide this transaction and saved her life by +selling her to some Cilician merchants. But their ship was wrecked in a +storm. A few (among them Anthia) came to land on a raft and after +wandering all night in the woods were captured by the brigand +Hippothoos. + +Manto meanwhile wrote to her father a letter made up of truth and lies, +saying that the slave Anthia had been so troublesome she had given the +girl to a goatherd and afterwards when Moeris became enamored of the +woman, she had sold both the goatherd and his wife in Syria. Habrocomes +at once started out in search for Anthia and finding Lampon and learning +the true story from him, he set forth for Cilicia. + +There, however, Anthia had been in great danger. Hippothoos and his +brigands were about to sacrifice her to Ares, but she was rescued by a +high police official of the district, Perilaos, who captured all the +brigands except Hippothoos. He took her to Tarsus and of course soon +fell in love with her. He offered her honorable marriage, wealth, +children and she fearing his violent passion forced herself to consent +but asked for a month’s delay. + +Now Habrocomes riding through Cilicia on his quest met by chance +Hippothoos who begged to be allowed to travel with him. They went into +Cappadocia and there dining together told each other their life +histories, Hippothoos his love of a beautiful lad and the loss of him, +Habrocomes his love for the beautiful Anthia and his loss of her. The +description of Anthia made Hippothoos relate his capture of a fair +maiden and her rescue. Habrocomes, convinced that the girl was Anthia, +persuaded Hippothoos to join him in his search. + +But the preparations for the wedding of Perilaos and Anthia were going +on apace, and it would have been consummated had not Anthia found a +friend in an Ephesian physician Eudoxos to whom she confided her +tragedy. She begged him to give her poison so that she might die +faithful. She promised him silver so that he might return to Ephesus. +Eudoxos gave her not poison but a sleeping potion, then hurriedly +departed. The very night of her wedding, in the nuptial chamber, Anthia +took what she believed poison. Perilaos coming to his bride found a +corpse. To do her all honor, the bereft bridegroom had her placed in a +magnificent tomb with splendid funeral gifts. + +Robbers broke in the tomb for the treasure just as Anthia awoke. They +carried her off with them to Alexandria. No one else knew she was alive. +Habrocomes heard from an old woman the story of Anthia’s death, of the +pillaging of her tomb and the carrying off of her body. So leaving +Hippothoos he started off alone by ship for Egypt hoping to find the +brigands who had committed such sacrilege. The bandits had already sold +Anthia to a rajah named Psammis, but Anthia saved herself from his +amorousness by telling him that she was a consecrated priestess of Isis +so he respected her. + +Habrocomes’ ship missed its course to Alexandria and landed in +Phoenicia. There the inhabitants set upon the strangers and capturing +them sold them as slaves at Pelusium, Habrocomes to an old soldier, +Araxos. This soldier had a hideous and wicked wife Cyno who, falling in +love with Habrocomes, offered to kill her husband and marry him. When he +refused, she herself killed her husband and accused Habrocomes of the +murder. He was sent to Alexandria to be tried. Hippothoos meanwhile had +gathered a new band and in his travels had come to Egypt and made the +mountains near the frontiers of Ethiopia his center for expeditions. +Habrocomes was condemned to death by the Prefect of Egypt, but his +execution was twice frustrated by miracles caused by the Nile river when +he appealed to the sun-god Helios for aid against injustice. So he was +cast into prison. + +At this time Psammis started home to India with a great camel train +taking Anthia with him. At Memphis Anthia offered prayers to Isis +begging her aid. As they neared the borders of Ethiopia, Hippothoos with +his band fell upon their caravan and, slaying Psammis and many men, +seized his treasure and took captive Anthia. Hippothoos and Anthia did +not recognize each other. + +The Prefect of Egypt, on giving Habrocomes a new hearing, was convinced +of his innocence, freed him and gave him money. So Habrocomes took ship +again and went to Italy to make inquiries there about Anthia. Cyno was +executed. + +Anthia was again in danger because of the lust of one of the bandits, +Anchialos. He, while Hippothoos was away, tried to do violence to her, +but she stabbed him fatally with a sword which she had found. Hippothoos +on his return decided, in vengeance for the death of his companion, to +kill her in a horrible way: to put her in a deep trench with two fierce +dogs. But the bandit set to guard the trench from pity secretly conveyed +food to her so that she fed and tamed the beasts. + +Habrocomes on arriving at Syracuse in Sicily lived with a poor old +fisherman named Aegialeus who treated him like a son and told him his +own sad love-story. This is the story of the Mummy in the House. +Hippothoos left Ethiopia to go to Alexandria and believing Anthia dead +made no inquiries about her. The bandit left to guard her, now in love +with her, hid in a cave with a good store of provisions until the +caravan had gone, then released Anthia and the devoted dogs. He swore by +the Sun and the gods of Egypt to respect her until she voluntarily came +to his arms, so dogs and all they started on their travels. + +The Prefect of Egypt had sent a company of soldiers under Polyidos to +disperse the bandits of whose marauding he had heard. Hippothoos’ band +was broken up; indeed he alone escaped. He embarked on a ship for +Sicily. Polyidos next captured Anthia and her escort. Polyidos although +he had a wife in Alexandria at once fell in love with Anthia and when +they reached Memphis, tried to rape her, but she fled to the temple of +Isis as a suppliant. Polyidos then swore that he would respect her if +she would return to him, saying that to see her and speak to her would +satisfy his love, so she went back to his care. On their arrival at +Alexandria, Rhenaea the wife of Polyidos was nearly insane with jealousy +of the girl her husband had brought home. One day in her husband’s +absence she beat and reviled poor Anthia, then gave her to a faithful +slave with orders to take her to Italy and sell her there to a procurer. +This he did at Taras. + +Hippothoos by this time had reached Sicily and was staying at +Tauromenium. Habrocomes at Syracuse in despair planned to go to Italy +and if he found no news of Anthia there, to return to Ephesus. The +parents of the young pair in their anxiety over them had died. The +slaves Leucon and Rhode who had been sold in Lycia had, on the death of +their master, inherited his wealth. They were on their way back to +Ephesus but were staying at Rhodes. + +The procurer now forced Anthia to stand in front of his brothel, +magnificently arrayed, to attract customers. When many had gathered +because of her beauty, Anthia feigned a seizure and fell down in the +sight of all in convulsions. Later when she declared to the procurer +that she had had this malady since childhood, he treated her kindly. + +Hippothoos in Tauromenium had come into great need. So when an elderly +woman fell in love with him, constrained by poverty, he married her. +Very shortly she died, leaving him all her possessions. So he set sail +for Italy always hoping to find his dear Habrocomes. Arriving at Taras +he saw Anthia in the slave market where the procurer because of her +illness was exhibiting her for sale. Hippothoos, recognizing her, +learned from her lips her story, pitied her, bought her and offered her +marriage. Finally Anthia told him that she was the wife of Habrocomes +whom she had lost. Hippothoos on hearing this revealed his devotion to +Habrocomes and promised to help her find her husband. + +Habrocomes also had come to Italy, but in despair had given up his quest +and started back to Ephesus. Stopping at Rhodes on his voyage he was +discovered by Leucon and Rhode, who now took care of him. Next +Hippothoos also arrived at Rhodes, for he was taking Anthia back to +Ephesus. It was the time of a great festival to Helios. At the temple +Anthia dedicated locks of her hair with an inscription: + + “In behalf of her husband Habrocomes Anthia dedicates her locks to the + god.” + +This inscription was seen by Leucon and Rhode and the next day they +found Anthia herself in the temple and told her that Habrocomes was +alive and near and faithful. The good news spread through the city. A +Rhodian carried the word to Habrocomes and he came running like a madman +through the crowd, crying: “Anthia!” Near the temple of Isis he found +her, and they fell into each other’s arms. Then while the people +cheered, they went into the temple of Isis and offered thanks to the +goddess for their salvation. Then they went to the house of Leucon and +at a banquet that night told all their adventures. + +When at last Habrocomes and Anthia were got to bed, they assured each +other that they had kept their oaths of faithfulness. The next day all +sailed to Ephesus. There in the temple of Artemis Habrocomes and Anthia +offered prayers and sacrifices; also they put up an inscription telling +what they had suffered and achieved. They erected magnificent sepulchres +for their parents. And they passed the rest of their lives together as +though every day were a festival. Leucon and Rhode shared all their +happiness and Hippothoos too established himself in Ephesus to be near +them. + +From this summary of the plot, it is at once apparent that the chief +interests of the romance are love, adventure and religion. The three are +used by Xenophon with almost equal distribution of interest and +emphasis. Two divinely beautiful young people (the lad only sixteen) +fell in love with each other at first sight at the festival of Artemis. +Habrocomes had been too proud of his appearance and in his arrogance had +scorned the beautiful god of Love as his inferior. So Eros brought him +low and made the pair suffer many misfortunes through separation. +However they were married first and through all their troubles they were +true to their oaths of mutual faithfulness. Temptations and adventures +could not nullify their chastity, but their victories were often +superhuman and made possible only by miracles and the aid of protecting +gods. Anthia after a dream of seeing Habrocomes drawn away from her by +another fair lady awoke to utter the belief that if he had broken faith, +he had been forced by necessity; and for herself she would die before +losing her virtue.[69] At the end, when Anthia had proudly recounted the +lovers she had escaped, Moeris, Perilaos, Psammis, Polyidos, Anchialos, +the ruler of Taras, Habrocomes was able to reply that no other lady had +ever seemed to him fair or desirable: his Anthia found him as she had +left him in the prison at Tyre.[70] So hero and heroine shine as types +of perfect virtue. The nobility of the romance, as Dalmeyda points out, +appears not only in the purity of Habrocomes and Anthia, but in a +restrained expression of the sentiments and the acts of love.[71] + +The course of this true love was proverbially unsmooth and after the +pair were separated, the plot seesaws between the adventures of hero and +heroine. These are varied, exciting and often closely paralleled. Both +were assailed by amorous lovers, Anthia by at least nine, Habrocomes by +Corymbos, a pirate, by Manto, daughter of the chief of the pirate band, +and by Cyno, the lewd wife of an old soldier. Both were shipwrecked, +Anthia twice. Both nearly met death: Anthia as a human sacrifice, by +taking poison, by being thrown in a trench with fierce dogs; Habrocomes +by crucifixion and pyre. Bandits and pirates captured both. Both were +nearly executed for murder, Anthia for actually killing a bandit who +attacked her, Habrocomes on the false charge of Cyno. Both were sold +into slavery, Habrocomes once, Anthia over and over again. Strangely +enough among their adventures war played little part: the only wars +described are official expeditions against bandits. + +From most of these adventures the pair were saved by their piety. Never +did they lose an opportunity of offering prayer, thanksgiving, vows and +sacrifices to the gods. The story begins with the festival of Artemis at +Ephesus at which Habrocomes and Anthia fell in love and ends with their +return to her temple to offer thanksgiving for a happy ending out of all +their misfortunes. At the festival Anthia appeared as the priestess of +Artemis and led a procession of maidens in which she alone was garbed as +Artemis. This may be a symbol of her resolute chastity. Many details of +the worship of the goddess are given which seem based on reality.[72] +Artemis appears not as the Ephesian goddess of fertility, but as the +protectress of chastity and in this function joins with Isis in +safeguarding the purity of the heroine. + +Eros is the offended god who undoubtedly in vengeance caused the violent +love of Habrocomes, the separation and the miseries of the unhappy pair. +There are few references to Aphrodite: to her son rather than to herself +is given the function of inspiring love. On the Babylonian baldequin +over the marriage bed of Habrocomes and Anthia there had been woven a +scene in which Aphrodite appeared attended by little Loves and Ares +unarmed was coming towards her led by Eros bearing a lighted torch.[73] +Habrocomes at Cyprus offered prayers to Aphrodite.[74] + +The oracle of Apollo at Claros determined the plot by ordering the +marriage of Habrocomes and Anthia and predicting their voyaging, their +separation, their disasters, their reunion. But its clauses are not +sufficiently explained: we are never told why the young bride and groom +and their parents feel they must start out on their fateful journey. +Some think the obscurity is due to Xenophon’s epitomizer. There are +other possible explanations. The action may be an abandoning of +themselves to the will of the gods; or a bold step towards their final +promised safety; or a flight from the city where they had suffered so +much. An oracle is the traditional prelude to a voyage of adventure. +Xenophon uses it, says Dalmeyda, to pique curiosity, to render the +misfortunes of the two more dramatic by the prophecy of them and to +reassure his readers about a happy ending.[75] + +In happiness or distress both the young lovers honored the god of the +place in which they found themselves. In the first part of their journey +together they offered sacrifice to Hera in her sanctuary at Samos.[76] +At Rhodes, Habrocomes’ prayer to Helios saved him from crucifixion and +burning through the miracles of the Nile.[77] Perhaps Helios was +rewarding Habrocomes for the golden armor which he and Anthia had +jointly dedicated to him at Rhodes in his temple.[78] This votive had +another certain part in the plot because when Habrocomes returned there +alone to pray near his votive, Leucon and Rhode, who had been reading +the inscription set up near it by their masters, recognized him and +revealed themselves.[79] At Memphis Anthia appealing to the pity of the +god Apis received from his famous oracle a promise that she would find +Habrocomes.[80] + +Ares appears only in Xenophon. This is strange when war plays such a +part in the other romances. In the _Ephesiaca_, Hippothoos and his +bandits at the festival of Ares had the custom of suspending the victim +to be sacrificed, human being or animal, from a tree and killing it by +hurling their javelins at it. They were preparing to sacrifice Anthia in +this way when she was rescued.[81] + +The other cult which is as important as that of Artemis for the story is +the cult of Isis. Anthia saved herself from Psammis’ advances by +declaring that she was a consecrated priestess of Isis so the rajah +respected her person.[82] At Memphis in her temple, Anthia appealed to +Isis who had preserved her chastity in the past to grant her salvation +and restore her to Habrocomes.[83] To escape Polyidos’ lust, Anthia took +refuge at the sanctuary of Isis at Memphis and again besought the +goddess for aid. Polyidos in fear of Isis and pity for Anthia promised +to respect her.[84] Finally near that temple of Isis Habrocomes and +Anthia found each other and in the same temple they offered prayers of +thanksgiving.[85] Isis thus in the _Ephesiaca_ figures as the +protectress of chastity. + +The worship of Isis had been carried to the coast of Asia Minor by +sailors and traders. In the empire both Artemis and Isis had statues in +the Artemesion of Ephesus. The Egyptian cult, purified and penetrated +with moral ideas, seems to belong to the second century A.D. From its +very nature, the goddess Isis becomes as natural a protector of Anthia +as is Artemis.[86] This synthesis of the two goddesses in one +protectress of the heroine is a natural process of the philosophical +thought of the time. In a modern novel or a cinema, better clarity would +be attained for our non-philosophical minds if one goddess, Isis, was +worshipped by Anthia and was the deity of her salvation. Apuleius +achieved just this simplification in his novel by making Isis the one +and only savior of his hero Lucius. + +To develop and sustain these three main interests of the story, love, +adventure and religion, the usual devices of a plot are employed. The +setting is cinematic in its many changes: Ephesus, the ocean, Samos, +Rhodes, Tyre, Syria, Cilicia, Cappadocia, Egypt, Sicily, Italy, Rhodes +again, back to Ephesus, and thrown in with the setting are many +geographical details which are often wrong.[87] The characters are +familiar types: the ravishingly beautiful hero and heroine, their +perturbed parents, high officials (Perilaos and Psammis) who take the +place of historical characters, faithful slaves, a wily procurer, a +doctor, pirates, bandits. + +Dalmeyda has written a discriminating paragraph on the morality of the +characters.[88] He says that of course all the characters of the romance +do not attain the perfection of virtue of the two protagonists, but +altogether the author shows us a gallery of persons without wickedness +who are sympathetic and who have an air of honesty even in the exercise +of the worst occupations. Manto, who falsely accuses Habrocomes of +having wished to violate her and who has him cruelly tortured, is +motivated by an overwhelming passion. Apsyrtos, her father, chief of the +pirates, shows himself just and generous to the hero when he has +discovered his daughter’s calumny. The slaves are devoted and faithful. +Lampon to whom Manto gives Anthia as his wife is a rustic full of +civility and goodness. The man who traffics in young girls to whom +Anthia is sold shows a noble sympathy when she pretends to be afflicted +with seizures. Hippothoos, a brigand chief, exercises his trade +ruthlessly putting villages to fire and sword; he has a weakness too for +handsome lads; but to Habrocomes he is a faithful and devoted friend. He +renounces his passion for Anthia when he finds she is the wife of his +friend and aids her in every way in her search for Habrocomes. It is +this recognition of some good in every human being that gives Xenophon +his large humanity. + +Oracles are given by Apollo at Claros and by Apis in Memphis. Dreams and +visions disturb both hero and heroine. A letter (Manto’s) is important +for the plot. Some conversation is used. A court-room scene is sketched +in, Habrocomes’ trial for murder before the prefect of Egypt. +Soliloquies are frequent since woeful lovers parted must bewail their +lot. Attempted suicides testify to their despair.[89] Résumés of +adventures are helpfully presented by important characters at different +stages in the narrative. And after a hundred hair-breadth escapes, +journeys end in lovers’ meetings as the oracle of Apollo had +reassuringly predicted at the beginning of the romance. + +In spite of the use of these conventions, the story has a lively and +compelling interest. We are led to share the admiration and marvel of +the characters themselves. We are moved by the pity which they often +feel. Their piety induces in us reverence. We agree with their +preference for Greeks rather than barbarians. And we admire the romantic +love which maintains faithfulness in the face of death, or outlives +death itself.[90] + +The style of this gem of a novel is finely cut, clear and beautiful in +its pure Atticism. Dalmeyda, who follows Rohde and Bürger in believing +the present form of the romance is due to an epitomizer, yet has to +admit that all the “naked simplicity” of the style is not due to the +redactor.[91] This characteristic is so distinctive of the author that +it seems to differentiate him from other writers of romance by giving +his story the air of a popular tale. Sometimes, Dalmeyda continues, the +expression is double, as if in a sort of naive elegance. Words are +repeated awkwardly. Stereotyped formulae are used. The author gives +every person a name even if he appears only once. Love is generally +expressed in conventional terms, which are however intended to suggest +its violent or tragic character. There is even a ready-made formula for +ecstasy (οὐκέτι καρτερῶν or οὐκέτι φέρειν δυνάµενος). But the passion of +Habrocomes and Anthia is expressed differently. At their final reunion +Xenophon describes with force and delicacy their joy which is both +tender and passionate.[92] + +Whether “the naked simplicity” of the _Ephesiaca_ is to be attributed to +an epitomizer, to its approach to the genre of a popular tale, or to the +author’s own taste, the romance is certainly characterized throughout by +brevity, restraint and sparcity of decoration. There are so few +descriptions that those of the festival of Artemis and of the canopy +over the marriage bed of Habrocomes and Anthia are notable.[93] The +“Such a singular thing happened to-day, Stephen,” she said. “It was +while we were trying to save the life of a poor sergeant who had lost +his arm. I hope we shall be allowed to have him here. He is suffering +horribly.” + +“What happened, mother?” he asked. + +“It was soon after I had come upon this poor fellow,” she said. “I saw +the--the flies around him. And as I got down beside him to fan them away +I had such a queer sensation. I knew that some one was standing behind +me, looking at me. Then Dr. Allerdyce came, and I asked him about the +man, and he said there was a chance of saving him if we could only get +help. Then some one spoke up,--such a sweet voice. It was that Miss +Carvel my dear, with whom you had such a strange experience when you +bought Hester, and to whose party you once went. Do you remember that +they offered us their house in Glencoe when the Judge was so ill?” + +“Yes,” said Stephen. + +“She is a wonderful creature,” his mother continued. “Such personality, +such life! And wasn't it a remarkable offer for a Southern woman to +make? They feel so bitterly, and--and I do not blame them.” The good +lady put down on her lap the night-shirt she was making. “I saw how +it happened. The girl was carried away by her pity. And, my dear, her +capability astonished me. One might have thought that she had always +been a nurse. The experience was a dreadful one for me--what must +it have been for her. After the operation was over, I followed her +downstairs to where she was standing with her father in front of the +building, waiting for their carriage. I felt that I must say something +to her, for in all my life I have never seen a nobler thing done. When I +saw her there, I scarcely knew what to say. Words seemed so inadequate. +It was then three o'clock, and she had been working steadily in that +place since morning. I am sure she could not have borne it much longer. +Sheer courage carried her through it, I know, for her hand trembled so +when I took it, and she was very pale. She usually has color, I believe. +Her father, the Colonel, was with her, and he bowed to me with such +politeness. He had stood against the wall all the while we had worked, +and he brought a mattress for us. I have heard that his house is +watched, and that they have him under suspicion for communicating +with the Confederate leaders.” Mrs. Brice sighed. “He seems such a fine +character. I hope they will not get into any trouble.” + +“I hope not, mother,” said Stephen. + +It was two mornings later that Judge Whipple and Stephen drove to the +Iron Mountain depot, where they found a German company of Home Guards +drawn up. On the long wooden platform under the sheds Stephen +caught sight of Herr Korner and Herr Hauptmann amid a group of their +countrymen. Little Korner came forward to clasp his hands. The tears ran +on his cheeks, and he could not speak for emotion. Judge Whipple, grim +and silent, stood apart. But he uncovered his head with the others when +the train rolled in. Reverently they entered a car where the pine boxes +were piled one on another, and they bore out the earthly remains of +Captain Carl Richter. + +Far from the land of his birth, among those same oaks on Bloody Hill +where brave Lyon fell, he had gladly given up his life for the new +country and the new cause he had made his own. + +That afternoon in the cemetery, as the smoke of the last salute to a +hero hung in the flickering light and drifted upward through the +great trees, as the still air was yet quivering with the notes of the +bugle-call which is the soldiers requiem, a tall figure, gaunt and bent, +stepped out from behind the blue line of the troops. It was that of +Judge Whipple. He carried in his hand a wreath of white roses--the first +of many to be laid on Richter's grave. + +Poor Richter! How sad his life had been! And yet he had not filled it +with sadness. For many a month, and many a year, Stephen could not look +upon his empty place without a pang. He missed the cheery songs and the +earnest presence even more than he had thought. Carl Richter,--as his +father before him,--had lived for others. Both had sacrificed their +bodies for a cause. One of them might be pictured as he trudged with +Father Jahn from door to door through the Rhine country, or shouldering +at sixteen a heavy musket in the Landwehr's ranks to drive the tyrant +Napoleon from the beloved Fatherland Later, aged before his time, +his wife dead of misery, decrepit and prison-worn in the service of a +thankless country, his hopes lived again in Carl, the swordsman of Jena. +Then came the pitiful Revolution, the sundering of all ties, the elder +man left to drag out his few weary days before a shattered altar. In +Carl a new aspiration had sprung up, a new patriotism stirred. His, too, +had been the sacrifice. Happy in death, for he had helped perpetuate +that great Union which should be for all time the refuge of the +oppressed. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE LIST OF SIXTY + +One chilling day in November, when an icy rain was falling on the black +mud of the streets, Virginia looked out of the window. Her eye was +caught by two horses which were just skeletons with the skin stretched +over them. One had a bad sore on his flank, and was lame. They were +pulling a rattle-trap farm wagon with a buckled wheel. On the seat a +man, pallid and bent and scantily clad, was holding the reins in his +feeble hands, while beside him cowered a child of ten wrapped in a +ragged blanket. In the body of the wagon, lying on a mattress pressed +down in the midst of broken, cheap furniture and filthy kitchen ware, +lay a gaunt woman in the rain. Her eyes were closed, and a hump on the +surface of the dirty quilt beside her showed that a child must be there. +From such a picture the girl fled in tears. But the sight of it, and of +others like it, haunted her for weeks. Through those last dreary days of +November, wretched families, which a year since had been in health and +prosperity, came to the city, beggars, with the wrecks of their homes. +The history of that hideous pilgrimage across a state has never been +written. Still they came by the hundred, those families. Some brought +little corpses to be buried. The father of one, hale and strong when +they started, died of pneumonia in the public lodging-house. The walls +of that house could tell many tales to wring the heart. So could Mr. +Brinsmade, did he choose to speak of his own charities. He found +time, between his labors at the big hospital newly founded, and his +correspondence, and his journeys of love,--between early morning and +midnight,--to give some hours a day to the refugees. + +Throughout December they poured in on the afflicted city, already +overtaxed. All the way to Springfield the road was lined with remains +of articles once dear--a child's doll, a little rocking-chair, a colored +print that has hung in the best room, a Bible text. + +Anne Brinsmade, driven by Nicodemus, went from house to house to solicit +old clothes, and take them to the crowded place of detention. Christmas +was drawing near--a sorry Christmas, in truth. And many of the wanderers +were unclothed and unfed. + +More battles had been fought; factions had arisen among Union men. +Another general had come to St. Louis to take charge of the Department, +and the other with his wondrous body-guard was gone. + +The most serious problem confronting the new general--was how to care +for the refugees. A council of citizens was called at headquarters, and +the verdict went forth in the never-to-be-forgotten Orders No. 24. + +“Inasmuch,” said the General, “as the Secession army had driven these +people from their homes, Secession sympathizers should be made to +support them.” He added that the city was unquestionably full of these. + +Indignation was rife the day that order was published. Sixty prominent +“disloyalists” were to be chosen and assessed to make up a sum of ten +thousand dollars. + +“They may sell my house over my head before I will pay a cent,” cried +Mr. Russell. And he meant it. This was the way the others felt. Who were +to be on this mysterious list of “Sixty”? That was the all-absorbing +question of the town. It was an easy matter to pick the conspicuous +ones. Colonel Carvel was sure to be there, and Mr. Catherwood and Mr. +Russell and Mr. James, and Mr. Worington the lawyer. Mrs. Addison Colfax +lived for days in a fermented state of excitement which she declared +would break her down; and which, despite her many cares and worries, +gave her niece not a little amusement. For Virginia was human, and one +morning she went to her aunt's room to read this editorial from the +newspaper:-- “For the relief of many palpitating hearts it may be well +to state that we understand only two ladies are on the ten thousand +dollar list.” + +“Jinny,” she cried, “how can you be so cruel as to read me that, when +you know that I am in a state of frenzy now? How does that relieve me? +It makes it an absolute certainty that Madame Jules and I will have to +pay. We are the only women of importance in the city.” + +That afternoon she made good her much-uttered threat, and drove to +Bellegarde. Only the Colonel and Virginia and Mammy Easter and Ned were +left in the big house. Rosetta and Uncle Ben and Jackson had been +hired out, and the horses sold,--all save old Dick, who was running, +long-haired, in the fields at Glencoe. + +Christmas eve was a steel-gray day, and the sleet froze as it fell. +Since morning Colonel Carvel had sat poking the sitting-room fire, or +pacing the floor restlessly. His occupation was gone. He was observed +night and day by Federal detectives. Virginia strove to amuse him, to +conceal her anxiety as she watched him. Well she knew that but for her +he would long since have fled southward, and often in the bitterness of +the night-time she blamed herself for not telling him to go. Ten years +had seemed to pass over him since the war had begun. + +All day long she had been striving to put away from her the memory of +Christmas eves past and gone of her father's early home-coming from the +store, a mysterious smile on his face; of Captain Lige stamping noisily +into the house, exchanging uproarious jests with Ned and Jackson. The +Captain had always carried under his arm a shapeless bundle which he +would confide to Ned with a knowing wink. And then the house would be +lighted from top to bottom, and Mr. Russell and Mr. Catherwood and Mr. +Brinsmade came in for a long evening with Mr. Carvel over great bowls of +apple toddy and egg-nog. And Virginia would have her own friends in the +big parlor. That parlor was shut up now, and icy cold. + +Then there was Judge Whipple, the joyous event of whose year was his +Christmas dinner at Colonel Carvel's house. Virginia pictured him this +year at Mrs. Brice's little table, and wondered whether he would miss +them as much as they missed him. War may break friendships, but it +cannot take away the sacredness of memories. + +The sombre daylight was drawing to an early close as the two stood +looking out of the sitting-room window. A man's figure muffled in +a greatcoat slanting carefully across the street caught their eyes. +Virginia started. It was the same United States deputy marshal she had +seen the day before at Mr. Russell's house. + +“Pa,” she cried, “do you think he is coming here?” + +“I reckon so, honey.” + +“The brute! Are you going to pay?” + +“No, Jinny.” + +“Then they will take away the furniture.” + +“I reckon they will.” + +“Pa, you must promise me to take down the mahogany bed in your room. +It--it was mother's. I could not bear to see them take that. Let me put +it in the garret.” + +The Colonel was distressed, but he spoke without a tremor. + +“No, Jinny. We must leave this house just as it is.” Then he added, +strangely enough for him, “God's will be done.” + +The bell rang sharply. And Ned, who was cook and housemaid, came in with +his apron on. + +“Does you want to see folks, Marse Comyn?” + +The Colonel rose, and went to the door himself. He was an imposing +figure as he stood in the windy vestibule, confronting the deputy. +Virginia's first impulse was to shrink under the stairs. Then she came +out and stood beside her father. + +“Are you Colonel Carvel?” + +“I reckon I am. Will you come in?” + +The officer took off his cap. He was a young man with a smooth face, and +a frank brown eye which paid its tribute to Virginia. He did not appear +to relish the duty thrust upon him. He fumbled in his coat and drew from +his inner pocket a paper. + +“Colonel Carvel,” said he, “by order of Major General Halleck, I serve +you with this notice to pay the sum of three hundred and fifty dollars +for the benefit of the destitute families which the Rebels have driven +from their homes. In default of payment within a reasonable time such +personal articles will be seized and sold at public auction as will +satisfy the demand against you.” + +The Colonel took the paper. “Very well, sir,” he said. “You may tell the +General that the articles may be seized. That I will not, while in my +right mind, be forced to support persons who have no claim upon me.” + +It was said in the tone in which he might have refused an invitation to +dinner. The deputy marvelled. He had gone into many houses that week; +had seen indignation, hysterics, frenzy. He had even heard men and women +whose sons and brothers were in the army of secession proclaim their +loyalty to the Union. But this dignity, and the quiet scorn of the girl +who had stood silent beside them, were new. He bowed, and casting his +eyes to the vestibule, was glad to escape from the house. + +The Colonel shut the door. Then he turned toward Virginia, thoughtfully +pulled his goatee, and laughed gently. “Lordy, we haven't got three +hundred and fifty dollars to our names,” said he. + +The climate of St. Louis is capricious. That fierce valley of the +Missouri, which belches fitful blizzards from December to March, is +sometimes quiet. Then the hot winds come up from the Gulf, and sleet +melts, and windows are opened. In those days the streets will be fetlock +deep in soft mud. It is neither summer, nor winter, nor spring, nor +anything. + +It was such a languorous afternoon in January that a furniture van, +accompanied by certain nondescript persons known as United States +Police, pulled up at the curb in front of Mr. Carvel's house. Eugenie, +watching at the window across the street, ran to tell her father, who +came out on his steps and reviled the van with all the fluency of his +French ancestors. + +Mammy Easter opened the door, and then stood with her arms akimbo, amply +filling its place. Her lips protruded, and an expression of defiance +hard to describe sat on her honest black face. + +“Is this Colonel Carvel's house?” + +“Yassir. I 'low you knows dat jes as well as me.” An embarrassed +silence, and then from Mammy, “Whaffor you laffin at?” + +“Is the Colonel at home?” + +“Now I reckon you knows dat he ain't. Ef he was, you ain't come here +'quirin' in dat honey voice.” (Raising her own voice.) “You tink I +dunno whaffor you come? You done come heah to rifle, an' to loot, an' +to steal, an' to seize what ain't your'n. You come heah when young Marse +ain't to home ter rob him.” (Still louder.) “Ned, whaffor you hidin' +yonder? Ef yo' ain't man to protect Marse Comyn's prop-ty, jes han' over +Marse Comyn's gun.” + +The marshal and his men had stood, half amused, more than half baffled +by this unexpected resistance. Mammy Easter looked so dangerous that it +was evident she was not to be passed without extreme bodily discomfort. + +“Is your mistress here?” + +This question was unfortunate in the extreme. + +“You--you white trash!” cried Mammy, bursting with indignation. “Who is +you to come heah 'quiring fo' her! I ain't agwine--” + +“Mammy!” + +“Yas'm! Yas, Miss Jinny.” Mammy backed out of the door and clutched at +her bandanna. + +“Mammy, what is all this noise about?” The torrent was loosed once more. + +“These heah men, Miss Jinny, was gwine f'r t' carry away all yo' pa's +blongin's. I jes' tol' 'em dey ain't comin' in ovah dis heah body.” + +The deputy had his foot on the threshold. He caught sight of the face of +Miss Carvel within, and stopped abruptly. + +“I have a warrant here from the Provost Marshal, ma'am, to seize +personal property to satisfy a claim against Colonel Carvel.” + +Virginia took the order, read it, and handed it back. “I do not see how +I am to prevent you,” she said. The deputy was plainly abashed. + +“I'm sorry, Miss. I--I can't tell you how sorry I am. But it's got to be +done.” + +Virginia nodded coldly. And still the man hesitated. “What are you +waiting for?” she said. + +The deputy wiped his muddy feet. He made his men do likewise. Then he +entered the chill drawing-room, threw open the blinds and glanced around +him. + +“I expect all that we want is right here,” he said. And at the sight of +the great chandelier, with its cut-glass crystals, he whistled. Then he +walked over to the big English Rothfield piano and lifted the lid. + +The man was a musician. Involuntarily he rested himself on the mahogany +stool, and ran his fingers over the keys. They seemed to Virginia, +standing motionless in the ball, to give out the very chords of agony. + +The piano, too, had been her mother's. It had once stood in the brick +house of her grandfather Colfax at Halcyondale. The songs of Beatrice +lay on the bottom shelf of the what-not near by. No more, of an evening +when they were alone, would Virginia quietly take them out and play +them over to the Colonel, as he sat dreaming in the window with his +cigar,--dreaming of a field on the borders of a wood, of a young girl +who held his hand, and sang them softly to herself as she walked by his +side. And, when they reached the house in the October twilight, she had +played them for him on this piano. Often he had told Virginia of those +days, and walked with her over those paths. + +The deputy closed the lid, and sent out to the van for a truck. Virginia +stirred. For the first time she heard the words of Mammy Easter. + +“Come along upstairs wid yo' Mammy, honey. Dis ain't no place for us, +I reckon.” Her words were the essence of endearment. And yet, while she +pronounced them, she glared unceasingly at the intruders. “Oh, de good +Lawd'll burn de wicked!” + +The men were removing the carved legs. Virginia went back into the room +and stood before the deputy. + +“Isn't there something else you could take? Some jewellery?” She +flushed. “I have a necklace--” + +“No, miss. This warrant's on your father. And there ain't nothing quite +so salable as pianos.” + +She watched them, dry-eyed, as they carried it away. It seemed like a +coffin. Only Mammy Easter guessed at the pain in Virginia's breast, and +that was because there was a pain in her own. They took the rosewood +what-not, but Virginia snatched the songs before the men could +touch them, and held them in her arms. They seized the mahogany +velvet-bottomed chairs, her uncle's wedding present to her mother; and, +last of all, they ruthlessly tore up the Brussels carpet, beginning near +the spot where Clarence had spilled ice-cream at one of her children's +parties. + +She could not bear to look into the dismantled room when they had gone. +It was the embodied wreck of her happiness. Ned closed the blinds once +more, and she herself turned the key in the lock, and went slowly up the +stairs. + + + + +CHAPTER V. THE AUCTION + +“Stephen,” said the Judge, in his abrupt way, “there isn't a great deal +doing. Let's go over to the Secesh property sales.” + +Stephen looked up in surprise. The seizures and intended sale of +secession property had stirred up immense bitterness and indignation in +the city. There were Unionists (lukewarm) who denounced the measure as +unjust and brutal. The feelings of Southerners, avowed and secret, may +only be surmised. Rigid ostracism was to be the price of bidding on any +goods displayed, and men who bought in handsome furniture on that day +because it was cheap have still, after forty years, cause to remember +it. + +It was not that Stephen feared ostracism. Anne Brinsmade was almost the +only girl left to him from among his former circle of acquaintances. +Miss Carvel's conduct is known. The Misses Russell showed him very +plainly that they disapproved of his politics. The hospitable days at +that house were over. Miss Catherwood, when they met on the street, +pretended not to see him, and Eugenie Renault gave him but a timid nod. +The loyal families to whose houses he now went were mostly Southerners, +in sentiment against forced auctions. + +However, he put on his coat, and sallied forth into the sharp air, the +Judge leaning on his arm. They walked for some distance in silence. + +“Stephen,” said he, presently, “I guess I'll do a little bidding.” + +Stephen did not reply. But he was astonished. He wondered what Mr. +Whipple wanted with fine furniture. And, if he really wished to bid, +Stephen knew likewise that no consideration would stop him. + +“You don't approve of this proceeding, sir, I suppose,” said the Judge. + +“Yes, sir, on large grounds. War makes many harsh things necessary.” + +“Then,” said the Judge, tartly, “by bidding, we help to support starving +Union families. You should not be afraid to bid, sir.” + +Stephen bit his lip. Sometimes Mr. Whipple made him very angry. + +“I am not afraid to bid, Judge Whipple.” He did not see the smile on the +Judge's face. + +“Then you will bid in certain things for me,” said Mr. Whipple. Here +he hesitated, and shook free the rest of the sentence with a wrench. +“Colonel Carvel always had a lot of stuff I wanted. Now I've got the +chance to buy it cheap.” + +There was silence again, for the space of a whole block. Finally, +Stephen managed to say:-- “You'll have to excuse me, sir. I do not care +to do that.” + +“What?” cried the Judge, stopping in the middle of a cross-street, so +that a wagon nearly ran over his toes. + +“I was once a guest in Colonel Carvel's house, sir. And--” + +“And what?” + +Neither the young man nor the old knew all it was costing the other to +say these things. The Judge took a grim pleasure in eating his heart. +And as for Stephen, he often went to his office through Locust Street, +which was out of his way, in the hope that he might catch a glimpse of +Virginia. He had guessed much of the privations she had gone through. +He knew that the Colonel had hired out most of his slaves, and he had +actually seen the United States Police drive across Eleventh Street with +the piano that she had played on. + +The Judge was laughing quietly,--not a pleasant laugh to hear,--as they +came to Morgan's great warerooms. A crowd blocked the pavement, and +hustled and shoved at the doors,--roughs, and soldiers off duty, and +ladies and gentlemen whom the Judge and Stephen knew, and some of whom +they spoke to. All of these were come out of curiosity, that they might +see for themselves any who had the temerity to bid on a neighbor's +household goods. The long hall, which ran from street to street, was +packed, the people surging backward and forward, and falling roughly +against the mahogany pieces; and apologizing, and scolding, and swearing +all in a breath. The Judge, holding tightly to Stephen, pushed his way +fiercely to the stand, vowing over and over that the commotion was a +secession trick to spoil the furniture and stampede the sale. In truth, +it was at the Judge's suggestion that a blue provost's guard was called +in later to protect the seized property. + +How many of those mahogany pieces, so ruthlessly tumbled about before +the public eye, meant a heartache! Wedding presents of long ago, dear to +many a bride with silvered hair, had been torn from the corner where the +children had played--children who now, alas, were grown and gone to war. +Yes, that was the Brussels rug that had lain before the fire, and which +the little feet had worn in the corner. Those were the chairs the little +hands had harnessed, four in a row, and fallen on its side was the +armchair--the stage coach itself. There were the books, held up to +common gaze, that a beloved parent had thumbed with affection. Yes, and +here in another part of the hall were the family horses and the family +carriage that had gone so often back and forth from church with the +happy brood of children, now scattered and gone to war. + +As Stephen reached his place beside the Judge, Mr. James's effects were +being cried. And, if glances could have killed, many a bidder would have +dropped dead. The heavy dining-room table which meant so much to the +family went for a song to a young man recently come from Yankeeland, +whose open boast it was--like Eliphalet's secret one--that he would one +day grow rich enough to snap his fingers in the face of the Southern +aristocrats. Mr. James was not there. But Mr. Catherwood, his face +haggard and drawn, watched the sideboard he had given his wife on her +silver wedding being sold to a pawnbroker. + +Stephen looked in vain for Colonel Carvel--for Virginia. He did not want +to see them there. He knew by heart the list of things which had been +taken from their house. He understood the feeling which had sent the +Judge here to bid them in. And Stephen honored him the more. + +When the auctioneer came to the Carvel list, and the well-known name was +shouted out, the crowd responded with a stir and pressed closer to the +stand. And murmurs were plainly heard in more than one direction. + +“Now, gentlemen, and ladies,” said the seller, “this here is a genuine +English Rothfield piano once belonging to Colonel Carvel, and the +celebrated Judge Colfax of Kaintucky.” He lingered fondly over the +names, that the impression might have time to sink deep. “This here +magnificent instrument's worth at the very least” (another pause) +“twelve hundred dollars. What am I bid?” + +He struck a base note of the keys, then a treble, and they vibrated +in the heated air of the big hall. Had he hit the little C of the top +octave, the tinkle of that also might have been heard. + +“Gentlemen and ladies, we have to begin somewheres. What am I bid?” + +A menacing murmur gave place to the accusing silence. Some there were +who gazed at the Rothfield with longing eyes, but who had no intention +of committing social suicide. Suddenly a voice, the rasp of which +penetrated to St. Charles Street, came out with a bid. The owner was +a seedy man with a straw-colored, drunkard's mustache. He was leaning +against the body of Mrs. Russell's barouche (seized for sale), and those +about him shrank away as from smallpox. His hundred-dollar offer was +followed by a hiss. What followed next Stephen will always remember. +When Judge Whipple drew himself up to his full six feet, that was a +warning to those that knew him. As he doubled the bid, the words came +out with the aggressive distinctness of a man who through a long life +has been used to opposition. He with the gnawed yellow mustache pushed +himself clear of the barouche, his smouldering cigar butt dropping to +the floor. But there were no hisses now. + +And this is how Judge Whipple braved public opinion once more. As he +stood there, defiant, many were the conjectures as to what he could wish +to do with the piano of his old friend. Those who knew the Judge (and +there were few who did not) pictured to themselves the dingy little +apartment where he lived, and smiled. Whatever his detractors might have +said of him, no one was ever heard to avow that he had bought or sold +anything for gain. + +A tremor ran through the people. Could it have been of admiration for +the fine old man who towered there glaring defiance at those about him? +“Give me a strong and consistent enemy,” some great personage has said, +“rather than a lukewarm friend.” Three score and five years the Judge +had lived, and now some were beginning to suspect that he had a heart. +Verily he had guarded his secret well. But it was let out to many more +that day, and they went home praising him who had once pronounced his +name with bitterness. + +This is what happened. Before he of the yellow mustache could pick up +his cigar from the floor and make another bid, the Judge had cried out +a sum which was the total of Colonel Carvel's assessment. Many recall +to this day how fiercely he frowned when the applause broke forth +of itself; and when he turned to go they made a path for him, in +admiration, the length of the hall, down which he stalked, looking +neither to the right nor left. Stephen followed him, thankful for the +day which had brought him into the service of such a man. + +And so it came about that the other articles were returned to Colonel +Carvel with the marshal's compliments, and put back into the cold parlor +where they had stood for many years. The men who brought them offered to +put down the carpet, but by Virginia's orders the rolls were stood up in +the corner, and the floor left bare. And days passed into weeks, and no +sign or message came from Judge Whipple in regard to the piano he had +bought. Virginia did not dare mention it to the Colonel. + +Where was it? It had been carried by six sweating negroes up the +narrow stairs into the Judge's office. Stephen and Shadrach had by Mr. +Whipple's orders cleared a corner of his inner office and bedroom of +papers and books and rubbish, and there the bulky instrument was finally +set up. It occupied one-third of the space. The Judge watched the +proceeding grimly, choking now and again from the dust that was raised, +yet uttering never a word. He locked the lid when the van man handed him +the key, and thrust that in his pocket. + +Stephen had of late found enough to do in St. Louis. He was the kind of +man to whom promotions came unsought, and without noise. In the autumn +he had been made a captain in the Halleck Guards of the State Militia, +as a reward for his indefatigable work in the armories and his knowledge +of tactics. Twice his company had been called out at night, and once +they made a campaign as far as the Merimec and captured a party of +recruits who were destined for Jefferson Davis. Some weeks passed before +Mr. Brinsmade heard of his promotion and this exploit, and yet scarcely +a day went by that he did not see the young man at the big hospital. For +Stephen helped in the work of the Sanitary Commission too, and so strove +to make up in zeal for the service in the field which he longed to give. + +After Christmas Mr. and Mrs. Brinsmade moved out to their place on the +Bellefontaine Road. This was to force Anne to take a rest. For the +girl was worn out with watching at the hospitals, and with tending +the destitute mothers and children from the ranks of the refugees. The +Brinsmade place was not far from the Fair Grounds,--now a receiving +camp for the crude but eager regiments of the Northern states. To Mr. +Brinsmade's, when the day's duty was done, the young Union officers +used to ride, and often there would be half a dozen of them to tea. That +house, and other great houses on the Bellefontaine Road with which this +history has no occasion to deal, were as homes to many a poor fellow who +would never see home again. Sometimes Anne would gather together such +young ladies of her acquaintance from the neighbor hood and the city as +their interests and sympathies permitted to waltz with a Union officer, +and there would be a little dance. To these dances Stephen Brice was +usually invited. + +One such occasion occurred on a Friday in January, and Mr. Brinsmade +himself called in his buggy and drove Stephen to the country early in +the afternoon. He and Anne went for a walk along the river, the surface +of which was broken by lumps of yellow ice. Gray clouds hung low in the +sky as they picked their way over the frozen furrows of the ploughed +fields. The grass was all a yellow-brown, but the north wind which +swayed the bare trees brought a touch of color to Anne's cheeks. Before +they realized where they were, they had nearly crossed the Bellegarde +estate, and the house itself was come into view, standing high on the +slope above the withered garden. They halted. + +“The shutters are up,” said Stephen. “I understood that Mrs. Colfax had +come out here not long a--” + +“She came out for a day just before Christina,” said Anne, smiling, “and +then she ran off to Kentucky. I think she was afraid that she was one of +the two women on the list of Sixty.” + +“It must have been a blow to her pride when she found that she was not,” + said Stephen, who had a keen remembrance of her conduct upon a certain +Sunday not a year gone. + +Impelled by the same inclination, they walked in silence to the house +and sat down on the edge of the porch. The only motion in the view was +the smoke from the slave quarters twisting in the wind, and the hurrying +ice in the stream. + +“Poor Jinny!” said Anne, with a sigh, “how she loved to romp! What good +times we used to have here together!” + +“Do you think that she is unhappy?” Stephen demanded, involuntarily. + +“Oh, yes,” said Anne. “How can you ask? But you could not make her show +it. The other morning when she came out to our house I found her sitting +at the piano. I am sure there were tears in her eyes, but she would not +let me see them. She made some joke about Spencer Catherwood running +away. What do you think the Judge will do with that piano, Stephen?” + +He shook his head. + +“The day after they put it in his room he came in with a great black +cloth, which he spread over it. You cannot even see the feet.” + +There was a silence. And Anne, turning to him timidly, gave him a long, +searching look. + +“It is growing late,” she said. “I think that we ought to go back.” + +They went out by the long entrance road, through the naked woods. +Stephen said little. Only a little while before he had had one of those +vivid dreams of Virginia which left their impression, but not their +substance, to haunt him. On those rare days following the dreams her +spirit had its mastery over his. He pictured her then with a glow on her +face which was neither sadness nor mirth,--a glow that ministered to +him alone. And yet, he did not dare to think that he might have won her, +even if politics and war had not divided them. + +When the merriment of the dance was at its height that evening, Stephen +stood at the door of the long room, meditatively watching the bright +gowns and the flash of gold on the uniforms as they flitted past. +Presently the opposite door opened, and he heard Mr. Brinsmade's voice +mingling with another, the excitable energy of which recalled some +familiar episode. Almost--so it seemed--at one motion, the owner of the +voice had come out of the door and had seized Stephen's hand in a warm +grasp,--a tall and spare figure in the dress of a senior officer. The +military frock, which fitted the man's character rather than the man, +was carelessly open, laying bare a gold-buttoned white waistcoat and an +expanse of shirt bosom which ended in a black stock tie. The ends of the +collar were apart the width of the red clipped beard, and the mustache +was cropped straight along the line of the upper lip. The forehead rose +high, and was brushed carelessly free of the hair. The nose was almost +straight, but combative. A fire fairly burned in the eyes. + +“The boy doesn't remember me,” said the gentleman, in quick tones, +smiling at Mr. Brinsmade. + +“Yes, sir, I do,” Stephen made haste to answer. He glanced at the star +on the shoulder strap, and said. “You are General Sherman.” + +“First rate!” laughed the General, patting him. “First rate!” + +“Now in command at Camp Benton, Stephen,” Mr. Brinsmade put in. “Won't +you sit down, General?” + +“No,” said the General, emphatically waving away the chair. “No, +rather stand.” Then his keen face suddenly lighted with amusement,--and +mischief, Stephen thought. “So you've heard of me since we met, sir?” + “Yes, General.��� + +“Humph! Guess you heard I was crazy,” said the General, in his downright +way. + +Stephen was struck dumb. + +“He's been reading the lies in the newspapers too, Brinsmade,” the +General went on rapidly. “I'll make 'em eat their newspapers for saying +I was crazy. That's the Secretary of War's doings. Ever tell you what +Cameron did, Brinsmade? He and his party were in Louisville last fall, +when I was serving in Kentucky, and came to my room in the Galt House. +Well, we locked the door, and Miller sent us up a good lunch and wine, +After lunch, the Secretary lay on my bed, and we talked things over. He +asked me what I thought about things in Kentucky. I told him. I got a +map. I said, 'Now, Mr. Secretary, here is the whole Union line from the +Potomac to Kansas. Here's McClellan in the East with one hundred miles +of front. Here's Fremont in the West with one hundred miles. Here we +are in Kentucky, in the centre, with three hundred miles to defend. +McClellan has a hundred thousand men, Fremont has sixty thousand. You +give us fellows with over three hundred miles only eighteen thousand.' +'How many do you want?' says Cameron, still on the bed. 'Two hundred +thousand before we get through,' said I. Cameron pitched up his hands +in the air. 'Great God?' says he, 'where are they to come from?' 'The +northwest is chuck full of regiments you fellows at Washington won't +accept,' said I. 'Mark my words, Mr. Secretary, you'll need 'em all and +more before we get done with this Rebellion.' Well, sir, he was very +friendly before we finished, and I thought the thing was all thrashed +out. No, sir! he goes back to Washington and gives it out that I'm +crazy, and want two hundred thousand men in Kentucky. Then I am ordered +to report to Halleck in Missouri here, and he calls me back from Sedalia +because he believes the lies.” + +Stephen, who had in truth read the stories in question a month or two +before, could not conceal his embarrassment He looked at the man in +front of him,--alert, masterful intelligent, frank to any stranger who +took his fancy,--and wondered how any one who had talked to him could +believe them. + +Mr. Brinsmade smiled. “They have to print something, General,” he said. + +“I'll give 'em something to print later on,” answered the General, +grimly. Then his expression changed. “Brinsmade, you fellows did have +a session with Fremont, didn't you? Anderson sent me over here last +September, and the first man I ran across at the Planters' House was +Appleton. '--What are you in town for?' says he. 'To see Fremont,' +I said. You ought to have heard Appleton laugh. 'You don't think +Fremont'll see you, do you?' says he. 'Why not?' 'Well,' says Tom, 'go +'round to his palace at six to-morrow morning and bribe that Hungarian +prince who runs his body-guard to get you a good place in the line of +senators and governors and first citizens, and before nightfall you +may get a sight of him, since you come from Anderson. Not one man in +a hundred,' says Appleton, I not one man in a hundred, reaches his +chief-of-staff.' Next morning,” the General continued in a staccato +which was often his habit, “had breakfast before daybreak and went +'round there. Place just swarming with Californians--army contracts.” + (The General sniffed.) “Saw Fremont. Went back to hotel. More +Californians, and by gad--old Baron Steinberger with his nose hanging +over the register.” + +“Fremont was a little difficult to get at, General,” said Mr. Brinsmade. +“Things were confused and discouraged when those first contracts were +awarded. Fremont was a good man, and it wasn't his fault that the +inexperience of his quartermasters permitted some of those men to get +rich.” + +“No,” said the General. “His fault! Certainly not. Good man! To be sure +he was--didn't get along with Blair. These court-martials you're having +here now have stirred up the whole country. I guess we'll hear now how +those fortunes were made. To listen to those witnesses lie about each +other on the stand is better than the theatre.” + +Stephen laughed at the comical and vivid manner in which the General set +this matter forth. He himself had been present one day of the sittings +of the court-martial when one of the witnesses on the prices of mules +was that same seedy man with the straw-colored mustache who had bid for +Virginia's piano against the Judge. + +“Come, Stephen,” said the General, abruptly, “run and snatch one of +those pretty girls from my officers. They're having more than their +share.” + +“They deserve more, sir,” answered Stephen. Whereupon the General laid +his hand impulsively on the young man's shoulder, divining what Stephen +did not say. + +“Nonsense!” said be; “you are doing the work in this war, not we. We +do the damage--you repair it. If it were not for Mr. Brinsmade and you +gentlemen who help him, where would our Western armies be? Don't you +go to the front yet a while, young man. We need the best we have +in reserve.” He glanced critically at Stephen. “You've had military +training of some sort?” + +“He's a captain in the Halleck Guards, sir,” said Mr. Brinsmade, +generously, “and the best drillmaster we've had in this city. He's seen +service, too, General.” + +Stephen reddened furiously and started to protest, when the General +cried:-- “It's more than I have in this war. Come, come, I knew he was a +soldier. Let's see what kind of a strategist he'll make. Brinsmade, have +you got such a thing as a map?” Mr. Brinsmade had, and led the way back +into the library. The General shut the door, lighted a cigar with a +single vigorous stroke of a match, and began to smoke with quick puffs. +Stephen was puzzled how to receive the confidences the General was +giving out with such freedom. + +When the map was laid on the table, the General drew a pencil from his +pocket and pointed to the state of Kentucky. Then he drew a line from +Columbus to Bowling Green, through Forts Donelson and Henry. + +“Now, Stephen,” said he, “there's the Rebel line. Show me the proper +place to break it.” + +Stephen hesitated a while, and then pointed at the centre. + +“Good!” said the General. “Very good!” He drew a heavy line across the +first, and it ran almost in the bed of the Tennessee River. He swung on +Mr. Brinsmade. “Very question Halleck asked me the other day, and that's +how I answered it. Now, gentlemen, there's a man named Grant down in +that part of the country. Keep your eyes on him. Ever heard of him, +Brinsmade? He used to live here once, and a year ago he was less than I +was. Now he's a general.” + +The recollection of the scene in the street by the Arsenal that May +morning not a year gone came to Stephen with a shock. + +“I saw him,” he cried; “he was Captain Grant that lived on the Gravois +Road. But surely this can't be the same man who seized Paducah and was +in that affair at Belmont.” + +“By gum!” said the General, laughing. “Don't wonder you're surprised. +Grant has stuff in him. They kicked him around Springfield awhile, after +the war broke out, for a military carpet-bagger. Then they gave him for +a regiment the worst lot of ruffians you ever laid eyes on. He fixed +'em. He made 'em walk the plank. He made 'em march halfway across the +state instead of taking the cars the Governor offered. Belmont! I guess +he is the man that chased the Rebs out of Belmont. Then his boys broke +loose when they got into the town. That wasn't Grant's fault. The Rebs +came back and chased 'em out into their boats on the river. Brinsmade, +you remember hearing about that. + +“Grant did the coolest thing you ever saw. He sat on his horse at the +top of the bluff while the boys fell over each other trying to get on +the boat. Yes, sir, he sat there, disgusted, on his horse, smoking a +cigar, with the Rebs raising pandemonium all around him. And then, sir,” + cried the General, excitedly, “what do you think he did? Hanged if he +didn't force his horse right on to his haunches, slide down the whole +length of the bank and ride him across a teetering plank on to the +steamer. And the Rebs just stood on the bank and stared. They were so +astonished they didn't even shoot the man. You watch Grant,” said the +General. “And now, Stephen,” he added, “just you run off and take hold +of the prettiest girl you can find. If any of my boys object, say I sent +you.” + +The next Monday Stephen had a caller. It was little Tiefel, now a first +lieutenant with a bristly beard and tanned face, come to town on a few +days' furlough. He had been with Lyon at Wilson's Creek, and he had +a sad story to tell of how he found poor Richter, lying stark on that +bloody field, with a smile of peace upon his face. Strange that he +should at length have been killed by a sabre! + +It was a sad meeting for those two, since each reminded the other of +a dear friend they would see no more on earth. They went out to sup +together in the German style; and gradually, over his beer, Tiefel +forgot his sorrow. Stephen listened with an ache to the little man's +tales of the campaigns he had been through. So that presently Tiefel +cried out: + +“Why, my friend, you are melancholy as an owl. I will tell you a funny +story. Did you ever hear of one General Sherman? He that they say is +crazy?” + +“He is no more crazy than I am,” said Stephen, warmly-- + +“Is he not?” answered Tiefel, “then I will show you a mistake. You +recall last November he was out to Sedalia to inspect the camp there, +and he sleeps in a little country store where I am quartered. Now up +gets your General Sherman in the middle of the night,--midnight,--and +marches up and down between the counters, and waves his arms. So, says +he, 'land so,' says he, 'Sterling Price will be here, and Steele here, +and this column will take that road, and so-and-so's a damned fool. Is +not that crazy? So he walks up and down for three eternal hours. Says +he, 'Pope has no business to be at Osterville, and Steele here at +Sedalia with his regiments all over the place. They must both go into +camp at La Mine River, and form brigades and divisions, that the troops +may be handled.'” + +“If that's insanity,” cried Stephen so strongly as to surprise the +little man; “then I wish we had more insane generals. It just shows +how a malicious rumor will spread. What Sherman said about Pope's and +Steele's forces is true as Gospel, and if you ever took the trouble to +look into that situation, Tiefel, you would see it.” And Stephen brought +down his mug on the table with a crash that made the bystanders jump. + +“Himmel!” exclaimed little Tiefel. But he spoke in admiration. + +It was not a month after that that Sherman's prophecy of the quiet +general who had slid down the bluff at Belmont came true. The whole +country bummed with Grant's praises. Moving with great swiftness and +secrecy up the Tennessee, in company with the gunboats of Commodore +Foote, he had pierced the Confederate line at the very point Sherman +had indicated. Fort Henry had fallen, and Grant was even then moving to +besiege Donelson. + +Mr. Brinsmade prepared to leave at once for the battlefield, taking with +him too Paducah physicians and nurses. All day long the boat was loading +with sanitary stores and boxes of dainties for the wounded. It was muggy +and wet--characteristic of that winter--as Stephen pushed through the +drays on the slippery levee to the landing. + +He had with him a basket his mother had put up. He also bore a message +to Mr. Brinsmade from the Judge It was while he was picking his way +along the crowded decks that he ran into General Sherman. The General +seized him unceremoniously by the shoulder. + +“Good-by, Stephen,” he said. + +“Good-by, General,” said Stephen, shifting his basket to shake hands. +“Are you going away?” + +“Ordered to Paducah,” said the General. He pulled Stephen off the guards +into an empty cabin. “Brice,” said he, earnestly, “I haven't forgotten +how you saved young Brinsmade at Camp Jackson. They tell me that you are +useful here. I say, don't go in unless you have to. I don't mean force, +you understand. But when you feel that you can go in, come to me or +write me a letter. That is,” he added, seemingly inspecting Stephen's +white teeth with approbation, “if you're not afraid to serve under a +crazy man.” + +It has been said that the General liked the lack of effusiveness of +Stephen's reply. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. ELIPHALET PLAYS HIS TRUMPS + +Summer was come again. Through interminable days, the sun beat down upon +the city; and at night the tortured bricks flung back angrily the heat +with which he had filled them. Great battles had been fought, and vast +armies were drawing breath for greater ones to come. + +“Jinny,” said the Colonel one day, “as we don't seem to be much use in +town, I reckon we may as well go to Glencoe.” + +Virginia, threw her arms around her father's neck. For many months +she had seen what the Colonel himself was slow to comprehend--that his +usefulness was gone. The days melted into weeks, and Sterling Price and +his army of liberation failed to come. The vigilant Union general and +his aides had long since closed all avenues to the South. For, one fine +morning toward the end of the previous summer, when the Colonel was +contemplating a journey, he had read that none might leave the city +without a pass, whereupon he went hurriedly to the office of the Provost +Marshal. There he had found a number of gentlemen in the same plight, +each waving a pass made out by the Provost Marshal's clerks, and waiting +for that officer's signature. The Colonel also procured one of these, +and fell into line. The Marshal gazed at the crowd, pulled off his coat, +and readily put his name to the passes of several gentlemen going east. +Next came Mr. Bub Ballington, whom the Colonel knew, but pretended not +to. + +“Going to Springfield?” asked the Marshal, genially. + +“Yes,” said Bub. + +“Not very profitable to be a minute-man, eh?” in the same tone. + +The Marshal signs his name, Mr. Ballington trying not to look indignant +as he makes for the door. A small silver bell rings on the Marshal's +desk, the one word: “Spot!” breaks the intense silence, which is one way +of saying that Mr. Ballington is detained, and will probably be lodged +that night at Government expense. + +“Well, Colonel Carvel, what can I do for you this morning?” asked the +Marshal, genially. + +The Colonel pushed back his hat and wiped his brow. “I reckon I'll wait +till next week, Captain,” said Mr. Carvel. “It's pretty hot to travel +just now.” + +The Provost Marshal smiled sweetly. There were many in the office who +would have liked to laugh, but it did not pay to laugh at some people. +Colonel Carvel was one of them. + +In the proclamation of martial law was much to make life less endurable +than ever. All who were convicted by a court-martial of being rebels +were to have property confiscated, and slaves set free. Then there was +a certain oath to be taken by all citizens who did not wish to have +guardians appointed over their actions. There were many who swallowed +this oath and never felt any ill effects. Mr. Jacob Cluyme was one, and +came away feeling very virtuous. It was not unusual for Mr. Cluyme to +feel virtuous. Mr. Hopper did not have indigestion after taking it, but +Colonel Carvel would sooner have eaten, gooseberry pie, which he had +never tasted but once. + +That summer had worn away, like a monster which turns and gives hot +gasps when you think it has expired. It took the Arkansan just a month, +under Virginia's care, to become well enough to be sent to a Northern +prison He was not precisely a Southern gentleman, and he went to sleep +over the “Idylls of the King.” But he was admiring, and grateful, and +wept when he went off to the boat with the provost's guard, destined +for a Northern prison. Virginia wept too. He had taken her away from +her aunt (who would have nothing to do with him), and had given her +occupation. She nor her father never tired of hearing his rough tales of +Price's rough army. + +His departure was about the time when suspicions were growing set. The +favor had caused comment and trouble, hence there was no hope of giving +another sufferer the same comfort. The cordon was drawn tighter. One of +the mysterious gentlemen who had been seen in the vicinity of Colonel +Carvel's house was arrested on the ferry, but he had contrived to be rid +of the carpet-sack in which certain precious letters were carried. + +Throughout the winter, Mr. Hopper's visits to Locust Street had +continued at intervals of painful regularity. It is not necessary to +dwell upon his brilliant powers of conversation, nor to repeat the +platitudes which he repeated, for there was no significance in Mr. +Hopper's tales, not a particle. The Colonel had found that out, and was +thankful. His manners were better; his English decidedly better. + +It was for her father's sake, of course, that Virginia bore with +him. Such is the appointed lot of women. She tried to be just, and it +occurred to her that she had never before been just. Again and again she +repeated to herself that Eliphalet's devotion to the Colonel at this +low ebb of his fortunes had something in it of which she did not suspect +him. She had a class contempt for Mr. Hopper as an uneducated Yankee +and a person of commercial ideals. But now he was showing virtues,--if +virtues they were,--and she tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. +With his great shrewdness and business ability, why did he not take +advantage of the many opportunities the war gave to make a fortune? +For Virginia had of late been going to the store with the Colonel,--who +spent his mornings turning over piles of dusty papers, and Mr. Hopper +had always been at his desk. + +After this, Virginia even strove to be kind to him, but it was uphill +work. The front door never closed after one of his visits that suspicion +was not left behind. Antipathy would assert itself. Could it be that +there was a motive under all this plotting? He struck her inevitably as +the kind who would be content to mine underground to attain an end. The +worst she could think of him was that he wished to ingratiate himself +now, in the hope that, when the war was ended, he might become a partner +in Mr. Carvel's business. She had put even this away as unworthy of her. + +Once she had felt compelled to speak to her father on the subject. + +“I believe I did him an injustice, Pa,” she said. “Not that I like him +any better now. I must be honest about that. I simply can't like him. +But I do think that if he had been as unscrupulous as I thought, he +would have deserted you long ago for something more profitable. He would +not be sitting in the office day after day making plans for the business +when the war is over.” + +She remembered how sadly he had smiled at her over the top of his paper. + +“You are a good girl, Jinny,” he said. + +Toward the end of July of that second summer riots broke out in the +city, and simultaneously a bright spot appeared on Virginia's horizon. +This took the form, for Northerners, of a guerilla scare, and an order +was promptly issued for the enrollment of all the able-bodied men in the +ten wards as militia, subject to service in the state, to exterminate +the roving bands. Whereupon her Britannic Majesty became extremely +popular,--even with some who claimed for a birthplace the Emerald Isle. +Hundreds who heretofore had valued but lightly their British citizenship +made haste to renew their allegiance; and many sought the office of the +English Consul whose claims on her Majesty's protection were vague, to +say the least. Broken heads and scandal followed. For the first time, +when Virginia walked to the store with her father, Eliphalet was not +there. It was strange indeed that Virginia defended him. + +“I don't blame him for not wanting to fight for the Yankees,” she said. + +The Colonel could not resist a retort. + +“Then why doesn't he fight for the South he asked” + +“Fight for the South!” cried the young lady, scornfully. “Mr. Hopper +fight? I reckon the South wouldn't have him.” + +“I reckon not, too,” said the Colonel, dryly. + +For the following week curiosity prompted Virginia to take that walk +with the Colonel. Mr. Hopper being still absent, she helped him to sort +the papers--those grimy reminders of a more prosperous time gone +by. Often Mr. Carvel would run across one which seemed to bring some +incident to his mind; for he would drop it absently on his desk, his +hand seeking his chin, and remain for half an hour lost in thought. +Virginia would not disturb him. + +Meanwhile there had been inquiries for Mr. Hopper. The Colonel answered +them all truthfully--generally with that dangerous suavity for which he +was noted. Twice a seedy man with a gnawed yellow mustache had come in +to ask Eliphalet's whereabouts. On the second occasion this individual +became importunate. + +“You don't know nothin' about him, you say?” he demanded. + +“No,” said the Colonel. + +The man took a shuffle forward. + +“My name's Ford,” he said. “I 'low I kin 'lighten you a little.” + +“Good day, sir,” said the Colonel. + +“I guess you'll like to hear what I've got to say.” + +“Ephum,” said Mr. Carvel in his natural voice, “show this man out.” + +Mr. Ford slunk out without Ephum's assistance. But he half turned at the +door, and shot back a look that frightened Virginia. + +“Oh, Pa,” she cried, in alarm, “what did he mean?” + +“I couldn't tell you, Jinny,” he answered. But she noticed that he was +very thoughtful as they walked home. The next morning Eliphalet had not +returned, but a corporal and guard were waiting to search the store for +him. The Colonel read the order, and invited them in with hospitality. +He even showed them the way upstairs, and presently Virginia heard them +all tramping overhead among the bales. Her eye fell upon the paper they +had brought, which lay unfolded on her father's desk. It was signed +Stephen A. Brice, Enrolling Officer. + +That very afternoon they moved to Glencoe, and Ephum was left in sole +charge of the store. At Glencoe, far from the hot city and the cruel +war, began a routine of peace. Virginia was a child again, romping +in the woods and fields beside her father. The color came back to her +cheeks once more, and the laughter into her voice. The two of them, and +Ned and Mammy, spent a rollicking hour in the pasture the freedom +of which Dick had known so long, before the old horse was caught and +brought back into bondage. After that Virginia took long drives with her +father, and coming home, they would sit in the summer house high above +the Merimec, listening to the crickets' chirp, and watching the day fade +upon the water. The Colonel, who had always detested pipes, learned to +smoke a corncob. He would sit by the hour, with his feet on the rail of +the porch and his hat tilted back, while Virginia read to him. Poe +and Wordsworth and Scott he liked, but Tennyson was his favorite. Such +happiness could not last. + +One afternoon when Virginia was sitting in the summer house alone, her +thoughts wandering back, as they sometimes did, to another afternoon +she had spent there,--it seemed so long ago,--when she saw Mammy Easter +coming toward her. + +“Honey, dey's comp'ny up to de house. Mister Hopper's done arrived. He's +on de porch, talkin' to your Pa. Lawsey, look wha he come!” + +In truth, the solid figure of Eliphalet himself was on the path some +twenty yards behind her. His hat was in his hand; his hair was plastered +down more neatly than ever, and his coat was a faultless and sober +creation of a Franklin Avenue tailor. He carried a cane, which was +unheard of. Virginia sat upright, and patted her skirts with a gesture +of annoyance--what she felt was anger, resentment. Suddenly she rose, +swept past Mammy, and met him ten paces from the summer house. + +“How-dy-do, Miss Virginia,” he cried pleasantly. “Your father had a +notion you might be here.” He said fayther. + +Virginia gave him her hand limply. Her greeting would have frozen a man +of ardent temperament. But it was not precisely ardor that Eliphalet +showed. The girl paused and examined him swiftly. There was something in +the man's air to-day. + +“So you were not caught?” she said. + +Her words seemed to relieve some tension in him. He laughed noiselessly. + +“I just guess I wahn't.” + +“How did you escape?” she asked, looking at him curiously. + +“Well, I did, first of all. You're considerable smart, Miss Jinny, but +I'll bet you can't tell me where I was, now.” + +“I do not care to know. The place might save you again.” + +He showed his disappointment. “I cal'lated it might interest you to know +how I dodged the Sovereign State of Missouri. General Halleck made an +order that released a man from enrolling on payment of ten dollars. +I paid. Then I was drafted into the Abe Lincoln Volunteers; I paid a +substitute. And so here I be, exercising life, and liberty, and the +pursuit of happiness.” + +“So you bought yourself free?” said Virginia. “If your substitute gets +killed, I suppose you will have cause for congratulation.” + +Eliphalet laughed, and pulled down his cuffs. “That's his lookout, +I cal'late,” said he. He glanced at the girl in a way that made her +vaguely uneasy. She turned from him, back toward the summer house. +Eliphalet's eyes smouldered as they rested upon her figure. He took a +step forward. + +“Miss Jinny?” he said. + +“Yes?” + +“I've heard considerable about the beauties of this place. Would you +mind showing me 'round a bit?” Virginia started. It was his tone now. +Not since that first evening in Locust Street had it taken on such +assurance, And yet she could not be impolite to a guest. + +“Certainly not,” she replied, but without looking up. Eliphalet led +the way. He came to the summer house, glanced around it with apparent +satisfaction, and put his foot on the moss-grown step. Virginia did a +surprising thing. She leaped quickly into the doorway before him, and +stood facing him, framed in the climbing roses. + +“Oh, Mr. Hopper!” she cried. “Please, not in here.” He drew back, +staring in astonishment at the crimson in her face. + +“Why not?” he asked suspiciously--almost brutally. She had been groping +wildly for excuses, and found none. + +“Because,” she said, “because I ask you not to.” With dignity: “That +should be sufficient.” + +“Well,” replied Eliphalet, with an abortive laugh, “that's funny, now. +Womenkind get queer notions, which I cal'late we've got to respect and +put up with all our lives--eh?” + +Her anger flared at his leer and at his broad way of gratifying her +whim. And she was more incensed than ever at his air of being at +home--it was nothing less. + +The man's whole manner was an insult. She strove still to hide her +resentment. + +“There is a walk along the bluff,” she said, coldly, “where the view is +just as good.” + +But she purposely drew him into the right-hand path, which led, after +a little, back to the house. Despite her pace he pressed forward to her +side. + +“Miss Jinny,” said he, precipitately, “did I ever strike you as a +marrying man?” + +Virginia stopped, and put her handkerchief to her face, the impulse +strong upon her to laugh. Eliphalet was suddenly transformed again into +the common commercial Yankee. He was in love, and had come to ask her +advice. She might have known it. + +“I never thought of you as of the marrying kind, Mr. Hopper,” she +answered, her voice quivering. + +Indeed, he was irresistibly funny as he stood hot and ill at ease. The +Sunday coat bore witness to his increasing portliness by creasing across +from the buttons; his face, fleshy and perspiring, showed purple veins, +and the little eyes receded comically, like a pig's. + +“Well, I've been thinking serious of late about getting married,” he +continued, slashing the rose bushes with his stick. “I don't cal'late +to be a sentimental critter. I'm not much on high-sounding phrases, and +such things, but I'd give you my word I'd make a good husband.” + +“Please be careful of those roses, Mr. Hopper.” + +“Beg pardon,” said Eliphalet. He began to lose track of his tenses--that +was the only sign he gave of perturbation. “When I come to St. Louis +without a cent, Miss Jinny, I made up my mind I'd be a rich man before +I left it. If I was to die now, I'd have kept that promise. I'm not +thirty-four, and I cal'late I've got as much money in a safe place as a +good many men you call rich. I'm not saying what I've got, mind you. All +in proper time. + +“I'm a pretty steady kind. I've stopped chewing--there was a time when I +done that. And I don't drink nor smoke.” + +“That is all very commendable, Mr. Hopper,” Virginia said, stifling a +rebellious titter. “But,--but why did you give up chewing?” + +“I am informed that the ladies are against it,” said Eliphalet,--“dead +against it. You wouldn't like it in a husband, now, would you?” + +This time the laugh was not to be put down. “I confess I shouldn't,” she +said. + +“Thought so,” he replied, as one versed. His tones took on a nasal +twang. “Well, as I was saying, I've about got ready to settle down, and +I've had my eye on the lady this seven years.” + +“Marvel of constancy!” said Virginia. “And the lady?” + +“The lady,” said Eliphalet, bluntly, “is you.” He glanced at her +bewildered face and went on rapidly: “You pleased me the first day I set +eyes on you in the store I said to myself, 'Hopper, there's the one for +you to marry.' I'm plain, but my folks was good people. I set to work +right then to make a fortune for you, Miss Jinny. You've just what I +need. I'm a plain business man with no frills. You'll do the frills. +You're the kind that was raised in the lap of luxury. You'll need a man +with a fortune, and a big one; you're the sort to show it off. I've got +the foundations of that fortune, and the proof of it right here. And I +tell you,”--his jaw was set,--“I tell you that some day Eliphalet Hopper +will be one of the richest men in the West.” + +He had stopped, facing her in the middle of the way, his voice strong, +his confidence supreme. At first she had stared at him in dumb wonder. +Then, as she began to grasp the meaning of his harangue, astonishment +was still dominant,--sheer astonishment. She scarcely listened. But, +as he finished, the thatch of the summer house caught her eye. A vision +arose of a man beside whom Eliphalet was not worthy to crawl. She +thought of Stephen as he had stood that evening in the sunset, and this +proposal seemed a degradation. This brute dared to tempt her with money. +Scalding words rose to her lips. But she caught the look on Eliphalet's +face, and she knew that he would not understand. This was one who +rose and fell, who lived and loved and hated and died and was buried +by--money. + +For a second she looked into his face as one who escapes a pit gazes +over the precipice, and shuddered. As for Eliphalet, let it not be +thought that he had no passion. This was the moment for which he had +lived since the day he had first seen her and been scorned in the store. +That type of face, that air,--these were the priceless things he would +buy with his money. Crazed with the very violence of his long-pent +desire, he seized her hand. She wrung it free again. + +“How--how dare you!” she cried. + +He staggered back, and stood for a moment motionless, as though stunned. +Then, slowly, a light crept into his little eyes which haunted her for +many a day. + +“You--won't--marry me?” he said. + +“Oh, how dare you ask me!” exclaimed Virginia, her face burning with +the shame of it. She was standing with her hands behind her, her back +against a great walnut trunk, the crusted branches of which hung over +the bluff. Even as he looked at her, Eliphalet lost his head, and +indiscretion entered his soul. + +“You must!” he said hoarsely. “You must! You've got no notion of my +money, I say.” + +“Oh!” she cried, “can't you understand? If you owned the whole of +California, I would not marry you.” Suddenly he became very cool. He +slipped his hand into a pocket, as one used to such a motion, and drew +out some papers. + +“I cal'late you ain't got much idea of the situation, Miss Carvel,” he +said; “the wheels have been a-turning lately. You're poor, but I guess +you don't know how poor you are,--eh? The Colonel's a man of honor, +ain't he?” + +For her life she could not have answered,--nor did she even know why she +stayed to listen. + +“Well,” he said, “after all, there ain't much use in your lookin' over +them papers. A woman wouldn't know. I'll tell you what they say: they +say that if I choose, I am Carvel & Company.” + +The little eyes receded, and he waited a moment, seemingly to prolong a +physical delight in the excitement and suffering of a splendid creature. +The girl was breathing fast and deep. + +“I cal'late you despise me, don't you?” he went on, as if that, too, +gave him pleasure. “But I tell you the Colonel's a beggar but for me. +Go and ask him if I'm lying. All you've got to do is to say you'll be my +wife, and I tear these notes in two. They go over the bluff.” (He +made the motion with his hands.) “Carvel & Company's an old firm,--a +respected firm. You wouldn't care to see it go out of the family, I +cal'late.” + +He paused again, triumphant. But she did none of the things he expected. +She said, simply:--“Will you please follow me, Mr. Hopper.” + +And he followed her,--his shrewdness gone, for once. + +Save for the rise and fall of her shoulders she seemed calm. The path +wound through a jungle of waving sunflowers and led into the shade in +front of the house. There was the Colonel sitting on the porch. His +pipe lay with its scattered ashes on the boards, and his head was bent +forward, as though listening. When he saw the two, he rose expectantly, +and went forward to meet them. Virginia stopped before him. + +“Pa,” she said, “is it true that you have borrowed money from this man?” + +Eliphalet had seen Mr. Carvel angry once, and his soul had quivered. +Terror, abject terror, seized him now, so that his knees smote together. +As well stare into the sun as into the Colonel's face. In one stride +he had a hand in the collar of Eliphalet's new coat, the other pointing +down the path. + +“It takes just a minute to walk to that fence, sir,” he said sternly. +“If you are any longer about it, I reckon you'll never get past it. +You're a cowardly hound, sir!” Mr. Hopper's gait down the flagstones was +an invention of his own. It was neither a walk, nor a trot, nor a run, +but a sort of sliding amble, such as is executed in nightmares. Singing +in his head was the famous example of the eviction of Babcock from the +store,--the only time that the Colonel's bullet had gone wide. And down +in the small of his back Eliphalet listened for the crack of a pistol, +and feared that a clean hole might be bored there any minute. Once +outside, he took to the white road, leaving a trail of dust behind him +that a wagon might have raised. Fear lent him wings, but neglected to +lift his feet. + +The Colonel passed his arm around his daughter, and pulled his goatee +thoughtfully. And Virginia, glancing shyly upward, saw a smile in the +creases about his mouth: She smiled, too, and then the tears hid him +from her. + +Strange that the face which in anger withered cowards and made men look +grave, was capable of such infinite tenderness,--tenderness and sorrow. +The Colonel took Virginia in his arms, and she sobbed against his +shoulder, as of old. + +“Jinny, did he--?” + +“Yes--” + +“Lige was right, and--and you, Jinny--I should never have trusted him. +The sneak!” + +Virginia raised her head. The sun was slanting in yellow bars through +the branches of the great trees, and a robin's note rose above the bass +chorus of the frogs. In the pauses, as she listened, it seemed as if she +could hear the silver sound of the river over the pebbles far below. + +“Honey,” said the Colonel,--“I reckon we're just as poor as white +trash.” + +Virginia smiled through her tears. + +“Honey,” he said again, after a pause, “I must keep my word and let him +have the business.” + +She did not reproach him. + +“There is a little left, a very little,” he continued slowly, painfully. +“I thank God that it is yours. It was left you by Becky--by your mother. +It is in a railroad company in New York, and safe, Jinny.” + +“Oh, Pa, you know that I do not care,” she cried. “It shall be yours and +mine together. And we shall live out here and be happy.” + +But she glanced anxiously at him nevertheless. He was in his familiar +posture of thought, his legs slightly apart, his felt hat pushed back, +stroking his goatee. But his clear gray eyes were troubled as they +sought hers, and she put her hand to her breast. + +“Virginia,” he said, “I fought for my country once, and I reckon I'm +some use yet awhile. It isn't right that I should idle here, while +the South needs me, Your Uncle Daniel is fifty-eight, and Colonel of a +Pennsylvania regiment.--Jinny, I have to go.” + +Virginia said nothing. It was in her blood as well as his. The Colonel +had left his young wife, to fight in Mexico; he had come home to lay +flowers on her grave. She knew that he thought of this; and, too, that +his heart was rent at leaving her. She put her hands on his shoulders, +and he stooped to kiss her trembling lips. + +They walked out together to the summer-house, and stood watching the +glory of the light on the western hills. “Jinn,” said the Colonel, “I +reckon you will have to go to your Aunt Lillian. It--it will be hard. +But I know that my girl can take care of herself. In case--in case I do +not come back, or occasion should arise, find Lige. Let him take you to +your Uncle Daniel. He is fond of you, and will be all alone in Calvert +House when the war is over. And I reckon that is all I have to say. I +won't pry into your heart, honey. If you love Clarence, marry him. I +like the boy, and I believe he will quiet down into a good man.” + +Virginia did not answer, but reached out for her father's hand and held +its fingers locked tight in her own. From the kitchen the sound of Ned's +voice rose in the still evening air. + + “Sposin' I was to go to N' Orleans an' take sick and die, + Laik a bird into de country ma spirit would fly.” + +And after a while down the path the red and yellow of Mammy Easter's +bandanna was seen. + +“Supper, Miss Jinny. Laws, if I ain't ramshacked de premises fo' you +bof. De co'n bread's gittin' cold.” + +That evening the Colonel and Virginia thrust a few things into her +little leather bag they had chosen together in London. Virginia had +found a cigar, which she hid until they went down to the porch, and +there she gave it to him; when he lighted the match she saw that his +hand shook. + +Half an hour later he held her in his arms at the gate, and she heard +his firm tread die in the dust of the road. The South had claimed him at +last. + + + + +Volume 7. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. WITH THE ARMIES OF THE WEST + +We are at Memphis,--for a while,--and the Christmas season is +approaching once more. And yet we must remember that war recognizes no +Christmas, nor Sunday, nor holiday. The brown river, excited by rains, +whirled seaward between his banks of yellow clay. Now the weather was +crisp and cold, now hazy and depressing, and again a downpour. Memphis +had never seen such activity. A spirit possessed the place, a restless +spirit called William T. Sherman. He prodded Memphis and laid violent +hold of her. She groaned, protested, turned over, and woke up, peopled +by a new people. When these walked, they ran, and they wore a blue +uniform. They spoke rapidly and were impatient. Rain nor heat nor +tempest kept them in. And yet they joked, and Memphis laughed (what was +left of her), and recognized a bond of fellowship. The General joked, +and the Colonels and the Commissary and the doctors, down to the sutlers +and teamsters and the salt tars under Porter, who cursed the dishwater +Mississippi, and also a man named Eads, who had built the new-fangled +iron boxes officially known as gunboats. The like of these had +never before been seen in the waters under the earth. The loyal +citizens--loyal to the South--had been given permission to leave the +city. The General told the assistant quartermaster to hire their houses +and slaves for the benefit of the Federal Government. Likewise he laid +down certain laws to the Memphis papers defining treason. He gave +out his mind freely to that other army of occupation, the army of +speculation, that flocked thither with permits to trade in cotton. The +speculators gave the Confederates gold, which they needed most, for the +bales, which they could not use at all. + +The forefathers of some of these gentlemen were in old Egypt under +Pharaoh--for whom they could have had no greater respect and fear than +their descendants had in New Egypt for Grant or Sherman. Yankees +were there likewise in abundance. And a certain acquaintance of ours +materially added to his fortune by selling in Boston the cotton which +cost him fourteen cents, at thirty cents. + +One day the shouting and the swearing and the running to and fro came +to a climax. Those floating freaks which were all top and drew nothing, +were loaded down to the guards with army stores and animals and wood and +men,--men who came from every walk in life. + +Whistles bellowed, horses neighed. The gunboats chased hither and +thither, and at length the vast processions paddled down the stream with +naval precision, under the watchful eyes of a real admiral. + +Residents of Memphis from the river's bank watched the pillar of smoke +fade to the southward and ruminated on the fate of Vicksburg. The +General paced the deck in thought. A little later he wrote to the +Commander-in-Chief at Washington, “The valley of the Mississippi is +America.” + +Vicksburg taken, this vast Confederacy would be chopped in two. + +Night fell to the music of the paddles, to the scent of the officers' +cigars, to the blood-red vomit of the tall stacks and the smoky flame of +the torches. Then Christmas Day dawned, and there was Vicksburg lifted +two hundred feet above the fever swamps, her court-house shining in +the morning sun. Vicksburg, the well-nigh impregnable key to America's +highway. When old Vick made his plantation on the Walnut Hills, he chose +a site for a fortress of the future Confederacy that Vauban would have +delighted in. + +Yes, there were the Walnut Hills, high bluffs separated from the +Mississippi by tangled streams and bayous, and on their crests the +Parrotts scowled. It was a queer Christmas Day indeed, bright and warm; +no snow, no turkeys nor mince pies, no wine, but just hardtack and bacon +and foaming brown water. + +On the morrow the ill-assorted fleet struggled up the sluggish Yazoo, +past impenetrable forests where the cypress clutched at the keels, past +long-deserted cotton fields, until it came at last to the black ruins of +a home. In due time the great army was landed. It spread out by brigade +and division and regiment and company, the men splashing and paddling +through the Chickasaw and the swamps toward the bluffs. The Parrotts +began to roar. A certain regiment, boldly led, crossed the bayou at a +narrow place and swept resistless across the sodden fields to where the +bank was steepest. The fire from the battery scorched the hair of their +heads. But there they stayed, scooping out the yellow clay with torn +hands, while the Parrotts, with lowered muzzles, ploughed the slope with +shells. There they stayed, while the blue lines quivered and fell back +through the forests on that short winter's afternoon, dragging their +wounded from the stagnant waters. But many were left to die in agony in +the solitude. + +Like a tall emblem of energy, General Sherman stood watching the attack +and repulse, his eyes ever alert. He paid no heed to the shells which +tore the limbs from the trees about him, or sent the swamp water in +thick spray over his staff. Now and again a sharp word broke from his +lips, a forceful home thrust at one of the leaders of his columns. + +“What regiment stayed under the bank?” + +“Sixth Missouri, General,” said an aide, promptly. + +The General sat late in the Admiral's gunboat that night, but when +he returned to his cabin in the Forest Queen, he called for a list of +officers of the Sixth Missouri. His finger slipping down the roll paused +at a name among the new second lieutenants. + +“Did the boys get back?” he asked. “Yes, General, when it fell dark.” + +“Let me see the casualties,--quick.” + +That night a fog rolled up from the swamps, and in the morning +jack-staff was hid from pilot-house. Before the attack could be renewed, +a political general came down the river with a letter in his pocket +from Washington, by virtue of which he took possession of the three army +core, and their chief, subpoenaed the fleet and the Admiral, and went +off to capture Arkansas Post. + +Vicksburg had a breathing spell. + +Three weeks later, when the army was resting at Napoleon, Arkansas, a +self-contained man, with a brown beard arrived from Memphis, and took +command. This way General U. S. Grant. He smoked incessantly in his +cabin. He listened. He spoke but seldom. He had look in his face that +boded ill to any that might oppose him. Time and labor be counted +as nothing, compared with the accomplishment of an object. Back to +Vicksburg paddled the fleet and transports. Across the river from the +city, on the pasty mud behind the levee's bank were dumped Sherman's +regiments, condemned to week of ditch-digging, that the gunboats might +arrive at the bend of the Mississippi below by a canal, out of reach of +the batteries. Day in and day out they labored, officer and men. Sawing +off stumps under the water, knocking poisonous snakes by scores from the +branches, while the river rose and rose and rose, and the rain crept +by inches under their tent flies, and the enemy walked the parapet of +Vicksburg and laughed. Two gunboats accomplished the feat of running the +batteries, that their smiles might be sobered. + +To the young officers who were soiling their uniform with the grease of +saws, whose only fighting was against fever and water snakes, the news +of an expedition into the Vicksburg side of the river was hailed with +caps in the air. To be sure, the saw and axe, and likewise the levee and +the snakes, were to be there, too. But there was likely to be a little +fighting. The rest of the corps that was to stay watched grimly as the +detachment put off in the little 'Diligence' and 'Silver Wave'. + +All the night the smoke-pipes were batting against the boughs of oak and +cottonwood, and snapping the trailing vines. Some other regiments +went by another route. The ironclads, followed in hot haste by General +Sherman in a navy tug, had gone ahead, and were even then shoving with +their noses great trunks of trees in their eagerness to get behind the +Rebels. The Missouri regiment spread out along the waters, and were soon +waist deep, hewing a path for the heavier transports to come. Presently +the General came back to a plantation half under water, where Black +Bayou joins Deer Creek, to hurry the work in cleaning out that Bayou. +The light transports meanwhile were bringing up more troops from a +second detachment. All through the Friday the navy great guns were +heard booming in the distance, growing quicker and quicker, until +the quivering air shook the hanging things in that vast jungle. Saws +stopped, and axes were poised over shoulders, and many times that day +the General lifted his head anxiously. As he sat down in the evening in +a slave cabin redolent with corn pone and bacon, the sound still hovered +among the trees and rolled along the still waters. + +The General slept lightly. It was three o'clock Saturday morning when +the sharp challenge of a sentry broke the silence. A negro, white eyed, +bedraggled, and muddy, stood in the candle light under the charge of a +young lieutenant. The officer saluted, and handed the General a roll of +tobacco. + +“I found this man in the swamp, sir. He has a message from the +Admiral--” + +The General tore open the roll and took from it a piece of tissue paper +which he spread out and held under the candle. He turned to a staff +officer who had jumped from his bed and was hurrying into his coat. + +“Porter's surrounded,” he said. The order came in a flash. “Kilby Smith +and all men here across creek to relief at once. I'll take canoe through +bayou to Hill's and hurry reenforcements.” + +The staff officer paused, his hand on the latch of the door. + +“But your escort, General. You're not going through that sewer in a +canoe without an escort!” + +“I guess they won't look for a needle in that haystack,” the General +answered. For a brief second he eyed the lieutenant. “Get back to your +regiment, Brice, if you want to go,” he said. + +Stephen saluted and went out. All through the painful march that +followed, though soaked in swamp water and bruised by cypress knees, he +thought of Sherman in his canoe, winding unprotected through the black +labyrinth, risking his life that more men might be brought to the rescue +of the gunboats. + +The story of that rescue has been told most graphically by Sherman +himself. How he picked up the men at work on the bayou and marched them +on a coal barge; how he hitched the barge to a navy tug; how he met the +little transport with a fresh load of troops, and Captain Elijah Brent's +reply when the General asked if he would follow him. “As long as the +boat holds together, General.” And he kept his word. The boughs hammered +at the smoke-pipes until they went by the board, and the pilothouse fell +like a pack of cards on the deck before they had gone three miles and a +half. Then the indomitable Sherman disembarked, a lighted candle in his +hand, and led a stiff march through thicket and swamp and breast-deep +backwater, where the little drummer boys carried their drums on their +heads. At length, when they were come to some Indian mounds, they found +a picket of three, companies of the force which had reached the flat the +day before, and had been sent down to prevent the enemy from obstructing +further the stream below the fleet. + +“The Admiral's in a bad way, sir,” said the Colonel who rode up to meet +the General. “He's landlocked. Those clumsy ironclads of his can't move +backward or forward, and the Rebs have been peppering him for two days.” + +Just then a fusillade broke from the thickets, nipping the branches from +the cottonwoods about them. + +“Form your line,” said the General. “Drive 'em out.” + +The force swept forward, with the three picket companies in the swamp on +the right. And presently they came in sight of the shapeless ironclads +with their funnels belching smoke, a most remarkable spectacle. How +Porter had pushed them there was one of the miracles of the war. + +Then followed one of a thousand memorable incidents in the life of a +memorable man. General Sherman, jumping on the bare back of a scrawny +horse, cantered through the fields. And the bluejackets, at sight of +that familiar figure, roared out a cheer that might have shaken the +drops from the wet boughs. The Admiral and the General stood together on +the deck, their hands clasped. And the Colonel astutely remarked, as he +rode up in answer to a summons, that if Porter was the only man whose +daring could have pushed a fleet to that position, Sherman was certainly +the only man who could have got him out of it. + +“Colonel,” said the General, “that move was well executed, sir. Admiral, +did the Rebs put a bullet through your rum casks? We're just a little +tired. And now,” he added, wheeling on the Colonel when each had a glass +in his hand, “who was in command of that company on the right, in the +swamp? He handled them like a regular.” + +“He's a second lieutenant, General, in the Sixth Missouri. Captain +wounded at Hindman, and first lieutenant fell out down below. His name +is Brice, I believe.” + +“I thought so,” said the General. + +Some few days afterward, when the troops were slopping around again at +Young's Point, opposite Vicksburg, a gentleman arrived on a boat +from St. Louis. He paused on the levee to survey with concern and +astonishment the flood of waters behind it, and then asked an officer +the way to General Sherman's headquarters. The officer, who was greatly +impressed by the gentleman's looks, led him at once to a trestle bridge +which spanned the distance from the levee bank over the flood to a house +up to its first floor in the backwaters. The orderly saluted. + +“Who shall I say, sir?” + +The officer looked inquiringly at the gentleman, who gave his name. + +The officer could not repress a smile at the next thing that happened. +Out hurried the General himself, with both hands outstretched. + +“Bless my soul!” he cried, “if it isn't Brinsmade. Come right in, come +right in and take dinner. The boys will be glad to see you. I'll send +and tell Grant you're here. Brinsmade, if it wasn't for you and your +friends on the Western Sanitary Commission, we'd all have been dead of +fever and bad food long ago.” The General sobered abruptly. “I guess a +good many of the boys are laid up now,” he added. + +“I've come down to do what I can, General,” responded Mr. Brinsmade, +gravely. “I want to go through all the hospitals to see that our nurses +are doing their duty and that the stores are properly distributed.” + +“You shall, sir, this minute,” said the General. He dropped instantly +the affairs which he had on hand, and without waiting for dinner the +two gentlemen went together through the wards where the fever raged. The +General surprised his visitor by recognizing private after private in +the cots, and he always had a brief word of cheer to brighten their +faces, to make them follow him with wistful eyes as he passed beyond +them. “That's poor Craig,” he would say, “corporal, Third Michigan. They +tell me he can't live,” and “That's Olcott, Eleventh Indiana. Good God!” + cried the General, when they were out in the air again, “how I wish +some of these cotton traders could get a taste of this fever. They keep +well--the vultures--And by the way, Brinsmade, the man who gave me no +peace at all at Memphis was from your city. Why, I had to keep a whole +corps on duty to watch him.” + +“What was his name, sir?” Mr. Brinsmade asked. + +“Hopper!” cried the General, with feeling. “Eliphalet Hopper. As long as +I live I shall never forget it. How the devil did he get a permit? What +are they about at Washington?” + +“You surprise me,” said Mr. Brinsmade. “He has always seemed +inoffensive, and I believe he is a prominent member of one of our +churches.” + +“I guess that's so,” answered the General, dryly. “I ever I set eyes on +him again, he's clapped into the guardhouse. He knows it, too.” + +“Speaking of St. Louis, General,” said Mr. Brinsmade, presently, “have +you ever heard of Stephen Brice? joined your army last autumn. You may +remember talking to him one evening at my house.” + +“He's one of my boys!” cried the General. “Remember him? Guess I do!” He +paused on the very brink of relating again the incident at Camp Jackson, +when Stephen had saved the life of Mr. Brinsmade's own son. “Brinsmade, +for three days I've had it on my mind to send for that boy. I'll have +him at headquarters now. I like him,” cried General Sherman, with tone +and gesture there was no mistaking. And good Mr. Brinsmade, who liked +Stephen, too, rejoiced at the story he would have to tell the widow. “He +has spirit, Brinsmade. I told him to let me know when he was ready to go +to war. No such thing. He never came near me. The first thing I hear of +him is that he's digging holes in the clay of Chickasaw Bluff, and his +cap is fanned off by the blast of a Parrott six feet above his head. +Next thing he turns up on that little expedition we took to get Porter +to sea again. When we got to the gunboats, there was Brice's company +on the flank. He handled those men surprisingly, sir--surprisingly. I +shouldn't have blamed the boy if one or two Rebs got by him. But no, he +swept the place clean.” By this time they had come back to the bridge +leading to headquarters, and the General beckoned quickly to an orderly. + +“My compliments to Lieutenant Stephen Brice, Sixth Missouri, and ask him +to report here at once. At once, you understand!” + +“Yes, General.” + +It so happened that Mr. Brice's company were swinging axes when the +orderly arrived, and Mr. Brice had an axe himself, and was up to his +boot tops in yellow mud. + +The orderly, who had once been an Iowa farmer, was near grinning when he +gave the General's message and saw the lieutenant gazing ruefully at his +clothes. + +Entering headquarters, Stephen paused at the doorway of the big room +where the officers of the different staffs were scattered about, +smoking, while the negro servants were removing the dishes from the +table. The sunlight, reflected from the rippling water outside, danced +on the ceiling. At the end of the room sat General Sherman, his uniform, +as always, a trifle awry. His soft felt hat with the gold braid was +tilted forward, and his feet, booted and spurred, were crossed. Small +wonder that the Englishman who sought the typical American found him in +Sherman. + +The sound that had caught Stephen's attention was the General's voice, +somewhat high-pitched, in the key that he used in telling a story. These +were his closing words. + +“Sin gives you a pretty square deal, boys, after all. Generally a man +says, 'Well, I can resist, but I'll have my fun just this once.' That's +the way it happens. They tell you that temptation comes irresistibly. +Don't believe it. Do you, Mr. Brice? Come over here, sir. Here's a +friend of yours.” + +Stephen made his way to the General, whose bright eyes wandered rapidly +over him as he added: + +“This is the condition my officers report in, Brinsmade,--mud from head +to heel.” + +Stephen had sense enough to say nothing, but the staff officers laughed, +and Mr. Brinsmade smiled as he rose and took Stephen's hand. + +“I am delighted to see that you are well, sir,” said he, with that +formal kindliness which endeared him to all. “Your mother will be +rejoiced at my news of you. You will be glad to hear that I left her +well, Stephen.” + +Stephen inquired for Mrs. Brinsmade and Anne. + +“They are well, sir, and took pleasure in adding to a little box which +your mother sent. Judge Whipple put in a box of fine cigars, although he +deplores the use of tobacco.” + +“And the Judge, Mr. Brinsmade--how is he?” + +The good gentleman's face fell. + +“He is ailing, sir, it grieves me to say. He is in bed, sir. But he is +ably looked after. Your mother desired to have him moved to her house, +but he is difficult to stir from his ways, and he would not leave his +little room. He is ably nursed. We have got old Nancy, Hester's mother, +to stay with him at night, and Mrs. Brice divides the day with Miss +Jinny Carvel, who comes in from Bellegarde every afternoon.” + +“Miss Carvel?” exclaimed Stephen, wondering if he heard aright. And at +the mention of her name he tingled. + +“None other, sir,” answered Mr. Brinsmade. “She has been much honored +for it. You may remember that the Judge was a close friend of her +father's before the war. And--well, they quarrelled, sir. The Colonel +went South, you know.” + +“When--when was the Judge taken ill, Mr. Brinsmade?” Stephen asked. The +thought of Virginia and his mother caring for him together was strangely +sweet. + +“Two days before I left, sir, Dr. Polk had warned him not to do so much. +But the Doctor tells me that he can see no dangerous symptoms.” + +Stephen inquired now of Mr. Brinsmade how long he was to be with them. + +“I am going on to the other camps this afternoon,” said he. “But I +should like a glimpse of your quarters, Stephen, if you will invite +me. Your mother would like a careful account of you, and Mr. Whipple, +and--your many friends in St. Louis.” + +“You will find my tent a little wet, air,” replied Stephen, touched. + +Here the General, who had been sitting by watching them with a very +curious expression, spoke up. + +“That's hospitality for you, Brinsmade!” + +Stephen and Mr. Brinsmade made their way across plank and bridge to +Stephen's tent, and his mess servant arrived in due time with the +package from home. But presently, while they sat talking of many things, +the canvas of the fly was thrust back with a quick movement, and who +should come stooping in but General Sherman himself. He sat down on a +cracker box. Stephen rose confusedly. + +“Well, well, Brice,” said the General, winking at Mr. Brinsmade, “I +think you might have invited me to the feast. Where are those cigars Mr. +Brinsmade was talking about?” + +Stephen opened the box with alacrity. The General chose one and lighted +it. + +“Don't smoke, eh?” he inquired. “Why, yes, sir, when I can.” + +“Then light up, sir,” said the General, “and sit down, I've been +thinking lately of court-martialing you, but I decided to come 'round +and talk it over with you first. That isn't strictly according to +the rules of the service. Look here, Mr. Brice, why did you leave St. +Louis?” + +“They began to draft, sir, and I couldn't stand it any longer.” + +“But you wouldn't have been drafted. You were in the Home Guards, if I +remember right. And Mr. Brinsmade tells me you were useful in many ways +What was your rank in the Home Guards?” + +“Lieutenant colonel, sir.” + +“And what are you here?” + +“A second lieutenant in temporary command, General.” “You have commanded +men?” + +“Not in action, sir. I felt that that was different.” + +“Couldn't they do better for you than a second-lieutenancy?” + +Stephen did not reply at once, Mr. Brinsmade spoke up, “They offered him +a lieutenant-colonelcy.” + +The General was silent a moment: Then he said “Do you remember meeting +me on the boat when I was leaving St. Louis, after the capture of Fort +Henry?” + +Stephen smiled. “Very well, General,” he replied, General Sherman leaned +forward. + +“And do you remember I said to you, 'Brice, when you get ready to come +into this war, let me know.' Why didn't you do it?” + +Stephen thought a minute. Then he said gravely, but with just a +suspicion of humor about his mouth:-- “General, if I had done that, you +wouldn't be here in my tent to-day.” + +Like lightning the General was on his feet, his hand on Stephen's +shoulder. + +“By gad, sir,” he cried, delighted, “so I wouldn't.” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. A STRANGE MEETING + +The story of the capture of Vicksburg is the old, old story of failure +turned into success, by which man is made immortal. It involves the +history of a general who never retraced his steps, who cared neither +for mugwump murmurs nor political cabals, who took both blame and praise +with equanimity. Through month after month of discouragement, and work +gone for naught, and fever and death, his eyes never left his goal. And +by grace of the wisdom of that President who himself knew sorrow and +suffering and defeat and unjust censure, General Grant won. + +Boldness did it. The canal abandoned, one red night fleet and transports +swept around the bend and passed the city's heights, on a red river. +The Parrotts and the Dahlgrens roared, and the high bluffs flung out the +sound over the empty swamp land. + +Then there came the landing below, and the cutting loose from a +base--unheard of. Corps behind cursed corps ahead for sweeping the +country clear of forage. Battles were fought. Confederate generals in +Mississippi were bewildered. + +One night, while crossing with his regiment a pontoon bridge, Stephen +Brice heard a shout raised on the farther shore. Sitting together on +a log under a torch, two men in slouch hats were silhouetted. That one +talking with rapid gestures was General Sherman. The impassive profile +of the other, the close-cropped beard and the firmly held cigar that +seemed to go with it,--Stephen recognized as that of the strange Captain +Grant who had stood beside him in the street by the Arsenal He had not +changed a whit. Motionless, he watched corps after corps splash by, +artillery, cavalry, and infantry, nor gave any sign that he heard their +plaudits. + +At length the army came up behind the city to a place primeval, where +the face of the earth was sore and tortured, worn into deep gorges by +the rains, and flung up in great mounds. Stripped of the green magnolias +and the cane, the banks of clay stood forth in hideous yellow nakedness, +save for a lonely stunted growth, or a bare trunk that still stood +tottering on the edge of a banks its pitiful withered roots reaching out +below. The May weather was already sickly hot. + +First of all there was a murderous assault, and a still more murderous +repulse. Three times the besiegers charged, sank their color staffs +into the redoubts, and three times were driven back. Then the blue army +settled into the earth and folded into the ravines. Three days in that +narrow space between the lines lay the dead and wounded suffering untold +agonies in the moist heat. Then came a truce to bury the dead, to bring +back what was left of the living. + +The doomed city had no rest. Like clockwork from the Mississippi's banks +beyond came the boom and shriek of the coehorns on the barges. The big +shells hung for an instant in the air like birds of prey, and then could +be seen swooping down here and there, while now and anon a shaft of +smoke rose straight to the sky, the black monument of a home. + +Here was work in the trenches, digging the flying sap by night and +deepening it by day, for officers and men alike. From heaven a host of +blue ants could be seen toiling in zigzags forward, ever forward, along +the rude water-cuts and through the hills. A waiting carrion from her +vantage point on high marked one spot then another where the blue ants +disappeared, and again one by one came out of the burrow to hurry down +the trench,--each with his ball of clay. + +In due time the ring of metal and sepulchred voices rumbled in the +ground beneath the besieged. Counter mines were started, and through the +narrow walls of earth commands and curses came. Above ground the saps +were so near that a strange converse became the rule. It was “Hello, +Reb!” “Howdy, Yank!” Both sides were starving, the one for tobacco and +the other for hardtack and bacon. These necessities were tossed across, +sometimes wrapped in the Vicksburg news-sheet printed on the white +side of a homely green wall paper. At other times other amenities were +indulged in. Hand-grenades were thrown and shells with lighted fuses +rolled down on the heads of acquaintances of the night before, who +replied from wooden coehorns hooped with iron. + +The Union generals learned (common item in a siege) that the citizens +of Vicksburg were eating mule meat. Not an officer or private in the +Vicksburg armies who does not remember the 25th of June, and the hour +of three in an afternoon of pitiless heat. Silently the long blue files +wound into position behind the earth barriers which hid them from the +enemy, coiled and ready to strike when the towering redoubt on the +Jackson road should rise heavenwards. By common consent the rifle +crack of day and night was hushed, and even the Parrotts were silent. +Stillness closed around the white house of Shirley once more, but not +the stillness it had known in its peaceful homestead days. This was +the stillness of the death prayer. Eyes staring at the big redoubt were +dimmed. At last, to those near, a little wisp of blue smoke crept out. + +Then the earth opened with a quake. The sun was darkened, and a hot +blast fanned the upturned faces. In the sky, through the film of +shattered clay, little black dots scurried, poised, and fell again as +arms and legs and head less trunks and shapeless bits of wood and iron. +Scarcely had the dust settled when the sun caught the light of fifty +thousand bayonets, and a hundred shells were shrieking across the +crater's edge. Earth to earth, alas, and dust to dust! Men who ran +across that rim of a summer's after-noon died in torture under tier upon +tier of their comrades,--and so the hole was filled. + +An upright cannon marks the spot where a scrawny oak once stood on +a scarred and baked hillside, outside of the Confederate lines at +Vicksburg. Under the scanty shade of that tree, on the eve of the +Nation's birthday, stood two men who typified the future and the past. +As at Donelson, a trick of Fortune's had delivered one comrade of old +into the hands of another. Now she chose to kiss the one upon whom she +had heaped obscurity and poverty and contumely. He had ceased to think +or care about Fortune. And hence, being born a woman, she favored him. + +The two armies watched and were still. They noted the friendly greeting +of old comrades, and after that they saw the self-contained Northerner +biting his cigar, as one to whom the pleasantries of life were past and +gone. The South saw her General turn on his heel. The bitterness of his +life was come. Both sides honored him for the fight he had made. But war +does not reward a man according to his deserts. + +The next day--the day our sundered nation was born Vicksburg +surrendered: the obstinate man with the mighty force had conquered. See +the gray regiments marching silently in the tropic heat into the folds +of that blue army whose grip has choked them at last. Silently, too, the +blue coats stand, pity and admiration on the brick-red faces. The arms +are stacked and surrendered, officers and men are to be parolled when +the counting is finished. The formations melt away, and those who for +months have sought each other's lives are grouped in friendly talk. The +coarse army bread is drawn eagerly from the knapsacks of the blue, smoke +quivers above a hundred fires, and the smell of frying bacon brings a +wistful look into the gaunt faces. Tears stand in the eyes of many a man +as he eats the food his Yankee brothers have given him on the birthday +of their country. + +Within the city it is the same. Stephen Brice, now a captain in General +Lauman's brigade, sees with thanksgiving the stars and stripes flutter +from the dome of that court-house which he had so long watched from +afar. + +Later on, down a side street, he pauses before a house with its +face blown away. On the verge of one of its jagged floors is an old +four-posted bed, and beside it a child's cot is standing pitifully,--the +tiny pillow still at the head and the little sheets thrown across the +foot. So much for one of the navy's shells. + +While he was thinking of the sadness of it all, a little scene was +acted: the side door of the house opened, a weeping woman came out, and +with her was a tall Confederate Colonel of cavalry. Gallantly giving her +his arm, he escorted her as far as the little gate, where she bade him +good by with much feeling. With an impulsive movement he drew some money +from his pocket, thrust it upon her, and started hurriedly away that +he might not listen to her thanks. Such was his preoccupation that +he actually brushed into Stephen, who was standing beside a tree. He +stopped and bowed. + +“Excuse me, seh,” he said contritely. “I beg your pardon, seh.” + +“Certainly,” said Stephen, smiling; “it was my fault for getting in your +way.” + +“Not at all, seh,” said the cavalry Colonel; “my clumsiness, seh.” + He did not pass on, but stood pulling with some violence a very long +mustache. “Damn you Yankees,” he continued, in the same amiable tone, +“you've brought us a heap of misfortune. Why, seh, in another week we'd +been fo'ced to eat niggers.” + +The Colonel made such a wry face that Stephen laughed in spite of +himself. He had marked the man's charitable action, and admired his +attempt to cover it. The Colonel seemed to be all breadth, like a card. +His shoulders were incredible. The face was scant, perchance from lack +of food, the nose large, with a curved rim, and the eyes blue gray. He +wore clay-flecked cavalry boots, and was six feet five if an inch, so +that Stephen's six seemed insignificant beside him. + +“Captain,” he said, taking in Stephen's rank, “so we won't qua'l as to +who's host heah. One thing's suah,” he added, with a twinkle, “I've been +heah longest. Seems like ten yeahs since I saw the wife and children +down in the Palmetto State. I can't offer you a dinner, seh. We've +eaten all the mules and rats and sugar cane in town.” (His eye seemed to +interpolate that Stephen wouldn't be there otherwise.) “But I can offer +you something choicer than you have in the No'th.” + +Whereupon he drew from his hip a dented silver flask. The Colonel +remarked that Stephen's eyes fell on the coat of arms. + +“Prope'ty of my grandfather, seh, of Washington's Army. My name is +Jennison,--Catesby Jennison, at your service, seh,” he said. “You have +the advantage of me, Captain.” + +“My name is Brice,” said Stephen. + +The big Colonel bowed decorously, held out a great, wide hand, and +thereupon unscrewed the flask. Now Stephen had never learned to like +straight whiskey, but he took down his share without a face. The exploit +seemed to please the Colonel, who, after he likewise had done the liquor +justice, screwed on the lid with ceremony, offered Stephen his arm with +still greater ceremony, and they walked off down the street together. +Stephen drew from his pocket several of Judge Whipple's cigars, to which +his new friend gave unqualified praise. + +On every hand Vicksburg showed signs of hard usage. Houses with gaping +chasms in their sides, others mere heaps of black ruins; great trees +felled, cabins demolished, and here and there the sidewalk ploughed +across from curb to fence. + +“Lordy,” exclaimed the Colonel. “Lordy I how my ears ache since your +damned coehorns have stopped. The noise got to be silence with us, seh, +and yesterday I reckoned a hundred volcanoes had bust. Tell me,” said he +“when the redoubt over the Jackson road was blown up, they said a nigger +came down in your lines alive. Is that so?” + +“Yes,” said Stephen, smiling; “he struck near the place where my company +was stationed. His head ached a mite. That seemed to be all.” + +“I reckon he fell on it,” said Colonel Catesby Jennison, as if it were a +matter of no special note. + +“And now tell me something,” said Stephen. “How did you burn our +sap-rollers?” + +This time the Colonel stopped, and gave himself up to hearty laughter. + +“Why, that was a Yankee trick, sure enough,” he cried. “Some ingenious +cuss soaked port fire in turpentine, and shot the wad in a large-bore +musket.” + +“We thought you used explosive bullets.” + +The Colonel laughed again, still more heartily. “Explosive +bullets!--Good Lord, it was all we could do to get percussion caps. +Do you know how we got percussion caps, seh? Three of our +officers--dare-devils, seh--floated down the Mississippi on logs. One +fellow made his way back with two hundred thousand. He's the pride of +our Vicksburg army. Not afraid of hell. A chivalrous man, a forlorn-hope +man. The night you ran the batteries he and some others went across to +your side in skiffs--in skiffs, seh, I say--and set fire to the houses +in De Soto, that we might see to shoot. And then he came back in the +face of our own batteries and your guns. That man was wounded by a trick +of fate, by a cussed bit of shell from your coehorns while eating his +dinner in Vicksburg. He's pretty low, now, poor fellow,” added the +Colonel, sadly. + +“Where is he?” demanded Stephen, fired with a desire to see the man. + +“Well, he ain't a great ways from here,” said the Colonel. “Perhaps you +might be able to do something for him,” he continued thoughtfully. “I'd +hate to see him die. The doctor says he'll pull through if he can get +care and good air and good food.” He seized Stephen's arm in a fierce +grip. “You ain't fooling?” he said. + +“Indeed I am not,” said Stephen. + +“No,” said the Colonel, thoughtfully, as to himself, “you don't look +like the man to fool.” + +Whereupon he set out with great strides, in marked contrast to his +former languorous gait, and after a while they came to a sort of gorge, +where the street ran between high banks of clay. There Stephen saw the +magazines which the Confederates had dug out, and of which he had heard. +But he saw something, too, of which he had not heard, Colonel Catesby +Jennison stopped before an open doorway in the yellow bank and knocked. +A woman's voice called softly to him to enter. + +They went into a room hewn out of the solid clay. Carpet was stretched +on the floor, paper was on the walls, and even a picture. There was +a little window cut like a port in a prison cell, and under it a bed, +beside which a middle-aged lady was seated. She had a kindly face which +seemed to Stephen a little pinched as she turned to them with a gesture +of restraint. She pointed to the bed, where a sheet lay limply over the +angles of a wasted frame. The face was to the wall. + +“Hush!” said the lady,--“it is the first time in two days that he has +slept.” + +But the sleeper stirred wearily, and woke with a start. He turned over. +The face, so yellow and peaked, was of the type that grows even more +handsome in sickness, and in the great fever-stricken eyes a high spirit +burned. For an instant only the man stared at Stephen, and then he +dragged himself to the wall. + +The eyes of the other two were both fixed on the young Union Captain. + +“My God!” cried Jennison, seizing Stephen's rigid arm, “does he look as +bad as that? We've seen him every day.” + +“I--I know him,” answered Stephen. He stepped quickly to the bedside, +and bent over it. “Colfax!” he said. “Colfax!” + +“This is too much, Jennison,” came from the bed a voice that was +pitifully weak; “why do you bring Yankees in here?” + +“Captain Brice is a friend of yours, Colfax,” said the Colonel, tugging +at his mustache. + +“Brice?” repeated Clarence, “Brice? Does he come from St. Louis?” + +“Do you come from St. Louis, sir?” + +“Yes. I have met Captain Colfax--” + +“Colonel, sir.” + +“Colonel Colfax, before the war! And if he would like to go to St. +Louis, I think I can have it arranged at once.” + +In silence they waited for Clarence's answer Stephen well knew what was +passing in his mind, and guessed at his repugnance to accept a favor +from a Yankee. He wondered whether there was in this case a special +detestation. And so his mind was carried far to the northward to the +memory of that day in the summer-house on the Meramee heights. Virginia +had not loved her cousin then--of that Stephen was sure. But now,--now +that the Vicksburg army was ringing with his praise, now that he was +unfortunate--Stephen sighed. His comfort was that he would be the +instrument. + +The lady in her uneasiness smoothed the single sheen that covered the +sick man. From afar came the sound of cheering, and it was this that +seemed to rouse him. He faced them again, impatiently. + +“I have reason to remember Mr. Brice,” he said steadily. And then, with +some vehemence, “What is he doing in Vicksburg?” + +Stephen looked at Jennison, who winced. + +“The city has surrendered,” said that officer. + +They counted on a burst of anger. Colfax only groaned. + +“Then you can afford to be generous,” he said, with a bitter laugh. +“But you haven't whipped us yet, by a good deal. Jennison,” he cried, +“Jennison, why in hell did you give up?” + +“Colfax,” said Stephen, coming forward, “you're too sick a man to talk. +I'll look up the General. It may be that I can have you sent North +to-day.” + +“You can do as you please,” said Clarence, coldly, “with a--prisoner.” + +The blood rushed to Stephen's face. Bowing to the lady, he strode out of +the room. Colonel Jennison, running after him, caught him in the street. + +“You're not offended, Brice?” he said. “He's sick--and God Almighty, +he's proud--I reckon,” he added with a touch of humility that went +straight to Stephen's heart. “I reckon that some of us are too derned +proud--But we ain't cold.” + +Stephen grasped his hand. + +“Offended!” he said. “I admire the man. I'll go to the General directly. +But just let me thank you. And I hope, Colonel, that we may meet +again--as friends.” “Hold on, seh,” said Colonel Catesby Jennison; “we +may as well drink to that.” + +Fortunately, as Stephen drew near the Court House, he caught sight of +a group of officers seated on its steps, and among them he was quick to +recognize General Sherman. + +“Brice,” said the General, returning his salute, “been celebrating this +glorious Fourth with some of our Rebel friends?” + +“Yes, sir,” answered Stephen, “and I came to ask a favor for one of +them.” Seeing that the General's genial, interested expression did not +change, he was emboldened to go on. “This is one of their colonels, sir. +You may have heard of him. He is the man who floated down the river on a +log and brought back two hundred thousand percussion caps--” + +“Good Lord,” interrupted the General, “I guess we all heard of him after +that. What else has he done to endear himself?” he asked, with a smile. + +“Well, General, he rowed across the river in a skiff the night we ran +these batteries, and set fire to De Soto to make targets for their +gunners.” + +“I'd like to see that man,” said the General, in his eager way. “Where +is he?” + +“What I was going to tell you, sir. After he went through all this, he +was hit by a piece of mortar shell, while sitting at his dinner. He's +rather far gone now, General, and they say he can't live unless he can +be sent North. I--I know who he is in St. Louis. And I thought that as +long as the officers are to be paroled I might get your permission to +send him up to-day.” + +“What's his name?” + +“Colfax, sir.” + +The General laughed. “I know the breed,” said he, “I'll bet he didn't +thank you.” + +“No, sir, he didn't.” + +“I like his grit,” said the General, emphatically, “These young bloods +are the backbone of this rebellion, Brice. They were made for war. They +never did anything except horse-racing and cock-fighting. They ride like +the devil, fight like the devil, but don't care a picayune for anything. +Walker had some of 'em. Crittenden had some. And, good Lord, how +they hate a Yankee! I know this Colfax, too. He's a cousin of that +fine-looking girl Brinsmade spoke of. They say he's engaged to her. Be a +pity to disappoint her--eh?” + +“Yes, General.” + +“Why, Captain, I believe you would like to marry her yourself! Take my +advice, sir, and don't try to tame any wildcats.” + +“I'm glad to do a favor for that young man,” said the General, when +Stephen had gone off with the slip of paper he had given him. “I like to +do that kind of a favor for any officer, when I can. Did you notice how +he flared up when I mentioned the girl?” + +This is why Clarence Colfax found himself that evening on a hospital +steamer of the Sanitary Commission, bound north for St. Louis. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. BELLEGARDE ONCE MORE + +Supper at Bellegarde was not the simple meal it had been for a year past +at Colonel Carvel's house in town. Mrs. Colfax was proud of her table, +proud of her fried chickens and corn fritters and her desserts. How +Virginia chafed at those suppers, and how she despised the guests whom +her aunt was in the habit of inviting to some of them! And when none +was present, she was forced to listen to Mrs. Colfax's prattle about the +fashions, her tirades against the Yankees. + +“I'm sure he must be dead,” said that lady, one sultry evening in July. +Her tone, however, was not one of conviction. A lazy wind from the river +stirred the lawn of Virginia's gown. The girl, with her hand on the +wicker back of the chair, was watching a storm gather to the eastward, +across the Illinois prairie. + +“I don't see why you say that, Aunt Lillian,” she replied. “Bad news +travels faster than good.” + +“And not a word from Comyn. It is cruel of him not to send us a line, +telling us where his regiment is.” + +Virginia did not reply. She had long since learned that the wisdom of +silence was the best for her aunt's unreasonableness. Certainly, if +Clarence's letters could not pass the close lines of the Federal troops, +news of her father's Texas regiment could not come from Red River. + +“How was Judge Whipple to-day?” asked Mrs. Colfax presently. + +“Very weak. He doesn't seem to improve much.” + +“I can't see why Mrs. Brice,--isn't that her name?--doesn't take him to +her house. Yankee women are such prudes.” + +Virginia began to rock slowly, and her foot tapped the porch. + +“Mrs. Brice has begged the Judge to come to her. But he says he has +lived in those rooms, and that he will die there,--when the time comes.” + +“How you worship that woman, Virginia! You have become quite a Yankee +yourself, I believe, spending whole days with her, nursing that old +man.” + +“The Judge is an old friend of my father's; I think he would wish it,” + replied the girl, in a lifeless voice. + +Her speech did not reveal all the pain and resentment she felt. She +thought of the old man racked with pain and suffering in the heat, lying +patient on his narrow bed, the only light of life remaining the presence +of the two women. They came day by day, and often Margaret Brice had +taken the place of the old negress who sat with him at night. Worship +Margaret Brice! Yes, it was worship; it had been worship since the +day she and her father had gone to the little whitewashed hospital. +Providence had brought them together at the Judge's bedside. The +marvellous quiet power of the older woman had laid hold of the girl in +spite of all barriers. + +Often when the Judge's pain was eased sufficiently for him to talk, he +would speak of Stephen. The mother never spoke of her son, but a light +would come into her eyes at this praise of him which thrilled Virginia +to see. And when the good lady was gone, and the Judge had fallen into +slumber, it would still haunt her. + +Was it out of consideration for her that Mrs. Brice would turn the Judge +from this topic which he seemed to love best? Virginia could not admit +to herself that she resented this. She had heard Stephen's letters to +the Judge. They came every week. Strong and manly they were, with plenty +of praises for the Southern defenders of Vicksburg. Only yesterday +Virginia had read one of these to Mr. Whipple, her face burning. Well +that his face was turned to the window, and that Stephen's mother was +not there! + +“He says very little about himself,” Mr. Whipple complained. “Had it +not been for Brinsmade, we should never know that Sherman had his eye on +him, and had promoted him. We should never have known of that exploit +at Chickasaw Bluff. But what a glorious victory was Grant's capture of +Vicksburg, on the Fourth of July! I guess we'll make short work of the +Rebels now.” + +No, the Judge had not changed much, even in illness. He would never +change. Virginia laid the letter down, and tears started to her eyes as +she repressed a retort. It was not the first time this had happened. +At every Union victory Mr. Whipple would loose his tongue. How strange +that, with all his thought of others, he should fall short here! + +One day, after unusual forbearance, Mrs. Brice had overtaken Virginia +on the stairway. Well she knew the girl's nature, and how difficult she +must have found repression. Margaret Brice had taken her hand. + +“My dear,” she had said, “you are a wonderful woman.” That was all. But +Virginia had driven back to Bellegarde with a strange elation in her +heart. + +Some things the Judge had forborne to mention, and for this Virginia was +thankful. One was the piano. But she had overheard Shadrach telling old +Nancy how Mrs. Brice had pleaded with him to move it, that he might have +more room and air. He had been obdurate. And Colonel Carvel's name had +never once passed his lips. + +Many a night the girl had lain awake listening to the steamboats as they +toiled against the river's current, while horror held her. Horror lest +her father at that moment be in mortal agony amongst the heaps left by +the battle's surges; heaps in which, like mounds of ashes, the fire was +not yet dead. Fearful tales she had heard in the prison hospitals of +wounded men lying for days in the Southern sun between the trenches at +Vicksburg, or freezing amidst the snow and sleet at Donelson. + +Was her bitterness against the North not just? What a life had been +Colonel Carvel's! It had dawned brightly. One war had cost him his wife. +Another, and he had lost his fortune, his home, his friends, all that +was dear to him. And that daughter, whom he loved best in all the world, +he was perchance to see no more. + +Mrs. Colfax, yawning, had taken a book and gone to bed. Still Virginia +sat on the porch, while the frogs sang of rain, and the lightning +quivered across the eastern sky. She heard the crunch of wheels in the +gravel. + +A bar of light, peopled by moths, slanted out of the doorway and fell +on a closed carriage. A gentleman slowly ascended the steps. Virginia +recognized him as Mr. Brinsmade. + +“Your cousin Clarence has come home, my dear,” he said. “He was among +the captured at Vicksburg, and is paroled by General Grant.” + +Virginia gave a little cry and started forward. But he held her hands. + +“He has been wounded!” + +“Yes,” she exclaimed, “yes. Oh, tell me, Mr. Brinsmade, tell me--all--” + +“No, he is not dead, but he is very low. Mr. Russell has been kind +enough to come with me.” + +She hurried to call the servants. But they were all there in the light, +in African postures of terror,--Alfred, and Sambo, and Mammy Easter, and +Ned. They lifted the limp figure in gray, and carried it into the hall +chamber, his eyes closed, his face waxen under a beard brown and shaggy. +Heavily, Virginia climbed the stairs to break the news to her aunt. + +There is little need to dwell on the dark days which followed--Clarence +hanging between life and death. That his life was saved was due to +Virginia and to Mammy Easter, and in no particle to his mother. Mrs. +Colfax flew in the face of all the known laws of nursing, until Virginia +was driven to desperation, and held a council of war with Dr. Polk. Then +her aunt grew jealous, talked of a conspiracy, and threatened to send +for Dr. Brown--which Dr. Polk implored her to do. By spells she wept, +when they quietly pushed her from the room and locked the door. She +would creep in to him in the night during Mammy Easter's watches and +talk him into a raging fever. But Virginia slept lightly and took the +alarm. More than one scene these two had in the small hours, while Ned +was riding post haste over the black road to town for the Doctor. + +By the same trusty messenger did Virginia contrive to send a note to +Mrs. Brice, begging her to explain her absence to Judge Whipple. By day +or night Virginia did not leave Bellegarde. And once Dr. Polk, while +walking in the garden, found the girl fast asleep on a bench, her sewing +on her lap. Would that a master had painted his face as he looked down +at her! + +'Twas he who brought Virginia daily news of Judge Whipple. Bad news, +alas! for he seemed to miss her greatly. He had become more querulous +and exacting with patient Mrs. Brice, and inquired for her continually. + +She would not go. But often, when he got into his buggy the Doctor found +the seat filled with roses and fresh fruit. Well he knew where to carry +them. + +What Virginia's feelings were at this time no one will ever know. God +had mercifully given her occupation, first with the Judge, and later, +when she needed it more, with Clarence. It was she whom he recognized +first of all, whose name was on his lips in his waking moments. With +the petulance of returning reason, he pushed his mother away. Unless +Virginia was at his bedside when he awoke, his fever rose. He put his +hot hand into her cool one, and it rested there sometimes for hours. +Then, and only then, did he seem contented. + +The wonder was that her health did not fail. People who saw her during +that fearful summer, fresh and with color in her cheeks, marvelled. +Great-hearted Puss Russell, who came frequently to inquire, was quieted +before her friend, and the frank and jesting tongue was silent in that +presence. Anne Brinsmade came with her father and wondered. A miracle +had changed Virginia. Her poise, her gentleness, her dignity, were the +effects which people saw. Her force people felt. And this is why +we cannot of ourselves add one cubit to our stature. It is God who +changes,--who cleanses us of our levity with the fire of trial. Happy, +thrice happy, those whom He chasteneth. And yet how many are there who +could not bear the fire--who would cry out at the flame. + +Little by little Clarence mended, until he came to sit out on the porch +in the cool of the afternoon. Then he would watch for hours the tassels +stirring over the green fields of corn and the river running beyond, +while the two women sat by. At times, when Mrs. Colfax's headaches came +on, and Virginia was alone with him, he would talk of the war; sometimes +of their childhood, of the mad pranks they played here at Bellegarde, +of their friends. Only when Virginia read to him the Northern account of +the battles would he emerge from a calm sadness into excitement; and +he clenched his fists and tried to rise when he heard of the capture of +Jackson and the fall of Port Hudson. Of love he spoke not a word, and +now that he was better he ceased to hold her hand. But often when she +looked up from her book, she would surprise his dark eyes fixed upon +her, and a look in them of but one interpretation. She was troubled. + +The Doctor came but every other day now, in the afternoon. It was his +custom to sit for a while on the porch chatting cheerily with Virginia, +his stout frame filling the rocking-chair. Dr. Polk's indulgence was +gossip--though always of a harmless nature: how Mr. Cluyme always +managed to squirm over to the side which was in favor, and how Maude +Catherwood's love-letter to a certain dashing officer of the Confederate +army had been captured and ruthlessly published in the hateful Democrat. +It was the Doctor who gave Virginia news of the Judge, and sometimes he +would mention Mrs. Brice. Then Clarence would raise his head; and once +(she saw with trepidation) he had opened his lips to speak. + +One day the Doctor came, and Virginia looked into his face and divined +that he had something to tell her. He sat but a few moments, and when he +arose to go he took her hand. + +“I have a favor to beg of you, Jinny,” he said, “Judge has lost his +nurse. Do you think Clarence could spare you for a little while every +day? I shouldn't ask it,” Dr. Polk continued, somewhat hurriedly for +him, “but the Judge cannot bear a stranger near him, and I am afraid to +have him excited while in this condition.” + +“Mrs. Brice is ill?” she cried. And Clarence, watching, saw her color +go. + +“No,” replied Dr. Polk, “but her son Stephen has come home from the +army. He was transferred to Lauman's brigade, and then he was wounded.” + He jangled the keys in his pocket and continued “It seems that he had no +business in the battle. Johnston in his retreat had driven animals into +all the ponds and shot them, and in the hot weather the water was soon +poisoned. Mr. Brice was scarcely well enough to stand when they made +the charge, and he is now in a dreadful condition He is a fine fellow,” + added the Doctor, with a sigh, “General Sherman sent a special physician +to the boat with him. He is--” Subconsciously the Doctor's arm sought +Virginia's back, as though he felt her swaying. But he was looking at +Clarence, who had jerked himself forward in his chair, his thin hands +convulsively clutching at the arms of it. He did not appear to see +Virginia. + +“Stephen Brice, did you say?” he cried, “will he die?” + +In his astonishment the Doctor passed his palm across his brow, and for +a moment he did not answer. Virginia had taken a step from him, and was +standing motionless, almost rigid, her eyes on his face. + +“Die?” he said, repeating the word mechanically; “my God, I hope not. +The danger is over, and he is resting easily. If he were not,” he said +quickly and forcibly, “I should not be here.” + +The Doctor's mare passed more than one fleet--footed trotter on the +road to town that day. And the Doctor's black servant heard his master +utter the word “fool” twice, and with great emphasis. + +For a long time Virginia stood on the end of the porch, until the +heaving of the buggy harness died on the soft road, She felt Clarence +gaze upon her before she turned to face him. + +“Virginia!” He had called her so of late. “Yes, dear.” + +“Virginia, sit here a moment; I have something to tell you.” + +She came and took the chair beside him, her heart beating, her breast +rising and falling. She looked into his eyes, and her own lashes fell +before the hopelessness there But he put out his fingers wasted by +illness, and she took them in her own. + +He began slowly, as if every word cost him pain. + +“Virginia, we were children together here. I cannot remember the time +when I did not love you, when I did not think of you as my wife. All I +did when we played together was to try to win your applause. That was my +nature I could not help it. Do you remember the day I climbed out on the +rotten branch of the big pear tree yonder to get you that pear--when +I fell on the roof of Alfred's cabin? I did not feel the pain. It was +because you kissed it and cried over me. You are crying now,” he said +tenderly. “Don't, Jinny. It isn't to make you sad that I am saying this. + +“I have had a great deal of time to think lately, Jinny, I was not +brought up seriously,--to be a man. I have been thinking of that day +just before you were eighteen, when you rode out here. How well I +remember it. It was a purple day. The grapes were purple, and a purple +haze was over there across the river. You had been cruel to me. You were +grown a woman then, and I was still nothing but a boy. Do you remember +the doe coming out of the forest, and how she ran screaming when I tried +to kiss you? You told me I was good for nothing. Please don't interrupt +me. It was true what you said, that I was wild and utterly useless, +I had never served or pleased any but myself,--and you. I had never +studied or worked, You were right when you told me I must learn +something,--do something,--become of some account in the world. I am +just as useless to day.” + +“Clarence, after what you have done for the South?” + +He smiled with peculiar bitterness. + +“What have I done for her?” he added. “Crossed the river and burned +houses. I could not build them again. Floated down the river on a log +after a few percussion caps. That did not save Vicksburg.” + +“And how many had the courage to do that?” she exclaimed. + +“Pooh,” he said, “courage! the whole South has it, Courage! If I did not +have that, I would send Sambo to my father's room for his ebony box and +blow my brains out. No, Jinny, I am nothing but a soldier of fortune. +I never possessed any quality but a wild spirit for adventure, to +shirk work. I wanted to go with Walker, you remember. I wanted to go to +Kansas. I wanted to distinguish myself,” he added with a gesture. “But +that is all gone now, Jinny. I wanted to distinguish myself for you. Now +I see how an earnest life might have won you. No, I have not done yet.” + +She raised her head, frightened, and looked at him searchingly. + +“One day,” he said, “one day a good many years ago you and I and Uncle +Comyn were walking along Market Street in front of Judge Whipple's +office, and a slave auction was going on. A girl was being sold on whom +you had set your heart. There was some one in the crowd, a Yankee, who +bid her in and set her free. Do you remember him?” + +He saw her profile, her lips parted, her look far away, She inclined her +head. + +“Yes,” said her cousin, “so do I remember him. He has crossed my path +many times since, Virginia. And mark what I say--it was he whom you +had in mind on that birthday when you implored me to make something of +myself, It was Stephen Brice.” + +Her eyes flashed upon him quickly. + +“Oh, how dare you?” she cried. + +“I dare anything, Virginia,” he answered quietly. “I am not blaming you. +And I am sure that you did not realize that he was the ideal which you +had in mind.” + +“The impression of him has never left it. Fate is in it. Again, that +night at the Brinsmades', when we were in fancy dress, I felt that I had +lost you when I got back. He had been there when I was away, and gone +again. And--and--you never told me.” + +“It was a horrible mistake, Max,” she faltered. “I was waiting for you +down the road, and stopped his horse instead. It--it was nothing--” + +“It was fate, Jinny. In that half-hour I lost you. How I hated that +man,” he cried, “how I hated him?” + +“Hated!” exclaimed Virginia, involuntarily. “Oh, no!” + +“Yes,” he said, “hated! I would have killed him if I could. But now--” + +“But now?” + +“Now he has saved my life. I have not--I could not tell you before: He +came into the place where I was lying in Vicksburg, and they told +him that my only chance was to come North, I turned my back upon him, +insulted him. Yet he went to Sherman and had me brought home--to you, +Virginia. If he loves you,--and I have long suspected that he does--” + +“Oh, no,” she cried, hiding her face “No.” + +“I know he loves you, Jinny,” her cousin continued calmly, inexorably. +“And you know that he does. You must feel that he does. It was a brave +thing to do, and a generous. He knew that you were engaged to me. He +thought that he was saving me for you. He was giving up the hope of +marrying you himself.” + +Virginia sprang to her feet. Unless you had seen her then, you had never +known the woman in her glory. + +“Marry a Yankee!” she cried. “Clarence Colfax, have you known and loved +me all my life that you might accuse me of this? Never, never, never!” + Transformed, he looked incredulous admiration. + +“Jinny, do you mean it?” he cried. + +In answer she bent down with all that gentleness and grace that +was hers, and pressed her lips to his forehead. Long after she had +disappeared in the door he sat staring after her. + +But later, when Mammy Easter went to call her mistress for supper, she +found her with her face buried in the pillows. + + + + +CHAPTER X. IN JUDGE WHIPPLE'S OFFICE + +After this Virginia went to the Judge's bedside every day, in the +morning, when Clarence took his sleep. She read his newspapers to him +when he was well enough. She read the detested Missouri Democrat, which +I think was the greatest trial Virginia ever had to put up with. To have +her beloved South abused, to have her heroes ridiculed, was more than +she could bear. Once, when the Judge was perceptibly better, she flung +the paper out of the window, and left the room. He called her back +penitently. + +“My dear,” he said, smiling admiration, “forgive an old bear. A selfish +old bear, Jinny; my only excuse is my love for the Union. When you are +not here, I lie in agony, lest she has suffered some mortal blow unknown +to me, Jinny. And if God sees fit to spare our great country, the day +will come when you will go down on your knees and thank Him for the +inheritance which He saved for your children. You are a good woman, my +dear, and a strong one. I have hoped that you will see the right. +That you will marry a great citizen, one unwavering in his service and +devotion to our Republic.” The Judge's voice trembled with earnestness +as he spoke. And the gray eyes under the shaggy brows were alight with +the sacred fire of his life's purpose. Undaunted as her spirit was, she +could not answer him then. + +Once, only once, he said to her: “Virginia, I loved your father better +than any man I ever knew. Please God I may see him again before I die.” + +He never spoke of the piano. But sometimes at twilight his eyes would +rest on the black cloth that hid it. + +Virginia herself never touched that cloth to her it seemed the shroud +upon a life of happiness that was dead and gone. + +Virginia had not been with Judge Whipple during the critical week after +Stephen was brought home. But Anne had told her that his anxiety was +a pitiful thing to see, and that it had left him perceptibly weaker. +Certain it was that he was failing fast. So fast that on some days +Virginia, watching him, would send Ned or Shadrach in hot haste for Dr. +Polk. + +At noon Anne would relieve Virginia,--Anne or her mother,--and +frequently Mr. Brinsmade would come likewise. For it is those who have +the most to do who find the most time for charitable deeds. As the hour +for their coming drew near, the Judge would be seeking the clock, and +scarce did Anne's figure appear in the doorway before the question had +arisen to his lips--“And how is my young Captain to-day?” + +That is what he called him,--“My young Captain.” Virginia's choice of +her cousin, and her devotion to him, while seemingly natural enough, +had drawn many a sigh from Anne. She thought it strange that Virginia +herself had never once asked her about Stephen's condition and she spoke +of this one day to the Judge with as much warmth as she was capable of. + +“Jinny's heart is like steel where a Yankee is concerned. If her best +friend were a Yankee--” + +Judge Whipple checked her, smiling. + +“She has been very good to one Yankee I know of,” he said. “And as for +Mrs. Brice, I believe she worships her.” + +“But when I said that Stephen was much better to-day, she swept out of +the room as if she did not care whether he lived or died.” + +“Well, Anne,” the Judge had answered, “you women are a puzzle to me. I +guess you don't understand yourselves,” he added. + +That was a strange month in the life of Clarence Colfax,--the last +of his recovery, while he was waiting for the news of his exchange. +Bellegarde was never more beautiful, for Mrs. Colfax had no whim of +letting the place run down because a great war was in progress. Though +devoted to the South, she did not consecrate her fortune to it. Clarence +gave as much as he could. + +Whole afternoons Virginia and he would sit in the shaded arbor seat; +or at the cool of the day descend to the bench on the lower tier of +the summer garden, to steep, as it were, in the blended perfumes of the +roses and the mignonettes and the pinks. He was soberer than of old. +Often through the night he pondered on the change in her. She, too, was +grave. But he was troubled to analyze her gravity, her dignity. Was this +merely strength of character, the natural result of the trials through +which she had passed, the habit acquired of being the Helper and +comforter instead of the helped and comforted? Long years afterward the +brightly colored portrait of her remained in his eye,--the simple linen +gown of pink or white, the brown hair shining in the sunlight, the +graceful poise of the head. And the background of flowers--flowers +everywhere, far from the field of war. + +Sometimes, when she brought his breakfast on a tray in the morning, +there was laughter in her eyes. In the days gone by they had been all +laughter. + +They were engaged. She was to be his wife. He said it over to himself +many, many times in the day. He would sit for a space, feasting his eyes +upon her until she lifted her look to his, and the rich color flooded +her face. He was not a lover to sit quietly by, was Clarence. And yet, +as the winged days flew on, that is what he did, It was not that she +did not respond to his advances, he did not make them. Nor could he have +told why. Was it the chivalry inherited from a long life of Colfaxes who +were gentlemen? Not wholly. Something of awe had crept into his feeling +for her. + +As the month wore on, and the time drew near for him to go back to the +war, a state that was not quite estrangement, and yet something very +like it, set in. Poor Clarence. Doubts bothered him, and he dared not +give them voice. By night he would plan his speeches,--impassioned, +imploring. To see her in her marvellous severity was to strike him dumb. +Horrible thought! Whether she loved him, whether she did not love +him, she would not give him up. Through the long years of their lives +together, he would never know. He was not a weak man now, was Clarence +Colfax. He was merely a man possessed of a devil, enchained by the power +of self-repression come upon her whom he loved. + +And day by day that power seemed to grow more intense,--invulnerable. +Among her friends and in the little household it had raised Virginia to +heights which she herself did not seem to realize. She was become the +mistress of Bellegarde. Mrs. Colfax was under its sway, and doubly +miserable because Clarence would listen to her tirades no more. + +“When are you to be married?” she had ventured to ask him once. Nor had +she taken pains to hide the sarcasm in her voice. + +His answer, bringing with it her remembrance of her husband at certain +times when it was not safe to question him, had silenced her. Addison +Colfax had not been a quiet man. When he was quiet he was dangerous. + +“Whenever Virginia is ready, mother,” he had replied. Whenever Virginia +was ready! He knew in his heart that if he were to ask her permission +to send for Dr. Posthelwaite to-morrow that she would say yes. Tomorrow +came,--and with it a great envelope, an official, answer to Clarence's +report that he was fit for duty once more. He had been exchanged. He +was to proceed to Cairo, there to await the arrival of the transport +Indianapolis, which was to carry five hundred officers and men from +Sandusky Prison, who were going back to fight once more for the +Confederacy. O that they might have seen the North, all those brave men +who made that sacrifice. That they might have realized the numbers and +the resources and the wealth arrayed against them! + +It was a cool day for September, a perfect day, an auspicious day, and +yet it went the way of the others before it. This was the very fulness +of the year, the earth giving out the sweetness of her maturity, the +corn in martial ranks, with golden plumes nodding. The forest still +in its glory of green. They walked in silence the familiar paths, and +Alfred, clipping the late roses for the supper table, shook his +white head as they passed him. The sun, who had begun to hurry on his +southward journey, went to bed at six. The few clothes Clarence was to +take with him had been packed by Virginia in his bag, and the two were +standing in the twilight on the steps of the house, when Ned came around +the corner. He called his young mistress by name, but she did not hear +him. He called again. + +“Miss Jinny!” + +She started as from a sleep, and paused. + +“Yes, Mr. Johnson,” said she, and smiled. He wore that air of mystery so +dear to darkeys. + +“Gemmen to see you, Miss Jinny.” + +“A gentleman!” she said in surprise. “Where?” + +The negro pointed to the lilac shrubbery. + +“Thar!” + +“What's all this nonsense, Ned?” said Clarence, sharply: “If a man is +there, bring him here at once.” + +“Reckon he won't come, Marse Clarence.” said Ned, “He fearful skeered ob +de light ob day. He got suthin very pertickler fo' Miss Jinny.” + +“Do you know him?” Clarence demanded. + +“No sah--yessah--leastwise I'be seed 'um. Name's Robimson.” + +The word was hardly out of his mouth before Virginia had leaped down the +four feet from the porch to the flower-bed and was running across the +lawn toward the shrubbery. Parting the bushes after her, Clarence found +his cousin confronting a large man, whom he recognized as the carrier +who brought messages from the South. + +“What's the matter, Jinny?” he demanded. + +“Pa has got through the lines,” she said breathlessly. “He--he came up +to see me. Where is he, Robinson?” + +“He went to Judge Whipple's rooms, ma'am. They say the Judge is dying. I +reckoned you knew it, Miss Jinny,” Robinson added contritely. + +“Clarence,” she said, “I must go at once.” + +“I will go with you,” he said; “you cannot go alone.” In a twinkling Ned +and Sambo had the swift pair of horses harnessed, and the light carriage +was flying over the soft clay road toward the city. As they passed Mr. +Brinsmade's place, the moon hung like a great round lantern under +the spreading trees about the house. Clarence caught a glimpse of his +cousin's face in the light. She was leaning forward, her gaze fixed +intently on the stone posts which stood like monuments between the +bushes at the entrance. Then she drew back again into the dark corner +of the barouche. She was startled by a sharp challenge, and the carriage +stopped. Looking out, she saw the provost's guard like black card +figures on the road, and Ned fumbling for his pass. + +On they drove into the city streets until the dark bulk of the Court +House loomed in front of them, and Ned drew rein at the little stairway +which led to the Judge's rooms. Virginia, leaping out of the carriage, +flew up the steps and into the outer office, and landed in the Colonel's +arms. + +“Jinny!” + +“Oh, Pa!” she cried. “Why do you risk your life in this way? If the +Yankees catch you--” + +“They won't catch me, honey,” he answered, kissing her. Then he held her +out at arm's length and gazed earnestly into her face. Trembling, she +searched his own. “Pa, how old you look!” + +“I'm not precisely young, my dear,” he said, smiling. His hair was +nearly white, and his face scared. But he was a fine erect figure of a +man, despite the shabby clothes he wore, and the mud-bespattered boots. + +“Pa,” she whispered, “it was foolhardy to come here. Why did you come to +St. Louis at all?” + +“I came to see you, Jinny, I reckon. And when I got home to-night and +heard Silas was dying, I just couldn't resist. He's the oldest friend +I've got in St. Louis, honey and now--now--” + +“Pa, you've been in battle?” + +“Yes,” he said. + +“And you weren't hurt; I thank God for that,” she whispered. After a +while: “Is Uncle Silas dying?” + +“Yes, Jinny; Dr. Polk is in there now, and says that he can't last +through the night. Silas has been asking for you, honey, over and over. +He says you were very good to him,--that you and Mrs. Brice gave up +everything to nurse him.” + +“She did,” Virginia faltered. “She was here night and day until her son +came home. She is a noble woman--” + +“Her son?” repeated the Colonel. “Stephen Brice? Silas has done nothing +the last half-hour but call his name. He says he must see the boy before +he dies. Polk says he is not strong enough to come.” + +“Oh, no, he is not strong enough,” cried Virginia. The Colonel looked +down at her queerly. “Where is Clarence?” he asked. + +She had not thought of Clarence. She turned hurriedly, glanced around +the room, and then peered down the dark stairway. + +“Why, he came in with me. I wonder why he did not follow me up?” + +“Virginia.” + +“Yes, Pa.” + +“Virginia, are you happy?” + +“Why, yes, Pa.” + +“Are you going to marry Clarence?” he asked. + +“I have promised,” she said simply. + +Then after a long pause, seeing her father said nothing, she added, +“Perhaps he was waiting for you to see me alone. I will go down to see +if he is in the carriage.” + +The Colonel started with her, but she pulled him back in alarm. + +“You will be seen, Pa,” she cried. “How can you be so reckless?” + +He stayed at the top of the passage, holding open the door that she +might have light. When she reached the sidewalk, there was Ned standing +beside the horses, and the carriage empty. + +“Ned!” + +“Yass'm, Miss Jinny.” + +“Where's Mr. Clarence?” + +“He done gone, Miss Tinny.” + +“Gone?” + +“Yass'm. Fust I seed was a man plump out'n Willums's, Miss Jinny. He was +a-gwine shufflin' up de street when Marse Clarence put out after him, +pos' has'e. Den he run.” + +She stood for a moment on the pavement in thought, and paused on the +stairs again, wondering whether it were best to tell her father. Perhaps +Clarence had seen--she caught her breath at the thought and pushed open +the door. + +“Oh, Pa, do you think you are safe here?” she cried. “Why, yes, honey, I +reckon so,” he answered. “Where's Clarence?” + +“Ned says he ran after a man who was hiding in an entrance. Pa, I am +afraid they are watching the place.” + +“I don't think so, Jinny. I came here with Polk, in his buggy, after +dark.” + +Virginia, listening, heard footsteps on the stairs, and seized her +father's sleeve. + +“Think of the risk you are running, Pa,” she whispered. She would have +dragged him to the closet. But it was too late. The door opened, and Mr. +Brinsmade entered, and with him a lady veiled. + +At sight of Mr. Carvel Mr. Brinsmade started back in surprise. How long +he stared at his old friend Virginia could not say. It seemed to her an +eternity. But Mrs. Brice has often told since how straight the Colonel +stood, his fine head thrown back, as he returned the glance. Then Mr. +Brinsmade came forward, with his hand outstretched. + +“Comyn,” said he, his voice breaking a little, “I have known you these +many years as a man of unstained honor. You are safe with me. I ask no +questions. God will judge whether I have done my duty.” + +Mr. Carvel took his friend's hand. “Thank you, Calvin,” he said. “I give +you my word of honor as a gentleman that I came into this city for no +other reason than to see my daughter. And hearing that my old friend was +dying, I could not resist the temptation, sir--” + +Mr. Brinsmade finished for him. And his voice shook. + +“To come to his bedside. How many men do you think would risk their +lives so, Mrs. Brice?” + +“Not many, indeed, Mr. Brinsmade,” she answered. “Thank God he will now +die happy. I know it has been much on his mind.” + +The Colonel bowed over her hand. + +“And in his name, madam,--in the name of my oldest and best friend,--I +thank you for what you have done for him. I trust that you will allow me +to add that I have learned from my daughter to respect and admire you. I +hope that your son is doing well.” + +“He is, thank you, Colonel Carvel. If he but knew that the Judge were +dying, I could not have kept him at home. Dr. Polk says that he must not +leave the house, or undergo any excitement.” + +Just then the door of the inner room opened, and Dr. Polk came out. He +bowed gravely to Mrs. Brice and Mr. Brinsmade, and he patted Virginia. + +“The Judge is still asleep,” he said gently. “And--he may not wake up in +this world.” + +Silently, sadly, they went together into that little room where so +much of Judge Whipple's life had been spent. How little it was! And +how completely they filled it,--these five people and the big Rothfield +covered with the black cloth. Virginia pressed her father's arm as they +leaned against it, and brushed her eyes. The Doctor turned the wick of +the night-lamp. + +What was that upon the sleeper's face from which they drew back? A +smile? Yes, and a light. The divine light which is shed upon those +who have lived for others, who have denied themselves the lusts of the +flesh, For a long space, perhaps an hour, they stayed, silent save for +a low word now and again from the Doctor as he felt the Judge's heart. +Tableaux from the past floated before Virginia's eyes. Of the old days, +of the happy days in Locust Street, of the Judge quarrelling with her +father, and she and Captain Lige smiling nearby. And she remembered how +sometimes when the controversy was finished the Judge would rub his nose +and say: + +“It's my turn now, Lige.” + +Whereupon the Captain would open the piano, and she would play the hymn +that he liked best. It was “Lead, Kindly Light.” + +What was it in Silas Whipple's nature that courted the pain of memories? +What pleasure could it have been all through his illness to look upon +this silent and cruel reminder of days gone by forever? She had heard +that Stephen Brice had been with the Judge when he had bid it in. She +wondered that he had allowed it, for they said that he was the only +one who had ever been known to break the Judge's will. Virginia's +eyes rested on Margaret Brice, who was seated at the head of the bed, +smoothing the pillows The strength of Stephen's features were in hers, +but not the ruggedness. Her features were large, indeed, yet stanch and +softened. The widow, as if feeling Virginia's look upon her, glanced up +from the Judge's face and smiled at her. The girl colored with pleasure, +and again at the thought which she had had of the likeness between +mother and son. + +Still the Judge slept on, while they watched. And at length the thought +of Clarence crossed Virginia's mind. + +Why had he not returned? Perhaps he was in the office without. +Whispering to her father, she stole out on tiptoe. The office was empty. +Descending to the street, she was unable to gain any news of Clarence +from Ned, who was becoming alarmed likewise. + +Perplexed and troubled, she climbed the stairs again. No sound came from +the Judge's room Perhaps Clarence would be back at any moment. Perhaps +her father was in danger. She sat down to think,--her elbows on the desk +in front of her, her chin in her hand, her eyes at the level of a line +of books which stood on end.--Chitty's Pleadings, Blackstone, Greenleaf +on Evidence. Absently; as a person whose mind is in trouble, she reached +out and took one of them down and opened it. Across the flyleaf, in a +high and bold hand, was written the name, Stephen Atterbury Brice. + +It was his desk! She was sitting in his chair! + +She dropped the book, and, rising abruptly, crossed quickly to the other +side of the room. Then she turned, hesitatingly, and went back. This was +his desk--his chair, in which he had worked so faithfully for the man +who lay dying beyond the door. For him whom they all loved--whose last +hours they were were to soothe. Wars and schisms may part our bodies, +but stronger ties unite our souls. Through Silas Whipple, through his +mother, Virginia knew that she was woven of one piece with Stephen +Brice. In a thousand ways she was reminded, lest she drive it from her +belief. She might marry another, and that would not matter. + +She sank again into his chair, and gave herself over to the thoughts +crowding in her heart. How the threads of his life ran next to hers, and +crossed and recrossed them. The slave auction, her dance with him, the +Fair, the meeting at Mr. Brinsmade's gate,--she knew them all. Her love +and admiration for his mother. Her dreams of him--for she did dream +of him. And now he had saved Clarence's life that she might marry her +cousin. Was it true that she would marry Clarence? That seemed to +her only a dream. It had never seemed real. Again she glanced at the +signature in the book, as if fascinated by the very strength of it. She +turned over a few pages of the book, “Supposing the defendant's counsel +essays to prove by means of--” that was his writing again, a marginal, +note. There were marginal notes on every page--even the last was covered +with them, And then at the end, “First reading, February, 1858. Second +reading, July, 1858. Bought with some of money obtained by first article +for M. D.” That capacity for work, incomparable gift, was what she had +always coveted the most. Again she rested her elbows on the desk and her +chin on her hands, and sighed unconsciously. + +She had not heard the step on the stair. She had not seen the door +open. She did not know that any one wage in the room until she heard his +voice, and then she thought that she was dreaming. + +“Miss Carvel!” + +“Yes?” Her head did not move. He took a step toward her. + +“Miss Carvel!” + +Slowly she raised her face to his, unbelief and wonder in her +eyes,--unbelief and wonder and fright. No; it could not be he. But +when she met the quality of his look, the grave tenderness of it, she +trembled, and our rendered her own to the page where his handwriting +quivered and became a blur. + +He never knew the effort it cost her to rise and confront him. She +herself had not measured or fathomed the power which his very person +exhaled. It seemed to have come upon him suddenly. He needed not to have +spoken for her to have felt that. What it was she could not tell. She +knew alone that it was nigh irresistible, and she grasped the back of +the chair as though material support might sustain her. + +“Is he--dead?” + +She was breathing hard. + +“No,” she said. “Not--not yet, They are waiting for the end.” + +“And you?” he asked in grave surprise, glancing at the door of the +Judge's room. + +Then she remembered Clarence. + +“I am waiting for my cousin,” she said. + +Even as she spoke she was with this man again at the Brinsmade gate. +Those had been her very words! Intuition told her that he, too, was +thinking of that time. Now he had found her at his desk, and, as if that +were not humiliation enough, with one of his books taken down and laid +open at his signature. Suffused, she groped for words to carry her on. + +“I am waiting for Clarence, Mr. Brice. He was here, and is gone +somewhere.” + +He did not seem to take account of the speech. And his silence--goad +to indiscretion--pressed her to add:-- “You saved him, Mr. Brice. I--we +all--thank you so much. And that is not all I want to say. It is a poor +enough acknowledgment of what you did,--for we have not always treated +you well.” Her voice faltered almost to faintness, as he raised his hand +in pained protest. But she continued: “I shall regard it as a debt I can +never repay. It is not likely that in my life to come I can ever help +you, but I shall pray for that opportunity.” + +He interrupted her. + +“I did nothing, Miss Carvel, nothing that the most unfeeling man in our +army would not do. Nothing that I would not have done for the merest +stranger.” + +“You saved him for me,” she said. + +O fateful words that spoke of themselves! She turned away from him for +very shame, and yet she heard him saying:-- “Yes, I saved him for you.” + +His voice was in the very note of the sadness which has the strength +to suffer, to put aside the thought of self. A note to which her soul +responded with anguish when she turned to him with the natural cry of +woman. + +“Oh, you ought not to have come here to-night. Why did you come? The +Doctor forbade it. The consequences may kill you.” + +“It does not matter much,” he answered. “The Judge was dying.” + +“How did you know?” + +“I guessed it,--because my mother had left me.” + +“Oh, you ought not to have come!” she said again. + +“The Judge has been my benefactor,” he answered quietly. “I could walk, +and it was my duty to come.” + +“You did not walk!” she gasped. + +He smiled, “I had no carriage,” he said. + +With the instinct of her sex she seized the chair and placed it under +him. “You must sit down at once,” she cried. + +“But I am not tired,” he replied. + +“Oh, you must sit down, you must, Captain Brice.” He started at the +title, which came so prettily from her lips, “Won't you please!” she +said pleadingly. + +He sat down. And, as the sun peeps out of a troubled sky, she smiled. + +“It is your chair,” she said. + +He glanced at the book, and the bit of sky was crimson. But still he +said nothing. + +“It is your book,” she stammered. “I did not know that it was yours +when I took it down. I--I was looking at it while I was waiting for +Clarence.” + +“It is dry reading,” he remarked, which was not what he wished to say. + +“And yet--” + +“Yes?” + +“And yet you have read it twice.” The confession had slipped to her +lips. + +She was sitting on the edge of his desk, looking down at him. Still he +did not look at her. All the will that was left him averted his head. +And the seal of honor was upon his speech. And he wondered if man were +ever more tempted. + +Then the evil spread its wings, and soared away into the night. And +the moment was past. Peace seemed to come upon them both, quieting the +tumult in their hearts, and giving them back their reason. Respect like +wise came to the girl,--respect that was akin to awe. It was he who +spoke first. + +“My mother has me how faithfully you nursed the Judge, Miss Carvel. It +was a very noble thing to do.” + +“Not noble at all,” she replied hastily, “your mother did the most of +it, And he is an old friend of my father--” + +“It was none the less noble,” said Stephen, warmly, “And he quarrelled +with Colonel Carvel.” + +“My father quarrelled with him,” she corrected. “It was well that I +should make some atonement. And yet mine was no atonement, I love Judge +Whipple. It was a--a privilege to see your mother every day--oh, how +he would talk of you! I think he loves you better than any one on this +earth.” + +“Tell me about him,” said Stephen, gently. + +Virginia told him, and into the narrative she threw the whole of her +pent-up self. How patient the Judge had been, and the joy he had derived +from Stephen's letters. “You were very good to write to him so often,” + she said. It seemed like a dream to Stephen, like one of the many dreams +of her, the mystery of which was of the inner life beyond our ken. He +could not recall a time when she had not been rebellious, antagonistic. +And now--as he listened to her voice, with its exquisite low tones and +modulations, as he sat there in this sacred intimacy, perchance to be +the last in his life, he became dazed. His eyes, softened, with supreme +eloquence cried out that she, was his, forever and forever. The magnetic +force which God uses to tie the worlds together was pulling him to her. +And yet the Puritan resisted. + +Then the door swung open, and Clarence Colfax, out of breath, ran into +the room. He stopped short when he saw them, his hand fell to his sides, +and his words died on his lips. Virginia did not stir. + +It was Stephen who rose to meet him, and with her eyes the girl followed +his motions. The broad and loosely built frame of the Northerner, his +shoulders slightly stooping, contrasted with Clarence's slighter figure, +erect, compact, springy. The Southerner's eye, for that moment, was +flint struck with the spark from the steel. Stephen's face, thinned by +illness, was grave. The eyes kindly, yet penetrating. For an instant +they stood thus regarding each other, neither offering a hand. It was +Stephen who spoke first, and if there was a trace of emotion in his +voice, one who was listening intently failed to mark it. + +“I am glad to see that you have recovered, Colonel Colfax,” he said. + +“I should indeed be without gratitude if I did not thank Captain Brice +for my life,” answered Clarence. Virginia flushed. She had detected the +undue accent on her cousin's last words, and she glanced apprehensively +at Stephen. His forceful reply surprised them both. + +“Miss Carvel has already thanked me sufficiently, sir,” he said. “I am +happy to have been able to have done you a good turn, and at the same +time to have served her so well. It was she who saved your life. It is +to her your thanks are chiefly due. I believe that I am not going too +far, Colonel Colfax,” he added, “when I congratulate you both.” + +Before her cousin could recover, Virginia slid down from the desk and +had come between them. How her eyes shone and her lip trembled as she +gazed at him, Stephen has never forgotten. What a woman she was as she +took her cousin's arm and made him a curtsey. + +“What you have done may seem a light thing to you, Captain Brice,” she +said. “That is apt to be the way with those who have big hearts. You +have put upon Colonel Colfax, and upon me, a life's obligation.” + +When she began to speak, Clarence raised his head. As he glanced, +incredulous, from her to Stephen, his look gradually softened, and +when she had finished, his manner had become again frank, boyish, +impetuous--nay, penitent. He seized Stephen's hand. + +“Forgive me, Brice,” he cried. “Forgive me. I should have known +better. I--I did you an injustice, and you, Virginia. I was a fool--a +scoundrel.” Stephen shook his head. + +“No, you were neither,” he said. Then upon his face came the smile of +one who has the strength to renounce, all that is dearest to him--that +smile of the unselfish, sweetest of all. It brought tears to Virginia. +She was to see it once again, upon the features of one who bore a +cross,--Abraham Lincoln. Clarence looked, and then he turned away toward +the door to the stairway, as one who walks blindly, in a sorrow. + +His hand was on the knob when Virginia seemed to awake. She flew after +him: + +“Wait!” she whispered. + +Then she raised her eyes, slowly, to Stephen, who was standing +motionless beside his chair. + +“Captain Brice!” + +“Yes,” he answered. + +“My father is in the Judge's room,” she said. + +“Your father!” he exclaimed. “I thought--” + +“That he was an officer in the Confederate Army. So he is.” Her head +went up as she spoke. + +Stephen stared at her, troubled. Suddenly her manner, changed. She took +a step toward him, appealingly. + +“Oh, he is not a spy,” she cried. “He has given Mr Brinsmade his word +that he came here for no other purpose than to see me. Then he heard +that the Judge was dying--” + +“He has given his word to Mr. Brinsmade? + +“Yes.” + +“Then,” said Stephen, “what Mr. Brinsmade sanctions is not for me to +question.” + +She gave him yet another look, a fleeting one which he did not see. Then +she softly opened the door and passed into the room of the dying man. +Stephen followed her. As for Clarence, he stood for a space staring +after them. Then he went noiselessly down the stairs into the street. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT + +When the Judge opened his eyes for the last time in this world, they +fell first upon the face of his old friend, Colonel Carvel. Twice he +tried to speak his name, and twice he failed. The third time he said it +faintly. + +“Comyn!” + +“Yes, Silas.” + +“Comyn, what are you doing here? + +“I reckon I came to see you, Silas,” answered the Colonel. + +“To see me die,” said the Judge, grimly. + +Colonel Carvel's face twitched, and the silence in that little room +seemed to throb. + +“Comyn,” said the Judge again, “I heard that you had gone South to fight +against your country. I see you here. Can it be that you have at last +returned in your allegiances to the flag for which your forefathers +died?” + +Poor Colonel Carvel + +“I am still of the same mind, Silas,” he said. + +The Judge turned his face away, his thin lips moving as in prayer. But +they knew that he was not praying, “Silas,” said Mr. Carvel, “we were +friends for twenty years. Let us be friends again, before--” + +“Before I die,” the Judge interrupted, “I am ready to die. Yes, I am +ready. I have had a hard life, Comyn, and few friends. It was my fault. +I--I did not know how to make them. Yet no man ever valued those few +more than! But,” he cried, the stern fire unquenched to the last, “I +would that God had spared me to see this Rebellion stamped out. For +it will be stamped out.” To those watching, his eyes seemed fixed on a +distant point, and the light of prophecy was in them. “I would that +God had spared me to see this Union supreme once more. Yes, it will +be supreme. A high destiny is reserved for this nation--! I think the +highest of all on this earth.” Amid profound silence he leaned back on +the pillows from which he had risen, his breath coming fast. None dared +look at the neighbor beside them. + +It was Stephen's mother who spoke. “Would you not like to see a +clergyman, Judge?” she asked. + +The look on his face softened as he turned to her. + +“No, madam,” he answered; “you are clergyman enough for me. You are near +enough to God--there is no one in this room who is not worthy to stand +in the presence of death. Yet I wish that a clergyman were here, that +he might listen to one thing I have to say. When I was a boy I worked my +way down the river to New York, to see the city. I met a bishop there. +He said to me, 'Sit down, my son, I want to talk to you. I know your +father in Albany. You are Senator Whipple's son.' I said to him, 'No, +sir, I am not Senator Whipple's son. I am no relation of his.' If the +bishop had wished to talk to me after that, Mrs. Brice, he might have +made my life a little easier--a little sweeter. I know that they are not +all like that. But it was by just such things that I was embittered when +I was a boy.” He stopped, and when he spoke again, it was more slowly, +more gently, than any of them had heard him speak in all his life +before. “I wish that some of the blessings which I am leaving now had +come to me then--when I was a boy. I might have done my little share in +making the world a brighter place to live in, as all of you have done. +Yes, as all of you are now doing for me. I am leaving the world with a +better opinion of it than I ever held in life. God hid the sun from me +when I was a little child. Margaret Brice,” he said, “if I had had such +a mother as you, I would have been softened then. I thank God that He +sent you when He did.” + +The widow bowed her head, and a tear fell upon his pillow. + +“I have done nothing,” she murmured, “nothing.” + +“So shall they answer at the last whom He has chosen,” said the Judge. +“I was sick, and ye visited me. He has promised to remember those who do +that. Hold up your head, my daughter. God has been good to you. He has +given you a son whom all men may look in the face, of whom you need +never be ashamed. Stephen,” said the Judge, “come here.” + +Stephen made his way to the bedside, but because of the moisture in his +eyes he saw but dimly the gaunt face. And yet he shrank back in awe at +the change in it. So must all of the martyrs have looked when the +fire of the faggots licked their feet. So must John Bunyan have stared +through his prison bars at the sky. + +“Stephen,” he said, “you have been faithful in a few things. So shall +you be made ruler over many things. The little I have I leave to you, +and the chief of this is an untarnished name. I know that you will be +true to it because I have tried your strength. Listen carefully to what +I have to say, for I have thought over it long. In the days gone by our +fathers worked for the good of the people, and they had no thought of +gain. A time is coming when we shall need that blood and that bone in +this Republic. Wealth not yet dreamed of will flow out of this land, and +the waters of it will rot all save the pure, and corrupt all save the +incorruptible. Half-tried men wilt go down before that flood. You and +those like you will remember how your fathers governed,--strongly, +sternly, justly. It was so that they governed themselves. + +“Be vigilant. Serve your city, serve your state, but above all serve +your country.” + +He paused to catch his breath, which was coming painfully now, and +reached out his bony hand to seek Stephen's. “I was harsh with you at +first, my son,” he went on. “I wished to try you. And when I had tried +you I wished your mind to open, to keep pace with the growth of this +nation. I sent you to see Abraham Lincoln that you might be born +again--in the West. You were born again. I saw it when you came back--I +saw it in your face. O God,” he cried, with sudden eloquence. “I would +that his hands--Abraham Lincoln's hands--might be laid upon all who +complain and cavil and criticise, and think of the little things in +life: I would that his spirit might possess their spirit!” + +He stopped again. They marvelled and were awed, for never in all his +days had such speech broken from this man. “Good-by, Stephen,” he said, +when they thought he was not to speak again. “Hold the image of Abraham +Lincoln in front of you. Never forget him. You--you are a man after his +own heart--and--and mine.” + +The last word was scarcely audible. They started for ward, for his eyes +were closed. But presently he stirred again, and opened them. + +“Brinsmade,” he said, “Brinsmade, take care of my orphan girls. Send +Shadrach here.” + +The negro came forth, shuffling and sobbing, from the doorway. + +“You ain't gwine away, Marse Judge?” + +“Yes, Shadrach, good-by. You have served me well, I have left you +provided for.” + +Shadrach kissed the hand of whose secret charity he knew so much. Then +the Judge withdrew it, and motioned to him to rise. He called his oldest +friend by name. And Colonel Carvel came from the corner where he had +been listening, with his face drawn. + +“Good-by, Comyn. You were my friend when there was none other. You were +true to me when the hand of every man was against me. You--you have +risked your life to come to me here, May God spare it for Virginia.” + +At the sound of her name, the girl started. She came and bent over him. +And when she kissed him on the forehead, he trembled. + +“Uncle Silas!” she faltered. + +Weakly he reached up and put his hands on her shoulders. He whispered +in her ear. The tears came and lay wet upon her lashes as she undid the +button at his throat. + +There, on a piece of cotton twine, hung a little key, She took it off, +but still his hands held her. + +“I have saved it for you, my dear,” he said. “God bless you--” why did +his eyes seek Stephen's?--“and make your life happy. Virginia--will you +play my hymn--once more--once more?” + +They lifted the night lamp from the piano, and the medicine. It was +Stephen who stripped it of the black cloth it had worn, who stood by +Virginia ready to lift the lid when she had turned the lock. The girl's +exaltation gave a trembling touch divine to the well-remembered chords, +and those who heard were lifted, lifted far above and beyond the power +of earthly spell. + + “Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom + Lead Thou me on + The night is dark, and I am far from home; + Lead Thou me on. + Keep Thou my feet! I do not ask to see + The distant scene; one step enough for me.” + +A sigh shook Silas Whipple's wasted frame, and he died. + + + + +Volume 8. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. THE LAST CARD + +Mr. Brinsmade and the Doctor were the first to leave the little room +where Silas Whipple had lived and worked and died, Mr. Brinsmade bent +upon one of those errands which claimed him at all times. He took +Shadrach with him. Virginia sat on, a vague fear haunting her,--a fear +for her father's safety. Where was Clarence? What had he seen? Was the +place watched? These questions, at first intruding upon her sorrow, +remained to torture her. + +Softly she stirred from the chair where she had sat before the piano, +and opened the door of the outer office. A clock in a steeple near by +was striking twelve. The Colonel did not raise his head. Only Stephen +saw her go; she felt his eyes following her, and as she slipped out +lifted hers to meet them for a brief instant through the opening of the +door. Then it closed behind her. + +First of all she knew that the light in the outer office was burning +dimly, and the discovery gave her a shock. Who had turned it down? Had +Clarence? Was he here? Fearfully searching the room for him, her gaze +was held by a figure in the recess of the window at the back of the +room. A solid, bulky figure it was, and, though uncertainly outlined +in the semi-darkness, she knew it. She took a step nearer, and a cry +escaped her. + +The man was Eliphalet Hopper. He got down from the sill with a motion +at once sheepish and stealthy. Her breath caught, and instinctively she +gave back toward the door, as if to open it again. + +“Hold on!” he said. “I've got something I want to say to you, Miss +Virginia.” + +His tones seemed strangely natural. They were not brutal. But she +shivered and paused, horrified at the thought of what she was about to +do. Her father was in that room--and Stephen. She must keep them there, +and get this man away. She must not show fright before him, and yet she +could not trust her voice to speak just then. She must not let him know +that she was afraid of him--this she kept repeating to herself. But how +to act? Suddenly an idea flashed upon her. + +Virginia never knew how she gathered the courage to pass him, even +swiftly, and turn up the gas. He started back, blinking as the +jet flared. For a moment she stood beside it, with her head high; +confronting him and striving to steady herself for speech. + +“Why have you come here?” she said. “Judge Whipple--died--to-night.” + +The dominating note in his answer was a whine, as if, in spite of +himself, he were awed. + +“I ain't here to see the Judge.” + +She was pale, and quite motionless. And she faltered now. She felt her +lips moving, but knew not whether the words had come. + +“What do you mean?” + +He gained confidence. The look in his little eyes was the filmy look of +those of an animal feasting. + +“I came here to see you,” he said, “--you.” She was staring at him now, +in horror. “And if you don't give me what I want, I cal'late to see some +one else--in there,” said Mr. Hopper. + +He smiled, for she was swaying, her lids half closed. By a supreme +effort she conquered her terror and looked at him. The look was in his +eyes still, intensified now. + +“How dare you speak to me after what has happened! she said. If Colonel +Carvel were here, he would--kill you.” + +He flinched at the name and the word, involuntarily. He wiped his +forehead, hot at the very thought. + +“I want to know!” he exclaimed, in faint-hearted irony. Then, +remembering his advantage, he stepped close to her. + +“He is here,” he said, intense now. “He is here, in that there room.” He +seized her wrists. Virginia struggled, and yet she refrained from crying +out. “He never leaves this city without I choose. I can have him hung if +I choose,” he whispered, next to her. + +“Oh!” she cried; “oh, if you choose!” + +Still his body crept closer, and his face closer. And her strength was +going. + +“There's but one price to pay,” he said hoarsely, “there's but one price +to pay, and that's you--you. I cal'late you'll marry me now.” + +Delirious at the touch of her, he did not hear the door open. Her senses +were strained for that very sound. She heard it close again, and a +footstep across the room. She knew the step--she knew the voice, and her +heart leaped at the sound of it in anger. An arm in a blue sleeve came +between them, and Eliphalet Hopper staggered and fell across the books +on the table, his hand to his face. Above him towered Stephen Brice. +Towered was the impression that came to Virginia then, and so she +thought of the scene ever afterward. Small bits, like points of tempered +steel, glittered in Stephen's eyes, and his hands following up the +mastery he had given them clutched Mr. Hopper's shoulders. Twice Stephen +shook him so that his head beat upon the table. + +“You--you beast!” he cried, but he kept his voice low. And then, as if +he expected Hopper to reply: “Shall I kill you?” + +Again he shook him violently. He felt Virginia's touch on his arm. + +“Stephen!” she cried, “your wounds! Be careful! Oh, do be careful!” + +She had called him Stephen. He turned slowly, and his hands fell from +Mr. Hopper's cowering form as his eyes met hers. Even he could not +fathom the appeal, the yearning, in their dark blue depths. And yet what +he saw there made him tremble. She turned away, trembling too. + +“Please sit down,” she entreated. “He--he won't touch me again while you +are here.” + +Eliphalet Hopper raised himself from the desk, and one of the big books +fell with a crash to the floor. Then they saw him shrink, his eyes fixed +upon some one behind them. Before the Judge's door stood Colonel Carvel, +in calm, familiar posture, his feet apart, and his head bent forward as +he pulled at his goatee. + +“What is this man doing here, Virginia?” he asked. She did not answer +him, nor did speech seem to come easily to Mr. Hopper in that instant. +Perhaps the sight of Colonel Carvel had brought before him too, vividly +the memory of that afternoon at Glencoe. + +All at once Virginia grasped the fulness of the power in this man's +hands. At a word from him her father would be shot as a spy--and Stephen +Brice, perhaps, as a traitor. But if Colonel Carvel should learn that he +had seized her,--here was the terrible danger of the situation. Well she +knew what the Colonel would do. Would. Stephen tell him? She trusted in +his coolness that he would not. + +Before a word of reply came from any of the three, a noise was heard +on the stairway. Some one was coming up. There followed four seconds +of suspense, and then Clarence came in. She saw that his face wore a +worried, dejected look. It changed instantly when he glanced about +him, and an oath broke from his lips as he singled out Eliphalet Hopper +standing in sullen aggressiveness, beside the table. + +“So you're the spy, are you?” he said in disgust. Then he turned his +back and faced his uncle. “I saw, him in Williams's entry as we drove +up. He got away from me.” + +A thought seemed to strike him. He strode to the open window at the back +of the office, and looked out, There was a roof under it. + +“The sneak got in here,” he said. “He knew I was waiting for him in the +street. So you're the spy, are you?” + +Mr. Hopper passed a heavy hand across the cheek where Stephen had struck +him. + +“No, I ain't the spy,” he said, with a meaning glance at the Colonel. + +“Then what are you doing here?” demanded Clarence, fiercely. + +“I cal'late that he knows,” Eliphalet replied, jerking his head toward +Colonel Carvel. “Where's his Confederate uniform? What's to prevent my +calling up the provost's guard below?” he continued, with a smile that +was hideous on his swelling face. + +It was the Colonel who answered him, very quickly and very clearly. + +“Nothing whatever, Mr. Hopper,” he said. “This is the way out.” He +pointed at the door. Stephen, who was watching him, could not tell +whether it were a grim smile that creased the corners of the Colonel's +mouth as he added. “You might prefer the window.” + +Mr. Hopper did not move, but his eyes shifted to Virginia's form. +Stephen deliberately thrust himself between them that he might not see +her. + +“What are you waiting for?” said the Colonel, in the mild voice that +should have been an ominous warning. Still Mr. Hopper did not move. It +was clear that he had not reckoned upon all of this; that he had waited +in the window to deal with Virginia alone. But now the very force of a +desire which had gathered strength in many years made him reckless. His +voice took on the oily quality in which he was wont to bargain. + +“Let's be calm about this business, Colonel,” he said. “We won't say +anything about the past. But I ain't set on having you shot. There's a +consideration that would stop me, and I cal'late you know what it is.” + +Then the Colonel made a motion. But before he had taken a step Virginia +had crossed the room swiftly, and flung herself upon him. + +“Oh, don't, Pa!” she cried. “Don't! Tell him that I will agree to it. +Yes, I will. I can't have you--shot.” The last word came falteringly, +faintly. + +“Let me go,--honey,” whispered the Colonel, gently. His eyes did not +leave Eliphalet. He tried to disengage himself, but her fingers were +clasped about his neck in a passion of fear and love. And then, while +she clung to him, her head was raised to listen. The sound of Stephen +Brice's voice held her as in a spell. His words were coming coldly, +deliberately, and yet so sharply that each seemed to fall like a lash. + +“Mr. Hopper, if ever I hear of your repeating what you have seen or +heard in this room, I will make this city and this state too hot for +you to live in. I know you. I know how you hide in areas, how you talk +sedition in private, how you have made money out of other men's misery. +And, what is more, I can prove that you have had traitorous dealings +with the Confederacy. General Sherman has been good enough to call +himself a friend of mine, and if he prosecutes you for your dealings +in Memphis, you will get a term in a Government prison, You ought to be +hung. Colonel Carvel has shown you the door. Now go.” + +And Mr. Hopper went. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. FROM THE LETTERS OF MAJOR STEPHEN BRICE + +Of the Staff of General Sherman on the March to the Sea, and on the +March from Savannah Northward. + +HEADQUARTERS MILITARY DIVISION OF THE MISSISSIPPI GOLDSBORO, N.C. MARCH +24, 1865 + +DEAR MOTHER: The South Carolina Campaign is a thing of the past. I pause +as I write these words--they seem so incredible to me. We have marched +the four hundred and twenty-five miles in fifty days, and the General +himself has said that it is the longest and most important march ever +made by an organized army in a civilized country. I know that you will +not be misled by the words “civilized country.” Not until the history of +this campaign is written will the public realize the wide rivers and +all but impassable swamps we have crossed with our baggage trains and +artillery. The roads (by courtesy so called) were a sea of molasses and +every mile of them has had to be corduroyed. For fear of worrying you I +did not write you from Savannah how they laughed at us for starting at +that season of the year. They said we would not go ten miles, and I most +solemnly believe that no one but “Uncle Billy” and an army organized and +equipped by him could have gone ten miles. Nothing seems to stop him. +You have probably remarked in the tone of my letters ever since we left +Kingston for the sea, a growing admiration for “my General.” + +It seems very strange that this wonderful tactician can be the same man +I met that day going to the Arsenal in the streetcar, and again at Camp +Jackson. I am sure that history will give him a high place among the +commanders of the world. Certainly none was ever more tireless than +he. He never fights a battle when it can be avoided, and his march into +Columbia while threatening Charleston and Augusta was certainly a master +stroke of strategy. + +I think his simplicity his most remarkable trait. You should see him as +he rides through the army, an erect figure, with his clothes all angular +and awry, and an expanse of white sock showing above his low shoes. +You can hear his name running from file to file; and some times the +new regiments can't resist cheering. He generally says to the +Colonel:--“Stop that noise, sir. Don't like it.” + +On our march to the sea, if the orders were ever given to turn +northward, “the boys” would get very much depressed. One moonlight night +I was walking my horse close to the General's over the pine needles, +when we overheard this conversation between two soldiers:-- “Say, John,” + said one, “I guess Uncle Billy don't know our corps is goin' north.” + +“I wonder if he does,'” said John. “If I could only get a sight of them +white socks, I'd know it was all right.” + +The General rode past without a word, but I heard him telling the story +to Mower the next day. + +I can find little if any change in his manner since I knew him first. +He is brusque, but kindly, and he has the same comradeship with officers +and men--and even the negroes who flock to our army. But few dare to +take advantage of it, and they never do so twice. I have been very near +to him, and have tried not to worry him or ask many foolish questions. +Sometimes on the march he will beckon me to close up to him, and we have +a conversation something on this order:-- “There's Kenesaw, Brice.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +Pointing with his arm. + +“Went beyond lines there with small party. Rebel battery on summit. Had +to git. Fired on. Next day I thought Rebels would leave in the night. +Got up before daylight, fixed telescope on stand, and waited. Watched +top of Kenesaw. No Rebel. Saw one blue man creep up, very cautious, +looked around, waved his hat. Rebels gone. Thought so.” + +This gives you but a faint idea of the vividness of his talk. When we +make a halt for any time, the general officers and their staffs flock +to headquarters to listen to his stories. When anything goes wrong, his +perception of it is like a lightning flash,--and he acts as quickly. + +By the way, I have just found the letter he wrote me, offering this +staff position. Please keep it carefully, as it is something I shall +value all my life. + + GAYLESVILLE, ALABAMA, October 25, 1864. + + MAJOR STEPHEN A. BRICE: + + Dear Sir,--The world goes on, and wicked men sound asleep. Davis + has sworn to destroy my army, and Beauregard has come to do the + work,--so if you expect to share in our calamity, come down. I + offer you this last chance for staff duty, and hope you have had + enough in the field. I do not wish to hurry you, but you can't get + aboard a ship at sea. So if you want to make the trip, come to + Chattanooga and take your chances of meeting me. + + Yours truly, + + W. T. SHERMAN, Major General. + +One night--at Cheraw, I think it was--he sent for me to talk to him. I +found him lying on a bed of Spanish moss they had made for him. He asked +me a great many questions about St. Louis, and praised Mr. Brinsmade, +especially his management of the Sanitary Commission. + +“Brice,” he said, after a while, “you remember when Grant sent me to +beat off Joe Johnston's army from Vicksburg. You were wounded then, by +the way, in that dash Lauman made. Grant thought he ought to warn me +against Johnston. + +“'He's wily, Sherman,' said he. 'He's a dangerous man.' + +“'Grant,' said I, 'you give me men enough and time enough to look over +the ground, and I'm not afraid of the devil.'” + +Nothing could sum up the man better than that. And now what a trick of +fate it is that he has Johnston before him again, in what we hope will +prove the last gasp of the war! He likes Johnston, by the way, and has +the greatest respect for him. + +I wish you could have peeped into our camp once in a while. In the rare +bursts of sunshine on this march our premises have been decorated with +gay red blankets, and sombre gray ones brought from the quartermasters, +and white Hudson's Bay blankets (not so white now), all being between +forked sticks. It is wonderful how the pitching of a few tents, and the +busy crackle of a few fires, and the sound of voices--sometimes merry, +sometimes sad, depending on the weather, will change the look of a +lonely pine knoll. You ask me how we fare. I should be heartily ashamed +if a word of complaint ever fell from my lips. But the men! Whenever I +wake up at night with my feet in a puddle between the blankets, I think +of the men. The corduroy roads which our horses stumble over through the +mud, they make as well as march on. Our flies are carried in wagons, +and our utensils and provisions. They must often bear on their backs the +little dog-tents, under which, put up by their own labor, they crawl +to sleep, wrapped in a blanket they have carried all day, perhaps waist +deep in water. The food they eat has been in their haversacks for many a +weary mile, and is cooked in the little skillet and pot which have +also been a part of their burden. Then they have their musket and +accoutrements, and the “forty rounds” at their backs. Patiently, +cheerily tramping along, going they know not where, nor care much +either, so it be not in retreat. Ready to make roads, throw up works, +tear up railroads, or hew out and build wooden bridges; or, best of all, +to go for the Johnnies under hot sun or heavy rain, through swamp and +mire and quicksand. They marched ten miles to storm Fort McAllister. And +how the cheers broke from them when the pop pop pop of the skirmish line +began after we came in sight of Savannah! No man who has seen but not +shared their life may talk of personal hardship. + +We arrived at this pretty little town yesterday, so effecting a junction +with Schofield, who got in with the 3d Corps the day before. I am +writing at General Schofield's headquarters. There was a bit of a battle +on Tuesday at Bentonville, and we have come hither in smoke, as usual. +But this time we thank Heaven that it is not the smoke of burning +homes,--only some resin the “Johnnies” set on fire before they left. + +I must close. General Sherman has just sent for me. + + ON BOARD DESPATCH BOAT “MARTIN.” + AT SEA, March 25, 1865. + +DEAR MOTHER: A most curious thing has happened. But I may as well begin +at the beginning. When I stopped writing last evening at the summons +of the General, I was about to tell you something of the battle of +Bentonville on Tuesday last. Mower charged through as bad a piece +of wood and swamp as I ever saw, and got within one hundred yards of +Johnston himself, who was at the bridge across Mill Creek. Of course we +did not know this at the time, and learned it from prisoners. + +As I have written you, I have been under fire very little since coming +to the staff. When the battle opened, however, I saw that if I stayed +with the General (who was then behind the reserves) I would see little +or nothing; I went ahead “to get information” beyond the line of battle +into the woods. I did not find these favorable to landscape views, and +just as I was turning my horse back again I caught sight of a commotion +some distance to my right. The Rebel skirmish line had fallen back just +that instant, two of our skirmishers were grappling with a third man, +who was fighting desperately. It struck me as singular that the fellow +was not in gray, but had on some sort of dark clothes. + +I could not reach them in the swamp on horseback, and was in the act of +dismounting when the man fell, and then they set out to carry him to the +rear, still farther to my right, beyond the swamp. I shouted, and one of +the skirmishers came up. I asked him what the matter was. + +“We've got a spy, sir,” he said excitedly. + +“A spy! Here?” + +“Yes, Major. He was hid in the thicket yonder, lying flat on his face. +He reckoned that our boys would run right over him and that he'd get +into our lines that way. Tim Foley stumbled on him, and he put up as +good a fight with his fists as any man I ever saw.” + +Just then a regiment swept past us. That night I told the General, who +sent over to the headquarters of the 17th Corps to inquire. The word +came back that the man's name was Addison, and he claimed to be a Union +sympathizer who owned a plantation near by. He declared that he had been +conscripted by the Rebels, wounded, sent back home, and was now about to +be pressed in again. He had taken this method of escaping to our lines. +It was a common story enough, but General Mower added in his message +that he thought the story fishy. This was because the man's appearance +was very striking, and he seemed the type of Confederate fighter who +would do and dare anything. He had a wound, which had been a bad one, +evidently got from a piece of shell. But they had been able to find +nothing on him. Sherman sent back word to keep the man until he could +see him in person. It was about nine o'clock last night when I reached +the house the General has taken. A prisoner's guard was resting outside, +and the hall was full of officers. They said that the General was +awaiting me, and pointed to the closed door of a room that had been the +dining room. I opened it. + +Two candles were burning in pewter sticks on the bare mahogany table. +There was the General sitting beside them, with his legs crossed, +holding some crumpled tissue paper very near his eyes, and reading. He +did not look up when I entered. I was aware of a man standing, tall and +straight, just out of range of the candles' rays. He wore the easy dress +of a Southern planter, with the broad felt hat. The head was flung back +so that there was just a patch of light on the chin, and the lids of the +eyes in the shadow were half closed. + +My sensations are worth noting. For the moment I felt precisely as I +had when I was hit by that bullet in Lauman's charge. I was aware of +something very like pain, yet I could not place the cause of it. But +this is what since has made me feel queer: you doubtless remember +staying at Hollingdean, when I was a boy, and hearing the story of Lord +Northwell's daredevil Royalist ancestor,--the one with the lace collar +over the dull-gold velvet, and the pointed chin, and the lazy scorn in +the eyes. Those eyes are painted with drooping lids. The first time I +saw Clarence Colfax I thought of that picture--and now I thought of the +picture first. + +The General's voice startled me. + +“Major Brice, do you know this gentleman?” he asked. + +“Yes, General.” + +“Who is he?” + +“His name is Colfax, sir--Colonel Colfax, I think” + +“Thought so,” said the General. + +I have thought much of that scene since, as I am steaming northward over +green seas and under cloudless skies, and it has seemed very unreal. I +should almost say supernatural when I reflect how I have run across this +man again and again, and always opposing him. I can recall just how he +looked at the slave auction, which seem, so long ago: very handsome, +very boyish, and yet with the air of one to be deferred to. It was +sufficiently remarkable that I should have found him in Vicksburg. But +now--to be brought face to face with him in this old dining room in +Goldsboro! And he a prisoner. He had not moved. I did not know how he +would act, but I went up to him and held out my hand, and said.--“How do +you do, Colonel Colfax?” + +I am sure that my voice was not very steady, for I cannot help liking +him And then his face lighted up and he gave me his hand. And he smiled +at me and again at the General, as much as to say that it was all over. +He has a wonderful smile. + +“We seem to run into each other, Major Brice,” said he. + +The pluck of the man was superb. I could see that the General, too, +was moved, from the way he looked at him. And he speaks a little more +abruptly at such times. + +“Guess that settles it, Colonel,” he said. + +“I reckon it does, General,” said Clarence, still smiling. The General +turned from him to the table with a kind of jerk and clapped his hand on +the tissue paper. + +“These speak for themselves, sir,” he said. “It is very plain that they +would have reached the prominent citizens for whom they were intended if +you had succeeded in your enterprise. You were captured out of uniform +You know enough of war to appreciate the risk you ran. Any statement to +make?” + +“No, sir.” + +“Call Captain Vaughan, Brice, and ask him to conduct the prisoner back.” + +“May I speak to him, General?” I asked. The General nodded. + +I asked him if I could write home for him or do anything else. That +seemed to touch him. Some day I shall tell you what he said. + +Then Vaughan took him out, and I heard the guard shoulder arms and tramp +away in the night. The General and I were left alone with the mahogany +table between us, and a family portrait of somebody looking down on +us from the shadow on the wall. A moist spring air came in at the open +windows, and the candles flickered. After a silence, I ventured to say: + +“I hope he won't be shot, General.” + +“Don't know, Brice,” he answered. “Can't tell now. Hate to shoot him, +but war is war. Magnificent class he belongs to--pity we should have to +fight those fellows.” + +He paused, and drummed on the table. “Brice,” said he, “I'm going to +send you to General Grant at City Point with despatches. I'm sorry Dunn +went back yesterday, but it can't be helped. Can you start in half an +hour?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“You'll have to ride to Kinston. The railroad won't be through until +to-morrow: I'll telegraph there, and to General Easton at Morehead City. +He'll have a boat for you. Tell Grant I expect to run up there in a +day or two myself, when things are arranged here. You may wait until I +come.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +I turned to go, but Clarence Colfax was on my mind “General?” + +“Eh! what?” + +“General, could you hold Colonel Colfax until I see you again?” + +It was a bold thing to say, and I quaked. And he looked at me in his +keen way, through and through “You saved his life once before, didn't +you?” + +“You allowed me to have him sent home from Vicksburg, sir.” + +He answered with one of his jokes--apropos of something he said on the +Court House steps at Vicksburg. Perhaps I shall tell it to you sometime. + +“Well, well,” he said, “I'll see, I'll see. Thank God this war is pretty +near over. I'll let you know, Brice, before I shoot him.” + +I rode the thirty odd miles to Kinston in--little more than three hours. +A locomotive was waiting for me, and I jumped into a cab with a friendly +engineer. Soon we were roaring seaward through the vast pine forests. +It was a lonely journey, and you were much in my mind. My greatest +apprehension was that we might be derailed and the despatches captured; +for as fast as our army had advanced, the track of it had closed again, +like the wake of a ship at sea. Guerillas were roving about, tearing up +ties and destroying bridges. + +There was one five-minute interval of excitement when, far down the +tunnel through the forest, we saw a light gleaming. The engineer said +there was no house there, that it must be a fire. But we did not slacken +our speed, and gradually the leaping flames grew larger and redder until +we were upon them. + +Not one gaunt figure stood between them and us. Not one shot broke the +stillness of the night. As dawn broke I beheld the flat, gray waters of +the Sound stretching away to the eastward, and there was the boat at the +desolate wharf beside the warehouse, her steam rising white in the chill +morning air. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. THE SAME, CONTINUED + + HEADQUARTERS ARMIES OF THE UNITED STATES, + CITY POINT, VIRGINIA, March 28, 1865. + +DEAR MOTHER: I arrived here safely the day before yesterday, and I hope +that you will soon receive some of the letters I forwarded on that day. +It is an extraordinary place, this City Point; a military city sprung up +like a mushroom in a winter. And my breath was quite taken away when I +first caught sight of it on the high table-land. The great bay in front +of it, which the Appomattox helps to make, is a maze of rigging and +smoke-pipes, like the harbor of a prosperous seaport. There are gunboats +and supply boats, schooners and square-riggers and steamers, all huddled +together, and our captain pointed out to me the 'Malvern' flying Admiral +Porter's flag. Barges were tied up at the long wharves, and these were +piled high with wares and flanked by squat warehouses. Although it +was Sunday, a locomotive was puffing and panting along the foot of the +ragged bank. + +High above, on the flat promontory between the two rivers, is the city +of tents and wooden huts, the great trees in their fresh faint green +towering above the low roofs. At the point of the bluff a large flag +drooped against its staff, and I did not have to be told that this was +General Grant's headquarters. + +There was a fine steamboat lying at the wharf, and I had hardly stepped +ashore before they told me she was President Lincoln's. I read the name +on her--the 'River Queen'. Yes, the President is here, too, with his +wife and family. + +There are many fellows here with whom I was brought up in Boston. I am +living with Jack Hancock, whom you will remember well. He is a captain +now, and has a beard. + +But I must go on with my story. I went straight to General Grant's +headquarters,--just a plain, rough slat house such as a contractor might +build for a temporary residence. Only the high flagstaff and the Stars +and Stripes distinguish it from many others of the same kind. A group of +officers stood chatting outside of it, and they told me that the General +had walked over to get his mail. He is just as unassuming and democratic +as “my general.” General Rankin took me into the office, a rude room, +and we sat down at the long table there. Presently the door opened, +and a man came in with a slouch hat on and his coat unbuttoned. He was +smoking a cigar. We rose to our feet, and I saluted. + +It was the general-in-chief. He stared at me, but said nothing. + +“General, this is Major Brice of General Sherman's staff. He has brought +despatches from Goldsboro,” said Rankin. + +He nodded, took off his hat and laid it on the table, and reached out +for the despatches. While reading them he did not move, except to light +another cigar. I am getting hardened to unrealities,--perhaps I should +say marvels, now. Our country abounds in them. It did not seem so +strange that this silent General with the baggy trousers was the man who +had risen by leaps and bounds in four years to be general-in-chief of +our armies. His face looks older and more sunken than it did on that +day in the street near the Arsenal, in St. Louis, when he was just a +military carpet-bagger out of a job. He is not changed otherwise. But +how different the impressions made by the man in authority and the same +man out of authority! + +He made a sufficient impression upon me then, as I told you at the time. +That was because I overheard his well-merited rebuke to Hopper. But I +little dreamed that I was looking on the man who was to come out of the +West and save this country from disunion. And how quietly and simply he +has done it, without parade or pomp or vainglory. Of all those who, with +every means at their disposal, have tried to conquer Lee, he is the +only one who has in any manner succeeded. He has been able to hold him +fettered while Sherman has swept the Confederacy. And these are the two +men who were unknown when the war began. + +When the General had finished reading the despatches, he folded them +quickly and put them in his pocket. + +“Sit down and tell me about this last campaign of yours, Major,” he +said. + +I talked with him for about half an hour. I should rather say talked to +him. He is a marked contrast to Sherman in this respect. I believe that +he only opened his lips to ask two questions. You may well believe that +they were worth the asking, and they revealed an intimate knowledge of +our march from Savannah. I was interrupted many times by the arrival +of different generals, aides, etc. He sat there smoking, imperturbable. +Sometimes he said “yes” or “no,” but oftener he merely nodded his head. +Once he astounded by a brief question an excitable young lieutenant, who +floundered. The General seemed to know more than he about the matter he +had in hand. + +When I left him, he asked me where I was quartered, and said he hoped I +would be comfortable. + +Jack Hancock was waiting for me, and we walked around the city, which +even has barber shops. Everywhere were signs of preparation, for the +roads are getting dry, and the General preparing for a final campaign +against Lee. Poor Lee! What a marvellous fight he has made with his +material. I think that he will be reckoned among the greatest generals +of our race. + +Of course, I was very anxious to get a glimpse of the President, and +so we went down to the wharf, where we heard that he had gone off for +a horseback ride. They say that he rides nearly every day, over the +corduroy roads and through the swamps, and wherever the boys see that +tall hat they cheer. They know it as well as the lookout tower on the +flats of Bermuda Hundred. He lingers at the campfires and swaps stories +with the officers, and entertains the sick and wounded in the hospitals. +Isn't it like him? + +He hasn't changed, either. I believe that the great men don't change. +Away with your Napoleons and your Marlboroughs and your Stuarts. These +are the days of simple men who command by force of character, as well as +knowledge. Thank God for the American! I believe that he will change the +world, and strip it of its vainglory and hypocrisy. + +In the evening, as we were sitting around Hancock's fire, an officer +came in. + +“Is Major Brice here?” he asked. I jumped up. + +“The President sends his compliments, Major, and wants to know if you +would care to pay him a little visit.” + +If I would care to pay him a little visit! That officer had to hurry to +keep up with the as I walked to the wharf. He led me aboard the River +Queen, and stopped at the door of the after-cabin. + +Mr. Lincoln was sitting under the lamp, slouched down in his chair, +in the position I remembered so well. It was as if I had left him but +yesterday. He was whittling, and he had made some little toy for his son +Tad, who ran out as I entered. + +When he saw me, the President rose to his great height, a sombre, +towering figure in black. He wears a scraggly beard now. But the sad +smile, the kindly eyes in their dark caverns, the voice--all were just +the same. I stopped when I looked upon the face. It was sad and lined +when I had known it, but now all the agony endured by the millions, +North and South, seemed written on it. + +“Don't you remember me, Major?” he asked. + +The wonder was that he had remembered me! I took his big, bony hand, +which reminded me of Judge Whipple's. Yes, it was just as if I had been +with him always, and he were still the gaunt country lawyer. + +“Yes, sir,” I said, “indeed I do.” + +He looked at me with that queer expression of mirth he sometimes has. + +“Are these Boston ways, Steve?” he asked. “They're tenacious. I didn't +think that any man could travel so close to Sherman and keep 'em.” + +“They're unfortunate ways, sir,” I said, “if they lead you to misjudge +me.” + +He laid his hand on my shoulder, just as he had done at Freeport. + +“I know you, Steve,” he said. “I shuck an ear of corn before I buy it. +I've kept tab on you a little the last five years, and when I heard +Sherman had sent a Major Brice up here, I sent for you.” + +What I said was boyish. “I tried very hard to get a glimpse of you +to-day, Mr. Lincoln. I wanted to see you again.” + +He was plainly pleased. + +“I'm glad to hear it, Steve,” he said. “Then you haven't joined the +ranks of the grumblers? You haven't been one of those who would have +liked to try running this country for a day or two, just to show me how +to do it?” + +“No, sir,” I said, laughing. + +“Good!” he cried, slapping his knee. “I didn't think you were that kind, +Steve. Now sit down and tell me about this General of mine who wears +seven-leagued boots. What was it--four hundred and twenty miles in fifty +days? How many navigable rivers did he step across?” He began to count +on those long fingers of his. “The Edisto, the Broad, the Catawba, the +Pedee, and--?” + +“The Cape Fear,” I said. + +“Is--is the General a nice man?” asked Mr. Lincoln, his eyes twinkling. + +“Yes, sir, he is that,” I answered heartily. “And not a man in the +army wants anything when he is around. You should see that Army of the +Mississippi, sir. They arrived in Goldsboro' in splendid condition.” + +He got up and gathered his coat-tails under his arms, and began to walk +up and down the cabin. + +“What do the boys call the General?” he asked. + +I told him “Uncle Billy.” And, thinking the story of the white socks +might amuse him, I told him that. It did amuse him. + +“Well, now,” he said, “any man that has a nickname like that is all +right. That's the best recommendation you can give the General--just +say 'Uncle Billy.'” He put one lip over the other. “You've given 'Uncle +Billy' a good recommendation, Steve,” he said. “Did you ever hear the +story of Mr. Wallace's Irish gardener?” + +“No, sir.” + +“Well, when Wallace was hiring his gardener he asked him whom he had +been living with. + +“'Misther Dalton, sorr.' + +“'Have you a recommendation, Terence?' + +“'A ricommindation is it, sorr? Sure I have nothing agin Misther +Dalton, though he moightn't be knowing just the respict the likes of a +first-class garthener is entitled to.'” + +He did not laugh. He seldom does, it seems, at his own stories. But +I could not help laughing over the “ricommindation” I had given the +General. He knew that I was embarrassed, and said kindly:-- “Now tell +me something about 'Uncle Billy's Bummers.' I hear that they have a most +effectual way of tearing up railroads.” + +I told him of Poe's contrivance of the hook and chain, and how the +heaviest rails were easily overturned with it, and how the ties were +piled and fired and the rails twisted out of shape. The President +listened to every word with intense interest. + +“By Jing!” he exclaimed, “we have got a general. Caesar burnt his +bridges behind him, but Sherman burns his rails. Now tell me some more.” + +He helped me along by asking questions. Then I began to tell him how +the negroes had flocked into our camps, and how simply and plainly the +General had talked to them, advising them against violence of any kind, +and explaining to them that “Freedom” meant only the liberty to earn +their own living in their own way, and not freedom from work. + +“We have got a general, sure enough,” he cried. “He talks to them +plainly, does he, so that they understand? I say to you, Brice,” he went +on earnestly, “the importance of plain talk can't be overestimated. Any +thought, however abstruse, can be put in speech that a boy or a +negro can grasp. Any book, however deep, can be written in terms that +everybody can comprehend, if a man only tries hard enough. When I was a +boy I used to hear the neighbors talking, and it bothered me so because +I could not understand them that I used to sit up half the night +thinking things out for myself. I remember that I did not know what the +word demonstrate meant. So I stopped my studies then and there and got a +volume of Euclid. Before I got through I could demonstrate everything in +it, and I have never been bothered with demonstrate since.” + +I thought of those wonderfully limpid speeches of his: of the Freeport +debates, and of the contrast between his style and Douglas's. And I +understood the reason for it at last. I understood the supreme mind that +had conceived the Freeport Question. And as I stood before him then, at +the close of this fearful war, the words of the Gospel were in my mind. +'So the last shall be first, and the first, last; for many be called, +but few chosen.' + +How I wished that all those who have maligned and tortured him could +talk with him as I had talked with him. To know his great heart would +disarm them of all antagonism. They would feel, as I feel, that his life +is so much nobler than theirs, and his burdens so much heavier, that +they would go away ashamed of their criticism. + +He said to me once, “Brice, I hope we are in sight of the end, now. I +hope that we may get through without any more fighting. I don't want to +see any more of our countrymen killed. And then,” he said, as if talking +to himself, “and then we must show them mercy--mercy.” + +I thought it a good time to mention Colfax's case. He has been on my +mind ever since. Mr. Lincoln listened attentively. Once he sighed, and +he was winding his long fingers around each other while I talked. + +“I saw the man captured, Mr. Lincoln,” I concluded, “And if a +technicality will help him out, he was actually within his own skirmish +line at the time. The Rebel skirmishers had not fallen back on each side +of him.” + +“Brice,” he said, with that sorrowful smile, “a technicality might save +Colfax, but it won't save me. Is this man a friend of yours?” he asked. + +That was a poser. + +“I think he is, Mr. Lincoln. I should like to call him so. I admire +him.” And I went on to tell of what he had done at Vicksburg, leaving +out, however, my instrumentality in having him sent north. The President +used almost Sherman's words. + +“By Jing!” he exclaimed. (That seems to be a favorite expression of +his.) “Those fellows were born to fight. If it wasn't for them, the +South would have quit long ago.” Then he looked at me in his funny way, +and said, “See here, Steve, if this Colfax isn't exactly a friend of +yours, there must be some reason why you are pleading for him in this +way.” + +“Well, sir,” I said, at length, “I should like to get him off on account +of his cousin, Miss Virginia Carvel. And I told him something about +Miss Carvel, and how she had helped you with the Union sergeant that day +in the hot hospital. And how she had nursed Judge Whipple.” + +“She's a fine woman,” he said. “Those women have helped those men to +prolong this war about three years.” + +“And yet we must save them for the nation's sake. They are to be the +mothers of our patriots in days to come. Is she a friend of yours, too, +Steve?” + +What was I to say? + +“Not especially, sir,” I answered finally. “I have had to offend her +rather often. But I know that she likes my mother.” + +“Why!” he cried, jumping up, “she's a daughter of Colonel Carvel. I +always had an admiration for that man. An ideal Southern gentleman of +the old school,--courteous, as honorable and open as the day, and as +brave as a lion. You've heard the story of how he threw a man named +Babcock out of his store, who tried to bribe him?” + +“I heard you tell it in that tavern, sir. And I have heard it since.” It +did me good to hear the Colonel praised. + +“I always liked that story,” he said. “By the way, what's become of the +Colonel?” + +“He got away--South, sir,” I answered. “He couldn't stand it. He hasn't +been heard of since the summer of '63. They think he was killed in +Texas. But they are not positive. They probably never will be,” I added. +He was silent awhile. + +“Too bad!” he said. “Too bad. What stuff those men are made of! And so +you want me to pardon this Colfax?” + +“It would be presumptuous in me to go that far, sir,” I replied. “But I +hoped you might speak of it to the General when he comes. And I would be +glad of the opportunity to testify.” + +He took a few strides up and down the room. + +“Well, well,” he said, “that's my vice--pardoning, saying yes. It's +always one more drink with me. It--” he smiled--“it makes me sleep +better. I've pardoned enough Rebels to populate New Orleans. Why,” he +continued, with his whimsical look, “just before I left Washington, in +comes one of your Missouri senators with a list of Rebels who are shut +up in McDowell's and Alton. I said:-- “'Senator, you're not going to ask +me to turn loose all those at once?' + +“He said just what you said when you were speaking of Missouri a while +ago, that he was afraid of guerilla warfare, and that the war was nearly +over. I signed 'em. And then what does he do but pull out another batch +longer than the first! And those were worse than the first. + +“'What! you don't want me to turn these loose, too?' + +“'Yes, I do, Mr. President. I think it will pay to be merciful.' + +“'Then durned if I don't,' I said, and I signed 'em.” + + STEAMER “RIVER QUEEN.” + ON THE POTOMAC, April 9, 1865. + +DEAR MOTHER: I am glad that the telegrams I have been able to send +reached you safely. I have not had time to write, and this will be but a +short letter. + +You will be surprised to see this heading. I am on the President's boat, +in the President's party, bound with him for Washington. And this is how +it happened: The very afternoon of the day I wrote you, General Sherman +himself arrived at City Point on the steamer 'Russia'. I heard the +salutes, and was on the wharf to meet him. That same afternoon he and +General Grant and Admiral Porter went aboard the River Queen to see +the President. How I should have liked to be present at that interview! +After it was over they all came out of the cabin together General Grant +silent, and smoking, as usual; General Sherman talking vivaciously; +and Lincoln and the Admiral smiling and listening. That was historic! +I shall never expect to see such a sight again in all my days. You +can imagine my surprise when the President called me from where I was +standing at some distance with the other officers. He put his hand on my +shoulder then and there, and turned to General Sherman. + +“Major Brice is a friend of mine, General,” he said. “I knew him in +Illinois.” + +“He never told me that,” said the General. + +“I guess he's got a great many important things shut up inside of him,” + said Mr. Lincoln, banteringly. “But he gave you a good recommendation, +Sherman. He said that you wore white socks, and that the boys liked +you and called you 'Uncle Billy.' And I told him that was the best +recommendation he could give anybody.” + +I was frightened. But the General only looked at me with those eyes that +go through everything, and then he laughed. + +“Brice,” he said, “You'll have my reputation ruined.” + +“Sherman,” said Mr. Lincoln, “you don't want the Major right away, do +you? Let him stay around here for a while with me. I think he'll find it +interesting.” He looked at the general-in-chief, who was smiling just +a little bit. “I've got a sneaking notion that Grant's going to do +something.” + +Then they all laughed. + +“Certainly, Mr. Lincoln,” said my General, “you may have Brice. Be +careful he doesn't talk you to death--he's said too much already.” + +That is how I came to stay. + +I have no time now to tell you all that I have seen and heard. I have +ridden with the President, and have gone with him on errands of mercy +and errands of cheer. I have been almost within sight of what we hope is +the last struggle of this frightful war. I have listened to the guns of +Five Forks, where Sheridan and Warren bore their own colors in the front +of the charge, I was with Mr. Lincoln while the battle of Petersburg was +raging, and there were tears in his eyes. + +Then came the retreat of Lee and the instant pursuit of Grant, +and--Richmond. The quiet General did not so much as turn aside to enter +the smoking city he had besieged for so long. But I went there, with the +President. And if I had one incident in my life to live over again, I +should choose this. As we were going up the river, a disabled steamer +lay across the passage in the obstruction of piles the Confederates had +built. Mr. Lincoln would not wait. There were but a few of us in his +party, and we stepped into Admiral Porter's twelve-oared barge and were +rowed to Richmond, the smoke of the fires still darkening the sky. We +landed within a block of Libby Prison. + +With the little guard of ten sailors he marched the mile and a half +to General Weitzel's headquarters,--the presidential mansion of the +Confederacy. You can imagine our anxiety. I shall remember him always as +I saw him that day, a tall, black figure of sorrow, with the high silk +hat we have learned to love. Unafraid, his heart rent with pity, he +walked unharmed amid such tumult as I have rarely seen. The windows +filled, the streets ahead of us became choked, as the word that the +President was coming ran on like quick-fire. The mob shouted and +pushed. Drunken men reeled against him. The negroes wept aloud and cried +hosannas. They pressed upon him that they might touch the hem of his +coat, and one threw himself on his knees and kissed the President's +feet. + +Still he walked on unharmed, past the ashes and the ruins. Not as a +conqueror was he come, to march in triumph. Not to destroy, but to heal. +Though there were many times when we had to fight for a path through the +crowds, he did not seem to feel the danger. + +Was it because he knew that his hour was not yet come? + +To-day, on the boat, as we were steaming between the green shores of the +Potomac, I overheard him reading to Mr. Sumner:-- + + “Duncan is in his grave; + After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; + Treason has done his worst; nor steel, nor poison, + Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, + Can touch him further.” + + WILLARD'S HOTEL, WASHINGTON, April 10, 1865. + +I have looked up the passage, and have written it in above. It haunts +me. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. MAN OF SORROW + +The train was late--very late. It was Virginia who first caught sight +of the new dome of the Capitol through the slanting rain, but she merely +pressed her lips together and said nothing. In the dingy brick station +of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad more than one person paused to look +after them, and a kind-hearted lady who had been in the car kissed the +girl good-by. + +“You think that you can find your uncle's house, my dear?” she asked, +glancing at Virginia with concern. Through all of that long journey she +had worn a look apart. “Do you think you can find your uncle's house?” + +Virginia started. And then she smiled as she looked at the honest, +alert, and squarely built gentleman beside her. + +“Captain Brent can, Mrs. Ware,” she said. “He can find anything.” + +Whereupon the kind lady gave the Captain her hand. “You look as if you +could, Captain,” said she. “Remember, if General Carvel is out of town, +you promised to bring her to me.” + +“Yes, ma'am,” said Captain Lige, “and so I shall.” + +“Kerridge, kerridge! Right dis-a-way! No sah, dat ain't de kerridge +you wants. Dat's it, lady, you'se lookin at it. Kerridge, kerridge, +kerridge!” + +Virginia tried bravely to smile, but she was very near to tears as she +stood on the uneven pavement and looked at the scrawny horses standing +patiently in the steady downpour. All sorts of people were coming +and going, army officers and navy officers and citizens of states and +territories, driving up and driving away. + +And this was Washington! + +She was thinking then of the multitude who came here with aching +hearts,--with heavier hearts than was hers that day. How many of the +throng hurrying by would not flee, if they could, back to the peaceful +homes they had left? But perhaps those homes were gone now. Destroyed, +like her own, by the war. Women with children at their breasts, and +mothers bowed with sorrow, had sought this city in their agony. Young +men and old had come hither, striving to keep back the thoughts of dear +ones left behind, whom they might never see again. And by the thousands +and tens of thousands they had passed from here to the places of blood +beyond. + +“Kerridge, sah! Kerridge!” + +“Do you know where General Daniel Carvel lives?” + +“Yes, sah, reckon I does. I Street, sah. Jump right in, sah.” + +Virginia sank back on the stuffy cushions of the rattle-trap, and then +sat upright again and stared out of the window at the dismal scene. They +were splashing through a sea of mud. Ever since they had left St. Louis, +Captain Lige had done his best to cheer her, and he did not intend to +desist now. + +“This beats all,” he cried. “So this is Washington, Why, it don't +compare to St. Louis, except we haven't got the White House and the +Capitol. Jinny, it would take a scow to get across the street, and we +don't have ramshackly stores and nigger cabins bang up against fine +Houses like that. This is ragged. That's what it is, ragged. We don't +have any dirty pickaninnies dodging among the horses in our residence +streets. I declare, Jinny, if those aren't pigs!” + +Virginia laughed. She could not help it. + +“Poor Lige!” she said. “I hope Uncle Daniel has some breakfast for you. +You've had a good deal to put up with on this trip.” + +“Lordy, Jinny,” said the Captain, “I'd put up with a good deal more than +this for the sake of going anywhere with you.” + +“Even to such a doleful place as this?” she sighed. + +“This is all right, if the sun'll only come out and dry things up and +let us see the green on those trees,” he said, “Lordy, how I do love to +see the spring green in the sunlight!” + +She put out her hand over his. + +“Lige,” she said, “you know you're just trying to keep up my spirits. +You've been doing that ever since we left home.” + +“No such thing,” he replied with vehemence. “There's nothing for you to +be cast down about.” + +“Oh, but there is!” she cried. “Suppose I can't make your Black +Republican President pardon Clarence!” + +“Pooh!” said the Captain, squeezing her hand and trying to appear +unconcerned. “Your Uncle Daniel knows Mr. Lincoln. He'll have that +arranged.” + +Just then the rattletrap pulled up at the sidewalk, the wheels of the +near side in four inches of mud, and the Captain leaped out and spread +the umbrella. They were in front of a rather imposing house of brick, +flanked on one side by a house just like it, and on the other by a +series of dreary vacant lots where the rain had collected in pools. They +climbed the steps and rang the bell. In due time the door was opened by +a smiling yellow butler in black. + +“Does General Carvel live here?” + +“Yas, miss, But he ain't to home now. Done gone to New York.” + +“Oh,” faltered Virginia. “Didn't he get my telegram day before +yesterday? I sent it to the War Department.” + +“He's done gone since Saturday, miss.” And then, evidently impressed by +the young lady's looks, he added hospitably, “Kin I do anything fo' you, +miss?” + +“I'm his niece, Miss Virginia Carvel, and this is Captain Brent.” + +The yellow butler's face lighted up. + +“Come right in, Miss Jinny, Done heerd de General speak of you +often--yas'm. De General'll be to home dis a'ternoon, suah. 'Twill do +him good ter see you, Miss Jinny. He's been mighty lonesome. Walk right +in, Cap'n, and make yo'selves at home. Lizbeth--Lizbeth!” + +A yellow maid came running down the stairs. “Heah's Miss Jinny.” + +“Lan' of goodness!” cried Lizbeth. “I knows Miss Jinny. Done seed her at +Calve't House. How is you, Miss Jinny?” + +“Very well, Lizbeth,” said Virginia, listlessly sitting down on the hall +sofa. “Can you give us some breakfast?” + +“Yas'm,” said Lizbeth, “jes' reckon we kin.” She ushered them into a +walnut dining room, big and high and sombre, with plush-bottomed chairs +placed about--walnut also; for that was the fashion in those days. +But the Captain had no sooner seated himself than he shot up again and +started out. + +“Where are you going, Lige?” + +“To pay off the carriage driver,” he said. + +“Let him wait,” said Virginia. “I'm going to the White House in a little +while.” + +“What--what for?” he gasped. + +“To see your Black Republican President,” she replied, with alarming +calmness. + +“Now, Jinny,” he cried, in excited appeal, “don't go doin' any such fool +trick as that. Your Uncle Dan'l will be here this afternoon. He +knows the President. And then the thing'll be fixed all right, and no +mistake.” + +Her reply was in the same tone--almost a monotone--which she had used +for three days. It made the Captain very uneasy, for he knew when she +spoke in that way that her will was in it. + +“And to lose that time,” she answered, “may be to have him shot.” + +“But you can't get to the President without credentials,” he objected. + +“What,” she flashed, “hasn't any one a right to see the President? You +mean to say that he will not see a woman in trouble? Then all these +pretty stories I hear of him are false. They are made up by the +Yankees.” + +Poor Captain Lige! He had some notion of the multitude of calls upon Mr. +Lincoln, especially at that time. But he could not, he dared not, +remind her of the principal reason for this,--Lee's surrender and the +approaching end of the war. And then the Captain had never seen Mr. +Lincoln. In the distant valley of the Mississippi he had only heard of +the President very conflicting things. He had heard him criticised and +reviled and praised, just as is every man who goes to the White House, +be he saint or sinner. And, during an administration, no man at a +distance may come at a President's true character and worth. The Captain +had seen Lincoln caricatured vilely. And again he had read and heard the +pleasant anecdotes of which Virginia had spoken, until he did not know +what to believe. + +As for Virginia, he knew her partisanship to, and undying love for, the +South; he knew the class prejudice which was bound to assert itself, and +he had seen enough in the girl's demeanor to fear that she was going to +demand rather than implore. She did not come of a race that was wont to +bend the knee. + +“Well, well,” he said despairingly, “you must eat some breakfast first, +Jinny.” + +She waited with an ominous calmness until it was brought in, and then +she took a part of a roll and some coffee. + +“This won't do,” exclaimed the Captain. “Why, why, that won't get you +halfway to Mr. Lincoln.” + +She shook her head, half smiling. + +“You must eat enough, Lige,” she said. + +He was finished in an incredibly short time, and amid the protestations +of Lizbeth and the yellow butler they got into the carriage again, and +splashed and rattled toward the White House. Once Virginia glanced out, +and catching sight of the bedraggled flags on the houses in honor of +Lee's surrender, a look of pain crossed her face. The Captain could not +repress a note of warning. + +“Jinny,” said he, “I have an idea that you'll find the President a good +deal of a man. Now if you're allowed to see him, don't get him mad, +Jinny, whatever you do.” + +Virginia stared straight ahead. + +“If he is something of a man, Lige, he will not lose his temper with a +woman.” + +Captain Lige subsided. And just then they came in sight of the house of +the Presidents, with its beautiful portico and its broad wings. And they +turned in under the dripping trees of the grounds. A carriage with a +black coachman and footman was ahead of them, and they saw two stately +gentlemen descend from it and pass the guard at the door. Then their +turn came. The Captain helped her out in his best manner, and gave some +money to the driver. + +“I reckon he needn't wait for us this time, Jinny,” said be. She shook +her head and went in, he following, and they were directed to the +anteroom of the President's office on the second floor. There were +many people in the corridors, and one or two young officers in blue who +stared at her. She passed them with her head high. + +But her spirits sank when they came to the anteroom. It was full of all +sorts of people. Politicians, both prosperous and seedy, full faced and +keen faced, seeking office; women, officers, and a one-armed soldier +sitting in the corner. He was among the men who offered Virginia their +seats, and the only one whom she thanked. But she walked directly to the +doorkeeper at the end of the room. Captain Lige was beside her. + +“Can we see the President?” he asked. + +“Have you got an appointment?” said the old man. + +“No.” + +“Then you'll have to wait your turn, sir,” he said, shaking his head and +looking at Virginia. And he added. “It's slow work waiting your turn, +there's so many governors and generals and senators, although the +session's over. It's a busy time, miss.” + +Virginia went very close to him. + +“Oh, can't you do something?” she said. And added, with an inspiration, +“I must see him. It's a matter of life and death.” + +She saw instantly, with a woman's instinct, that these words had had +their effect. The old man glanced at her again, as if demurring. + +“You're sure, miss, it's life and death?” he said. + +“Oh, why should I say so if it were not?” she cried. + +“The orders are very strict,” he said. “But the President told me to +give precedence to cases when a life is in question. Just you wait a +minute, miss, until Governor Doddridge comes out, and I'll see what I +can do for you. Give me your name, please, miss.” + +She remained standing where she was. In a little while the heavy door +opened, and a portly, rubicund man came out with a smile on his face. +He broke into a laugh, when halfway across the room, as if the memory of +what he had heard were too much for his gravity. The doorkeeper slipped +into the room, and there was a silent, anxious interval. Then he came +out again. + +“The President will see you, miss.” + +Captain Lige started forward with her, but she restrained him. + +“Wait for me here, Lige,” she said. + +She swept in alone, and the door closed softly after her. The room was +a big one, and there were maps on the table, with pins sticking in them. +She saw that much, and then--! + +Could this fantastically tall, stooping figure before her be that of the +President of the United States? She stopped, as from the shock he gave +her. The lean, yellow face with the mask-like lines all up and down, +the unkempt, tousled hair, the beard--why, he was a hundred times more +ridiculous than his caricatures. He might have stood for many of the +poor white trash farmers she had seen in Kentucky--save for the long +black coat. + +“Is--is this Mr. Lincoln?” she asked, her breath taken away. + +He bowed and smiled down at her. Somehow that smile changed his face a +little. + +“I guess I'll have to own up,” he answered. + +“My name is Virginia Carvel,” she said. “I have come all the way from +St. Louis to see you.” + +“Miss Carvel,” said the President, looking at her intently, “I have +rarely been so flattered in my life. I--I hope I have not disappointed +you.” + +Virginia was justly angry. + +“Oh, you haven't,” she cried, her eyes flashing, “because I am what you +would call a Rebel.” + +The mirth in the dark corners of his eyes disturbed her more and more. +And then she saw that the President was laughing. + +“And have you a better name for it, Miss Carvel?” he asked. “Because I +am searching for a better name--just now.” + +She was silent--sternly silent. And she tapped her foot on the carpet. +What manner of man was this? “Won't you sit down?” said the President, +kindly. “You must be tired after your journey.” And he put forth a +chair. + +“No, thank you,” said Virginia; “I think that I can say what I have come +to say better standing.” + +“Well,” said Mr. Lincoln, “that's not strange. I'm that way, too. The +words seem to come out better. That reminds me of a story they tell +about General Buck Tanner. Ever heard of Buck, Miss Carvel? No? Well, +Buck was a character. He got his title in the Mormon war. One day the +boys asked him over to the square to make a speech. The General was a +little uneasy. + +“'I'm all right when I get standing up, Liza,' he said to his wife. Then +the words come right along. Only trouble is they come too cussed fast. +How'm I going to stop 'em when I want to?' + +“'Well, I du declare, Buck,' said she, 'I gave you credit for some +sense. All you've got to do is to set down. That'll end it, I reckon.' + +“So the General went over to the square and talked for about an hour +and a half, and then a Chicago man shouted to him to dry up. The General +looked pained. + +“'Boys,' said he, 'it's jest every bit as bad for me as it is for you. +You'll have to hand up a chair, boys, because I'm never going to get +shet of this goldarned speech any anther way.'” + +Mr. Lincoln had told this so comically that Virginia was forced to +laugh, and she immediately hated herself. A man who could joke at such +a time certainly could not feel the cares and responsibilities of his +office. He should have been a comedian. And yet this was the President +who had conducted the war, whose generals had conquered the Confederacy. +Whilst the pagans in mournful procession carried the headless trunk of +their recent champion into Regall, Smith was triumphantly escorted back +to the camp of the besiegers. He ordered the head of Tur Pasha to be +borne to the quarters of Prince Moyses, who was pleased to accept the +grizzly trophy. The spoils of victory were not unacceptable to John, +but he had no desire to trick himself out in the fancy armor with its +trimmings, and these he sold for a good round sum. The horse, however, +he was glad to keep, for he had long wished for an extra mount for +light service, but heretofore his slender means had denied him that +advantage. In the wars of the time, captains who could afford to do so +kept two or more horses during a campaign, one to carry them on the +march and another to ride in battle, for a man in armor was no light +burden, and a beast that had borne its master ten or twelve miles would +not be fit at the end of the journey for great exertion, although the +life of its owner might depend upon its rendering spirited service. +Captain Smith now had the satisfaction of knowing that he was one of +the best mounted men in the army, for the Arab was a marvel of speed +and agility and the Norman had been thoroughly trained by himself and +was a perfect battle-horse. + +The chief mourner in Regall was one Grualgo, a fierce warrior, who had +been the bosom friend of the slain pasha. When the funeral rites had +been performed after the Muhammadan custom, Grualgo sent a message to +Captain John Smith proposing to redeem his friend’s head at the risk of +his own. He also offered to pledge his horse, arms and accoutrements +on the issue. It is hardly necessary to say that the challenge was +accepted with alacrity. Flushed with his recent victory and more than +ever confident in his skill, our champion was delighted at this early +chance for another display of his prowess. The consent of the general +was readily obtained. Prince Moyses was greatly pleased at the cheering +effect Smith’s success had worked upon the troops and he was no longer +doubtful of the Briton’s ability to uphold the honor of the Christian +army. The preparations were made as before, and the next day was +appointed for the combat. + +Once more the walls were lined with the fair dames of Regall and in +their shadow assembled the garrison, more subdued than on the former +occasion but buoyed by hopes of better fortune. The Christians, on +their part, lined up, exultant and strong in the expectation of another +victory for their champion. + +Grualgo entered the lists almost as splendidly mounted and equipped +as the pasha had been. Captain Smith wore the same plain but +serviceable suit of armor and rode his trusty Norman charger. He had +again exercised his right as the challenged to name the lance as the +principal weapon of the combat. + +At the trumpet signal, the combatants spurred forward at full speed, +each with his weapon well and firmly aimed at his opponent’s breast. +They met in mid-career with a crash that resounded over the field. The +lances flew into pieces. The horses fell back upon their haunches. Both +riders reeled under the shock but each contrived to keep his seat. +Casting aside the splintered spears, they drew their pistols from the +saddle pockets. Smith was the first to fire, but at the instant of the +discharge the Turk’s horse swerved and the bullet hummed harmlessly by +his master’s head. Grualgo had reserved his shot and now took careful +aim. The Norman, in response to the pressure of his rider’s legs, was +gathering himself for a spring out of the line of fire when the report +of the Turk’s pistol rang out. The ball struck John’s headpiece fair in +the centre of the forehead but failed to penetrate the steel. Our hero +was stunned and sight suddenly forsook him. The bridle dropped from his +nerveless fingers and he swayed in his seat. He gave himself up for +lost as he felt his senses deserting him. Then came the thought that he +was the champion of the Christian army, that they were watching him, +depending upon him to secure victory for them. Exerting all the will at +his command, he set his teeth together and fought back the inclination +to swoon. + +Grualgo seeing his enemy at his mercy, smiled with grim satisfaction +as he drew his second pistol, intending to dispatch the Christian +youth with deliberate and sure aim. But the trusty Norman had not been +trained to battle for nothing. The loose seat in the saddle and the +relaxed grip of the bridle told him that his master was in distress +and depended upon him to save his life. With quick but easy action, so +as not to unseat the rider, the intelligent beast strode out of range. +The Turk wheeled and galloped after him. His was the swifter steed and +he had no difficulty in overtaking Smith’s charger, but each time as +he levelled his weapon to fire, the Norman darted away at an angle. In +this manner the gallant animal contrived to prolong the combat for many +minutes. Meanwhile Smith’s senses and his strength were fast reviving. +It gladdened the noble steed to feel the returning firmness of seat +and grasp of the bridle, and his master, as his sight cleared, began to +lend his guidance to the clever tactics of the animal. + +When Captain Smith fully realized the situation, he made up his mind +that success could be secured only by bold and daring action. In his +weakened state he could not hope to overcome the Turk in a prolonged +fight. He must rely upon surprising the other and bringing the affair +to an issue by a sudden attack. Grualgo would not risk his last shot +until he could make sure of his aim. He probably believed our hero to +be sorely wounded and had no thought of his reviving or resuming the +offensive. + +In one of his horse’s evasive rushes, Smith bent forward upon the +animal’s neck as though overcome by sudden pain, but the movement +was made to enable him to stealthily draw his loaded pistol from the +holster. Holding it concealed behind the high pommel of his saddle, he +braced his nerves for the final effort. Once more Grualgo approached +his foe but this time, instead of allowing his horse to spring aside, +John urged him forward, straight at the astonished Turk. Before the +latter could recover his presence of mind sufficiently to use his +weapon, the Englishman’s pistol was discharged full in his face, and he +fell to the ground in a dying state. Smith dismounted and gave the Turk +his _coup de grace_, or finishing stroke, and then cut off his head. + +This proceeding must strike us as being cold-blooded and merciless, +but it was strictly in accordance with the terms of the combat and the +character of the age in which our hero lived. Our forefathers of the +seventeenth century were as rough as they were brave. They lived amid +scenes of strife and bloodshed, and men who hazarded their own lives +daily naturally held those of their enemies cheap. + +This second defeat was a severe blow to the defenders of Regall. Their +two foremost champions had been vanquished and by a beardless boy, for +Captain Smith at this time had barely passed his twenty-first year. +There were no more challenges from the disheartened garrison. They lost +all desire to afford pastime for the ladies and they ceased to find +the Christians subjects for contemptuous jests as they had done in the +early days of the siege. Their sallies were now of rare occurrence and +were easily repelled, so that the work of preparation for the final +assault upon the city went forward with little interruption. + +Our hero, in whom love of action was second nature, chafed sorely +under the slow and tedious engineering operations. At length he sought +and obtained permission from Prince Moyses to send a challenge into +the city. This message was couched in the most courteous terms and +was addressed to the ladies of Regall, our hero shrewdly suspecting +that in this way he would more quickly touch the honor of the men. +Captain John Smith begged to assure the ladies of Regall that he was +not so enamored of the heads of their servants, but that he was ready +to restore them upon proper terms. He urged the ladies to send forth a +champion who would risk his head in the effort to regain those of the +vanquished Turks. Captain Smith concluded by expressing his willingness +that his own head should accompany the others in case the champion of +the ladies proved the victor in the proposed combat. In due time an +acceptance of this challenge was received from one Boni Mulgro, and a +day was set for the trial of arms. + +The conditions of this third duel were similar to those that governed +the two preceding combats, with the exception of one important +particular. John Smith, being the challenger on this occasion, the +choice of weapons rested with his adversary. Mulgro had no stomach for +a contest with the lance, of which Smith had proved himself a master. +He chose to fight with the pistol, battle axe and falchion. In the use +of these weapons, and especially the battle axe, he was expert. This +wise decision of the Turk came near to undoing our hero as the sequel +will show. + +At the signal of attack, the combatants advanced upon each other but +not at the charge as would have been the case had lances been their +weapons. Instead, they caused their horses to curvet and prance +and change suddenly from one direction to another. These manœuvres, +resembling those of two wrestlers, were designed to disconcert the aim, +and in the present instance did so with such complete effect that each +of the champions emptied two pistols without touching his enemy. + +They now resorted to the battle axe, on which the Turk rested his +hope of success. He found in Captain John Smith an antagonist little +less proficient than himself. For a while the strife waxed warm and +fast without any perceptible advantage to either. Heavy blows were +aimed and fended without ceasing, leaving neither, as Smith tells us, +with “scarce sense enough to keep his saddle.” At length a hard blow +delivered by the Turk struck John’s weapon near the head and it flew +from his hand. At the sight of this advantage gained by their champion, +the people of Regall set up such a shout as to shake the walls of the +city. + +It was a critical moment. Smith was disarmed. The Turk was within arm’s +length of him. He raised his battle axe to strike a crushing blow. +Before it could descend the Norman charger had sprung aside and the +weapon cut the air harmlessly. But the danger was only averted for a +moment. The Turk pressed close upon his adversary, striving to strike, +but each time the axe was raised the good horse reared suddenly or +sprung away. + +Meanwhile Captain Smith had succeeded in drawing his falchion. Hardly +had its point cleared the scabbard, when Mulgro again came on with an +incautious rush. As the Turk raised his arm to swing the heavy weapon, +Smith thrust with full force and ran his sword through the body of Boni +Mulgro. + +The Christian army was fairly wild with delight at this third victory +of Captain John Smith, and the commander ordered a pageant in his +honor. With an escort of six thousand men-at-arms, the three Turk’s +heads and the spoils of the three combats borne before him, Captain +Smith was conducted to the pavilion of the general, who received +him surrounded by his principal officers. Prince Moyses embraced +our hero in the presence of the troops and, after complimenting him +warmly on his valiant deeds, presented him with a splendid charger +richly caparisoned, a beautiful scimitar of Damascus steel and a belt +containing three hundred ducats. + +But more highly than these gifts John valued the distinction bestowed +upon him by his old commander. Count Meldritch, truly proud of his +young protégé, there and then appointed him a major-captain in his +regiment. + +Nor were these the only rewards that fell to the lot of Captain John +Smith on account of his prowess at the siege of Regall. At a later +period, when the knowledge of his conduct came to Duke Sigismund Bathor +of Transylvania, he presented our hero with a picture of himself set +in gold, conferred upon him a yearly pension of three hundred ducats--a +snug sum in those days--and capped all with a patent of nobility. This +patent entitled Captain John Smith to a coat of arms, bearing three +Turks’ heads in a shield. + +John Smith’s patent of nobility, setting forth the deeds for which it +was conferred, may be seen in the College of Heralds, London, where, in +its original Latin form, it was officially recorded August 19th, 1625, +by Sir William Segar, Garter King-at-arms. + + + + +XI. + +BRAVE HEARTS AND TRUE + +Regall is bombarded and taken by assault--The Earl of Meldritch leads +an army of thirty thousand into Wallachia--Fierce fighting and a +retreat through the enemy’s country--The “Master of Stratagem” commands +the vanguard and clears a pass--The Earl’s depleted army makes a last +stand in the fateful valley of Veristhorne--Forty thousand Tartars lay +before them and in their rear thirty thousand Turks--The Christians +make a splendid but hopeless defense--They attempt to cut their way +out and a mere handful escape--John Smith is left on the field covered +with wounds--He is found by the enemy and tended--Sold for a slave at +Axopolis and sent to Constantinople. + + +Although the defeat of their champions naturally had a depressing +effect upon the garrison, they continued to maintain a strong defence. +The approaches, upon which the besiegers had been at work for weeks +were now, however, completed and their guns brought within close range +of the walls of Regall. For fifteen days a constant fire was kept up by +twenty-six pieces of artillery and at the end of that time two large +breaches afforded ample avenues for assault. + +When the Christian army entered the town a terrific conflict ensued, +but after two days of hand to hand fighting through the streets +the citadel fell and with the capture of that inner stronghold +all opposition ceased. Prince Moyses set his men to repair the +fortifications and when that had been accomplished left a garrison in +the place and proceeded to the reduction of a number of neighboring +towns. At the close of these minor operations the Prince’s army was +broken up and Captain John Smith went with the Earl of Meldritch into +Wallachia. + +The Earl opened the campaign in Wallachia with a body of thirty +thousand veteran troops, of which his own regiment was the pick. +Opposed from the first to great odds, they performed magnificent +service until finally annihilated in the fatal valley of Veristhorne. +But the army of Meldritch had many a hard fought fight before that +dreadful day. There was one great battle in Wallachia which closed +with twenty-five thousand dead upon the field. They lay so thick that +“there was scarce ground to stand upon,” says Smith, “but upon the dead +carcasses.” Though the Turks were defeated in this affair, the victory +had been purchased at such a heavy cost that the Earl decided to +retreat upon the fortified town of Rothenthrum, and this with as little +delay as possible because fresh bodies of the enemy were moving against +him from every direction. + +The march of the retiring army was hampered at every step by the +enemy, who hung upon its rear and flanks and engaged portions of it +in frequent skirmishes. The men were thus wearied and their progress +retarded. The special object of these tactics on the part of the +Turks became apparent when the Christian commander learned that a +strong force had thrown itself across his path. It was posted in a +pass through which Meldritch must necessarily go in order to reach +Rothenthrum. Nor was this all, for the same news-bearer informed the +general that an army of forty thousand Tartars was moving rapidly to +join the Turks in the defile. + +The situation was extremely perilous but it allowed the Earl no +alternative from the desperate course of attacking a body twice as +numerous as his own, enjoying the advantage of an ideal position. To +turn back would be certain destruction. To stay where he was would be +to die like a rat in a trap. The only hope--and it was very slim--lay +in cutting a way through the Turks holding the pass and gaining the +town, only a few miles beyond, before the reinforcing Tartars could +arrive. Hesitation was foreign to the character of Meldritch. Putting +a bold face upon the matter, he marched on until within a mile of the +pass and then halted his men to prepare for an attack as soon as night +should fall. + +In the meanwhile our hero’s busy brain had been at work, and when the +troops came to a halt he had a simple but well-devised plan to propose +to his commander. He lost no time in repairing to the spot where the +general stood consulting with his leading officers. Although no more +than a major-captain, Smith could always gain the ear of his superiors, +who had long since learned to respect his judgment and shrewd +resourcefulness. + +“Way there for my ‘Master of Stratagem,’” cried the Earl banteringly, +as our hero approached. “Now I warrant he hath some bold proposal +to advance that shall give us easement in this difficulty. Thou art +always welcome Captain Smith, for methinks Dame Fortune dances close +attendance on thee.” + +Smith revealed his scheme and immediately received the consent of the +commander to its execution. + +“By my halidame!” said the pleased general, “this powder-magician +of ours would rout the forces of Pluto and distract his realm +with horrible contrivances. Take what men you need and make what +arrangements your judgment prompts, Captain Smith. Tonight the van is +under your command.” + +The leader of the vanguard was decidedly the post of honor in such an +action as was about to begin, and as our captain rode forward in the +dark at the head of three hundred picked horsemen, he felt justly proud +of the position assigned to him. Each of his men carried a spear on +the head of which was fastened a bunch of fireworks, designed to make +as much noise and splutter as possible. When they had arrived within a +few hundred yards of the Turks who lay in waiting at the entrance to +the pass, each man lighted the combustibles at the end of his lance and +charged with it thrust in front of his horse’s head. The effect upon +the enemy was immediate and decisive. Panic seized their ranks. They +turned and fled, falling over one another in their terrified haste to +escape the demons by which they supposed themselves to be beset. The +horses of their cavalry, no less alarmed by the strange sight, plunged +wildly amongst them, increasing the confusion. + +Into this disordered mass rode Smith’s horsemen followed by the main +body, slaying as they went. So they cut their way through the pass and +emerged on the other side without losing a score of their number. It +was a great achievement, but Meldritch’s little army was still in very +grave danger. The Tartars were close at hand if not already in the way. +The Earl pushed forward, but he dared not urge his troops to their +utmost speed, in case he should come upon the enemy with his horses +exhausted. Furthermore, the night was unusually dark and the men had to +keep to the road and proceed cautiously for fear of falling or losing +their way. + +With the first streaks of dawn, the anxious Earl, riding at the head +of the column, began to gaze forward with straining eyes. They were +entering the valley of Veristhorne and the refuge they sought was +scarce three miles distant. Presently the general, looking across the +valley, dimly discerned the black bulk of Rothenthrum upon the farther +side. But the cry of joy that started from his lips was cut short by +the sight of a huge dark mass stretched across the middle ground. It +was too late. Forty thousand Tartars lay before them and in their rear +thirty thousand Turks were advancing. + +The Earl of Meldritch was one of those rare combinations--a dashing +leader and a sound general. His inclination would have prompted him +to charge the horde of barbarians that lay in his path, but such a +course would have been suicidal. Instead, he led his troops to the base +of a mountain where he immediately began dispositions to withstand +an attack. The Tartars commenced to form their ranks at sunrise +but, fortunately for the Christians, did not advance until noon. +This unexpected respite enabled Meldritch, not only to rest his men +and horses after their all-night march, but also to make some rough +defences. The Tartar cavalry were the greater proportion of their army +and that most to be feared. In order to check their charges, the Earl +surrounded his position, except where it rested upon the mountain, with +a cordon of sharpened stakes, driven firmly into the ground. + +The sun was high in the heavens when the Tartar horsemen advanced to +the discordant clamor of drums, trumpets and hautboys. In dense ranks +they stretched far beyond each flank of the small Christian army and +looked as though they might envelop and swallow it with ease. Behind +them came a horde of foot-soldiers armed with bows and bills. By this +time detached bodies of Turks began to appear on the surrounding +hills where they complacently sat down to watch the combat in the +arena below, prepared, if necessary, to reinforce the Tartars. These +additional enemies amounted to about fifteen thousand in number, so +that Meldritch’s ten thousand were hopelessly overpowered. The Earl +realized that his little force was doomed but, like a good and brave +commander, he had made the best disposition possible of them and was +determined to fight to the last. + +When the Tartar horse had advanced to within a half mile of his +position, Meldritch launched a body of his cavalry under Nederspolt +against them. These veteran troopers made a most brilliant charge and +threw the enemy into confusion, but the numbers of the Christians were +too small to permit them to follow up this advantage and they wisely +retired within their lines. The Tartars now advanced their foot, +whilst their horsemen reformed on either flank. The sky was presently +darkened by flight after flight of countless arrows which, however, +did comparatively little harm. The Christians retaliated with another +charge, breaking the centre of the enemy and checking his advance. +With ten thousand more cavalry Meldritch might have swept the ill +disciplined assailants from the field, but he was too weak to venture +upon aggressive tactics and once again had to retire his men in face of +a success. + +In anticipation of a renewal of the attack by the Tartar horsemen, +Meldritch had formed his infantry, under Veltus, just beyond the +palisade of stakes. They were ordered to hold their ground as long +as possible and then to fall back behind the defence. The Tartars, +confident in their superior numbers, as well they might be, charged +repeatedly. Each time they were gallantly repulsed, but at length +Veltus had lost so many men that he was forced to fall back. The enemy, +brandishing their spears and yelling exultantly, followed close upon +the retiring foot-soldiers and came quite unawares upon the rows of +sharpened stakes. In a moment a mass of struggling men and horses lay +at the mercy of Meldritch’s troops who slew two thousand of them. + +This splendid success on the part of the pitiful handful of Christians +now reduced to half their original number, dampened the ardor of +the Tartars. There was a momentary cessation in the attack and the +defence might have been maintained until darkness set in, perhaps, but +the bodies of Turks which we have mentioned as surveying the field +in readiness to render assistance if needed, now began to descend +to the valley. The Earl realized that once these auxiliaries joined +forces with the Tartars, all would be lost. He determined to seize +the moment of hesitancy on the part of the latter to make an attempt +to break through them and gain the town of Rothenthrum. Accordingly, +he quickly formed his cavalry in the van and advanced to the attack. +It was a forlorn hope but no better prospect offered. Five thousand +men threw themselves upon thirty thousand with the desperation of +despair. The Earl, upon his great white charger, rode in the lead, +followed by his own regiment in which Captain Smith was now the senior +officer. Straight at the Tartar cavalry they went and cut their way +through the front ranks as though they had been but paper barricades. +But rank after rank confronted them and with each fresh contact they +left numbers of their own men behind. The slaughter was indescribable. +Soon they were the centre of a maelstrom of frenzied human beings with +scarce more chance for escape than has a canoe in the vortex of a +whirlpool. They fought like heroes to the death and made fearful havoc +among their enemies. The gallant Earl and a few hundred followers made +their way as by a miracle through the surrounding mass and swimming the +River Altus, escaped. + +The setting sun looked down upon thirty thousand dead and dying +strewn over the Valley of Veristhorne, but lying in gory heaps where +the last desperate flower of that splendid army of thirty thousand +veterans that the Earl of Meldritch had proudly led into Wallachia a +few months before and amongst them almost all his leading officers. +“Give me leave,” says Captain Smith, in his account of the affair, “to +remember the names of my own countrymen in these exploits, that, as +resolutely as the best, in the defense of Christ and his Gospel ended +their days; as Baskerfield, Hardwicke, Thomas Milmer, Robert Molineux, +Thomas Bishop, Francis Compton, George Davison, Nicholas Williams and +one John, a Scot, did what men could do; and when they could do no +more left there their bodies, in testimony of their minds. Only Ensign +Carleton and Sergeant Robinson escaped.” + +These men were members of Smith’s company and their captain lay among +them where he had fallen covered with wounds. But he was not quite +dead. The Turks and Tartars going over the field in search of spoils +were attracted to him by the superiority of his armor. This led them to +believe that he was a man of rank, and finding that he still lived they +carried him into their camp with a view to preserving his life for the +sake of ransom. His hurts were tended and he was nursed with care. When +sufficiently recovered to travel, he was sent down to the slave market +at Axopolis. Here Smith was put up to auction together with a number of +other poor wretches who had escaped death on the field of battle to +meet with a worse fate, perhaps, at the hands of cruel masters. + +Our hero fetched a good price, as much on account of his vigorous +appearance as because there seemed to be a prospect of profit in the +purchase if he should turn out to be a nobleman as was suspected. He +was bought by the Pasha Bogall and sent by him as a present to his +affianced at Constantinople. Smith tells us that “by twenty and twenty, +chained by the necks, they marched in files to this great city, where +they were delivered to their several masters, and he to the young +Charatza Tragabigzanda.” + + + + +XII. + +SLAVERY AND A SEA-FIGHT + +John Smith is delivered to the Lady Charatza, his future mistress--He +falls into kind hands and excites the Turkish Maiden’s interest--Her +mother intervenes and he is sent to an outlying province--He +finds a brutal master and is subjected to treatment “beyond the +endurance of a dog”--He slays the cruel Timariot and escapes upon +his horse--Wanders about for weeks and at length reaches a Christian +settlement--Adventures in Africa--A trip to sea with Captain +Merham--The Britisher fights two Spanish ships and holds his own--Smith +renders good service in the fight and employs one of his novel +“stratagems”--Return to England. + + +John Smith had never found himself in worse straits than now, as +shackled to a fellow slave he tramped along the road between Axopolis +and the Turkish capital. Hopeless as the situation seemed to be, he +did not give himself up to despair, nor wear himself by repining over +a condition which was beyond his power to remedy. He had learned from +experience that the sun is apt to break through the clouds of the +darkest day and when we are least expecting it. So, with the philosophy +that is characteristic of the true soldier of fortune, he determined +to await the turn of events with patience, and meanwhile found +entertainment for his mind in a study of the strange people and places +that came to his notice on the way. He has left an interesting account +of these, but as they had no direct bearing upon the actual events of +his life, we will pass them over. + +The Pasha Bogall appears to have been a character somewhat like Sir +John Falstaff, the hero of imaginary military exploits. He prepared the +Lady Charatza--as Smith calls her--for the reception of his gift by a +letter. In this fanciful missive the Giaour was described as a Bohemian +nobleman whom the valiant Bogall had defeated in single combat and made +prisoner. In his desire to exalt himself in the mind of his mistress, +the Turk fell into two errors. He took it for granted that the slave +and the Turkish damsel would be unable to converse with each other and +he expatiated on Smith’s prowess in order to enhance by comparison his +own valor in overcoming him. + +The fair Charatza was naturally curious to see this noble and +unfortunate slave for whom she could hardly fail to entertain feelings +of compassion. When they met, the lady was more impressed than she +would have cared to acknowledge by the bearing and address of the +handsome captain. They found a ready means of communication in Italian +which both understood and spoke with tolerable fluency. Questioned as +to the combat in which the Pasha had defeated him, Smith laughed and +declared that he had never set eyes on the doughty Turk until they met +in the market place of Axopolis. As to being a Bohemian nobleman, he +claimed no greater distinction than that of an English gentleman and a +captain of horse. + +Charatza did not doubt the truth of Captain Smith’s statement to her, +but she caused inquiry to be made about him amongst the other captives +who had been distributed here and there in the city. Thus she learned +that her slave, whilst in truth no more than a captain in rank, was one +of the most renowned soldiers in the army of the Emperor, and indeed +had no equal among men of his age. The story of the three Turks reached +her through the same sources and aroused admiration where curiosity and +compassion had before been excited. The outcome was something like that +in the story of Othello and Desdemona. + +The Turkish lady, young and romantic, found the stories of Captain +Smith’s adventures so interesting that she insisted upon his telling +them over and over again. In order to enjoy this pleasure, without +arousing criticism of her unusual familiarity with a male slave, she +had him assigned to work in her private garden which formed a part of +the extensive grounds attached to the mansion. There undisturbed, hours +were spent daily by the captive in reciting to his fair owner stories +of his varied experiences and in giving her accounts of different +places and peoples in the wonderful world of which she knew almost +nothing. + +Thus several weeks passed and our hero, who was well fed and +comfortably lodged meanwhile, fast regained his wonted strength and +energy. It may be asked, why did he not attempt to escape? The thought +of course entered his mind, but investigation soon satisfied him that +the difficulties in the way were almost insurmountable. The place was +surrounded by high walls which were guarded day and night by armed +eunuchs. Smith had no clothes but his own nor any means of securing +others. Even if he gained the streets he would be marked as a foreigner +and suspected of being an escaped slave. Under the circumstances he +determined to abide his time in the hope that his fair mistress might +become willing to release him and aid in his escape. + +But affairs took a turn that neither of the young people, who were +beginning to feel a strong regard for each other, had looked for. +The mother of Charatza, informed by a jealous Turkish servant of the +meetings between her daughter and the Giaour, came upon them one day +and expressed her indignation in stinging terms. She declared her +determination to sell the English slave immediately and would have +carried her threat into effect but for the suggestion of Charatza +that the Pasha might not be pleased at such disposition of his gift. +Finally a compromise was agreed upon. The brother of Charatza was a +Timariot, that is a Turkish feudal chieftain, at Nalbrits, in a distant +province. It was decided that Smith should be sent there, Charatza +hoping to be able to contrive his return, and indeed having some idea +that the captive might be induced to turn Muhammadan and enter the +Sultan’s army. + +So John Smith was sent to Nalbrits and at the same time Charatza +despatched a letter to her brother in which she begged him to treat +the young Englishman kindly and to give him the lightest sort of work. +Any good effect that might have accrued from this well-intentioned but +ill-advised letter was prevented by another which went forward at the +same time. In it the Pasha’s mother told of the extraordinary interest +Charatza had displayed in the infidel slave and expressed a suspicion +that the young girl’s affections had become fastened upon him. This of +course enraged the haughty and fanatical Turk and the unfortunate Smith +immediately felt the weight of his new master’s displeasure. Within an +hour of his arrival at Nalbrits he was stripped naked, his head and +face were shaved “as smooth as the palm of his hand” and he was put +into a garment of undressed goat-skin with an iron ring round his neck. + +Our hero now entered upon a life too miserable for description +and, as he expresses it, “beyond the endurance of a dog.” He was +subjected to the hardest and vilest tasks and, being the latest comer +among hundreds of slaves, became slave to the whole herd, for such +was the custom which he was in no position to contest. He found his +companions a poor lot, broken in body and spirit, and sunk in apathetic +resignation to their condition. He endeavored to discover among them +a few with sufficient courage and enterprise to plan an uprising, but +soon abandoned the idea. It was clear that any chance that might arise +for escape would be impaired by the co-operation of such hopelessly +sunken wretches. During the months that he remained in this terrible +bondage his main effort was to sustain his own spirits and to combat +the tendency to fall into despair. Few men could have succeeded in +this, but John Smith combined with great physical strength and the +highest courage an unshakable trust in Providence. The event justified +his confidence and he fully deserved the good fortune which ultimately +befell him. + +When he had been several months at Nalbrits, it happened that Smith +was put to work on the threshing floor at a country residence of the +Pasha. Here he labored with a long heavy club, the flail not being +known to the people of those parts. The Pasha seems to have entertained +a feeling of positive hatred for the slave, fanned no doubt by frequent +letters from Charatza, who could have no knowledge of his condition. +It was a favorite pastime with the Turk to stand over Smith whilst +at his labor and taunt him. At such times, it was with the greatest +difficulty that the captain restrained the desire to leap upon his +persecutor and strangle him. He knew, however, that to have raised his +hand against his cruel master would have entailed torture and probably +a lingering death. + +One morning the Pasha came into the barn where Smith was alone at work. +The malicious Turk fell to sneering at his slave as usual and when the +latter, goaded beyond endurance, replied with spirit, the Pasha struck +him across the face with a riding whip. Smith’s threshing bat whistled +through the air, and at the first blow the brutal Timariot lay dead at +the feet of his slave. There was not an instant to be lost. It was by +the merest chance that Smith was alone. The overseer might return at +any moment. Stripping the body of the slain Pasha and hiding it under a +heap of straw, Smith threw off his goat-skin and hurriedly donned the +Turkish costume. He loosed the horse which the Turk had ridden to the +spot, sprang into the saddle and galloped at random from the place. + +Smith’s first impulse was to ride as fast as possible in the opposite +direction to Nalbrits, and this he did, continuing his career until +night overtook him. He entered a wood at some distance from the road +and there passed the hours of darkness. He never failed to keep +a clear head in the most critical emergencies and in the haste of +departure had not neglected to secure the Pasha’s weapons and to +snatch up a sack of corn from the threshing floor. The latter would +preserve his life for some time and with the former he proposed to sell +it dearly if overtaken. He had no idea as to what direction to take +in order to reach a Christian community. Daybreak found him in this +condition of perplexity, and he resumed his wandering flight with less +impetuosity and a careful regard to avoid every locality that appeared +to be inhabited. At a distance his costume might prove a protection, +but on closer inspection a beholder could not fail to note the iron +collar that proclaimed him a slave. + +Smith had ridden about aimlessly for three days and nights, not knowing +where he was nor how far from Nalbrits, when he suddenly chanced upon +one of the great caravan roads that traversed Asia and connected with +the main highways of Europe. He knew that if he followed this road far +enough westward he must come eventually into some Christian country, +but caution was more necessary than ever, for these were much travelled +routes. He concluded to skirt the road by day and ride upon it only +after dark. At the close of the fourth day after his escape he came to +the meeting point of several crossroads and then learned the peculiar +method employed by the people of those parts to direct travellers. +The sign posts were painted with various designs to indicate the +directions of different countries. For instance, a half moon pointed to +the country of the Crim Tartars, a black man to Persia, a sun to China, +and a cross--which our hero perceived with joy--distinguished the road +leading to the Christian realm of Muscovy, the Russia of today. + +After sixteen days’ riding, without encountering a mishap, Smith +arrived safely at a Muscovite settlement on the Don where he was warmly +received. The galling badge of bondage was filed from his neck and +he felt then, but not before, once more a free man. His wants were +supplied and he was furnished with sufficient money to enable him to +continue his journey in comfort. He proceeded into Transylvania where +his old comrades welcomed him as one from the grave, having lamented +him as among the dead at Rothenthrum. The Earl of Meldritch was +delighted to meet his old captain and “Master of Stratagem” once more +and regretted that the existing state of peace prevented their fighting +together again. That condition determined our hero to seek service in +Africa where he heard that a war was in progress. Before his departure, +Prince Sigismund presented him with fifteen hundred ducats, and so he +set out with a well-filled purse and a light heart. + +Captain Smith journeyed to Barbary in company with a French adventurer +who, like himself, cared little where he went so that the excursion +held out a prospect of fighting and new experiences. On this occasion, +however, they were disappointed in their hope of military service. They +found the conditions such as they were not willing to become involved +in. The Sultan of Barbary had been poisoned by his wife, and two of his +sons, neither of whom had a right to the succession, were contending +for the throne. Our adventurers considered this state of things more +akin to murder than to war and declined to take any part in it, +although they might without doubt have enriched themselves by doing so. + +Upon his return to the port of Saffi, Captain Smith found a British +privateering vessel in the harbor under the command of a Captain +Merham. An acquaintance sprang up between the two which quickly ripened +into friendship. One evening, Smith with some other guests was paying a +visit to the privateer, when a cyclone suddenly swept down upon them. +Captain Merham barely had time to slip his cable before the hurricane +struck his ship and drove it out to sea. All night they ran before the +wind, and when at length the storm had ceased they were in the vicinity +of the Canaries. The Captain wished to “try some conclusions,” after +the manner of Captain La Roche on a former occasion, before returning +to port. His guests were not averse to the proposal and so he hung +about to see what vessels chance might throw in their way. + +They were soon rewarded by intercepting a Portuguese trader laden +with wine from Teneriffe. This they eased of its cargo and allowed to +go its way. The next day they espied two sails some miles distant and +proceeded to overhaul them. They did this with such success that they +were within small-arm range of the ships before they perceived them +to be Spanish men-of-war, either superior to themselves in armament +and probably in men. Seeing himself so greatly overmatched, Merham +endeavored to escape, and a running fight was maintained for hours. At +length, towards sunset, the Spaniards damaged the Britisher’s rigging +and coming up with him, boarded from either side. Merham’s ship must +have been captured by the enemy, who greatly outnumbered his own men, +but whilst the fight on deck was in progress, Captain Smith secured +“divers bolts of iron”--cross-bars, probably--with which he loaded one +of the guns. The charge tore a hole so large in one of the Spanish +ships that it began to sink. At this both the attacking vessels threw +off their grappling irons and withdrew. + +The Spaniards were busy for two or more hours repairing the breach +in their ship and Merham was occupied as long in putting his sailing +gear in order, so that he could not profit by the damage to the enemy. +When at length he did get under way the Spaniards were in condition +to follow and the chase was continued all night. With the break of +day the fight was resumed, but not before the Spanish senior officer +had offered the British captain quarter if he would surrender. Merham +answered this proposal with his cannon and hove to with the intention +of fighting it out. + +The Spaniards realized that they were no match for the Britisher in +gun-play and they therefore lost no time in grappling. A fierce hand +to hand conflict ensued and lasted for an hour with varying success, +but the odds were beginning to tell against Merham’s men when their +captain turned the tide by a clever stratagem. He sent some sailors +aloft to unsling the mainsail and let it fall on the top of a number +of Spaniards beneath. Whilst these were struggling to get clear of the +canvas, about twenty of them were killed. This disheartening occurrence +induced the attacking ships to disengage. The cannonading continued on +both sides, however, and after a while the Spanish captains once more +boarded with all the men available. + +Again the combat raged at close quarters for an hour or more and again +Merham’s men began to give way under the weight of superior numbers. +This time it was Captain Smith who saved the situation by a desperate +expedient. A number of Spaniards had gathered near the centre of the +ship upon a grating which afforded them the advantage of an elevated +station. Beneath this body of the enemy, our hero exploded a keg of +powder. This had the effect of blowing about thirty Spaniards off the +scene but at the same time it set fire to the ship. The flames sent the +boarders scurrying back to their own vessels which sailed to a safe +distance. + +Whilst Merham was engaged in putting out the fire the Spaniards +kept their guns playing upon him, ceasing only at intervals to make +proposals for surrender, at all of which the British captain laughed. +When the flames were extinguished he invited the Spanish officers +with mock ceremony to come on board his vessel again, assuring them +that Captain Smith was yearning to afford them further entertainment. +But the Spaniards had no longer any stomach for boarding parties and +contented themselves with firing at long range until nightfall when +they sailed away. + +Captain Merham took his crippled ship back to Saffi to undergo repairs +and there our hero left him, after expressing his gratification for +the diversion the privateersman had afforded him, and took ship for +England. + + + + +THE AMERICAN COLONIST + + + + +XIII. + +A BAD BEGINNING + +John Smith becomes interested in American colonization--Devotes +his money and his services to the Virginia venture--Sails with an +expedition to the New World composed of an ill-assorted company of +adventurers--They fall into dissensions at the outset--Each is jealous +of others and all of John Smith--He is placed under arrest and a +gallows erected for his accommodation--The emigrants grow weary of the +adventure--When almost within sight of the continent they plan to put +about and return to England--A storm decides the matter by sweeping +them into Chesapeake Bay--A party is landed and has an early conflict +with the Indians. + + +The life of John Smith naturally divides itself into two parts, each +covering about twenty-five years. We have followed him through the +former period with its exciting episodes and varying scenes. During +this term he is the soldier of fortune, seeking to satisfy his love of +adventure and to gain knowledge and experience. Beyond these motives +he has no definite purpose in view. He is ready to enlist in any cause +that offers opportunity for honorable employment. This early stage of +his activity has developed his mind and body and strengthened that +stability of character for which he was distinguished. He returns to +England, bronzed and bearded, somewhat disgusted with the horrors +of war and dissatisfied at the futility of the life of the mere +adventurer. His energy is in no degree abated but he longs to find some +purposeful direction for his enterprise. Fortunately for him, for his +country, and for us, the opportunity awaited the man. + +Up to this time, all the efforts of Englishmen to plant colonies in +America had resulted in failure. The movement began with the voyages +and discoveries of the Cabots in the reign of Henry the Seventh and for +a century was pursued with difficulty in the face of the superior naval +strength of Spain, which nation claimed exclusive right to the entire +continent. The defeat of the “invincible Armada” afforded freedom of +the seas to English navigators and marked the beginning of a new era +in American exploration and settlement. The majority of the men who +engaged in this field of enterprise were actuated by no better motive +than the desire to gain wealth or satisfy a love of adventure. There +were, however, not a few who entered into the movement with patriotic +motives and of these the gallant and ill-fated Raleigh is the most +conspicuous. He devoted his fortune to exploration of the Western +Hemisphere and spent in this endeavor more than a million dollars. +In 1584 his vessels under Amidas and Barlow made a landing in the +Carolinas, took possession in the name of Queen Elizabeth, and called +the country “Virginia.” In the following year a colony of one hundred +and eight men was sent out under Sir Ralph Lane. A settlement was +made upon the island of Roanoke but the enterprise was soon abandoned +and the colonists returned to England. In 1586, Sir Richard Grenville +left fifty men at the deserted settlement, only to be massacred by +the Indians. But Raleigh persisted in his efforts. Another party +of emigrants was sent out and this time it was sought to encourage +home-making in the new land by including women in the colonists. The +fate of these pioneers who are commonly referred to as the “Lost +Colony” is a blank. A later expedition found the site of the settlement +deserted and no trace of its former occupants could ever be discovered. + +The unfortunate results of these efforts dampened the ardor for +American colonization and for twelve years there was a cessation of the +attempts to people Virginia. Raleigh had exhausted his means and his +later explorations were made with borrowed money and directed to the +discovery of gold mines in Guiana. In 1602, Bartholomew Gosnold made +a successful voyage to Virginia, returning with a cargo of sassafras. +Several other expeditions followed which, although they made no +settlements, revived public interest in the American possession and +made the route a comparatively familiar one. When John Smith returned +to his native land he found the colonization of Virginia occupying +a prominent place in the minds of his countrymen. It was a project +precisely fitted to satisfy the nobler ambition which now fired him to +devote his talents and energies to his country’s service. It promised +to combine with a useful career a sufficient element of novelty and +adventure, and he lost no time in allying himself with the chief +promoters of the movement. + +The territory of Virginia had been granted to Sir Walter Raleigh by +Queen Elizabeth. The latter died in 1603, the year before Smith’s +return to England, and her successor, James the First, imprisoned +Raleigh on a charge of high treason and confiscated his possessions. In +1606, the King issued a charter for the colonization of Virginia to a +company, which Smith joined with five hundred pounds of his own money. +But previous to this he had been one of the most diligent workers in +the promotion of the scheme, inducing merchants and noblemen to support +the project with capital and persuading desirable men to volunteer +as colonists. Neither object was easy of attainment and the latter +was the more difficult. Numerous broken-down gentlemen of indifferent +character were eager to embrace the chance of retrieving their fortunes +in a new land, and hundreds of dissolute soldiers out of employment +offered their services to the promoters. But the need was for farmers, +mechanics, and laborers, and few of these could be induced to leave +their homes in the prosperous state of the country at that time. +Consequently the organizers of the expedition had to content themselves +with a poor assortment of colonists who, but for the presence of +Captain John Smith among them, would assuredly have added one more to +the list of failures connected with North American colonization. It was +due to him mainly, and almost solely, that the settlement at Jamestown +survived and became the root from which branched the United States of +America. + +The expedition, when at length it was organized, consisted of three +vessels carrying, aside from their crews, one hundred and five +colonists. The largest of the ships, named the _Susan Constant_, was +barely one hundred tons burden, the second, named the _Godspeed_, was +somewhat smaller, and the third, the _Discovery_, no more than twenty +tons. Their commanders were Captain Christopher Newport, Captain +Bartholomew Gosnold and John Ratcliffe respectively. Other important +members of the expedition were Edward Wingfield, a man with little +but his aristocratic connections to recommend him; Robert Hunt, a +clergyman, whose name should be linked with that of John Smith as one +of the saviours of the colony, and a few whose introduction we may +defer until circumstances bring them prominently upon the scene. For +the rest, forty-eight were gentlemen of little account, about thirty +were men of lower estate, but no greater usefulness, and only a +score belonged to the artisan and mechanic class. Smith had engaged +and fitted out a few men with whose quality he had some acquaintance, +including Carlton and Robinson, the only two Englishmen of his own +command who had escaped from the disaster in the Valley of Veristhorne. + +In the last days of the year 1606, this ill-assorted company sailed +out of the Thames under conditions calculated to create dissensions +from the outset. King James, one of the most feeble monarchs who ever +occupied the English throne, had reserved to himself the right to +select the Council by which the colony should be governed, allowing to +that body the privilege of electing its President. But for some reason, +which it is impossible to surmise, the choice of the monarch was kept +secret and names of the Council enclosed in a box which was to be +opened only when the party reached its destination. Thus they started +upon the voyage without a commander or any recognized authority among +them, and each man of prominence, feeling satisfied that the King could +not have overlooked his superior claims to a place in the Council, +assumed the tone and bearing of an accepted leader whilst resenting +similar action on the part of others. + +The need of acknowledged authority was felt from the outset. Newport, +Gosnold, and Ratcliffe, were, for the nonce, merely sailing masters +and had as much as they could well do to fulfill their duties in +that capacity. The expedition emerged from the Thames to encounter +contrary winds and stormy weather, so that it was forced to beat about +off the coast of England for weeks without making any progress. The +emigrants began to quarrel, and among the principal men of the party +there broke out a spirit of jealousy which was never allayed. This was +directed chiefly against Captain Smith. His companions were forced +to admit to themselves that this self-possessed and confident young +man was their superior in all those qualities that would be of most +account in the strange land for which they were destined, and they +had sufficient discernment to realize that no matter who might become +the nominal President of the colony, John Smith would be its master +spirit and actual leader. This was made manifest in these first few +weeks of trying delay. Did one of the ship-captains need assistance? +John Smith was a practical navigator and could both handle a vessel and +read the charts. In the dispositions for defence in case of attack, he +had to be relied upon as the best gunner and leader of fighting men +among them. When the voyagers became troublesome none but John Smith +could effectually quiet them. A few words in his calm firm tones would +quickly quell a disturbance. Some of these men had served under him and +had learned to respect his character. The others instinctively felt +that he was a man of sense and strength--one of those rare creatures +who rise to every emergency and lift their subordinates with them. + +Men of broad and generous minds would have rejoiced to think that +they had among them one who was capable of steering them through all +their difficulties and whose experience would help them to avoid many +a pitfall and disaster. There were a few among the gentlemen, such as +George Percy, Parson Hunt and Scrivener, who took this sensible view of +the situation. On the other hand, Wingfield, Kendall, Ratcliffe, Archer +and several more, conscious of their own inferiority, became possessed +by an insane jealousy of our hero. This grew with the progress of the +voyage and constant discussion of their silly suspicions, until at +length they had fully persuaded themselves that Captain John Smith +was a dark conspirator who entertained designs against themselves and +contemplated treason against his King and country. They believed, +or professed to believe, that he had distributed creatures of his +own throughout the three vessels with the intention of seizing the +expedition and proclaiming himself king of the new country as soon +as they should arrive at it. With this excuse they made him a close +prisoner when the vessels were in mid-Atlantic. + +When the party charged with this disgraceful office approached him +on the deck of the _Susan Constant_, Smith handed to them his sword +without a word and went below smiling grimly. He had long since +fathomed the weakness and the incompetence of these self-constituted +leaders. He knew that the time would come when his services would be +indispensable to them and he was content to abide it in patience. They +should have realized that, if their suspicions were just, he had but +to raise his voice and the vessels would be instantly in mutiny. But +they had not sufficient intelligence to perceive that if John Smith +was the dangerous character they assumed him to be their best course +was to propitiate him rather than to arouse his enmity. Instead of +being impressed by the self-confident manner in which he yielded to +confinement in the hold they gained courage from the incident and +actually thought that they might go to any extreme without resistance +on his part. So, when the vessels made land at the West Indies, these +masterful gentry erected a gallows for the purpose of hanging our hero, +or, perhaps, of frightening him. Now we know that they could not have +undertaken a more difficult task than that of attempting to strike fear +into the heart of John Smith, and as to actual hanging, whilst he had +a considerable sense of humor, it did not carry him so far as taking +part in a performance of that sort. When they brought him on deck and +solemnly informed him that the gallows awaited him, he laughed in their +faces and told them that it was a shame to waste good timber, for he +had not the remotest thought of using the contrivance. In fact, he +took the matter with such careless assurance that they wisely concluded +to abandon the project and sailing away, left their useless gallows +standing. + +Steering for that portion of the mainland where the former ill-fated +colonies had been planted, the vessels were soon out of their reckoning +and beat about for several days without sight of land. They had been +already four months upon a voyage that should have occupied no more +than two and had made serious inroads into the stock of provisions +which was calculated to furnish the store of the settlers. They began +to grow fearful and discontented. Many wished to put about and sail +homeward, and even Ratcliffe, the captain of the _Discovery_, favored +such a course. Whilst they were debating the proposition, a violent +storm arose and luckily drove them to their destination. On the +twenty-sixth day of April, 1607, they entered the Bay of Chesapeake. + +Eager to see the new land of promise, a party of the colonists went +ashore that day. They wandered through forest and glade, cheered by the +genial warmth of the southern clime and delighted with the beautiful +scenery and luxuriant vegetation. But before they returned to the ships +they were reminded that this natural paradise was in possession of a +savage people who could hardly be expected to respect King James’s gift +of their land to strangers. As the exploring party made their way back +to the shore they fell into an ambush--the first of many which they +were destined to experience. They had not seen a human being since +landing, and the shower of arrows that proclaimed the presence of the +Indians came as a complete surprise. Neither redman nor paleface was +quite prepared for intimate acquaintance at this time, and the sound of +the muskets sent the former scurrying to the hills whilst the latter +hurried to the shelter of the ships, carrying two men who had been +severely wounded. + +Thus the Jamestown colonists came to America. How little they were +qualified for the work before them we have already seen. As we +progress with our story we shall see how often they brought misfortune +upon themselves and how the wisdom and energy of one man saved the +undertaking from utter failure. + + + + +XIV. + +POWHATAN AND HIS PEOPLE + +The President and Council are established and a settlement made at +Jamestown--Newport and Smith go on an exploring expedition--They +meet Powhatan, the great Werowance of the country--They are feasted +and fêted by the old Chief--A quick return to Jamestown and a +timely arrival--The Indians attack the settlers and take them +unawares--Gallant stand made by the gentlemen adventurers--The +appearance of Newport and his men prevents a massacre--A fort and +stockade are hurriedly erected--Smith is tried on a charge of treason +and triumphantly acquitted--Captain Newport returns to England with the +two larger ships. + + +It was, indeed, a fair land to which the white men had journeyed from +over the seas. Smith says of it: “Heaven and earth never agreed better +to frame a place for man’s habitation. Here are mountains, hills, +plains, rivers, and brooks, all running most pleasantly into a fair +bay, compassed, but for the mouth, with fruitful and delightsome land.” +The country was covered, for the most part, with virgin forest. Here +and there a small clearing afforded a site for a cluster of wigwams +around which lay fields of maize or other cereals. The birds and +animals that we prize most highly as table delicacies abounded in the +wilds, and the waters swarmed with fish. + +A very small proportion of the land was occupied. The Indian villages +were few and miles apart. The country round about the Jamestown +settlement was in the possession of the Algonquin tribe, divided into +many bands, generally numbering not more than a few hundred souls, +each band under its own chief and all owning allegiance to a king or +werowance named Powhatan. There was constant intercourse between the +villages, and their men joined together for purposes of war, or the +chase. Rough forest trails formed the only roads between the different +centres, whilst blazed trees marked by-paths that led to springs, +favorite trapping grounds, or other localities of occasional resort. + +The royal orders permitted the opening of the box of instructions as +soon as the colonists should have reached Virginia, and they lost +no time in satisfying their anxiety to learn the membership of the +Council. It appeared that the King had selected for that distinction +and responsibility, Edward Wingfield, Bartholomew Gosnold, Christopher +Newport, John Ratcliffe, George Kendall and John Smith. The last named +was still in irons and his fellow-councilmen were, with the possible +exception of Newport, unfriendly to him. It was decided that he should +not be admitted to the body, and the remaining members proceeded to +elect Wingfield, Smith’s arch-enemy, to the position of President. + +For the next two weeks and more, the colonists remained upon the ships. +Meanwhile they explored the surrounding country for a favorable site +on which to settle. The Indians with whom they came in contact during +this time treated them with the utmost kindness, freely furnishing food +and tobacco, which latter few of the settlers had ever smoked, although +Raleigh had introduced the leaf into England some years earlier. +Everything was so strange to the adventurers, many of whom were absent +from their native land for the first time, that they forgot for a while +their discontent and jealousies in the interest and wonder excited by +new sights and scenes. + +We can imagine, for instance, the mixed sensations of the strangers +when a band of Rappahonacks marched towards them, headed by their chief +playing upon a reed flute. They were all fantastically trimmed, we will +say, for their only dress was a coat of paint. The chief, as befitted +his rank, was the most grotesque figure of all, but the effect was +equally hideous and awesome and the Englishmen were divided between +merriment and fear. On one side of his head the chief wore a crown of +deer’s hair dyed red and interwoven with his own raven locks; on the +other side, which was shaven, he wore a large plate of copper, whilst +two long feathers stood up from the centre of his crown. His body +was painted crimson and his face blue. Around his neck was a chain of +beads, and strings of pearls hung from his ears which were pierced to +hold bird’s claws set in gold. He and his followers each carried a bow +and arrows and a tomahawk with stone head. + +At length it was decided to settle upon a little peninsula jutting into +the river. There was a great deal of disagreement about this site. +Smith favored it, mainly because its comparative isolation made it +easier to defend than a location further inland, but he was allowed no +voice in the selection. It was, however, an unfortunate choice, for +the ground was low and marshy and no doubt a great deal of the later +mortality was due to the unhealthy situation of the infant settlement +of Jamestown. Here, however, the colonists landed on the thirteenth +day of May and set up the tents in which they lived for some time +thereafter. There is too much to be done to justify the absence of an +available strong arm and Smith, although virtually a prisoner still, +is allowed to join in the general labor and this he does cheerfully +without any show of resentment on account of his past treatment. + +The President gave evidence of his incapacity from the very outset. +Relying implicitly upon the friendly attitude of the Indians he refused +to allow any defences to be considered, and even went so far as to +decline to unpack the arms which had been brought from England, +declaring that to do so would be a display of distrust which the +savages might resent. The latter, who were permitted to go in and out +of the camp with their weapons, were no doubt for a time divided in +mind as to whether the white men were superhuman beings invulnerable to +arrows or only a species of foolish and confiding fellow-creatures such +as they had never known. Wingfield had most of his men busy felling +trees and making clapboards with which to freight the vessels on their +return, for it must be understood that these colonists were practically +employees of the company that had been at the expense of sending them +out and which expected to make a profit on the investment. It was +necessary therefore to secure cargoes for shipment to England, but the +position should have been fortified and houses erected before all else. + +Newport was anxious to have more extensive information of the country +to report to his employers who entertained the belief--absurd as it +seems to us--that by penetrating one or two hundred miles farther +westward the settlers would come upon the Pacific and open a short +route to India. Newport therefore organized an expedition to explore +the river. He took twenty men and was glad to include Smith in the +party. There was no opposition on the part of the Council to the +arrangement. Indeed, it was entirely to their liking. None of them was +over keen to penetrate the unknown with its possible dangers and each +was reluctant to leave the settlement for the further reason that he +distrusted his fellow-members of the Council and was jealous of them. +As to Smith, they had made up their minds to send him back to England +a prisoner, to be tried on charges of treason, conspiracy, and almost +anything else their inventive minds could conceive. + +So Captain Newport and his party proceeded slowly up the river in their +shallop, greeted kindly by the Indians in the various villages along +the banks and feasted by them. The travellers in their turn bestowed +upon their entertainers presents of beads, nails, bottles, and other +articles, trifling in themselves but almost priceless to the savages +who had never seen anything of the kind. At length the party arrived +at a village named Powhatan. It was located very near the present +situation of Richmond, and perhaps exactly where the old home of the +Mayo family--still called “Powhatan”--stands. This village was governed +by a son of the great Werowance. The capital of the latter was at +Werowocomico, near the mouth of the York River, but he happened to be +at Powhatan at the time of Newport’s arrival. I say that he happened to +be there, but it is much more likely that he had been informed of the +expedition and had gone overland to his son’s village with the express +intention of meeting the strangers, about whom he must have been keenly +curious. + +Powhatan was the chief of all the country within a radius of +sixty miles of Jamestown, and having a population of about eight +thousand, which included two thousand or more warriors. Although over +seventy years of age, he was vigorous in mind and body. His tall, +well-proportioned frame was as straight as an arrow. His long gray hair +flowed loose over his shoulders and his stern and wrinkled countenance +expressed dignity and pride. The English learned to know him for a keen +and subtle schemer, to whom the common phrase, “simple savage,” would +be altogether misapplied. He was sufficiently sagacious to realize from +the first that in the white men he had a superior race to deal with and +he made up his mind that the most effective weapon that he could use +against them would be treachery. + +On this occasion, he dissembled the feelings of anger and fear that +he must have felt against the intruders and received them with every +sign of amity. To his people, who began to murmur at their presence and +displayed an inclination to do them harm, he declared: + +“They can do us no injury. They desire no more than a little land +and will pay us richly for it. It is my pleasure that you treat them +kindly.” + +In the meanwhile, his keen penetrating glance was taking in every +detail of his visitors’ appearance, scrutinizing their weapons and +dress, and closely examining their faces as they spoke, for the +settlers had picked up a little of the language. + +When the voyagers, after being feasted and fêted at the village of +Powhatan, continued their journey up the river, the “Emperor,” as the +early writers call him, furnished them with a guide, whose chief duty +doubtless was to act as spy and report their movements to him. Newport +proceeded up the river until it became too shallow to admit of further +progress. He then turned and commenced the descent. He had not gone +many days’ journey when he began to notice a change in the attitude of +the Indians which prompted him to hasten on to the settlement with all +speed. It was well that he did so for the settlers were in a critical +situation. + +We have seen that Wingfield altogether neglected to place the colonists +in a position to defend themselves from attack. During the absence +of the exploring expedition he had so far departed from his foolish +attitude as to permit Captain Kendall to erect a paltry barricade of +branches across the neck of the little peninsula, but this was the +only measure of safety he could be induced to take. The Indians were +permitted to come and go as freely as ever and the arms were left in +the packing cases. Of course it was only a matter of time when the +Indians would take advantage of such a constantly tempting opportunity +to attack the newcomers. + +One day, without the slightest warning, four hundred savages rushed +upon the settlement with their blood-curdling war-whoop. The colonists +were utterly unprepared and most of them unarmed. Seventeen fell at +the first assault. Fortunately the gentlemen habitually wore swords, +these being part of the every-day dress of the time, and many of them +had pistols in their belts. They quickly threw themselves between the +unarmed settlers and the Indians and checked the latter with the fire +of their pistols. Wingfield, who though a fool was no coward, headed +his people and narrowly escaped death, an arrow cleaving his beard. +Four other members of the Council were among the wounded, so that only +one of them escaped untouched. + +The gallant stand made by the gentlemen adventurers only checked the +Indians for a moment, and there is no doubt that every man of the +defenders must have been slain had not the ships created a diversion +by opening fire with their big guns. Even this assistance effected but +temporary relief, for the Indians would have renewed the attack at +nightfall, with complete success in all probability, but the appearance +of Newport at this juncture with his twenty picked and fully armed +men put a different complexion on affairs. The reinforcement sallied +against the attacking savages and drove them to retreat. + +It is hardly necessary to state that all hands were now engaged with +feverish zeal in erecting a fort and stockade. Some demi-culverins were +carried ashore from the ships and mounted. The arms were uncased and +distributed and certain men were daily drilled in military exercises, +whilst a constant guard was maintained throughout the day and night. +From this time the intercourse between the whites and Indians was +marked on both sides by caution and suspicion. + +When the defences had been completed, Captain Newport made preparations +for an immediate departure and then the Council informed Smith that he +was to be returned to England a prisoner for trial. Fortunately for +the future of the colony, our hero rebelled against such an unjust +proceeding, saying, with reason, that since all persons cognizant of +the facts were on the spot, it was on the spot that he should be tried, +if anywhere. His contention was so just, and the sentiment in his favor +so strong, that the Council was obliged to accede to his demand. He +protested against a moment’s delay, declaring that, if found guilty by +a jury of his peers, he would willingly return to England in chains +with Captain Newport and take the consequences. + +The trial resulted in a triumphant acquittal. There was not one iota of +real evidence adduced against the prisoner. Wingfield and others had +nothing but their bare suspicions to bring forward. It did transpire, +however, in the course of the proceedings that the President had not +only been moved by malice but that he had endeavored to induce certain +persons to give false evidence against his enemy. On the strength +of these revelations, the jury not only acquitted Captain Smith but +sentenced the President to pay him two hundred pounds in damages, which +sum, or its equivalent, for it was paid in goods, our hero promptly +turned into the common fund. + +Smith accepted his acquittal with the same calm indifference that had +characterized his behavior since his arrest and showed a readiness +to forget past differences and encourage harmony among the leaders. +Mr. Hunt also strove to produce peace and goodwill in the settlement +but the efforts were useless. When Newport left them in June, the +colony was divided into two factions, the supporters of Wingfield and +those of Smith, who was now of course free of his seat at the Council +board. And so it remained to the end of our story--jealousy, meanness, +incompetence and even treachery, hazarding the lives and the fortunes +of the little band of pioneers who should have been knit together by +common interests and common dangers. + + + + +XV. + +TREASON AND TREACHERY + +The colonists experience hard times and a touch of starvation--Fever +seizes the settlement and one-half the settlers die--The entire charge +of affairs devolves upon Captain Smith--President Wingfield is deposed +and Ratcliffe appointed in his place--Smith leads an expedition in +search of corn--Returns to find trouble at Jamestown--The blacksmith +to be hanged for treason--At the foot of the gallows he divulges a +Spanish plot--Captain Kendall, a Councilman, is involved--His guilt is +established--He seizes the pinnace and attempts to sail away--Smith +trains a cannon upon the boat and forces the traitor to land--He is +hanged. + + +Just before the departure of Captain Newport with the two larger +ships--the pinnace, _Discovery_, was left for the use of the +colonists--Mr. Hunt had administered the communion to the company in +the hope that the joint participation in the holy sacrament might +create a bond of amity between them. On that occasion Captain Smith +had modestly addressed the assembled settlers, urging them to forget +past disagreement, as he was ready to do, and address themselves +energetically to the important business of the community. + +“You that of your own accord have hazarded your lives and estates in +this adventure, having your country’s profit and renown at heart,” he +said with earnestness, “banish from among you cowardice, covetousness, +jealousies, and idleness. These be enemies to the raising your honors +and fortunes and put in danger your very lives, for if dissension +prevail among us, surely we shall become too weak to withstand the +Indians. For myself, I ever intend my actions shall be upright and +regulated by justice. It hath been and ever shall be my care to give +every man his due.” + +The plain, frank speech moved his hearers, but in the evil times that +quickly fell upon them good counsel was forgotten and strife and +ill-nature resumed their sway. + +The colonists had arrived too late in the year to plant and they soon +began to experience a shortage of provisions. The grain which had lain +six months in the holds of leaky vessels was wormy and sodden, unfit +for horses and scarcely eatable by men. Nevertheless, for weeks after +Newport left, a small allowance of this formed the principal diet of +the unfortunate settlers. The woods abounded in game, it is true, but +they were yet unskilled in hunting and dared not venture far from their +palisades, whilst the unaccustomed sounds of axe and hammer had driven +every beast and most of the birds from the neighborhood. They must +have starved but for the sturgeon that they secured from the river. +On these they dined with so little variation that their stomachs at +last rebelled at the very sight of them. One of this miserable company, +describing their condition, says with melancholy humor: “Our drink was +water; our lodgings castles in the air.” + +But lack of food was only one of the hardships which befell the poor +wretches. There were but few dwellings yet constructed, and being +forced to lie upon the low damp ground, malarial fever and typhoid +broke out among them and spread with such fearful rapidity that not +one of them escaped sickness. Hardly a day passed but one at least +of their number found a happy release from his sufferings in death. +Fifty in all--just half of them--died between June and September. +The unaccustomed heat aided in prostrating them, so that at one time +there were scarce ten men able to stand upon their feet. And all this +time the Indians kept up a desultory warfare and only refrained from +a determined attack upon the settlement for fear of the firearms. Had +they assaulted the stockade, instead of contenting themselves with +shooting arrows into it from a distance, the colonists could have made +no effective defence against them. + +Shortly, the whole weight of authority and the entire charge of the +safety of the settlement fell upon Captain Smith. He was sick like +the rest, but kept his feet by sheer strength of will, knowing that +otherwise they would all fall victims to the savages in short order. +Gosnold was under the sod. Wingfield, Martin and Ratcliffe were on the +verge of death. Kendall was sick and, moreover, had been deposed from +his place in the Council. In fact, all the chief men of the colony +were incapacitated, “the rest being in such despair that they would +rather starve and rot with idleness than be persuaded to do anything +for their own relief without constraint.” In this strait the courage +and resolution of one man saved them as happened repeatedly afterward. +He nursed the sick, distributed the stores, stood guard day and +night, coaxed and threatened the least weak into exerting themselves, +cunningly hid their real condition from the Indians, and, by the +exercise of every available resource, tided over the terrible months of +July and August. + +Early in September, Wingfield was deposed from the presidency. His +manifest incompetency had long been the occasion of discontent which +was fanned to fever heat when the starving settlers discovered that the +leader, who was too fine a gentleman to eat from the common kettle, had +been diverting the best of the supplies from the public store to his +private larder. The climax which brought about his downfall, however, +was reached when it transpired that the President had made arrangements +to steal away in the pinnace and return to England, leaving the +settlement in the lurch. Ratcliffe was elected to fill his place. He +was a man of no greater capacity than his predecessor, but it happened +that conditions improved at about this time and the undiscerning +colonists were willing to give him credit for the change. + +Early fall brings ripening fruit and vegetables in the South. The +Indians, who fortunately had no idea of the extremity to which the +colony had been reduced, began to carry corn and other truck to the +fort, glad to trade for beads, little iron chisels or other trifles. +Wild fowl came into the river in large numbers and, with these welcome +additions to their hitherto scanty diet, the sick soon began to recover +health and strength. Smith, so soon as he could muster a boat’s crew, +made an excursion up the river and returned with some thirty bushels of +corn to famine-stricken Jamestown. Having secured ample supplies for +immediate needs, our hero, who was by this time generally recognized +as the actual leader of the colony, put as many men as possible to +work building houses and succeeded so far as to provide a comfortable +dwelling for every one but himself. + +Our adventurers, convalescent for the most part, now experienced a +Virginia autumn in all its glory. The days were cloudless and cool. +The foliage took on magic hues and presented patterns marvellously +beautiful as an oriental fabric. The air, stimulating as strong wine, +drove the ague from the system and cleared the brain. The fruits of +the field stood ripe and inviting whilst nuts hung in profusion from +the boughs of trees amongst which fat squirrels and opossums sported. +Turkeys with their numerous broods wandered through the woods whilst +partridges and quail abounded in the undergrowth. Where starvation had +stared them in the face the colonists now saw plenty on every hand +and, with the appetites of men turning their backs upon fever-beds, +ate to repletion. With the removal of their sufferings, they dismissed +the experience from their minds and gave no heed to the latent lesson +in it. Not so Captain Smith, however. He realized the necessity of +providing a store of food against the approach of winter, without +relying upon the return of Newport with a supply ship. + +The Council readily agreed to the proposed expedition in search of +provisions, but it was not in their mind to give the command to Captain +Smith. Far from being grateful to the man who had saved the settlement +in the time of its dire distress and helplessness, they were more than +ever jealous of his growing influence with the colonists. None of +them was willing to brave the dangers and hardships of the expedition +himself nor did they dare, in the face of Smith’s popularity, to +appoint another to the command. In this difficulty they pretended a +desire to be fair to the other gentlemen adventurers by putting a +number of their names into a lottery from which the commander should +be drawn. The hope was that by this means some other might be set up +as a sort of competitor to Smith. There were those among the gentlemen +who penetrated this design and had sufficient sense to circumvent it. +George Percy, a brother of the Earl of Northumberland, and Scrivener, +were among our hero’s staunch adherents. Percy contrived that he should +draw the lot from the hat that contained the names. The first paper +that he drew bore upon it the words: “The Honorable George Percy.” +Without a moment’s hesitation he showed it to Scrivener, as though for +confirmation, and crumpling it in his hand, cried: + +“Captain John Smith draws the command,” and the announcement was +received with a shout of approval. + +“Thou hast foregone an honor and the prospect of more,” said Scrivener, +as they walked away together. + +“Good Master Scrivener,” replied the young nobleman, with a quizzical +smile, “one needs must have a head to carry honors gracefully and I +am fain to confess that I deem this poor caput of mine safer in the +keeping of our doughty captain than in mine own.” + +It was early in November when Smith, taking the barge and seven men, +started up the Chickahominy. The warriors were absent from the first +village he visited and the women and children fled at the approach of +his party. Here he found the store-houses filled with corn, but there +was no one to trade and, as he says, he had neither inclination nor +commission to loot, and so he turned his back upon the place and came +away empty-handed. Now, if we consider the impression that must have +been made upon those Indians by this incident, we must the more keenly +regret that so few others were moved by similar principles of wisdom +and honesty in their dealings with the savages. In his treatment of the +Indian down to the present day the white man appears in a very poor +light, and most of the troubles between the two races have been due to +the greed and injustice of the latter. John Smith set an example to +later colonists which, had they followed it, would have saved them much +bloodshed and difficulty. + +Proceeding along the narrow river, the expedition arrived at other +villages where the conditions better favored their purpose. The Indians +seem to have gained some inkling of the impoverished state of the +Jamestown store, for at first they tendered but paltry quantities of +grain for the trinkets which Smith offered to exchange. But they had +to deal with one who was no less shrewd than themselves. The Captain +promptly turned on his heel and marched off towards his boat. This +independent action brought the redskins crowding after him with all the +corn that they could carry and ready to trade on any terms. In order +to allay their suspicions as to his need, Smith declined to accept +more than a moderate quantity from any one band, but by visiting many, +contrived without difficulty to fill the barge and, as he says, might +have loaded the pinnace besides if it had been with him. + +We will now leave Captain Smith and his party bringing their boat down +the river towards home and see what is going on at Jamestown in the +meanwhile. We shall find throughout our story that the master spirit of +the colony never leaves the settlement but that some trouble breaks out +in his absence. This occasion was no exception to the rule. One day, +shortly before the return of the expedition, Ratcliffe, the President, +fell into an altercation with the blacksmith, and in the heat of +passion struck the man. The blow was returned, as one thinks it should +have been, but in those days the distinction between classes was much +more marked than in these and the unfortunate artisan was immediately +clapped in jail. + +To have struck a gentleman was bad enough, but the hot-headed +north-country blacksmith had raised his hand against the representative +of the sacred majesty of the King and that constituted high treason. +A jury of his fellows found him guilty and he was sentenced to be +hanged without delay. A gallows was quickly erected and the brawny +blacksmith, after receiving the ministrations of Mr. Hunt, was bidden +to mount. But the condemned man craved the usual privilege of making a +dying speech, and the request was granted. To the consternation of the +assembled colonists he declared that he was in possession of a plot +to betray the settlement to the Spaniards, and offered to divulge the +details on condition that his life should be spared. This was granted. +Indeed, it is difficult to understand how the colonists could have +entertained the design to hang almost the most useful man among them. + +In order to appreciate the blacksmith’s revelation, we should +understand that although Spain had some years previously entered into +a treaty of peace with England, she remained keenly jealous of the +growing power of the latter nation and never ceased to employ underhand +methods to check it. Spanish spies were numerous in England and were +to be found among all classes, for some of the Catholic nobility were +not above allowing their religious zeal to outrun their sense of +patriotism. In particular was Spain concerned about the new ardor for +American colonization, of which one of the earliest manifestations was +the settlement at Jamestown, and it is more than probable that she had +sent several of her secret agents out with the expedition from England. +However that may be, Captain Kendall, erstwhile member of Council, was +the only one accused by the reprieved man. A search of the traitor’s +quarters disclosed papers that left no doubt as to his guilt. + +The searching party had just returned to the Council room with the +incriminating documents when Captain Smith landed his party and entered +the fort to find the settlement in the greatest state of excitement. +He at once joined the Council and was in deliberation with the other +members when a man burst in upon them shouting: + +“Captain Kendall hath seized the pinnace and is about sailing away in +her.” + +The Councilmen rushed from the chamber without ceremony and made +towards the shore. There, sure enough, was the pinnace in mid-stream +and Captain Kendall hoisting her sail to catch a stiff breeze which +was blowing out of the river. The spectators stood open-mouthed in +speechless dismay, or bewailed the escape that they seemed to consider +accomplished. That was not the view of Captain Smith. He took in the +situation at a glance and as quickly decided upon counteraction. +Running back to the fort he had a gun trained on the pinnace in a trice +and shouted to its occupant to come ashore or stay and sink and to make +his decision instanter. One look at the determined face peering over +the touch-hole of the cannon sufficed the spy. He brought the boat +ashore and within the hour was shot. + + + + +XVI. + +CAPTIVE TO THE INDIANS + +Peace and plenty at the settlement--Smith sets out to discover the +source of the Chickahominy--He falls into an ambush and has a running +fight with two hundred warriors--Walks into a swamp and is forced to +surrender--Opechancanough the chief of the Pamaunkes--Smith is put to a +test of courage--He figures in a triumphal procession--Has suspicions +that he is being fattened for the table--He sends a timely warning to +Jamestown and diverts a projected attack by the Indians--Smith is dealt +with by the medicine men--A strange, wild ceremony enacted by hideously +painted and bedecked creatures. + + +The close of the year 1607 found the settlement in good circumstances. +The store was well stocked with maize, peas and beans, smoked venison +and fish, dried fruits and nuts. Warm coats and coverings had been made +from fur and feathers and a large quantity of wood had been cut and +stacked for fuel. There did not appear to be any danger of hardship +in Jamestown during the ensuing winter, although such a careless +and incompetent lot as our settlers were apt to create trouble for +themselves out of the most favorable conditions. There were only +three persons in authority--Ratcliffe, Martin and Smith. The first +was a man of mean ability and doubtful integrity. Martin, honest and +well-meaning, was a constant invalid and incapable of any degree of +activity. Smith was by this time recognized by all as the true leader +of the colony and the only man in it who could secure obedience and +maintain discipline. When he was in Jamestown, order prevailed and +work progressed. When he left, the settlers scarcely pretended to heed +the orders of the other members of the Council. Indeed, Percy and +Scrivener, who were known to be in full accord with Smith, had greater +influence with the rank and file than Ratcliffe or Martin. In fact the +north-country nobleman and the Londoner played the part of faithful +watchdogs during the Captain’s absence, and it was arranged that one at +least of them should always remain at Jamestown when Smith went abroad. + +As we know, inaction was positively abhorrent to our hero and, +the settlement being now thoroughly quiet and quite prepared for +the winter, he determined on an expedition designed to trace the +Chickahominy to its source. Exploration was one of the chief duties +of the colonists and Smith, as he tells us, hoped that he might soon +discover “some matters of worth to encourage adventurers in England.” +The Indians along the river had been so friendly during his foraging +trip the month before that he felt safe in making the present journey, +but his military training and natural prudence would not permit him +to relax his usual precautions. But there was one important feature +of Indian tactics with which the American colonists had not become +familiar. They had yet to learn how large bodies of redskins would +watch a settlement, or track a party on the move, for days and weeks +without allowing their presence to be known. Ever since their landing, +the settlers had been under the sleepless eye of spies lying hidden in +grass or behind trees, and from the moment Captain Smith left Jamestown +his progress had been flanked by a body of savages moving stealthily +through the woods. + +[Illustration: THE SETTLERS HAD BEEN UNDER THE SLEEPLESS EYE OF SPIES +LYING HIDDEN] + +The barge proceeded fifty miles up the river without incident, but +presently the stream became too shallow to admit of its going farther. +A canoe was secured from a village in the vicinity, with two Indians to +paddle it. In this Smith decided to push on to the head of the river, +taking with him two of his men. The remainder he left in the barge, +instructing them not to go on shore and to keep a sharp lookout until +his return. Twenty miles onward the canoe travelled when an obstruction +of fallen trees brought the party to a halt. It seemed probable that +the source of the stream could be but a few miles beyond and Smith +determined to seek it on foot accompanied by one of the Indians. The +other and the two Englishmen he left in the canoe, cautioning them to +keep their matches burning, and at the first sign of danger to fire an +alarm. + +Smith had hardly gone a mile through the forest when he was suddenly +startled by a shrill war-whoop. He could see no one and he had not +been warned of danger by his men as agreed. He concluded, therefore, +that they had been surprised and killed with the connivance of the +guide. Even as the thought flashed through his mind he grappled with +the Indian beside him and wrenched the bow from his grasp. It was done +in an instant, and as quickly he bound an arm of the savage to his own +with one of his garters. He had not completed the act when an arrow +half spent struck him on the thigh and a moment later he discerned two +dusky figures drawing their bows upon him. These disappeared at the +discharge of his pistol, and he was congratulating himself on having +routed them so easily when two hundred warriors, hideous in paint and +feathers, rose from the ground in front of him. At their head was +Opechancanough, the chief of the Pamaunkes. + +The situation would have suggested surrender to the ordinary man. +There could be no use in Smith’s contending against such numbers and +to retreat to the river would be no less futile, since his men in the +canoe must have been captured. It was not, however, in our hero’s +nature to give up until absolutely obliged to do so. He could see +no possibility of escape but he proposed to make it as difficult as +possible for the savages to capture him. With this thought he placed +the guide before him as a shield and prepared, with a pistol in each +hand, to meet an onrush of the warriors. But they had no mind to rush +upon those fearful fire-spitting machines and kept off, discharging +their arrows from a distance that rendered them harmless. Seeing this, +Smith began to retire, keeping his face towards the enemy and holding +his human buckler in place. The Indians responded to this movement by +cautiously advancing and at the same time they sought to induce the +Englishman to lay down his arms, promising to spare his life in case he +should do so. Smith positively declined the proposition, insisting that +he would retain his weapons but promising not to make further use of +them if he should be permitted to depart in peace; otherwise he would +use them and kill some of his assailants without delay. The Indians +continuing to advance upon him, Smith let go both his pistols at them +and took advantage of the hesitation that followed to retreat more +rapidly. + +Of course this combat was of the most hopeless character and our hero +must ultimately have been shot to death had not an accident suddenly +put an end to his opposition. Still stepping backward and dragging his +captive with him he presently walks into a deep morass and reaches the +end of his journey in more than one sense, for it is in this swamp that +the Chickahominy rises and he has fulfilled his undertaking to find +the head of the river. It was at once clear to the dauntless explorer +that he must yield, and that quickly, for he and his Indian were fast +sinking in the icy ooze of the bog. He threw his pistols away in token +of surrender and his savage adversaries rushed up and extricated him +from his perilous situation. + +It was with feelings of curiosity and interest on either side that +Captain John Smith, the leader of the colonists, and Opechancanough, +the chief of the Pamaunkes, confronted each other. Both men of noble +bearing and fearless character, they must have been mutually impressed +at the first encounter. The chief’s erect and well-knit frame towered +above the forms of his attendant warriors and, together with the +dignity and intelligence of his countenance, marked him as a superior +being. In later years he played an important part in colonial history +and met a shameful death by assassination whilst a captive in the hands +of the authorities of Virginia. + +Smith, whose presence of mind never deserted him, immediately addressed +himself to the task of diverting the chieftain’s mind from the recent +unpleasant circumstances and with that end in view produced his pocket +compass and presented it to the savage. The Pamaunke was readily +attracted by the mystery of the twinkling needle which lay in sight but +beyond touch, and when our hero showed how it pointed persistently to +the north, the wonder of the savage increased. Having thus excited the +interest of his captors, Smith went on to hold their attention with a +more detailed explanation of the uses of the instrument. He described, +in simple language and with the aid of signs, the shape and movement +of the earth and the relative positions of sun, moon and stars. This +strange astronomical lecture, delivered in the depths of the forest, +at length wearied the auditors and they prepared to set out on the +return journey, for they had no thought of killing the captive at that +time. He was a man of too much importance to be slain off-hand and +without learning the pleasure of the great Powhatan in the matter. They +did, however, tie him to a tree and make a pretence of drawing their +bows upon him but, as the paleface met the threatened death without +so much as blinking, the savages derived little satisfaction from the +amusement. Before taking the march, Smith was given food and led to a +fire, beside which lay the body of Emery, one of the men he had left in +the canoe, stuck full of arrows. + +The return of Opechancanough to the settlement of the Pamaunkes was in +the nature of a triumphal procession. As the band approached a village +they gave vent to their piercing war-whoop and entered it chanting +their song of victory. In the midst of the procession walked the Chief +with Smith’s weapons borne before him and the captive, guarded by eight +picked warriors, following. A ceremonial dance took place before the +party dispersed to their various lodgings for the night. The captive +was well treated and had an excellent opportunity to study the natives +and their habits, for Opechancanough carried his prize on a circuit of +many villages before finally bringing him to the capital of Powhatan. +Nor did the peril of his situation prevent our hero from exercising his +usual keen powers of observation, for he has left us a minute account +of his strange experiences during these weeks of captive wandering. + +Every morning bread and venison were brought to the Englishman in +sufficient quantity to have satisfied ten men. His captors never by +any chance ate with him and, remembering the reluctance of Eastern +peoples to partake of food with those whom they designed to harm, +this fact excited his apprehensions. These Indians were not cannibals +but he had not that consoling knowledge, and the insistent manner in +which they pressed meat upon him raised a disagreeable suspicion that +they were fattening him for the table. The thought of death--even +with torture--he could endure calmly, but the idea of being eaten +afterwards caused him to shudder with horror. We can not help thinking, +however, that the sinewy captain might have visited his enemies with a +posthumous revenge had they recklessly subjected him to such a fate and +themselves to such grave hazard of acute indigestion. + +But the captive’s concern for the settlement at Jamestown outweighed +all other considerations. He surmised with reason, that having him +in their power, the Indians would endeavor to overcome the colonists, +whose natural incapacity to take care of themselves would be enhanced +by the belief that their leader was dead. He was racking his brain +to devise some means of communicating with them, when chance threw +an opportunity to him. It seems that in the encounter preceding his +surrender to Opechancanough Smith had seriously wounded one of the +Indians. He was now called upon to cure his victim and replied that he +might be able to do so if in possession of certain medicine which could +be obtained from Jamestown. The Chief agreed that two messengers should +bear a letter to the settlement, although he could not believe that +a few lines scrawled upon paper would convey any meaning, much less +elicit the desired response. + +The messengers journeyed to the fort with all speed, and as they were +not permitted to approach closely, left the note in a conspicuous place +and there received the reply. Of course Smith took the opportunity +to warn the settlers of the projected attack, and prayed them to +be constantly on their guard. He also suggested that some show of +strength, as a salvo from the big guns, might have a salutary effect +upon the messengers. The latter, after they had received the medicine +requested, and turned homewards, were treated to such a thunderous +discharge of cannon and musketry that they ran for miles in terror of +their lives and arrived at the village well-nigh scared out of their +wits. Their account of this terrible experience decided the Indians +not to attempt a descent upon Jamestown and their respect increased +for a man who could convey his thoughts and wishes by means of such a +mysterious medium as a letter appeared to them to be. + +Although the Indians had Smith unarmed and completely in their power, +they were not at all satisfied of his inability to harm them, and the +question seems to have caused them considerable anxiety. The medicine +men of the tribe undertook by incantations and other species of +deviltry to ascertain whether the captive’s intentions towards them +were good or otherwise. Smith was led in the morning to a large house +in the centre of which a fire burned. Here he was left alone, and +presently to him entered a hideous creature making unearthly noises in +his throat to the accompaniment of a rattle, whilst he danced about the +astonished Englishman in grotesque antics. This merry-andrew’s head was +decorated with dangling snake-skins and his body painted in a variety +of colors. After a while he was joined by three brother-priests who +set up a discordant chorus of shrieks and yells, whirling and skipping +about the house the while. They were painted half in black and half +in red with great white rings round their eyes. Shortly these were +joined by three more medicine men equally fantastic in appearance +and actions. The ceremony was maintained by these seven throughout +the day, much to the disgust of Smith, who soon found it tiresome and +uninteresting and particularly so as it involved an absolute fast from +dawn to sundown. In the evening women placed great mounds of food +upon the mats of the house and invited Smith to eat, but the priests +refrained from doing so until he had finished. + +This performance was repeated on the two successive days, but we are +not told what conclusion was reached by all the fuss. + + + + +XVII. + +POCAHONTAS TO THE RESCUE + +After a weary circuit of the Indian villages Smith is brought to +Werowocomico--He is received by Powhatan in the “King’s House”--The +chiefs in council decide to put him to death--He is bound and laid out, +preparatory to being killed--Pocahontas intervenes at the critical +moment--Powhatan’s dilemma and Opechancanough’s determination--“The +Council has decreed the death of the paleface”--“I, Pocahontas, +daughter of our King, claim this man for my brother”--The Indian maiden +prevails--Smith is reprieved and formally adopted into the tribe--They +wish him to remain with them and lead them against his own people. + + +One morning, shortly after the episode of the medicine men, Captain +Smith learned, to his great relief, that commands had been received +for his removal at once to the capital. He had no idea what, if any +fate had been determined upon for him, but he was heartily tired of the +weary wanderings and suspense of the past weeks and ready to face the +worst rather than prolong the uncertainty. Werowocomico, the principal +seat of the “Emperor” Powhatan, was short of a day’s journey distant, +and Opechancanough, with his illustrious prisoner, reached the town +as the early winter night was setting in. The capital of the Werowance +consisted of about thirty large wigwams, or “houses,” as the earlier +writers called them, and a number of smaller ones. These for the nonce +were reinforced by the tepees, or tents, of the many Indians who had +come in from distant villages for the occasion which was no ordinary +one. The large wigwams were made in the form of the rounded tops of the +wagons called “prairie schooners,” which in the days before railroads +were used upon the continent of North America for long-distance travel. +These wagon tops were sometimes taken off and placed upon the ground +to serve as tents, when the occupants would be lying in a contrivance +exactly like the ancient wigwam in shape. The latter was commonly big +enough to contain a whole family and sometimes harbored an entire band +of fifty or sixty natives. In that case it had two rows of apartments +running along the sides and a common hall in the middle. The structure +was composed of a framework of boughs covered with the bark of trees or +with skins--sometimes a combination of both. + +Smith’s captors approached the capital in triumphal fashion, chanting +their song of victory and flourishing their weapons in exultant pride. +The town was prepared to give them the reception usually accorded +to victorious warriors returning from battle. Great fires burned at +frequent points illuming the scene with a garish light in which the +bedaubed and bedizened savages looked doubly hideous. Chiefs and people +were attired in all their fantastic finery and even the children made +some show of tawdry ornament. The women had prepared food with even +more than ordinary profusion and had laid the mats in anticipation +of the prospective feasting. A double line of fully armed and foully +painted warriors--“grim courtiers,” Smith calls them--formed an avenue +to the “King’s house” along which the captive passed into the presence +of the great Werowance, whilst the spectators “stood wondering at him +as he had been a monster.” + +At the farther end of the wigwam, upon a platform, before which a +large fire blazed, reclined the aged but still vigorous chieftain, +upon a heap of furs. On either side of him stood the principal chiefs +and medicine men of the tribe, whilst the women of his family grouped +themselves behind. Two dense walls of warriors lined along the sides of +the wigwam leaving a space in the centre which was covered by a mat. +Upon this Smith took his stand and calmly surveyed the scene which +was not without an element of rude beauty. A loud shout had greeted +his entrance. In the profound silence that followed, two women--“the +Queen of Appamatuck and another”--came forward with food which they +placed before him and signed to him to eat. Our hero’s appetite and his +curiosity never failed him under any circumstances. He had a habit of +living in the present moment and not concerning himself unduly about +the uncertain future. So, in this crisis, when the ordinary man would +have been too much preoccupied with the thought of his fate to attend +to the needs of his stomach, Smith addressed himself in leisurely +fashion to the pile of food and at the same time studied the details +of his surroundings with a retentive eye. Meanwhile, the savages stood +silent and stock still as statues until he had finished. + +When at length our hero rose refreshed and ready to face his fate, +Powhatan also stood up and beckoned to him to approach the royal dais. +Powhatan was arrayed in his state robe of raccoon skins. A band of +pearls encircled his brow and a tuft of eagle’s feathers surmounted his +head. Smith was impressed by the dignity and forcefulness of the old +chief who addressed him in a deep bass voice. + +“The paleface has abused the hospitality of Powhatan and requited his +kindness with treachery,” said the chieftain in slow and solemn tones. +“The paleface and his brethren came to Powhatan’s country when the +summer was young and begged for food and land that they might live. My +people would have slain them but I commanded that grain be given to +the palefaces and that they be allowed to live in peace in the village +which they had made. Was this not enough? Did not Powhatan thus prove +his friendship and good will to the strangers in his land?” + +We know that all this was a mixture of falsehood and sophistry. As +such Smith recognized it, of course, but, as he did not wish to arouse +the chief’s anger by contradicting him, he decided to keep silence and +an immovable countenance. After a pause, during which he endeavored +without success to read the effect of his words in the prisoner’s face, +Powhatan continued: + +“Powhatan’s people have given the palefaces abundance of food--venison +and fowls and corn. They have furnished them with warm furs. They have +shown them the springs of the forest. They have taught them to trap the +beasts and to net the fish. And the palefaces, scorning the kindness of +Powhatan and his people, turn their fire-machines upon them and slay +them. You--their werowance--they send to spy out the land of Powhatan +so that they may make war upon his villages in the night time. Now my +people cry for your blood. What shall I say to them? How shall I again +deny my warriors whose brothers you yourself have slain?” + +“The Powhatan mistakes the purpose of myself and my people,” replied +Smith. “It is our wish and intent to treat our red brothers with +justice and friendliness. If we have killed some it hath been in +defence of our own lives. Our fire-machines have spoken only when the +bow was drawn against us. It is not in our minds to make war upon the +great Powhatan nor yet to rob him of his lands. Whatsoever we ask at +his hands we are ready to pay for. If the great Werowance allows the +clamor of his warriors for my life to override his own good judgment, +so be it. But I would warn Powhatan and his chiefs that my death will +be the signal for relentless war against their people, for I am the +subject of a mighty king whose rule extends over lands many times +greater than those of Powhatan, whose soldiers are as numerous as the +stars in the heavens and whose ships sail the seas in every direction. +He will surely avenge my death with a bitter vengeance.” + +Smith had no idea of committing himself to an argument and wisely +contented himself with a brief statement of the facts, adding a +threat that he hoped might give the savages pause. It was clear from +Powhatan’s remarks that he was determined to place the prisoner in the +wrong, and contradiction could have no good effect. Finding that his +captive had nothing more to say, the Werowance sent him to a nearby +wigwam with instructions that he should be made comfortable and allowed +to rest. Meanwhile, the chiefs went into council over his fate. + +Smith’s words had made a strong impression upon Powhatan, who was +the most sagacious Indian of his tribe. He was altogether averse to +putting the prisoner to death because he was forced in his mind to +acknowledge the white men as superior beings with whom it would be +dangerous to evoke a war. Doubtless they would soon send another chief +to replace Smith and more would be gained by holding him for ransom +than by killing him. But Powhatan’s wise conclusions were not shared by +the other members of the council. With hardly an exception they were +in favor of Smith’s death by the usual torturous methods. One of the +chiefs was a brother of the man who had died as the result of a pistol +wound inflicted by Smith in the skirmish preceding his capture. He was +implacable in the demand for the usual satisfaction of a life for a +life, and was warmly supported by Opechancanough who, to the day of his +death at their hands, maintained an unappeasable hatred for the whole +race of white men. Now Opechancanough was, after the great Werowance, +the most influential chief in the tribe, and rather than incur his +displeasure and that of the others, Powhatan yielded against his better +judgment. He did this, however, only after having expressed his opinion +to the contrary, and the real respect which he felt for Smith led him +to stipulate that the captive should not be put to the torture but +should be executed by the more humane and speedy means employed by the +savages with members of their own tribe. + +This conclusion of the council having been reached, Smith was brought +again into the king’s house and informed of it. He bowed with courage +and dignity to the decision which he felt that it would be futile +to protest against and calmly held out his arms to the warriors who +came forward to bind him. Whilst these tightly bound his hands to his +sides and tied his feet together, others rolled into the centre of +the wigwam a large stone. When this had been placed, the prisoner was +required to kneel and lay his head upon it. This he did with the serene +self-possession that had not been shaken in the least during this +trying ordeal. At the same time he silently commended his spirit to his +Maker, believing that the next moment would be his last on earth. The +executioners stood, one on either side, their clubs poised ready for +the signal to dash out his brains. + +Powhatan was in the act of raising his hand in the fatal gesture that +would have stamped our hero’s doom, when a young girl, as graceful as +a doe and not less agile, burst through the throng that surrounded +the Werowance and sprang to the prisoner’s side. Waving back the +executioners with the haughty dignity derived from a long line of noble +ancestors, she drew her slim and supple figure to its full height and +faced the group of chieftains with head erect and flashing eyes. + +“Pardon, Powhatan! Pardon, my father!” she cried in a rich voice +quivering with emotion. “Pocahontas craves the life of the captive, and +claims the right to adopt him as a brother according to the immemorial +custom of our tribe.” + +Powhatan was in a quandary. Pocahontas was his favorite daughter, his +pet, and the comfort of his old age. He had never denied her anything, +nor ever thought to do so. He had a strong inclination to grant her +request, but as he looked round the circle of angry faces and heard the +subdued mutterings of his chiefs he hesitated to incur their discontent. + +“The Council has decreed the death of the paleface. It can not be, my +daughter,” he said. But there was an unusual trace of indecision in his +voice. + +“It _must_ be, my father!” cried the girl, with spirit. “Is a princess, +and your child, to be denied the right that every woman of our tribe +enjoys? Any woman of the Powhatans may redeem a condemned prisoner by +adopting him, and I--I, Pocahontas, daughter of our king, claim this +man for my brother.” + +Powhatan was deeply moved by the dignified and earnest plea of the +girl and was about to accede to it when Opechancanough leaned forward +and whispered in his ear. The words of the Chief of the Pamaunkes, +whatever they were, seemed to be decisive, for Powhatan, with a gesture +of mingled annoyance and regret, signed to the executioners to perform +their task. The eyes of Pocahontas had been anxiously fixed upon her +father during this pause in the proceedings and, as she saw his sign of +submission to the argument of the Pamaunke, she threw herself upon the +head of Smith and entwined her arms about his neck. + +She had nothing further to say, realizing that words would have no +effect, but, with the quick wit of a woman, she had advanced an +argument which was unanswerable. The executioners dropped their clubs +and looked perplexedly towards the Werowance. The assembled warriors +gazed expectantly in the same direction. The affair had reached an +_impasse_. None there dared lay a hand on the girl save the Powhatan, +and he had no thought of doing so. He gazed at her with proud +satisfaction for a few moments, whilst a presentiment took possession +of his mind that this slip of a girl had unwittingly saved her tribe +from a world of possible troubles. + +“Let be!” he said with an air of weariness. “The paleface shall be +adopted into the tribe to make hatchets for me and beads for his little +sister.” + +With that Smith was unbound and taken to a wigwam where they brought +him food and left him to wonder at the marvellous workings of +Providence and pass a peaceful night. + +The next morning our hero was led to one of the larger houses which +was divided in the middle by a partition. Smith was instructed to seat +himself and to await events. Presently, from the other side of the +screen came the most hideous howls and shrieks he had ever heard, but +Smith had got beyond the point of being disturbed by anything that +might occur. For half an hour or more the strange sounds continued, +when Powhatan and his chiefs entered, accompanied by Smith’s old +friends the noisy medicine men. He was informed that the ceremony +which had just taken place was that of his adoption into the tribe +and Powhatan formally addressed him as “son.” From this time Smith +was treated with the utmost consideration and those who had been +the most eager for his death, with the exception of the implacable +Opechancanough who departed to his village in high dudgeon, now vied +with each other in efforts to secure his good-will. Powhatan and Smith +held many conferences together in which each learned a great deal from +the other and grew to regard his erstwhile enemy with feelings of +respect and friendship. + +The savages had entertained the hope that after the adoption Smith +would remain with them and they even thought to induce him to lead +them against Jamestown. It is needless to say that he firmly declined +to do either. Powhatan being at length convinced of Smith’s friendly +intentions agrees to his return but, in satisfaction of his own desire +as well as to appease the disappointment of his people, he exacts +a ransom to consist of two of the largest guns in the fort and the +biggest grindstone. + + + + +XVIII. + +FIRE AND STARVATION + +Powhatan by excessive greed overreaches himself--Smith is allowed to +return to the settlement--He finds the colonists, as usual, disturbed +by dissensions--Arrives just in time to prevent Ratcliffe and others +from deserting--Newport arrives with the “first supply”--The Indians +continue to treat Smith as a tribal chief--Fire destroys Jamestown +completely--Newport and Smith visit Powhatan--The purple beads +“fit only for the use of Kings”--The astute Indian Chief meets his +match in Captain John Smith--The settlers are smitten with the gold +fever--Captain Newport sails for England with a wonderful cargo. + + +Had Powhatan been less specific in his demand, or less greedy in his +desire, Captain Smith might have found it difficult to agree to his +proposal. But, when the Werowance made a point of exacting the “two +largest guns and the biggest grindstone” in the fort, Smith had no +hesitation in saying that he would permit Powhatan’s messengers to +carry away the articles mentioned. This point having been settled to +their mutual satisfaction, the Chief detailed twelve men to guide and +guard our hero on the road to Jamestown which, being but twelve miles +from Werowocomico, they reached by easy marches. The Indian escort was +treated with all the kindness Smith could command for them. Each was +given a present and they were charged with the delivery of a package to +Powhatan, containing a number of the things most highly prized by the +savages. When the time for their departure came they asked for the guns +and grindstone which they were to carry back to their Chief. + +“Certes! They be yours if you can carry them,” replied Smith, pointing, +with a quizzical smile, at two demi-culverins each weighing more than +four tons and a huge grindstone which four men could hardly raise +on edge. The baffled savages looked on these ponderous things with +dismay and had to admit that they could not be carried to Werowocomico +though the whole tribe came after them. Smith was not willing that his +visitors should leave without gaining some impression of the power as +well as the size of the ordnance and so he loaded one of the guns with +small stones and discharged it into the trees where the icicle-laden +boughs were thickest. The smoke and racket that followed filled the +Indians with terror and they took their leave hurriedly, doubtless glad +that the roaring, fire-spitting monster was not to accompany them. + +The great majority of the settlers welcomed Captain Smith, whom they +had never expected to see again, with genuine joy. Once more he had +arrived just in the nick of time, for the affairs of the colony had +been going from bad to worse during his absence and were now on the +point of a crisis that, had it not been averted, would have probably +effected the ruin of the colony. There had been no improvement in the +government. Ratcliffe had become justly unpopular in the presidency and +Archer, a pettifogging lawyer and mischief-maker, had been admitted +to the Council. Martin, feeble in health and mind, had fallen under +the complete domination of the other two and with them and other +malcontents had entered into a conspiracy which the return of Captain +Smith was just in time to frustrate. He no sooner heard of their plot +to sail to England in the pinnace and desert the settlement than he +bearded them in the Council room. + +“So,” he cried, indignation and contempt showing in every tone and +gesture. “So! These be the gallant gentlemen who contended among +themselves for leadership of our enterprise! By my halidame! A fine +pack of leaders--tufftaffaty humorists rather! Ye mind me of one +Falstaffe--a cowardly, gluttonous braggart he--I once saw depicted +at the Globe playhouse. Not one of you has hazarded his skin beyond +musket-shot of the fort but now, having fattened and reposed yourselves +through the winter, ye would return to England and brag of your brave +deeds and feats of arms. But--and I mistake not--we shall find a +different conclusion for your plot. I hold the King’s commission to +maintain the flag of England in this country and whilst my arm and +brain serve me that will I do in good faith and count all such as +oppose the commands of His Most Gracious Majesty, enemies of the realm +and traitors to their country. Take heed then how ye proceed in this +matter, for I will see to it that the guns are manned day and night by +good and true men with instructions to sink the pinnace at the first +show of sinister design.” + +With that Smith clapped his hat upon his head and strode out of the +Council room. + +If the conspirators had entertained any thought of pursuing their +project in the face of Captain Smith’s opposition, the ringing shout +with which he was greeted by the waiting crowd outside was sufficient +to banish it. Word of what was going forward had drawn the settlers to +the Council House and much of Smith’s harangue, delivered in a voice +strong with anger, had penetrated to them. They were almost to a man +in sympathy with him, for the cowardly plotters belonged exclusively +to the “gentleman” class among the colonists, men who arrogated to +themselves superior privileges and rights whilst unwilling to bear even +their share of hardship and toil. These poor creatures should not be +considered representative of the gentlemen of England, who in those +stirring times produced many of the bravest and most self-sacrificing +leaders in the chronicles of Christendom. + +The settlers had almost begun to despair of Newport’s return when one +day, in early January, he sailed into the river with a well-laden +ship and upwards of one hundred new colonists. His appearance put +an end to a pretty scheme which the attorney Archer had concocted +to encompass Smith’s downfall. Direct from England, with authority +superior to that of any man in Jamestown, Newport instituted an inquiry +into the government of the colony during his absence and determined +that Wingfield and Archer should return with him, to answer to the +Company. Scrivener he appointed to the Council and thus assured Smith +of one firm ally in that body. Newport had started for America with +two vessels. These became separated in mid-ocean and the _Phœnix_, +commanded by Captain Francis Nelson, did not arrive until considerably +later. + +The relations between the Indians and the colonists now became +very friendly, owing to the adoption of Smith by the tribe. After +his return to Jamestown, Pocahontas and some of the other women of +Werowocomico came to the settlement twice or three times a week +laden with provisions, these being Smith’s share, as a chief, of the +tribal stores. On these occasions, men would also bring foodstuff to +be disposed of in trade. These supplies were very timely, for the +settlement had again approached the verge of starvation when Smith +returned after his seven weeks of captivity, and Captain Newport’s +arrival did not greatly mend that matter, for the larger part of the +edible supplies sent from England were upon the tardy vessel. In the +barter with the savages, Smith established a scale of exchange based +upon the values set by the Indians themselves upon the wares of the +foreigners. This was of course fair enough, but his enemies, more than +ever jealous of the great influence he evidently enjoyed with the +Indians, sought to undermine it by giving them very much more than they +asked for their grain and venison. The result was that in a short while +a pound of copper would scarce purchase as much as an ounce had secured +under Smith’s regulation. The schemers had the satisfaction of seeing +Smith fall in the regard of the Indians, who naturally thought that he +had been cheating them. + +The newcomers were of course a welcome accession to the depleted +colony, but they brought misfortune upon it at the outset. They had +been little more than a week within the stockade when one of them +through carelessness set fire to the house in which he was lodged. The +flames spread and in a few short hours all the buildings and even the +fortifications were consumed. Nothing could be saved but the clothes +upon the men’s backs, and the supplies which Newport had landed went +with the rest. In this extremity the settlers must have perished of +cold and starvation, or fallen under the arrows of the savages, but for +the amicable relations which had been brought about by Captain Smith. +As it was, the Indians hastened to bring furs and food to the relief of +the miserable white men who were prostrated body and soul by the sudden +misfortune. They sat about the ruins of Jamestown, bewailing their lot +and praying Captain Newport to carry them home to England. This would +have been impossible at the time, even had he a mind to do so, for +there was not enough food on the ship to serve such a numerous company +as far as the West Indies. + +Smith was ashamed at the cowardice of his countrymen and fearful +lest their puerile exhibition of weakness should lower them in the +estimation of the Indians, many of whom were on hand, for the flames +of Jamestown had been plainly visible at Werowocomico. Seconded by +Mr. Hunt, Newport, Percy and Scrivener, he went among the whimpering +colonists persuading, threatening, cajoling--in short, using any means +to make them bestir themselves. + +“See yonder dominie, good Master Hunt, how, with exhortation, he +hearteneth the afflicted,” he cried seeking to shame them by the +exhibition of a good example. “Yet no man among us hath suffered so +great loss as he. For not only his chattels and clothes have been +destroyed but also his books on which he set more store than upon +gold or aught else. Yet hath no moaning or complaint issued from him, +but he beareth himself bravely and with composure as becometh a true +gentleman and a servant of God.” + +These efforts at length moved the settlers to action and, with the +aid of the sailors and some Indians who were hired to assist, rude +structures were hastily raised in sufficient numbers to afford shelter +to all. The work of rebuilding Jamestown in a permanent fashion was +necessarily deferred. + +Smith now proposed that Newport should pay a visit to Powhatan. During +his captivity our hero had taken pains to impress the Chief with an +idea of Newport’s importance and power. Indeed, he had addressed +himself to this task with such enthusiasm that the savages conceived +of Newport as “Captain Smith’s God,” and by that title he was known +among them. Taking an escort of forty men, Smith, Newport and Scrivener +reached Werowocomico without any mishap and received a warm welcome. +Powhatan awaited them in the same “long house” which had been the scene +of our hero’s stirring adventure. It was a state occasion, as Smith’s +former appearance there had been, and the assemblage presented much the +same aspect. But now, in place of scowling faces and angry mutterings, +Smith and his companions were met with smiles and cries of friendly +greeting. After formal salutations had been exchanged, a great feast +was set out in which they all partook. This was followed by dancing, +singing, and mimic combats. + +Smith’s prime object in suggesting this visit of Newport to the Chief +of the Powhatans lay in a hope that it might tend to cement the +friendly relations existing between the redmen and the settlers. He +was not, however, forgetful of the needs of the settlement, always +on the verge of starvation, and proposed to take advantage of the +opportunity to secure as much food as possible from the ample stores +of Werowocomico. He warned Newport to part with his wares on the +best terms obtainable and to show but few things at a time and those +with a pretence at reluctance. But Newport’s eagerness to play the +part of “big chief” and Powhatan’s shrewdness came near to upsetting +Smith’s plans. When Newport had presented a very generous gift to the +Werowance, intimating that the rest of the goods were to be disposed of +in trade, the wily Powhatan decided to circumvent him by an appeal to +his pride. + +“It is not seemly,” he said, “that two great Werowances such as you and +I should haggle over the details of trade. Lay out your wares then, +that I may see them and what pleases me I will take, paying to you a +fair price according to my judgment.” + +Smith could scarce keep a straight countenance when he heard this +_naïve_ speech of the old chieftain, but his amusement soon gave way +to deep concern as he saw the infatuated Newport spread out his entire +stock before Powhatan. + +Smith had serious cause for apprehension. The influence of the settlers +over the Indians and, indeed, their very lives depended upon the +copper, glass, beads and similar trifles which the Indians coveted so +greedily. If these became cheapened in their eyes, the colonists would +have nothing with which to propitiate them, nor with which to pay for +the provisions so constantly needed. And here was the reckless Newport +permitting Powhatan to help himself on condition of paying what he +pleased for what he should take. The rates of exchange set by Smith had +already, as we know, been ruinously enhanced in favor of the Indians, +and this transaction was calculated to still more greatly raise them. +He did not dare to protest, for fear of arousing Powhatan’s anger, but +fortunately his quick wit enabled him to save the situation without +creating any unpleasantness. + +Among the many things displayed for the inspection of the great +Werowance, Smith noted some beads of a different tint to any others +there. He quietly abstracted the package, taking care that Powhatan +should see him do so. When at length the Chief had indicated all the +things he wished to retain, he fixed a price on them which, as Smith +had anticipated, was not more than one-tenth as much as the Indians had +usually paid for such articles. Having settled that business to his +entire satisfaction, the greedy Chief turned to Smith and asked to be +shown the package which the latter had put aside. Powhatan suspected +that it contained something of unusual value and Smith cunningly +confirmed this suspicion by pretending the greatest reluctance to +exhibit the articles. Presently, however, he showed them, saying: + +“These be as you see different in color from all the other beads. They +be purple--the royal color in the countries beyond the seas--and fit +only for the use of kings.” + +Of course Powhatan was consumed with a desire to possess them and +equally of course Smith did not readily yield to him. At last the +Werowance received the coveted purple beads on the payment of six +times as much for them as he had given for all the things secured from +Newport. It was immediately decreed that purple beads might only be +worn by the Powhatan and his family but Opechancanough was allowed a +few as a mark of special favor. + +After five days of entertainment and friendly intercourse, the +Englishmen returned to the settlement. It was Newport’s intention +to load up his vessel with cedar and depart for England as soon as +possible. Just at this time, however, a trivial accident gave an +entirely new and unfortunate turn to the affairs of the colony. One of +the settlers discovered some yellow dust shining in the bottom of a +stream near the settlement. Immediately, the whole colony was smitten +with the gold-fever. Neglecting all else they gave themselves up to the +pursuit of the precious metal. As one of them says: “There was no talk, +no hope, but dig gold, wash gold, refine gold, load gold; such a bruit +of gold that one mad fellow, a wag, desired to be buried in the sands +lest they should, by their art, make gold of his bones.” The outcome of +all this was that, after several weeks delay, Newport sailed away with +a ship laden with _mica dust_. + + + + +XIX. + +A TURN IN THE TIDE + +Captain Nelson arrives in the Phœnix with reinforcements and +supplies--Powhatan becomes disgruntled--Smith yields to Pocahontas what +he had refused to her father--Smith sets out to explore Chesapeake +Bay--The expedition meets with storm and shipwreck--The party is +led into an ambush--They find the Indians everywhere unfriendly and +learn of Powhatan’s treachery--The Susquehannocks and their giant +chief--They propose to make Smith the head of the tribe--Ratcliffe is +deposed and Scrivener assumes the Presidency--The colony is put in good +condition--Newport returns bent on fanciful schemes--The coronation of +Powhatan. + + +Smith, Scrivener and a few other men of balanced minds had escaped the +gold-fever. They doubted in the first place whether the stuff was worth +anything and realized that, even if it should prove to be gold indeed, +the time occupied in the search of it had better have been employed in +the urgent affairs of the settlement. They were very glad, therefore, +to see Newport at last take his departure, and immediately set men +at work rebuilding the town and fortifications and breaking ground +preparatory to planting corn. The settlers were thus engaged when, +quite unexpectedly, the _Phœnix_ arrived with Captain Nelson and one +hundred and twenty emigrants. As usual, the reinforcement included two +or more gentlemen for every laborer or artisan. Smith’s disappointment +on this account was, however, offset by the fact that Captain Nelson +brought six months’ provisions which were sorely needed by the settlers. + +Hardly had Newport gone than the colony began to reap the fruit of +his unwise traffic with the Indians. Smith had always been careful +to prevent the natives from securing any of the European weapons, or +even pieces of iron from which they might fashion swords. Newport +was less cautious, perhaps because the consequences could entail no +hazard to himself. Just before his departure he gave Powhatan twenty +cutlasses for as many turkeys, despite the earnest protests of Smith. +Powhatan was not long in learning the superiority of these weapons +over his own and, thinking to secure more of them, he sent messengers +to Smith, asking for swords in exchange for fowls. It is needless to +say that the demand was flatly refused, although Smith was loath to +displease the chieftain. Powhatan was keenly disappointed, for he had +thought that, as a member of the tribe, Smith would be more amenable +to his wishes. He was also seriously offended, and sought to gain +his point by stealth. Some of his people were sent to the settlement +with instructions to steal whatever they could and, in particular, to +purloin as many weapons as possible. + +As Indians were frequent visitors to Jamestown and of late had been +permitted to go about the settlement freely, it was comparatively easy +for Powhatan’s emissaries to carry on their pilferings for some time +without detection. At length, however, several of them were caught in +the act and imprisoned. Fearing that they were about to be put to death +they revealed a conspiracy against the colony on the part of Powhatan +and his principal chiefs. Thus forewarned of the intended treachery, +Smith hastened the work on the defences of the place and kept a +vigorous guard day and night. In the meanwhile he held possession of +his prisoners much to the uneasiness of the great Werowance. Repeated +requests for their release were denied, although the messengers came +laden with presents. Opechancanough came in person but had no better +success. At length Powhatan sent Pocahontas with expressions of his +regret for the untoward actions of his subjects and assurances of his +future goodwill. This appeal was effective. Smith yielded, not to the +Chief but to the girl who had saved his life. + +There had been a great deal of discussion about the freighting of +the _Phœnix_. Ratcliffe, Martin, and, in fact, the majority were for +loading the vessel with the delusive dust which had formed Newport’s +cargo. Smith and Scrivener protested against another shipment of +what they strongly suspected to be no more than “glittering dirt.” +Captain Nelson took the same view of the matter and in the end the +_Phœnix_ sailed out of the James with an honest lading of good Virginia +cedar. This was on June the second, 1608. The same day Smith left the +settlement in an open barge of three tons’ burden, accompanied by +fifteen men. Most of these were newcomers, who were not a little set +up on account of an experience they had gained with Newport during his +recent visit. That able seaman generally contrived to make himself +ridiculous when he transferred the scene of his activities to dry +land. He had brought out a large boat in five sections designed to be +carried across the mountains in his projected journey to the South Sea. +The expedition started with a great flourish of trumpets and after +being gone two and a half days returned to Jamestown and abandoned +the enterprise. Now those of Smith’s force who had been in Newport’s +company thought that the latter’s expedition was a fair sample of +exploration. They were eager for adventure and very much feared +that Smith, in an open boat committed to the sea, would not journey +far enough to satisfy their appetite. The leader heard these doubts +expressed and promised himself some amusement at the expense of his +eager adventurers. + +Smith’s determination was to thoroughly explore Chesapeake Bay. It was +no light undertaking. The region was quite unknown to him and peopled +by Indian tribes with which he had not yet come in contact. The mere +matter of navigation involved grave dangers, for the Bay being wide +and open, is subject to almost the full force of wind and tide. But in +the face of all these difficulties, and many more that arose with the +progress of the exploration, Smith accomplished his purpose and that +so effectually that his map of the Bay was the best in existence until +recent times, and is still acknowledged to be an excellent one. The +work was at that time of course of the utmost importance and, although +it took the authorities at home some time to see it, information of +the country and inhabitants of Virginia was of much greater value than +fanciful stories of gold mines and short cuts to the South Sea. + +Our adventurers soon found that exploring with Captain Smith was a very +different thing from a picnic expedition with Captain Newport. They +encountered rough weather from the outset. Their hands blistered and +their backs ached with rowing against a strong wind. The briny waves +drenched their clothes and soaked their bread. Their water keg was +broached by some accident and before they could replenish it they came +so near to being famished that they “would have refused two barrels of +gold for one of puddle water.” This was their condition when a terrible +storm struck them, carrying away their masts and sails. By good +fortune, rather than any effort of their own, they contrived to gain +the shelter of an uninhabited island where they went ashore. + +The men who had been fearful lest Captain Smith should not venture far +enough, were now all for returning to Jamestown, but their leader had +no mind to turn back. Opposition and difficulty ever increased his +determination and nerved him to greater effort. + +“Gentlemen,” said Smith to the disheartened company, “remember the +example of Sir Ralph Lane’s company in worse straits, how they begged +him to proceed in the discovery of Moratico, saying that they had +yet a dog that would sustain them for a while. Then what shame would +it be to us to return, having ample provision of a sort, and scarce +able to say where we have been, nor yet heard of that we were sent to +seek. You can not say but I have shared with you in the worst that is +past; and for what is to come, of lodging, diet, or whatsoever, I am +content you allot the worst part to me. As to your apprehensions that +I will lose myself in these unknown large waters, or be swallowed up +in some stormy gust, abandon these childish fears, for worse than is +past is not likely to happen, and to return would be as dangerous as to +proceed. Regain, therefore, your old spirits, for return I will not--if +God please--till I have seen the Massawomekes, found Patawomek, or the +head of this bay which you imagine to be endless.” + +They remained two days upon the island, and when the storm abated +resumed their journey with fresh sails fashioned from their shirts. + +The exploring party had been out just two weeks when they came across +the mouth of the Potomac--or Patawomek, as Smith called it. They +sailed thirty miles up the river without sight of human being, when +two Indians appeared from nowhere, after their mysterious manner, and +offered to serve them as guides. Pretending to take them to a village +at the head of a creek, the wily savages neatly led them into an +ambuscade. Suddenly the English found themselves in the centre of three +or four hundred Indians, “strangely painted, grimed and disguised, +shouting, yelling and crying, as so many spirits from hell could not +have showed more terrible.” Had they discharged their arrows at once, +instead of wasting time in capering about, the explorers must have been +killed to a man. But these Indians, who had not yet become acquainted +with the dreadful “spit-fires” of the strangers, thought that they had +them entirely at their mercy and doubtless proposed to reserve them +for the torture. Smith ordered his men to fire a volley in the air and +the effect of the discharge of fifteen muskets at once was all that +could be wished. Many of the savages fled into the forest, others threw +themselves prone upon the ground and all cast aside their weapons in +sign of surrender. Smith learned that messengers from Powhatan had +instigated these people to attack the expedition and had urged upon +them, above all, to secure the white men’s weapons. Had they known +the terrible nature of those weapons they certainly would not have +indulged in any such foolishness and they did not think kindly of +their brothers, the Powhatans, for having egged them on to it. Smith +established friendly relations with these people who never occasioned +further trouble. + +In their progress the voyagers found the Indians almost everywhere in +arms and ready to attack them, having been prompted thereto by the +emissaries from Werowocomico. In most cases, however, the natives were +converted to peaceful good-will without bloodshed, the flash and report +of the fire-arm proving to be a powerful pacifier. Wherever they went, +the explorers heard of the Massawomekes. They seem to have been a +particularly warlike tribe, situated near the head of the bay, who were +dreaded and hated by all their neighbors. Smith was very anxious to see +these people and proceeded up the bay with the intention of visiting +their country. But his men were succumbing so fast to the fatigue and +exposure that, when at length there were but five left fit for active +service, he deemed it wise to defer the exploration of the head of the +bay. Before turning homeward, however, he sent a messenger inland to +the country of the Susquehannocks who had the reputation of being a +tribe of giants. + +After a delay of a few days a deputation of sixty warriors from the +Susquehannocks visited the camp of the Englishmen. They were bigger +and more warlike than any Indians that the settlers had encountered up +to that time, and it was agreeable to Smith to find that they had come +prepared to make an alliance with him and, indeed, to adopt him into +the tribe as a chief. In token of their good-will they presented him +with a bear’s skin cloak, such as was only worn by great Werowances, +eighteen mantles, a chain of beads weighing six or seven pounds and a +number of other gewgaws. Their chief was a man of extraordinary size, +even for a Susquehannock. Smith thus describes him: + +“The calf of his leg was three-quarters of a yard about, and all the +rest of his limbs so answerable to that proportion that he seemed the +goodliest man we had ever beheld. His hair on one side was long, the +other shorn close with a ridge over his crown like a cock’s comb. +His arrows were five quarters of a yard long, headed with flints or +splinters of stone in form like a heart, an inch broad and an inch and +a half or more long. These he wore at his back in a wolf’s skin for his +quiver, his bow in the one hand and his club in the other.” + +These people proposed that Smith should assume the headship of the +tribe and lead them in war against the Massawomekes and other enemies. +Had our hero entertained any such ambition as that with which he +was charged by Wingfield and his supporters, here was an excellent +opportunity to set up a kingdom. The Susquehannocks were not only +exceptionally warlike, but also one of the most numerous tribes in +that part of America. No doubt, with a man like Smith at their head, +they could soon have established sovereignty over hundreds of miles of +territory. It is needless to say, however, that the offer was declined +as tactfully as possible and the expedition turned homeward. + +Smith arrived in Jamestown just as another crisis in the affairs of +the colony had been reached. Ratcliffe, the President, had shamefully +abused his office for some time past. He had taken for his private use +the best things in the public stores, he had beaten several of the +settlers, with little or no provocation, and had diverted a number +of laborers from useful employment to the task of building him a +pleasure-house in the woods. Smith appeared on the scene when the wrath +of the colonists had almost risen beyond bounds. Had he not arrived +when he did they would probably have taken Ratcliffe’s life. As it was, +they would hear of nothing short of his deposition and invited Smith +to take his place at the head of the government. Smith, however, who +was the active instrument in disposing of the obnoxious officer, hardly +thought that he could accept the proposal with a good grace and so +persuaded them to allow him to substitute Scrivener for himself. So, +with this change, the summer passed in peace, and satisfactory progress +was made in the rebuilding of the settlement. + +The colony had never been in a better condition than now to make good +progress. The settlers were well content with the rule of Smith and +Scrivener, who always knew just what they wanted to do and how to do +it. Work and rations were fairly apportioned. Gentlemen were required +to take their turn at labor with the rest. A military company was +formed and drilled, and the Indians were kept in check by the practice +of diplomacy and a show of force. This happy state of things was +completely upset by the return of Newport with instructions from his +employers to discover the South Sea, to bring back gold, and to search +for the survivors of the lost Roanoke colony. But this was not the sum +of Newport’s mad mission. He was also charged with the coronation of +Powhatan, to whom King James sent a present of a wash-basin and pitcher +and an Elizabethan bed with its furnishings. Newport failed to bring +the food and other things of which the settlers stood in such constant +need, but instead landed seventy Dutchmen and Poles for the purpose +of establishing manufactories of “pitch, tar, glass and soap-ashes.” +By this time, Smith had been regularly elected President. He was +thoroughly disgusted with the foolish instructions of the London +company, and when Newport undertook to undo much of the good work that +had been accomplished with so great trouble, even going so far as to +restore Ratcliffe to the presidency, Smith bluntly gave him his choice +of immediately taking himself and his ship off, or of being detained +for a year that he might gain the experience that he was sadly in +need of. Newport wisely chose the former alternative and sailed away, +having, as before, sown the seeds of trouble from which the colonists +were to reap a bitter crop before long. + + + + +XX. + +DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND + +Smith goes on a foraging expedition and engages in a contest of +wits with Powhatan--Doctor Russell and Captain Smith get into a +tight place--And get out again--Powhatan plans to murder his adopted +son--Pocahontas warns the Captain of the intended treachery--The feast +and the disappointed waiters--How eight designing Indians afford goodly +entertainment to three Englishmen--And how they are neatly laid by the +heels by their intended victims--“The English sleep like the village +dog, with one eye cocked”--How the ambushers were ambushed and the +captors captured--“If there be one among you bold enough to essay a +single combat, let him come out!” + + +With the approach of winter the colony of Jamestown found itself in +hardly better condition than at the same time in the previous year. +It is true that their health was now better but they had many more +mouths to feed and rather less chance of obtaining provisions from the +Indians. These, as we know, had been unfriendly for some months past, +due to Newport’s reckless generosity towards them and particularly +to his foolish gift of swords, which Smith refused to duplicate. The +more experienced among the settlers had protested strongly against +the crowning of Powhatan, fearing that the savage would interpret +the ceremony as a measure of propitiation and a sign of dread on the +part of the English. And this proved to be the case. It was soon +evident that the great Werowance had risen mightily in self-esteem +in consequence of the silly coronation and that his respect for the +settlers had fallen in proportion. The neighboring bands, acting on +his orders, refused to furnish corn on any terms, and messengers sent +to Werowocomico returned empty handed, telling of having been treated +with a high-handed contempt. After Scrivener and Percy had made futile +expeditions, it became clear that, as usual, Smith must attend to the +matter in person if the colony was to be saved from starvation. + +Smith immediately began preparations for a visit to the capital of +Powhatan, whose spies doubtless gave him early information of the fact, +for, just at this time, an embassy arrived from the newly-crowned +“emperor” demanding workmen to build him an English house to contain +the gorgeous bedstead that his brother, the King of England, had sent +to him. He also asked for fifty swords, as many muskets, a cock and +hen, a large quantity of copper and a bushel of beads. This modest +requisition he expected would be filled forthwith, and in return for +his compliance he promised to give Captain Smith a shipload of corn, +provided he came for it in person. Here was a very palpable trap and +something like a veiled defiance. Smith was as little prone to shirk +danger as he was to decline a challenge, and he returned answer that he +should presently be at Werowocomico. In the meanwhile he was sending +three Germans and two Englishmen to build the projected palace, but, +for the rest of the request, he thought that he had better bring +the things mentioned by the Chief himself, for he feared that the +messengers might hurt themselves with the swords and muskets. + +Leaving Scrivener in charge of the settlement, Smith, with forty-six +volunteers, embarked in the pinnace and two barges. George Percy +commanded one of the latter and Francis West, brother of Lord Delaware, +the other. The journey by water was a tolerably long one for open +boats, and they broke it by a stay of two or three days at Kecoughten, +a village occupying the site of the present town of Hampton. The +Chief received them with genuine friendliness and warned Smith that +Powhatan contemplated treachery. Here the party “kept Christmas among +the savages, where they were never more merry, nor fed on more plenty +of good oysters, fish, flesh, wild fowl and good bread; nor never had +better fires in England than the dry, smoky houses of Kecoughten.” The +enthusiasm with which the chroniclers among the colonists expatiate +upon such simple comforts as these when it happens to be their good +fortune to experience them, gives us a very good idea of the miserable +condition that generally prevailed at Jamestown. + +When at length the party arrived at Werowocomico, they found the river +frozen over to a distance of half a mile from shore. Smith overcame +this obstruction by leaving his boats and wading to land with a squad +of men. The entire absence of welcome was a sinister indication, but +Smith, unabashed, took possession of a deserted wigwam on the bank and +sent messengers to Powhatan for provisions. These were forthcoming, and +the chieftain agreed to meet the English captain the next morning in a +formal pow-wow. + +Before noon the following day, Captain Smith and his handful of men +went up to the town, putting a bold face on what they all believed +to be a very bad matter. Once more the two chiefs met in the famous +“king’s house.” Powhatan received Smith with the utmost coolness, and +it was noticeable that he did not address him by his tribal name. When +the matter of food supplies came up, he declared that he had so little +to spare that he was loath to exchange it for copper which his people +could not eat. As a special favor to the English and in consideration +of their great need he would stretch a point to let them have thirty +bushels in exchange for as many swords, but he was really not at all +anxious to make the trade. Indeed, so short was the food supply at +Werowocomico that he hoped that the English would speedily depart for +he could ill afford to entertain so many hungry stomachs. + +“As to that,” replied Smith, “we have come at your invitation, and will +delay no longer than is necessary to effect our purpose, which is to +secure, at a fair price, so much corn and venison as you can readily +spare from the well-filled stores of Werowocomico.” + +Each had intimated that he was well acquainted with the actual +conditions at the headquarters of the other, but Smith was at a loss to +determine whether Powhatan had merely guessed at the urgent needs of +the colonists, or whether he was really informed of the state of things +at Jamestown. As yet he had no suspicion of the truth, which was that +the Dutchmen sent to build the Chief’s house had betrayed the colony. +Tempted by the abundant food and comfortable lodgings at the capital of +the Powhatans, they had secretly sold their allegiance to the Chief, +intending to remain with the Indians and marry into their tribe. + +Powhatan continued the negotiations in the same independent tone, +declaring that he would exchange corn for swords and muskets and for +nothing else. At length this persistent attitude provoked Smith to a +decisive reply. + +“Let me speak the Werowance plain as I would that he should speak to +me. We will part with our swords and muskets no sooner than we will +with our clothes. Why, indeed, should we do so, when by a use of these +same we can readily get all the corn we want and still retain them? We +came here as honest and well-meaning men to get provisions and get them +we will, if not by fair means then by foul. If blood be shed in this +matter, upon your head be it, for I am, and ever have been, willing, in +good faith, to uphold the friendship which we plighted to one another.” + +This language was too plain to be misunderstood and Powhatan proceeded +upon another tack. He assured his dear son that his intention in the +matter had been misunderstood. There were, it was true, no spare +supplies in Werowocomico, but messengers should at once be sent into +the surrounding country to collect foodstuff and the English Werowance +would in good time be furnished with as much as he desired. Of course +this was only a ruse to gain time, and as such Smith recognized it, but +he was not himself averse to postponing conclusions, since his boats +and men could not join him for some days. He immediately set gangs of +Indians to work in breaking up the ice, explaining that he would need +the pinnace to load his supplies upon when they arrived. Powhatan was +not in the least deceived by this explanation and himself sent to the +various chiefs under his dominion for reinforcements. In the meantime, +wishing to establish an alibi in connection with the murder of Captain +Smith, which he had planned, he withdrew to a neighboring village. + +The next day, there were few Indians in evidence, although several +hundreds of them lay concealed within arrow shot. Smith’s men were +engaged on the bank of the river, whilst he and Doctor Russell were +consulting together in a wigwam at some distance. Suddenly they became +aware of the approach of scores of silent savages from every direction. +They were armed, and a glance was sufficient to perceive that their +intentions were evil. Two or three carried torches with which they +proposed to fire the wigwam and then brain the white men as they should +run out. Russell was for instantly rushing upon the foe, but Smith, who +never lost his head in any emergency, checked him. + +“Nay,” he said, laying his hand upon the other’s arm. “Rest we here +until they be close upon the house when they durst not shoot their +arrows for fear of slaying one the other. Then will we sally against +them and fend ourselves from their tomahawks as best we can.” + +The advice was excellent, for had they exposed themselves otherwise +they must have been killed at the first discharge. Each had his pistols +with him, and these they quietly primed and with composure awaited +the oncoming savages. At length they were within a few yards of the +house, and at the word from Smith, Doctor Russell sprang out at his +side. Four Indians fell at the discharge of the pistols which were +fired in their very faces. Those in front hastily leaped out of the +line of the smoking weapons, making a lane into which the Englishmen +dashed, swinging their swords right and left. The sortie was so sudden +and unexpected that Smith and his companion were clear through the +circle of savages and speeding towards the river before the Indians +could recover from their surprise. They might easily have overtaken +the Englishmen, being much more fleet of foot, but the appearance of +Smith’s men, who had been warned by the pistol reports, checked all +thought of pursuit. + +This episode made it evident that Powhatan had determined upon +desperate measures, and it also satisfied Smith that he could no longer +look for any immunity on account of his membership in the tribe. The +next morning Powhatan, his plot having failed, returned to the town and +sent a messenger to Smith with a strip of wampum in token of peace. +He was exceedingly sorry that some of his people had rashly taken +advantage of his temporary absence on the business of the captain’s +supplies to attack their brother chief. The culprits, fearing his +wrath, had taken to the woods, but on their return they should be +severely punished. Tomorrow Powhatan would load the ship of the English +Werowance with corn and he hoped that they would part good friends. +To all of this Smith contented himself by replying that he should be +ready to receive the corn when it arrived and to pay a fair price for +it in any commodity but weapons. + +Smith thought it hardly possible that Powhatan would venture another +attack now that the pinnace with reinforcements was close at hand, +and he might have been taken by surprise but for a timely warning. As +he lay in his wigwam late that night, thinking over the many weighty +affairs depending upon his disposition, he heard his name called +softly as out of the ground. At length he realized that some one was +whispering under the edge of the wigwam. Going out cautiously, he found +Pocahontas awaiting him. She had come at the risk of her life to warn +him, for she declared that if her father learned that she had betrayed +his secret, he would kill her with his own hand. In agitated whispers, +broken by her tears, she informed her adopted brother that it had been +arranged to delay the loading on the following day, so that Smith +would be unexpectedly compelled to spend another night on shore. That +after dark, a feast would be borne to him by eight men who would wait +upon him and the two gentlemen who usually supped with him. That, at a +favorable opportunity, the attendant Indians would seize the arms of +the Englishmen and give a signal to the band of warriors by whom the +wigwam would be surrounded. Having told her story, the Indian maiden +vanished silently into the night. + +Smith of course laid his plans to circumvent his astute adoptive +father, but he made no effort to expedite the loading which was delayed +as he had been led to expect, so that night fell before it had been +completed. Smith, Doctor Russell and George Percy sat down to supper +as usual that night, just as eight unarmed, but stalwart, Indians, +who looked little like waiters, came to the wigwam laden with viands +which Powhatan begged his dear son and friends to accept. They were +pleased to do so, and proceeded to attack the bountiful supply of +good things without delay. But, to the dismay of the waiters, the +Englishmen did not lay aside their arms. On the contrary, each of them +had four pistols in his belt and a fifth cocked and primed by his side +upon the ground. Furthermore, they lined themselves with their backs +against the side of the wigwam, so that they constantly faced their +anxious attendants who had thus no chance to spring upon them unawares. +The Indians were plainly nonplussed and disconcerted. The feasters, +whilst eating leisurely, enjoyed to the full the discomfiture of their +intended captors. Smith vowed that it was the goodliest entertainment +he had had since landing in Virginia. When our adventurers had filled +their stomachs, they quietly levelled their pistols at the waiters and +signed to them to keep silence and to lie down. They then bound each +with cord, allowing them sufficient freedom of the legs to hobble. +Pushing two of these before him as a shield, Smith threw back the skin +flap and stood in the entrance of the wigwam. + +“Warriors of the Powhatans!” he cried, addressing the concealed +savages, to whom he knew that the light of the fire at his back made +him plainly visible. “Warriors of the Powhatans! The English sleep like +the village dog, with one eye cocked, but you think to find us snoring +like old women when you steal upon us in the night. We also have +learned something of the ambuscade since coming among you. What ho, my +men!” + +An answering shout ran along in the rear of the line of lurking +savages, conveying to them the uncomfortable announcement that they had +lain shadowed by a band of English. + +“Back to your wigwams, valiants!” continued Smith derisively, “and +dream of conquests that ye are not fit to achieve. If there be one +among you bold enough to essay a single combat let him come out with +his club and I with my bare hands will meet him. No? Then away with +you! Your brother assassins will I hold in surety of a peaceful night’s +slumber.” With that he re-entered the wigwam, pulling his bound Indians +after him. + +The pinnace was loaded without hitch the next morning. Indeed, the +Indians, who appeared to be much depressed, had no greater desire +than to see the strangers depart. When all was ready, Smith handed +to them a liberal recompense for the provisions they had supplied, +although their repeated treacheries would have fully justified him, +one would think, in refusing payment. The barges were yet empty and +Smith determined to go on to Pamaunke, the seat of his old enemy +Opechancanough, and see if he could not induce that chief to complete +the supply. + +The expedition had no sooner left Werowocomico, than two of the +renegade Dutchmen journeyed with all haste to Jamestown. There they +purported to deliver a message from the President, and by means of this +ruse secured a number of weapons, tools, and other useful articles, +besides persuading six of their countrymen to desert the colony and, +like themselves, throw in their lot with the Indians. + + + + +XXI. + +SOME AMBUSCADES + +Smith pays a visit to Opechancanough and declines to walk into +a trap--“Drop your arms on the instant or your Chief’s life is +forfeit”--Smith affords the Pamaunkes an object lesson and reads them +a lecture--A messenger with sad news from Jamestown--Smith loses an +old friend and a faithful ally--The Indians set a trap for the White +Werowance and fall into it themselves--Smith loads his boats and +returns to Jamestown--He finds the settlement in a condition of anarchy +and threatened with starvation--And promptly proceeds to restore law +and order--The colonists are given to understand that “he that will not +work shall not eat.” + + +At Pamaunke, Opechancanough resorted to the same species of dalliance +and subterfuge that Powhatan had practised so ineffectually. He claimed +to have but a few bushels of corn to spare and set the price up so +high that Smith laughed in his face. This fencing was carried on for +several days, the real object being to permit the return of a number +of warriors who happened to be absent from the village, likely enough +being part of the reinforcements that Powhatan had summoned from his +under-chiefs. When these had arrived, Opechancanough promised to have +a more satisfactory quantity of supplies for the English captain on +the following day. Smith, accompanied by sixteen men, accordingly went +up to a large house at the time appointed, prepared to negotiate the +exchange. Opechancanough received the party with the appearance of +utmost cordiality and declared that he had at great pains collected a +large quantity of provisions for his guests. In token of his friendship +to Smith he had prepared for him a personal present contained in a heap +of baskets stacked up outside the wigwam. The Chief invited his white +brother to step out and inspect the gift. Smith went to the door and +looked around. His quick eye, sharpened by suspicion, detected a score +or more of arrow heads projecting from over the top of a fallen tree at +about twenty yards distance. The bows were drawn ready to let fly at +him as soon as he appeared in the open. + +Smith turned to the treacherous chief and in no uncertain terms +taxed him with his perfidy. He asked him if he were not ashamed to +stoop to such dirty tricks, so ill-becoming a man and a brave. He +professed himself willing to believe that Opechancanough possessed the +courage that repute gave him credit for and proposed to afford him +an opportunity to prove it. Let them two, suggested Smith, go upon a +barren island in the middle of the river and settle their difference +whilst yet their people had not come to blows. Each should take the +goods about which they experienced so much difficulty in coming to an +understanding and the victor would be entitled to the whole. In this +way might they reach a conclusion like honorable gentlemen and avoid +much needless trouble. This proposal was not at all to the liking of +the Indian, who desired nothing so little as to harm his brother the +Werowance of the English, whose groundless suspicions deeply pained him. + +“Opechancanough!” replied Smith to these lying protestations, “it is +not meet that we should waste time in idle badinage, for whether your +words be spoken in jest or mere deceit they do not serve to further +my purpose. Your plenty is well beknown to me and a reasonable part +of it I must have and am willing to pay you therefor a reasonable +compensation. When last I visited Pamaunke you promised to provide me +with all the provisions I might ask when I should come again. Now I +claim the fulfillment of that promise, nor will I abide any refusal +though it be couched in honeyed words. Here are my wares. Take you your +choice of them. The rest I will barter with your people on fair terms.” + +Smith had hardly completed this politic and not unreasonable speech, +when Doctor Russell, who had been left with the boats, hastily entered +the house, and going to Smith’s side warned him that the place was +surrounded by hundreds of armed warriors, who were evidently only +awaiting a signal to make an attack. Smith looked at Opechancanough who +was evidently disconcerted by Russell’s appearance and the whispered +conference that followed. There was no doubt whatever in the Captain’s +mind about the Indian chieftain’s evil intentions. To parley farther +would be worse than useless. To sally forth in the face of the awaiting +bowmen would surely be to lose some of his men. Decisive action was +necessary and that without an instant’s delay. Smith’s mind was quickly +made up and his design executed with equal celerity. + +On one side of the wigwam were grouped the Englishmen. On the other +Opechancanough stood in the midst of forty of his tallest warriors, +himself towering above them all. Whilst Smith had carried on his +hurried conversation with the doctor, the Pamaunke engaged in excited +debate with his braves. Smith watched his formidable adversary like +a hawk and at a favorable opportunity bounded into the midst of the +surrounding warriors and, before a hand could be raised, had the Chief +fast by the scalp-lock and a pistol presented at his breast. Not an +Indian dared interfere as Smith dragged his captive to the other side +of the house whilst he cried to Percy and West to guard the doors. + +“Drop your arms on the instant or your Chief’s life is forfeit!” cried +Smith to the amazed warriors. They obeyed with little hesitation and +the Englishmen gathered up their weapons. + +Still with his fingers entwined in Opechancanough’s hair, Captain +Smith drew him out of the house and into the presence of the warriors +waiting in ambush. Some of his men carried out the seized weapons and +threw them in a heap before the captain and his captive, whilst the +disarmed braves were made to form a group behind them. This humiliating +spectacle had an instantaneous effect upon the spectators. Overcome +with shame and apprehension they bowed their heads in despair and +allowed their weapons to drop from their hands. + +“Pamaunkes!” said Smith, addressing them in stern tones. “You have +gone about to compass my death. What have I done that you should +meet my honorable offices with such foul treachery? I promised you +my friendship as your Chief promised his to me. In what manner hath +he kept that promise? But, despite your presumption, I am willing to +overlook that which is passed and take you again into my favor. Now, +mark me well! for I speak you in all earnestness! If you repeat your +treacheries or shoot but one arrow to the hurt of any of my people, +then will I surely visit the Pamaunkes with a bitter vengeance. I am +not now powerless, half drowned and frozen, as when you captured me. +Yet for your good usage and sparing of me then, am I kindly disposed +towards you. In all friendliness I came to barter with you and you +undertook to freight my ship. That shall you do, receiving therefor a +proper recompense.” + +The Indians expressed their willingness to abide by these conditions +and declared that every soul in the band should be immediately engaged +in the task of loading the vessel, leaving the matter of payment to be +decided by the English Werowance later. + +“So be it!” said Smith. “Your Chief and brethren are free. They may +take their weapons and go. But beware! For if again you play me false I +shall show no such mercy upon you.” + +The band now set to work to load the barges with all possible speed, +for, like the men of Werowocomico after trying conclusions with our +Captain, they were only too anxious to have the English begone. They +were just at the point of departure when there arrived a tattered and +footsore white man, pinched with hunger and cold. He had reached the +extremity of his endurance when he staggered into the camp of his +people at Pamaunke. This brave fellow was Master Richard Wyffin, one of +the gentlemen adventurers who had arrived with Captain Nelson in the +_Phœnix_. After being fed and warmed, he told his story to Smith. It +appeared that some two weeks previous Scrivener, the acting President, +together with Captain Waldo and Anthony Gosnold, newly appointed +members of the Council, and eight men, had left the settlement on +a visit to Hog Island, where the colonists kept some swine that had +been imported from the West Indies. A sudden storm overtook the party +and capsized their boat. All were drowned and their bodies some days +later were recovered by Indians. Wyffin, at the grave hazard of his +life, had set out alone to carry the sad tidings to the President. +After wandering out of his way for several days, the messenger +reached Werowocomico, where he expected to find Smith. Here he would +have fallen a prey to the vengeance of Powhatan’s warriors had not +Pocahontas hidden him and, when opportunity served, set him upon the +road to Pamaunke. Smith was much affected by the news of the death +of Scrivener, for whom he had a strong regard and whose value to the +colony he fully appreciated. + +During the loading of the barges Smith had had a heart to heart talk +with Opechancanough. That chief, now thoroughly subdued in spirit +and persuaded that frankness might better serve his interests than +deception, gave the Englishman a fairly truthful account of the actual +state of affairs. From this and his own observation, Smith reached the +conclusion that the stores of Pamaunke could not well stand the strain +of freighting both his barges. He decided, therefore, to be satisfied +with one barge load, determining to return to Werowocomico for the +second. This he felt quite justified in doing, for it was well known +to him that Powhatan’s garners were always overflowing, for the great +Werowance exacted a heavy tribute from the minor chiefs of the tribe. +Moreover, Smith was willing to punish his adoptive father as the author +of all the trouble that had befallen the expedition. Accordingly, after +leaving Pamaunke, the boats turned their prows upstream and started +back to Werowocomico. + +Towards evening the expedition, turning a bend in the river, came +suddenly upon a place where a number of people were assembled on the +bank, evidently awaiting their coming. They were men and women, quite +unarmed, and each bearing a basket of corn. Smith chuckled when he +beheld the palpable trap. + +“Surely they take us for barn-yard fowls and think that we will run to +a handful of grain held out in a sieve. The grain we will take but in +no such simple fashion.” + +He had no doubt that a hundred or more stout bowmen lay hidden behind +the innocent looking crowd which greeted him with eager offers to +trade. Dissembling his suspicions, Smith declared that the day was too +far spent for trading. He would lie-to for the night, he said, and in +the morning would come ashore unarmed as they demanded. + +When darkness had set in Smith picked twenty-five men and placed them +under the commands of Percy and West. These officers were directed to +take the force in one of the barges several miles farther up the river +and there to land twenty of them. The remaining five were to bring +back the boat that its absence might not excite the suspicions of the +savages on the morrow. Percy and West were then to proceed through +the forest with their men and dispose them before daylight in the +rear of the Indian ambuscade. It was quite dark when the barge, with +muffled oars, pulled upstream, but some hours later a clear moon arose, +enabling the party to carry out its instructions to the letter. + +The next morning, the unarmed Indians were on the bank as before with +their baskets of corn, and Smith went ashore as he had promised with +a squad of men, all of whom had left their weapons in the pinnace. No +sooner had they set foot on land than the would-be traders scattered +and fled into the surrounding forest, leaving their baskets upon the +ground. At the same instant a band of warriors rose from the cover in +which they had lain hidden and drew their bows upon the English. + +“Stay your hands, Powhatans, and look to your backs!” cried Smith with +extended forefinger. + +The warriors glanced behind them to see Percy’s men drawn up with +levelled muskets. Uttering a howl of dismay, they plunged into the +thicket and disappeared. The baskets of corn were carried aboard the +barges and the party continued its journey. + +They found Werowocomico completely deserted. Powhatan had fled, taking +his renegade Dutchmen and emptying his stores. However, thanks to +the attempted ambuscade, Smith had now nearly as great a quantity +of provisions as his boats could carry and he returned to the fort. +The expedition had been absent six weeks. In that time its members +had been exposed to much hardship and many dangers of which we have +made no mention. They had relieved the settlement, during a period of +great stringency, of the keep of forty-six men and now they returned +with five hundred bushels of corn and two hundred pounds of meat. +Furthermore, not a man was missing from the party. This was, indeed, an +achievement to be proud of, but it was not of the kind to impress the +proprietors at home. Had Smith come back with empty boats and the loss +of some lives, so that he had learned some fanciful rumor of a gold +mine in a mythical country, they would have been better pleased with +him. + +The President found the colony in a bad way. The food supply was +almost exhausted and the settlers were within sight of starvation. The +councilmen, who should never have all left Jamestown at the same time, +had been drowned together. In the absence of all authority, discipline +naturally disappeared and disaffection spread. This as we shall see +later had developed into treason and conspiracy before the President’s +arrival. There had been some attempted desertions and doubtless would +have been more but for the contemplation of the fate of Scrivener and +his companions. Work of all descriptions had entirely ceased and the +men spent their days in loafing and quarrelling. + +Smith took the situation in hand with his usual decision and firmness. +He determined to check the demoralization at any cost but wisely +decided to employ genial measures where they would avail. Calling the +settlers together, he gave them a clear understanding of his attitude +at the outset. Standing on the steps of the Council House, he addressed +them in the following words, his tone and gesture carrying conviction +to his hearers. + +“Countrymen! The long experience of our late miseries should be +sufficient to persuade everyone to correct his errors and determine +to play the man. Think not, any of you, that my pains, nor the +adventurers’ purse, will maintain you in idleness and sloth. I speak +not thus to you all, for well I know that divers of you deserve both +honor and reward, but the greater part must be more industrious or +starve. It hath heretofore been the policy of the Council to treat +alike the diligent and the idle, so that a man might work not at all +yet was he assured of warm lodging and a full belly--at least as much +of these comforts as was enjoyed by them that toiled for the betterment +of the colony. Such a condition will not I maintain. You see that +power now resteth wholly in myself. You must obey this now for a law, +that he that will not work--except by sickness he is disabled--shall +not eat. The labors of thirty or forty industrious men shall not be +consumed to maintain a hundred and fifty idle loiterers. That there is +disaffection among you I know. I hope that it will cease forthwith, +but if not, I warn you that I shall hesitate not to take the life of +any man who seeks to sow the seeds of treason in this His Majesty’s +colony of Virginia. I would wish you, therefore, without contempt of +my authority, to study to observe the orders that I here set down, +for there are now no more Councillors to protect you and to curb my +endeavors. He that offendeth, therefore, shall most assuredly meet due +punishment.” + + + + +XXII. + +A CURIOUS COMBAT + +The settlement is reduced to order and industry--The renegade Dutchmen +and their friends in the fort--Smith stalks a traitor through the +forest--Captures him and brings him back to be hanged--The Chief of the +Paspaheghs enters upon a dangerous enterprise--He finds Smith ready +to try a conclusion with him--The Indian giant and the Englishman +engage in a wrestling match--The bout ends in the discomfiture of +the Paspahegh--He cuts “a sorry figure squirming like a toad under a +harrow”--He is carried captive to the fort and held for exchange with +the traitorous Dutchmen--But Smith’s heart is touched by the appeal of +the warriors and he releases the Chief. + + +The uncompromising attitude of the President had a good effect upon +even the worst members of the colony who, even though they were not +moved thereby to honest endeavor, were at least restrained by fear +from active interference. There was now in the public store enough +provision to carry the settlement, with prudent use, over to the time +of harvest. Their minds were therefore relieved of what was usually +the most pressing anxiety, and they were free to devote their labors +to internal improvement. Smith divided the settlers into squads of +ten or fifteen, to each of which was assigned a particular duty every +day. Six hours a day, with the exception of the Sabbath, were given to +work. The remaining time was consumed in pastimes which tended to cheer +the spirits whilst preserving the health of the men. Smith himself +was constantly on duty and seemed to have a hundred pair of eyes, +for nothing escaped his notice. Passing from one group of laborers +to another, he directed their work, cheered the weak, praised the +industrious, reproved the unhandy and punished the shirkers. Under the +new regulations, the erection of public buildings and the construction +of fortifications progressed rapidly and at the same time the health +and temper of the colonists greatly improved. + +Smith was of course ere this fully informed of the defection of the +three Dutchmen whom he had sent to Powhatan, but he had yet to learn +that these renegados had many sympathizers and some active confederates +at Jamestown among the seventy foreigners exported by the company. +For some time after the institution of the new regulations, it had +been apparent that a clever system of thievery was being carried on +in the fort. Arms, ammunition and tools disappeared from time to time +and no trace of the offenders could be had. The persons entrusted by +Smith with the task of detecting the thieves having utterly failed +to discover them, he determined to undertake the matter himself. It +was certain that the stolen articles were conveyed out of the fort +after dark, and Smith therefore took to spending his nights on watch. +At length his vigils were rewarded by the sight of five men scaling +the palisades over which they hauled a number of heavy packages. +He followed them stealthily. They took the rough road leading from +Jamestown to the glass factory, a mile distant, which they reached in +about half an hour. As they approached the house, a number of Indians +came out to meet them, and among these Smith recognized by his voice +a certain Franz, who was painted and bedecked to represent a redskin. +Smith lay concealed close at hand during the transfer of the goods and +heard the entire conversation of the conspirators. The party from the +fort wasted no time in returning, and Smith let them go upon their way +without interference. His mind was set on capturing the traitor Franz. + +After the Dutchmen had left, the Indians distributed the burden among +themselves and set out in the opposite direction. Smith rightly +surmised that they would not go far before encamping, and that, knowing +that there was no party abroad from the settlement, they would not deem +it necessary to maintain a guard when they slept. But he kept well in +the rear for fear of alarming them, for the savage is alive to the +breaking of a twig or the rustling of a leaf on a still night. Their +camp-fire would guide him to them when they stopped. + +The band proceeded along the trail for a few miles and then suddenly +struck into the depths of the forest, but soon halted and prepared +for the night by building a fire. Round this they sat for a while +talking and eating dried venison and bread. One by one they stretched +themselves out by the blazing wood until at length all were sunk +in deep slumber. Smith had crept near before this and had marked +the position of Franz who, being more susceptible to cold than his +companions, was wrapped in a long fur. For fully an hour after the +last man had lain down Smith waited patiently with his eyes fixed on +the fur-robed figure of the Dutchman. At last he thought it safe to +advance, and gradually stole forward until he stood over the recumbent +form of the traitor. It would have been an easy matter to stab the +sleeping man to the heart, but, although he richly deserved such a +fate, the thought was repugnant to our hero, who preferred, even at the +risk of his own life, to make the other captive. + +Had Smith attempted to seize Franz, or in any other way to awaken +him suddenly, no doubt the man would have alarmed his companions. +Smith, therefore, proceeded with calm deliberation to bring his victim +gradually to his senses. Kneeling beside him, with a cocked pistol in +one hand, he set to brushing his face lightly with a wisp of grass. +The sleeping man began to breathe more rapidly as the slight irritation +excited him, then he turned restlessly several times and at last slowly +opened his eyes upon Smith and the threatening pistol. The Captain’s +eyes, readable in the light of the fire, spoke more eloquently than +words could have done. Franz realized that death would follow the first +sound he should make. In obedience to the signs of his captor he rose +quietly and stepped out of the ring of light into the gloom of the +surrounding forest. Smith’s hand grasped his hair whilst the pistol +was pressed against the nape of his neck. In his character of Indian, +Franz had carried no weapons but a bow and arrow and these lay where +he had slept, so that he was quite powerless to resist. When they had +proceeded cautiously until safely beyond earshot, Smith urged his +prisoner forward with all speed and within an hour after his capture +had him safely lodged in the jail of the fort. + +The proof of this Dutchman’s guilt being so absolute, the jury before +whom he was tried found him guilty without hesitation and he was hanged +forthwith. It would be interesting to know how the Indians accounted +for the complete disappearance of the disguised Dutchman who had lain +down to sleep with them. They may have supposed that he had wandered +from the camp in the night and lost his way. It is quite as likely, +however, that they decided that the god of the English angered at +his perfidy had carried him off. Of course it was not long before +they learned the truth, but Smith took immediate measures to suppress +the illicit dealings that had been carried on between the Indians and +the traitors in the fort. A blockhouse was erected at the neck of the +peninsula upon which Jamestown stood and neither redman nor white was +thereafter permitted to pass it during day or night without giving an +account of himself. But the affair of Franz was not the end of the +trouble with the foreign settlers, as we shall see. + +Shortly after the incident of Franz, the German, or the Dutchman, as +the early writers called him, Smith received a message from the Chief +of the Paspaheghs, who declared that he was in possession of a number +of stolen articles which he desired to return to the white Werowance +in person. He proposed that the latter should meet him at a designated +place some miles from Jamestown and take over the purloined property. +Smith was getting a little tired of these transparent subterfuges, but +as they invariably turned to his advantage it seemed to be inadvisable +to neglect such an opportunity. Accordingly he went to the appointed +place, taking with him a guard of ten men fully armed. There they +found the Chief, attended by fifty warriors. He was a man of gigantic +stature, being even taller than Opechancanough. Smith wished to come +at once to the purpose of the meeting, but the Chief seemed disposed +to palaver and consume time. At length he expressed a desire to speak +to the Captain privately and apart. To this request Smith acceded and +walked aside with the Paspahegh, keeping a sharp lookout the while. + +It would seem that this Indian, who had only encountered our hero +in his most genial moods, was sufficiently bold and enterprising to +venture upon an attempt to dispose of him single handed. The idea may +have been suggested to his mind by noticing that Smith, contrary to +his custom, was on this occasion armed only with a falchion. No doubt +the Paspahegh had a right to rely greatly upon his superior size but +had he consulted Opechancanough before entering upon this hazardous +undertaking, he might have received some deterrent advice. + +The two leaders continued to walk away until they were completely +beyond the sight of their followers. Smith had instructed his men not +to follow him, feeling confident that as long as he had the Chief +within arm’s length he could control the situation, and with that idea +he kept close by the Paspahegh’s side. The Indian seemed to find the +proximity unsuited to his plans, for he attempted several times to +edge away. These attempts were not lost upon Smith who took care to +frustrate them, for the Chief carried a bow and arrows which he could +not use with effect except at some distance from his intended victim. + +At length the Paspahegh lost patience, or gave up hope of eluding the +vigilance of his companion. Suddenly he sprang to one side and turned +on Smith with his bow drawn taut and an arrow fitted in it. But before +he could loose the shaft our hero was upon him and had grasped him in +a wrestler’s hold. The Chief dropped his useless weapon and addressed +himself to the task of overthrowing his antagonist. He dared not cry +for help, for to do so would be to bring the English to the assistance +of their leader. Smith, on the other hand, was not inclined to court +interference. To “try a conclusion” by single combat was always to his +liking, and he thoroughly enjoyed the present situation. + +For a while the clasped figures swayed to and fro, the Indian striving +by sheer weight to crush his smaller adversary to the ground. Smith, on +his part, contented himself at first with the effort necessary to keep +his feet, but, when he felt the savage tiring from his great exertions, +decided to try offensive tactics. The Indian was no wrestler and, +moreover, he had secured but a poor hold. Smith held his antagonist +firmly round the waist where he had seized him at the onset and now +he suddenly dropped his hold to the savage’s knees. With a tight grip +and a mighty heave upwards he threw the Paspahegh over his head and +turned to fall upon him. But the Indian was agile despite his great +size. He had broken his fall with his hands, and, regaining his feet +quickly and without injury, immediately grappled with Smith. It was +no eagerness for the combat that prompted the Paspahegh to re-engage +with such alacrity but the knowledge that unless he closed at once his +opponent might draw his sword and run him through. Smith would rather +have continued the duel on equal terms, but the chivalrous instinct +that could prefer such a condition to slaying a helpless enemy was +entirely beyond the comprehension of the savage. + +The struggle was now renewed with vigor. The Indian, moved to frenzy +by fear, put forth such strength that for a space of time Smith was +powerless to withstand him. Nearby was a stream and towards this the +Indian dragged our hero, doubtless with the hope of getting into deep +water where his much greater height would have given him an advantage. +As they neared the bank, Smith contrived to get his foot between the +other’s legs and trip him. The Paspahegh loosed his hold and stumbled +forward for a pace or two. He quickly recovered and faced about to +receive a stinging blow on the chin, and as he reeled under it Smith +sprang at his throat and got it in a tight grasp. It was in vain that +the Indian struggled to shake off that iron grip. Smith’s clutch did +not relax until the savage exhausted and breathless sank to the ground. + +[Illustration: IT WAS IN VAIN THAT THE INDIAN STRUGGLED TO SHAKE OFF +THAT IRON GRIP] + +Smith allowed his fallen foe a few minutes to recover himself somewhat +and then, drawing his sword and twisting the Indian’s scalp-lock +about his left hand, he made him rise and march back to the place where +their respective followers awaited them. The Paspahegh was over six +feet in height and Smith of only medium stature, so that the former had +to stoop in order to accommodate himself to his captor’s grasp. Thus he +cut a very sorry figure when he came within the view of his warriors +squirming like a toad under a harrow. Smith now demanded the articles +for the recovery of which he had been induced to meet the Indians, +and their deceit was proved when they failed to produce them. Much to +their relief, the thoroughly cowed warriors were permitted to depart +unharmed, but they were obliged to return without their Chief, who was +conveyed a prisoner to the fort. + +The Paspahegh seems to have been the most manly of the chieftains +with whom Smith came in conflict. He accepted his imprisonment with +uncomplaining dignity and calmly awaited the fate which he had every +reason to believe would be death. Smith, however, had never entertained +thought of killing his captive. It was in his mind to hold the chief +for exchange with the Dutchmen but, with his usual clemency, he +allowed him to depart with a deputation of his tribesmen who shortly +appeared at the settlement. These professed repentance and promised +good behavior in the future. They declared that their chief had been +instigated to treachery by another--meaning Powhatan. That he had +always been kindly disposed towards Smith and at the time of his +captivity had been one of the few chiefs in favor of sparing his life. +Finally they agreed to clear and plant an extra field of corn for the +English against the next harvest. Smith yielded, assured them of his +future friendship as long as they deserved it and giving to each a +present sent them upon their way contented. + + + + +XXIII. + +A HUMBLED CHIEFTAIN + +Powhatan stirs his Dutch allies to reluctant activity--They concoct a +conspiracy to seize Jamestown and massacre the English--The movement +fails and all Powhatan’s warriors fall into the hands of Smith--“It is +within my power to cut off the Powhatans root and branch!”--The old +Chief is bowed in shame and repentance--A very righteous fate befalls +the perfidious Dutchmen--Friendly relations are again established +between the whites and the Indians--A grand scheme of government which +has a bad inception--Ratcliffe, Archer and other mischief-makers return +to Virginia--Smith is seriously injured and returns to England. + + +The Dutchmen at Werowocomico had been living on the fat of the land. +They were installed as honored members of the tribe and granted many +unusual privileges. Powhatan was well pleased with their work in the +erection of his English house and their success in stealing from the +settlement. But he expected much more from these white allies, who came +to him boasting that they would show him how to subdue the English and +drive them into the sea. The traitors would have been well content to +have Powhatan forget those idle promises and allow them to continue +in peace the life of ease and comfort into which they had settled. +They were mechanics, quite ignorant of military matters. They could +steal muskets but were unable to drill the savages in the use of them +and, indeed, through their faulty instructions caused a number of the +Indians to be blown up by gunpowder. However, Powhatan was insistent +that they should redeem their promises and it became necessary to +bestir themselves. + +Smith had effectually put a stop to the traffic between the thieves +in the fort and their confederates among the Indians, but it would +have been quite impossible to prevent communications, since there +was constant intercourse between the settlers and the natives of the +surrounding country. The Dutchmen, therefore, had no difficulty in +laying plans with certain of their countrymen in Jamestown. A scheme +was at length conceived that appeared to present some prospect of +success and met with the approval of Powhatan. On a certain night the +conspirators within the fort were to blow up the arsenal and set fire +to the settlement at several points simultaneously. In the confusion +that would follow two thousand Indians would rush into the enclosure +and massacre the surprised settlers. There was one point about this +arrangement that was not quite satisfactory to the plotters. Their +contemplated rush might be effectually checked by a few faithful and +determined men in control of the big guns. These were always handled by +experienced English gunners and it would be necessary to seduce some of +these from their allegiance. With this view, the schemers approached +Douse and Mallard, whose posts were at the main entrance. To them +they promised rich rewards and high favor with Powhatan on condition +of disabling the guns on the night of the attack and deserting to +the enemy. The gunners apparently fell in with this proposal and the +conspirators congratulated themselves on having their plans arranged +beyond the possibility of miscarriage. + +On the appointed night two thousand warriors under picked chiefs +crept up to within half a mile of the fort and lay in waiting for the +signal flames that were to call them to the attack. Hour after hour +passed without a sign from Jamestown. The settlement was apparently +sunk in peaceful slumber, but, as a matter of fact, every man within +the stockade was wide awake and standing silently to his arms ready +to repel an attack, whilst the conspirators lay snug and safe in the +jail. At the first streak of dawn, the disappointed Indians prepared +to return, when they found themselves face to face with a body of +musketeers. They were ordered to lay down their arms and did so without +delay. Contention would have been useless for they lay between two +bodies of the English and were completely cut off. Captain Percy, in +command of the ambuscade, now demanded the surrender of the renegade +white men. The Indians were unable to comply with this request for +those worthies, realizing that something was wrong, had sneaked off +some hours earlier and were on their way to Werowocomico. + +The warriors were rounded up and marched into the fort, and Smith +immediately selected one of their chiefs to act as a messenger and sent +him, under the escort of Master Richard Whyffin and Serjeant Ford, to +Powhatan. + +“Tell your Werowance,” ran Smith’s message, “that I have all his +warriors penned up as we pen our sheep. It is within my power to cut +off the Powhatans root and branch, and if I visit them with their +deserts, that will I do. For the present I demand the immediate +surrender of the foreign renegados who fled from this place and those +that I sent to work at Werowocomico. I make no conditions. What I may +do with the warriors of the Powhatans is yet to be determined. Mayhap +my temper may cool upon reflection, but at present my heart is filled +with wrath against Powhatan and all his tribe. Go! I have spoken!” + +The following day the Indian messenger and the two Englishmen returned, +but they were unaccompanied by the Dutchmen. From Powhatan the chief +brought this message: + +“Powhatan is bowed in anguish and his gray hairs sweep the dust. He +prays the great English Werowance to hear these his words for they +are spoken in truth and all sincerity from the bottom of his heart. +Powhatan pleads for mercy and the friendship of Captain Smith. Never +again, so long as Powhatan lives, will he or any of his people raise +hand against the English. This is no idle talk, Powhatan swears it by +the name of his gods and the god of the strangers and will give ample +hostages to insure his good faith. Why should Captain Smith slay the +warriors who but obeyed the commands of their Werowance? Would he +visit his wrath upon the squaws and children of the Powhatans who sit +wailing in their wigwams? If the fields of Werowocomico, of Pamaunke +and of Oropaks, yield no harvest in the coming fall, where will the +English procure corn to stay their hunger? But if the white Werowance +must satisfy his just wrath, then let him come to Werowocomico and +sate it upon me. I am here alone and unguarded and will bow my head to +the stroke of his sword. Then let him return and release my warriors +so that the wailing of my people may not reach my ears in the happy +hunting grounds of my fathers. + +“As to the renegados, who betrayed me as they had betrayed you, it +is not in Powhatan’s power to return them to you for they were slain +before your messengers arrived in Werowocomico. The hungry curs slunk +back to their wigwams in time for the morning meal. This I gave them +in plenty--for it is not our custom to send a man fasting to the +spirit-land--but afterwards their brains were dashed out by my orders +and their bodies have been seen by the English captains who came with +your messenger. + +“Powhatan has spoken the last word. Let the English Werowance decide. +Powhatan here awaits his death at the hands of Captain Smith, if it +will redeem his people, but if his warriors must be doomed, then let +Powhatan come and join them in their death so that all may go together +to the happy hunting grounds.” + +It is needless to say that Captain Smith was profoundly touched by +the pitiful appeal of the old Chief. He did not doubt his present +sincerity, nor had he cause to do so. Powhatan was completely humbled +and his words were, as he said, “spoken from the bottom of his heart.” +So long as Smith remained in the colony the old Werowance maintained +his plight and neither he nor his people committed an unfriendly +act against the English. The warriors who returned with their arms +carried away an impression of the might and justice of Captain Smith +that became a tradition in the tribe. For many years after his death +the exploits of the White Werowance were related in wigwam and around +camp fire. At this time his influence over the Indians of Virginia was +supreme and founded upon respect no less than upon fear. His wishes +were promptly complied with and the chiefs frequently consulted him +about the affairs of the tribe. The most amicable relations were +established between the whites and the natives. The former went about +the country freely and without fear of harm. The latter came to the +fort with their wares and provisions, glad to trade on a fixed scale +which was once again established. The settlers learned how to plant +corn in the Indian fashion--a method which is followed in Virginia to +this day. The Indians taught them how to net fish and snare animals. +Thus the colony progressed in the most useful direction and before +Smith left them many of the settlers were as adept in the practices of +woodcraft as any Indian. + +What might have been the outcome had the affairs of the settlement been +left in the hands of the man who showed time and again that he had +such an understanding of the situation as none of the other leaders +possessed, it is impossible to surmise. Certain it is, however, that +in such a case, the later experience of the settlers as well as the +Indians would have been a much more happy one. As it was, Smith had +no sooner reduced conditions to the favorable state which has been +described, than another influx of “gentlemen,” vested with authority +that they were quite incapable of exercising wisely, tended to undo +much of the good which he had accomplished at such great pains. + +In the early part of 1609, the London Company secured a new charter, +under which they proposed to exploit Virginia on a scale of grandeur +which was in itself a proof of their utter ignorance of the real +conditions and needs of the colony. The company, as reorganized, +was composed of twenty-one peers and innumerable knights and +gentlemen. Officers were appointed with high-sounding titles. Lord +Delaware was made Captain-general of Virginia; Sir Thomas Gates, +Lieutenant-captain-general; Sir George Somers, Admiral; Captain +Newport, Vice-admiral; Sir Thomas Dale, High-marshal; Sir Ferdinando +Wainman, General of the Horse. Just think of it! General of the +Horse in Virginia! Keeper of the Hogs, or Master of the Poultry, or +Superintendent of the Fish Seines, would have been more to the purpose. +What a humble and insignificant individual plain “Captain John Smith” +must have appeared to these grand gentlemen! + +In May, nine vessels with five hundred emigrants were despatched from +England, under the command of Gates, Somers and Newport. To each of +these a governor’s commission was given with the understanding that he +who should arrive first should take charge of the colony and supersede +Smith. Evidently these gentlemen were not sportsmen, for, rather than +take any chance, they decided to go in the same ship. This vessel, the +_Sea-Venture_, was parted from the rest of the fleet in a hurricane and +wrecked on the Bermudas. The lives of the prospective potentates were +saved but they did not reach Virginia until months afterwards and when +Smith had left. Meanwhile seven of the original ships arrived at their +destination. Amongst the mixed company that they landed were Ratcliffe +and Archer who figured large in the contingent of “gentlemen.” Most +of these were “profligate youth, whose friends were only too well +satisfied to give them ample room in remote countries, where they might +escape the worse destinies that awaited them at home. Poor gentlemen, +bankrupt tradesmen, rakes and libertines, such as were more apt to ruin +than to raise a commonwealth.” The minds of these, naturally open to +evil, had been poisoned by Ratcliffe and Archer against Smith, and they +landed in a spirit of antagonism to him. + +This “lewd Rout,” as one of the contemporary chroniclers terms +them, were ripe for mischief and, led on by Ratcliffe and Archer, +they plunged into all manner of license and disorder. It was their +impression that in the absence of the commissioners the colony was +without recognized authority and they might therefore do as they +pleased without let or hindrance. They were never more mistaken, +however. Smith took the view, rightly without question, that until a +commission superseding him arrived, he remained at the head of affairs. +He gave these gentry warning that unless they mended their ways he +should deal sternly with them. This had the effect of moving them to +plots and stratagems designed to put him out of the way. Forced to +extreme measures, Smith seized the ringleaders, including those meanest +of mortals, Ratcliffe and Archer, and confined them in prison. Order +was speedily restored, and, the better to preserve it, Smith divided +the colonists, who were in any event too numerous to live in Jamestown, +into several parties which he sent into different quarters of the +surrounding country to establish settlements. Despite the friendly +attitude of the Indians these newcomers contrived to create trouble +with them almost immediately, and more lives were thus needlessly +sacrificed in a week than had been lost in Smith’s troublous dealings +with the Indians in the course of a year. + +At this juncture an accident--some think that it was the result of +design--put a sudden end to Smith’s career in Virginia. One night as +he slept his powder bag exploded, severely injuring him. For several +weeks he lay in dreadful pain, unable to rise from his couch. When, at +length, he was sufficiently recovered to be carried on board ship, he +turned over the government to Captain Percy, and in the autumn of 1609 +sailed from Virginia, which he was never to see again. + +A sorrowing group of his faithful followers watched the vessel until +its ensign dropped below the horizon. One of them has said: “Thus we +lost him that in all his proceedings made justice his first guide +and experience his second; ever hating baseness, sloth, pride and +unworthiness more than dangers; that never allowed more for himself +than his soldiers with him; that upon no danger would send them where +he would not lead them himself; that would never see us want what he +had or by any means could get us; that would rather want than borrow, +or starve than not pay; that loved action more than words, and hated +falsehood and covetousness worse than death; whose adventures were our +lives, and whose loss our deaths.” + +The literal truth of the last words was soon to be proven. + + + + +XXIV. + +A DISMAL TALE + +What befell Jamestown after Captain John Smith left it--A score of +rival leaders create disorder and encourage license--The Indians +overcome the white men and put them to flight--Ratcliffe falls into +a trap and with his men is massacred--Winter finds them sick and +starving--“Now we all felt the want of Captain Smith”--Reinforcements +arrive but it is determined to abandon the colony--The appearance of +Lord Delaware frustrates the move--Jamestown is restored and prospers +for a spell--The tobacco craze and what it led to--Opechancanough +directs a great massacre--The Colony of Virginia is at last firmly +planted. + + +It is a dismal tale, the recital of what befell the five hundred +colonists of Virginia after the departure of Captain John Smith, but no +more striking vindication of his management of affairs could be found +than in the rapid wreck of the colony when his guiding hand was removed +from the helm. Almost at once a condition of anarchy set in. Percy +was honest and not unwise but he lacked the iron will and indomitable +energy of Smith, and nothing less was needed to cope with the +situation. There were soon, in the words of an eye-witness, “twenty +presidents,” each with his particular followers, forming a faction +at variance with all the others. Strife and dissension pervaded the +settlement. Idleness and waste prevailed. The Indians were treated as +though the chief aim of the settlers had been to create their enmity. +The more prudent of the older colonists sought to divert their fellows +from the destruction upon which they were plainly heading, but without +avail. Percy, depressed by anxiety, fell ill of a fever which confined +him to his bed, and, with the last vestige of authority removed, the +colonists gave themselves up unrestrainedly to riot and feasting. + +The fruits of their wicked recklessness were soon visited upon these +miserable incompetents. The Indians attacked the various settlements +beyond Jamestown and with almost invariable success. Martin, at +Nansemond, had been kindly received by the chief of the band of that +name. This treatment he requited by suddenly falling upon the village +and seizing its contents. The Indians recovering from their surprise +assaulted the whites and routed them. Martin fled to Jamestown, having +lost many of his men and--crowning shame!--nearly all their arms. +Shortly after this episode, Ratcliffe and West went to Werowocomico +with two ships, each carrying thirty fully armed men--a greater force +than Smith ever took upon an expedition. Powhatan, by this time moved +to anger and contempt, practised against the newcomers the tactics he +had so ineffectually tried against Smith. Ratcliffe and his men fell +into the Indian’s trap with childish readiness and all save one were +massacred. West fled and turned his prow towards England where he and +his company eventually arrived in safety. Similar occurrences at last +produced an astounding condition. The white colonists became actually +_afraid_ of the Indians, who treated them with well-merited contempt +and almost domineered over them. Gradually, the entire stock of arms +and ammunition found its way into the hands of the savages. + +When things had reached this pass it would have been an easy matter +for the Indians to have exterminated the whites. It is probable that +they were only deterred from doing so by the prospect of the speedy +starvation of the colony. They had consumed their provisions with blind +improvidence and had made absolutely no attempt to secure a harvest. +The fields had been given up to weeds and the plows allowed to rust. +The Indians refused to give a grain for charity and would only trade +on the most exorbitant terms. Beads and playthings were a drug in the +market. Arms and ammunition were now demanded and readily obtained by +the Indians, in whose minds the memory of Smith’s reception of similar +proposals was fresh. Says one of the ill-fated colonists: + +“Now we all felt the want of Captain Smith yea his greatest maligners +could then curse his loss. Now for corn, provisions and contribution +from the savages, we had nothing but mortal wounds with clubs and +arrows.” + +The cold of winter found them too weak and fearful to venture beyond +the palisades in quest of firewood; besides, there was scarce an axe +left in Jamestown. In this extremity, they burned the buildings and +even tore down the stockade to feed the fires. They died like flies and +presently the survivors were reduced to cannibalism. First an Indian +who had been killed in a skirmish was eaten and then the poor wretches +gave themselves up without restraint to devouring their fellows. + +On the twenty-third day of May, 1610, the party which had been wrecked +on the Bermudas sailed into the James in two vessels which they had +constructed with infinite labor. Sixty emaciated creatures, little +more than skeletons and hardly better than idiots, crawled out to +greet the arrivals, whose coming was barely in time to save the +lives of this pitiful remnant of the colony which Smith had left at +Jamestown. That place was reduced to ruins. Many of the buildings had +been torn to pieces and great gaps yawned in the palisades. So dismal +was the picture and so fearful the stories of the ragged wretches +who represented the prosperous colonists the newcomers had expected +to meet, that Somers and Gates determined to return to England and +abandon the settlement. The sixty starving and half demented men were +taken on board the ships, which set sail down the river. The exultant +savages who stood upon the banks congratulated themselves that once +more the white intruder was forced to leave their land. But a strange +incident suddenly turned the tide of affairs. + +The departing ships no sooner cleared the mouth of the river than they +perceived three vessels approaching and flying the flag of England. +They proved to be reinforcements under Lord Delaware who had come out +as Governor of Virginia. Somers and Gates of course put about and +returned to Jamestown. The conditions of affairs quickly changed. Lord +Delaware, though not a man of equal force of character and resource +with Captain Smith, was nevertheless one of sound judgment and +considerable energy. He had an ample supply to tide over a year and, +together with Somers’s men, who had thrived on the food and climate of +the Bermudas, several hundred strong and healthy colonists. He set them +to work repairing the fortifications and buildings, tilling the fields, +and performing other useful labors. Rule and order were established and +strictly maintained. Smith’s policy of firm but just dealing with the +Indians was resumed and they ceased to give trouble. + +Thus, when sickness compelled Lord Delaware to return to England in the +following March, he left Jamestown thoroughly resuscitated and on the +highroad to prosperity. On the way home, the retiring governor passed +Sir Thomas Dale coming to the colony with three ships and a full year’s +supplies. If he did not make much progress, Dale at least preserved the +advance which had been effected by Delaware until, at the beginning of +August, Gates’s return as Governor marked the inception of a new era +for Virginia. + +Gates brought out three large ships, a number of cattle, horses, three +hundred men, and so great a quantity of supplies as to put the question +of starvation out of mind, for the first time in the history of the +colony. Gates was well adapted by character, if not by experience, to +rule the American possession. His emigrants were, for the most part, +of a sort to benefit the settlement--men of good morals, accustomed to +work and adept at various handicrafts. There were now a number of women +in the country and family life began to make its appearance. Jamestown +soon assumed the appearance of an orderly town, with a public hall, a +church, store-house and neat dwellings. Along the river banks farms, +plantations and cattle ranches appeared in time. + +The rapid spread of the practice of smoking in England brought about +the greatest changes in the condition of the colony of Virginia. +Tobacco commanded good prices, with a constantly increasing demand, +and soon every other enterprise in the colony was abandoned in favor +of the production of the narcotic plant. The settlers went tobacco mad +as in earlier days they had given themselves up to the gold frenzy. +Nothing else was thought of. Fields were neglected, buildings and +fortifications were allowed to fall into decay. It was said in England +that the very streets of Jamestown were planted in tobacco. Every man +saw in the leaf a prospect of speedy wealth, and readily sacrificed +the demands of the present to the pursuit of a golden future. The +Company was delighted with the rich cargos that poured into England and +promised to fill their coffers to overflowing. Every encouragement was +given the colonists to persist in their short-sighted policy. Smith, +with true wisdom, warned the proprietors and the public that the result +could not be anything but disaster, but he was scouted as a croaker, +envious of the good fortune of his successors. + +During the four years that the tobacco madness was at its height the +former discipline was utterly relaxed. There was little disorder +because everyone was busy in the tobacco fields from morning till +night. But the defences were entirely neglected and no guard was +maintained by day or night. Indeed, there did not appear to be any +need for such precaution. The Indians had been friendly for years and +many of them lived in the fort and even in the homes of the settlers. +Opechancanough was now the Chief of the tribe, Powhatan being dead. The +former was ever the implacable enemy of the whites but had up to this +time hidden his true feelings under a cloak of cordiality. Secretly and +patiently, meanwhile, the cunning savage was plotting the destruction +of all the whites in Virginia, now numbering several thousands of men, +women and children, scattered over a wide range of country. + +The blow fell suddenly. On the same day the Indians attacked the +settlers at different points and found them quite unprepared for +resistance. Nearly four hundred were slain, and the massacre would have +been much more extensive but for the fact that in many cases natives +who had acquired a real regard for their white neighbors warned them +in time and in some instances defended them. The tobacco planters now +huddled in Jamestown, anxious only for their lives. Hurriedly the +place was put in better condition to withstand assault and provisioned +against a siege. But Opechancanough was too astute to attack Jamestown +and an armed peace ensued. + +The tidings of the massacre horrified England. The Company was +panic-stricken and at a loss what to do. Smith called upon them with +a proposal for the effective defence of the colony, and offered to +go out and put it into operation himself. The proprietors hesitated +to incur the expense and, in the meanwhile, their perplexity was +relieved by the cancellation of their charter. The colony was attached +to the crown and the settlers were left to their own resources. Under +these conditions they seem to have fared better than when subject to +proprietary interests at home, for from the year of the massacre, 1622, +Virginia enjoyed a century and a half of uneventful prosperity. + + +THE END. + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes: + + --Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). + + --Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected. + + --Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. + + --Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. + + + + + + + + + + + + + [Illustration: + + SHIPS + _AT WORK_ + + MARY ELTING + + _ILLUSTRATED BY_ + MANNING DEV. LEE + ] + + [Illustration] + + [Illustration] + + Copyright 1946, 1953 by Duenewald Printing Corporation. + Lithographed in the United States of America. + + + + + SHIPS AT WORK + + + [Illustration] + + [Illustration] + + + + + SHIPS + AT WORK + + _By Mary Elting_ + + [Illustration] + + ILLUSTRATED BY + MANNING DE V. LEE + + GARDEN CITY BOOKS + + GARDEN CITY, N.Y. + + [Illustration] + + + + + [Illustration] + + +SHIPS AND MEN + +A ship is a marvellous thing. It took ships--and the men who sail +them--to circle the world and tie it all together into one round ball. +Brave seamen from a thousand ports have faced storms and unknown +dangers, first to make the world a bigger place for people to live in, +then to bring all people close together. + +No matter how dangerous the voyage nor what she carries, a ship is +always “she” to a seagoing man. He never calls a freighter or a tanker +or any large vessel a boat. Only shoreside people who have never been to +sea make the mistake of calling a ship a boat. And shoreside people +never know the excitement and fun--and the long, hard work--that the +skillful men of the sea know every day of their lives. + + +STANDING WATCH + +Jim is a sailor on a freighter carrying cargo across the Atlantic Ocean. +Every morning at half-past three, someone comes into the forecastle. +That’s the seamen’s name for their sleeping quarters. They pronounce it +“foke-sull.” + +Jim mumbles a little. Then the light goes on. The sailor who has waked +him wants to be sure he doesn’t go back to sleep. With half-open eyes, +Jim sees his clothes hanging from hooks. Back and forth they sway as the +ship pitches and rolls. Jim is so used to sleeping in rough weather that +he hadn’t even noticed when a storm blew up in the night. + +[Illustration] + +Now he’s wide awake, and so are the other men in the forecastle. Jim +swings his legs over the side of his bunk, in a hurry to get dressed in +well-washed blue dungarees, a turtleneck sweater instead of a shirt, +thick socks and a heavy woolen pea coat. That’s a sailor’s winter jacket +with pockets that slant in sideways. He makes sure his sharp knife is +dangling from a snap on his belt. No telling when it might come in +handy. Then he sticks a knitted blue stocking cap on his head and +reaches for his fleece-lined mittens. + +[Illustration] + +Jim wants to be warm. He knows the wind will be sharp, even though his +ship is headed for the warm Mediterranean Sea. It’s wintertime and still +cold out on the Atlantic Ocean. + +Jim and the three men who share his bunkroom are ready for work--almost +ready. First they go down the passageway to the mess, which is their +word for dining room. There they have coffee from a big steaming urn +that is always kept full and hot. In another minute Jim steps out onto +the leeward side of the deck--the side away from the wind. Although he’s +in a hurry, he waits there sheltered from the wind for a few minutes +while his eyes get used to the dark. Jim is going to stand his watch. +That means he will work for four hours. + +Jim is an AB--an Able Bodied Seaman. An AB works out on deck instead of +down inside the ship in the engine room or in the kitchen, which he +calls the galley. All the men who work on a ship are seamen. Only +deckhands are called sailors. And only those sailors who have passed +examinations and have been at sea for a certain length of time are AB’s. +The other sailors are called ordinary seamen or ordinaries for short. + +As soon as his eyes can see in the dark, Jim walks toward the bow which +is the front of the ship. As the deck rises and falls and tilts under +his feet, he manages from long practice, to keep his balance, but he +also slides one hand along the rail on top of the bulwark, a kind of low +wall that runs all around the deck. + +In good weather he would go to the bow and stand there, watching for +anything there might be in the ocean ahead. But tonight waves may splash +over the bow. An unexpected wave can knock a man down or even wash him +overboard. It will be safer high up in the crow’s nest above the deck. +Besides he can see farther from up there. So Jim climbs to the little +enclosed platform high on the foremast. + +[Illustration] + +In a very bad storm Jim would not go outside. He would stand watch in +the wheelhouse. This is a room with a big window high above the deck in +the part of the ship called the house. The room gets its name because +the wheel that steers the ship is in it. + +Jim knows it is good manners always to be a little early when you go to +take the place of another seaman whose watch is over. So he doesn’t +waste any time as he scrambles up the steel rungs in the ladder on the +mast. + +He pokes his head through the hole in the floor of the crow’s nest. +There he finds Juan, who is cold and glad enough to climb down and get +into his warm bunk. + +Juan has a telephone strapped on his head. He uses it to talk with the +third mate, the officer in charge of the ship who works in the +wheelhouse. When Juan sees Jim, he says into the telephone, “Crow’s nest +to wheelhouse--being properly relieved, sir.” Now the mate, listening to +the loudspeaker in the wheelhouse, knows that Jim is the lookout in the +crow’s nest. + +[Illustration: 4 BELLS] + +[Illustration: 5 BELLS] + +[Illustration: 6 BELLS] + +[Illustration: 7 BELLS] + +Jim puts the telephone on his head and leans against the rail around the +small platform that sways far to one side, then to the other. Soon he +hears the ship’s bell, a faint sound above the storm--“Ding-ding, +ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding.” Eight bells. It is exactly four +o’clock. At four-thirty the bell rings again, just once. Two bells will +be five o’clock, and so on until eight, when there will be eight bells +again. + +[Illustration: 8 BELLS] + +[Illustration: 1 BELL] + +[Illustration: 2 BELLS] + +[Illustration: 3 BELLS] + +For a long time there is nothing for Jim to see but great gray waves +rising and lifting the ship, and once in a while splashing over the +decks way down below. Then far ahead and to the right Jim sees a tiny +speck of light. + +[Illustration: Starboard Side] + +[Illustration: Port Side] + +[Illustration: Harbor Tug With Tow] + +[Illustration: Black Coming Straight Toward You] + +“Crow’s nest to wheelhouse,” he calls into the phone. “White light two +points on the starboard bow.” The mate knows from this where to look for +the light. The diagram on page 16 shows the words Jim will use when he +tells the mate to look in other directions. + +Jim thinks the white light probably comes from another ship. Soon he +knows it does. He can see two white lights very close together and a +green light a little below them. He and the mate know that a green light +is always shown on the right or starboard side of a vessel that’s +moving. There is no danger. Jim’s ship and the other one are a long way +apart and are not headed for each other. If Jim saw both a green light +and a red light with two white lights above them, he would be alarmed. +This would mean a ship coming straight at him. + +[Illustration: Bearings on Port Side Go the Same Way] + +Now and then spray from the waves blows all the way to the crow’s nest, +and Jim is glad of a protecting shield that comes up almost as high as +his face. But he can feel the wind anyway, and he can hear it roar +through the rigging. He almost has to shout into the phone so the mate +can hear him. + +The safety of the ship depends on Jim. Even in the darkness he can see a +great deal from his high perch. He may notice the white foam of waves +ahead behaving in a strange way. This could be the wreck of a +half-sunken ship that would tear a hole in his own ship and send her to +the bottom. If he dozed off, he might fail to sight some danger. So he +must keep alert every minute. He’s responsible for the lives of all his +shipmates, and he takes his job seriously. + +[Illustration] + +Jim watches the dark, heaving ocean for two hours. He’s glad when his +coffee time comes. That’s ten minutes of rest he gets after standing +watch for two hours. When another lookout comes to the crow’s nest to +take his place, he warms up in the mess and then goes to the wheelhouse. +There he works for two hours steering the ship. He stands his watch at +the wheel. + +The wheelhouse is dark, so that the mate can see through the big windows +anything that the lookout reports. The only light comes from +instruments, such as the compass. Jim watches the compass to make sure +he is steering in the right direction. The mate tells him what direction +the captain has ordered the ship to go. But the compass can’t be their +only guide. + +When you guide yourself by a compass on a hike across a wide meadow, you +can keep going in a straight line because nothing pushes you to one side +or the other. But at sea the wind is always pushing against a ship, +making it slip sideways. Currents in the water push, too. The current +may be going one way and the wind in another. There are no trees or +mountains on the ocean to help seamen know exactly where they are. So +they can use the sun and stars as their guides. + +Of course, the sun, stars and moon keep moving. But they travel in an +orderly way. If a seaman knows the rules about their motion, he can look +at them through special instruments and figure out where he is. He can +navigate. + +[Illustration] + +More than two hundred and fifty years ago, an American boy named +Nathaniel Bowditch went to sea and discovered that sailors didn’t have +any good, accurate rules for steering by the stars. He decided to do +something about the problem. Before long he had worked out a set of +rules that were so good that every man in his crew could navigate--even +the cook! + +[Illustration] + +The mate on Jim’s ship has instruments with which he looks at the sun +and stars. And he still uses the book that Nathaniel Bowditch wrote so +long ago. + +Besides the wheel and the compass, there are other instruments in the +wheelhouse. One is the engine room telegraph. The mate uses this when he +wants the ship to go faster or slower, forward or backward. He moves the +handle of the telegraph, and a bell jangles in the engine room. Another +telegraph there, exactly like the one in the wheelhouse, shows the +engineer at what speed the ship should go. To let the mate know he has +received the order, the engineer sends the same signal back on the +telegraph, and a bell in the wheelhouse jangles, too. + +By eight o’clock, when it is daylight, Jim’s watch is over. He goes +below, as seamen say, and sits down with his messmates--all the others +in the crew who aren’t on watch--for a big breakfast of orange juice, +bacon, eggs and flapjacks. Then he goes to sleep. + +A little before noon he is up again. The storm was not a bad one. The +sun is shining, and it is warm out on deck. Jim has all afternoon until +four o’clock to himself. This is how he spends it: First he gets a +bucket of cold water and puts it under a little faucet that brings up +steam from the engine room. He runs steam into the water, and it’s hot +in a few seconds. Out on the afterdeck, sailors have rigged up a +washboard. + +Jim spreads his dirty clothes on the board and scrubs them with a brush +and soap and his steam-heated water. Seamen do a lot of washing. They +like to keep their clothes clean. Often they do their own mending, too. + +[Illustration] + +While Jim’s clothes dry on a regular clothesline on the afterdeck, he +gets out his ditty bag which holds all kinds of odds and ends, including +needles and thread and a sailor’s palm. The palm is what a sailor uses +instead of a thimble for pushing a big needle through heavy canvas. In +the old days when ships had sails to be mended, these palms were very +necessary, but nowadays most sailors only use them the way Jim does. He +is making a sea bag to take the place of his old one that has worn out. +The sea bag is his trunk. He carries it on his shoulder whenever he +changes ships. + +[Illustration] + +While Jim sews, he sings, and other seamen who are off watch sing too. +One of them plays a banjo, and another has a harmonica. Some of the +songs are the ones you hear any day on the radio, and others are songs +that seamen themselves have made up. + +These sailor songs are called chanteys--pronounced shantys. On old +sailing vessels men sang them as they worked together, and the rhythm of +their work set the rhythm of the music. Here is a chantey that helped +them pull together on the rope that lifted a sail: + + Way! Haul away! We’ll haul away the bowline. + Way! Haul away! We’ll haul away, Joe. + +In those days, before there were engines to do work, men used a +hand-turned machine called a capstan to raise the anchor or tighten +heavy lines. They turned it round and round by pushing against long bars +called capstan bars. As they pushed, they sang: + + Yo, heave ho! Round the capstan go. + Heave, men, with a will. Tramp, and stamp it still! + The anchor must be weighed, the anchor must be weighed. + Yo-ho! Heave ho! Yo-ho! Heave ho! + +Now, while the singing goes on, Jim takes his turn at having a haircut. +For a barber’s chair he uses a bitt. That’s a round piece of steel that +sticks up out of the deck at just the right height. It’s used at times +for holding big ropes that seamen call hawsers. + +The barber is a man from the black gang. That means he works in the +engine room. When he is off watch, he likes to make a little extra money +cutting hair. So he puts a sheet around Jim and starts to work. +Chiquita, the ship’s cat, takes a playful swipe at a dangling corner of +the sheet, and then goes off in search of a rat that may have come +aboard in port. + +[Illustration] + +The barber has pictures tattooed on his forearms, and Jim laughs as he +watches them. On one arm is a picture of an old sailing ship. As the +barber’s muscles move, they make the ship look as if wind is blowing on +the sails. On the other arm is a beautiful lady chasing butterflies. +When the barber opens and closes the scissors, the lady looks as if she +is dancing after the butterflies. + +Just before four o’clock, Jim goes to mess again. Then he’s on watch for +four more hours to put in the rest of his eight hours of work in a +twenty-four hour day. He stands lookout again for two hours and takes +the wheel for two more. Now his day is done. + + +SEA LANGUAGE + +When Jim first went to sea, he found that seamen speak a language of +their own. A floor is always a deck. A partition between rooms is a +bulkhead. A ceiling is the overhead. Stairs are always a ladder. The +opening onto a deck at the head of the steps is a companionway. Almost +all ropes are called lines. + +One day another seaman said to Jim: “The bosun wants you to break out +the handy billy in the forepeak and take it aft to Chips. He’s abaft the +mizzenmast.” This is what all those words mean: + +The bosun is a man who acts as foreman, giving orders to deckhands. +“Break out” means “take from its regular storage place.” The handy billy +is a combination of small wheels called blocks with a line running +around them. It is handy for moving heavy weights. The forepeak is a +storeroom under the main deck at the bow where the bosun keeps tools and +equipment. Chips is the ship’s carpenter. Aft means toward the stern of +the ship, and abaft means “behind, in the direction of the stern.” The +mizzenmast is the third mast, counting from bow to stern. + +[Illustration] + +Jim also had to learn that anything toward the bow of the ship is +forward. Anything toward the middle is amidships, and anything crosswise +is athwart or thwartships. Anything on the windy side of a ship is to +windward. (A good sailor never spits to windward.) Anything on the side +away from the wind is to leeward--pronounced “loo-urd.” When Jim goes up +on deck he goes topside; when he climbs a mast, he goes aloft. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: Accommodation Ladder] + +Jim had to learn the commands that the mate gives him when he is at the +wheel steering the ship. Helm is another word for the wheel, and +helmsman is the man who steers. (On some ships, Jim would not steer at +all. Steering is often the special job of AB’s called quartermasters who +don’t do much of anything else.) + +[Illustration: Jacob’s Ladder] + +Suppose the mate says to Jim, “Mind your rudder.” That means Jim must +steer carefully or get ready for a new order. “Steady as you go” means +keep on going just as you are. + +[Illustration] + +The wheelhouse is sometimes called the pilot house. The pilot is a man +who specializes in guiding ships in and out of harbors. A small boat +brings him out from shore. Usually he climbs aboard on an accommodation +ladder, a whole flight of stairs which is lowered from a deck. But +sometimes he has to climb a Jacob’s ladder, which is simply wooden steps +fastened to ropes that hang down the ship’s side. + +[Illustration] + +The pictures explain some more words Jim had to learn. A pier or a wharf +is a platform sticking out into the water. Ships tie up alongside it. +Seamen sometimes call a pier a dock, but a dock is really the water +between piers. + +A hatch or hatchway is an opening in the deck of a vessel. People can go +down a hatch, and so can cargo. Big strong poles called booms raise and +lower cargo through hatches. Booms are attached to single masts on some +ships; on others, to pairs of posts called king posts or Samson posts or +goal posts. When seamen fasten heavy layers of canvas over the hatches, +they say they “batten down the hatches.” + +[Illustration] + +Backstay, stay and shroud are all wire ropes that brace the masts. The +poop deck is a deck at the stern. Taffrail is the rail around the stern. +The taffrail log is a kind of speedometer that tells how far the ship +has travelled. It is made up of a line attached to a little propeller +which measures miles as it is dragged through the water. + +[Illustration] + +The beam is the widest part of a ship. The keel is the lowest part. The +bilge is the low, rounded bottom of the ship. Any water that seeps into +a ship collects there and has to be pumped out. Ballast is a weight of +some sort, low in a ship to balance her or keep her down in the water so +her propellers can work when she has no cargo. Draft is the depth of +water needed to float a vessel. When Jim says his ship “draws twelve +feet,” he means the keel is twelve feet under water when she is loaded. + +[Illustration: Cheepshank knot] + +[Illustration: Marlinspike Bowline Double Sheet Bend Carrick Bend] + + +OTHER JOBS + +A sailor knows how to do many things besides stand lookout and steer. If +a line breaks, he can mend it by splicing the ends together with a tool +called a marlinspike. If lines wear thin, he puts in new ones--and lines +are needed in a great many places on even the most modern ships. + +Sailors know how to tie many different kinds of knots. Each one is good +for special kinds of work. For instance, a sheepshank is made in a line +to shorten it. Jim calls a bad knot a gilligan hitch. + +Painting is something else that sailors do all the time. On one trip Jim +painted the mizzenmast. For this job he sat in a bosun’s chair. You’ll +see a picture of it on page 31. When he works high above the deck he +always has his paint brush tied to his wrist. Then, if it slips out of +his hand, it can’t fall and hit anyone below. + +All the sailors get their orders from the bosun, whom they call “Boats.” +That’s because the real spelling of bosun is boatswain. The bosun gets +his orders from the mate on watch who gets his orders from the captain. +The captain is in charge of everything. Seamen call him the skipper or +the master or the Old Man. + +[Illustration] + +The “Chief” (chief engineer) and his three assistant engineers get +orders from the skipper, too. The firemen in the engine room help the +engineer carry out the orders. When they are on watch, they look through +little peep holes into the oil burning furnaces to make sure the fires +are burning just right. They keep an eye on the steam pressure gauges. + +At the same time, men called oilers keep every part of the ship’s huge +engines and other machinery well oiled. On some ships there is a big +piston, like the driving rod on railroad engine wheels. One end of it +moves in a circle. The oiler has to squirt oil in a little cup at the +end of the piston. Every time the cup swings up where he can reach it, +he aims his oil can. He is very careful to aim straight. If he misses +the cup, oil splashes all over. + +No matter how careful he is, some oil does get spilled and spattered +around. It is the job of the oiler to wipe it up and to polish all the +brass fixtures, which he calls the brightwork. On deck, ordinary seamen +polish the brightwork. + +[Illustration] + +One man is in charge of all the food on a ship. He is the steward, and +the cooks work under him, and so do the messmen who are the waiters and +dish washers. + +The radio man sends and receives all radio messages. He is called +sparks. + +All the seamen who work on cargo vessels, and on passenger vessels, too, +are divided up the same way into the deck department, the engine +department and the steward’s department. + +As the great engine deep down in Jim’s ship pushes her through the calm +blue water of the Mediterranean Sea, he stands watch in the bow. Now he +begins to catch sight of small sailing vessels. When his ship enters the +port of Alexandria at the mouth of the Nile River in Egypt, he is close +to the place where much of the story of ships began. + +[Illustration: Egyptian Papyrus Reed Canoe] + + +PAPYRUS REED CANOE. The people of Egypt discovered long ago that bundles +of papyrus reed would hold up a man’s weight in the water. Later, they +tied the bundles into a canoe shape which was easy to handle. + +[Illustration: Egyptian Dugout] + + +EGYPTIAN DUGOUT. A log hollowed out in the shape of a reed canoe was +stronger, and it lasted longer. By adding boards to a dugout along the +top of each side, Egyptians had a vessel that could carry bigger loads. +Paddles and their own muscles were all they had for power. + +[Illustration: Egyptian Oars and Sail] + + +EGYPTIAN SAILING VESSEL. Here the power of wind was added to the power +of oarsmen. Luckily the winds of Egypt blew from north to south and +helped push sailing vessels up the Nile. + + +GALLEYS. Greeks and Romans used sail-and-oar vessels called galleys. +Slaves, chained to their seats, rowed in rhythm. There were many slaves, +so their masters could get extra muscle-power by seating two, three or +more banks of oarsmen on each side. A ship with two banks was a bireme; +with three, a trireme. + +[Illustration: Greek Trireme] + +[Illustration: Rowers in a Trireme] + + +DHOW. Other people around the Mediterranean Sea discovered they could do +away with oarsmen by making better use of windpower. They invented +triangular sails called lateen sails to take the place of square ones. +Lateen-rigged dhows are still used. Columbus had both square and lateen +sails on the Santa Maria. All three of his ships together were not as +long as Jim’s freighter. + +[Illustration: Arab Dhow] + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + +New things begin to happen as Jim’s ship nears port. He goes down into +the forepeak under the deck in the bow. There, all around, are neat +coils of hawser which is as thick as his arm. He and other sailors shove +one end of a hawser up the ladder. Men on deck grab it and wrap it +around a sort of spool called a winch head. Now the winch turns the +spool and does the work of lifting out the heavy line. The deckhands lay +it neatly on the decks ready to use when the ship ties up at a pier. + +Next Jim goes up to the bow and helps Chips, the carpenter, break cement +out of the hawse pipes. A hawse pipe is a hole in the ship’s side. An +anchor chain runs through it. Whenever a ship raises, or weighs, its +anchors and starts on a long trip, Chips plugs up the hawse pipes with +cement. This keeps water from splashing up through the pipes in a storm. + +On modern ships, a machine called a windlass raises and lowers the +anchors. In the old days, when sailors had to raise anchors by turning +the capstan by hand, they had a phrase for officers who worked their way +up from being deckhands. They said these officers came up “through the +hawse pipe.” Officers who got their knowledge from going to school and +studying books were said to “come in through the cabin window.” + +After the cement is out of the hawse pipe, Jim takes the devil’s claws +off the anchor chains and releases the riding pawls. These are two +brakes on the anchor chain which you can see in the picture. Now only +the brake on the windlass holds the anchor chain in position over the +wildcat, which is the wheel on the windlass. + +[Illustration] + +The captain signals from the bridge to let go. Chips releases the +windlass brake. The big chain rushes up out of the locker, over the +wildcat and down the hawse pipe with a terrific roar. Soon the ship is +safely anchored. The skipper can wait now until there is a vacant pier +where he can tie up. + +[Illustration: Freighter] + +[Illustration: Tanker] + +After the ship ties up, the captain orders watches broken. The men no +longer work four hours and rest eight. Now most of them work eight hours +during the day and have the remaining time off, just the way shoreside +people do. There is no need for the routine of the sea. Egyptian +longshoremen will unload the cargo. + +Jim puts on a suit he has kept hanging pressed in his locker. Then he +and Juan go down the gangplank. They are off to see the sights in the +fascinating Egyptian city--and to buy souvenirs. + +But before they have gone very far from the waterfront where a tangle of +masts and booms and stacks marks the skyline, they meet Lars, an old +shipmate of theirs. That’s not so strange as you might think. A sailor +often changes ships, and he gets to have many friends who travel just as +much as he does. While they eat an Egyptian meal in an Egyptian +restaurant, Lars says he’s on a tanker now. She’s in Alexandria getting +her rudder repaired. It broke in a storm, but the men fixed up something +to take its place. They called it a jury rudder. + +[Illustration] + +Lars’s tanker looks very different from a freighter. She is long and low +and has two houses. One is midships, and the officers’ quarters and +wheelhouse are there. The crew lives in the other house at the stern. + +Between the two houses the deck is so low that waves often wash over +it, and so there has to be a high bridge called a walkaway or a catwalk. + +Lars says his particular tanker carries “clean” oil. By that he means +oil that has been refined into different grades of gasoline. “Dirty” oil +is crude oil just the way it comes out of the wells. Lars is a tankerman +and a seaman. He has taken a special examination for his job. He knows +all the ways to pump different kinds of oil in and out of the tanks on a +ship. He knows how to keep gasoline from exploding. He has learned to +use special equipment. For instance, he never goes down to clean a tank +on his ship without an oxygen mask and a lifeline. The lifeline is tied +around him so that a seaman on deck can haul him up if fumes in the tank +knock him out. + +Like most seamen, Lars has travelled all over the world. In China he has +seen junks and sampans. He has seen fishing boats in Portugal with big +eyes painted on the bows because sailors thought that helped the boats +to see their way. Eyes of the same kind have been painted on ships for +hundreds of years in many other places, even in Chesapeake Bay. + +[Illustration: Portuguese Fishing Boats] + +[Illustration: Viking Ship] + + +OUTRIGGER. Long ago South Sea Islanders sailed great distances, guiding +themselves by the stars. The outrigger at the side gives their small +vessel balance in rough water. + +[Illustration: Outrigger of the Sulu Sea] + + +JUNK. The sails of this Chinese ship are made of bamboo slats braced by +bamboo rods. The rudder is so big that often a dozen men have to work on +it. Many junks have colored sails. + +[Illustration: Junk] + + +NORWEGIAN SHIPS. Old Viking ships that sailed from Norway had both oars +and brightly decorated sails. Vikings were such good seamen they crossed +the Atlantic in their open ships. Norwegians are still seafarers. Boys +who want to be sailors get training on a sailing ship. + +[Illustration: Chinese Tub-boat] + +[Illustration: Sampan] + +Lars used to work on a tanker that brought oil from the Persian Gulf. +When he went ashore there, he saw boats just like the earliest ones that +men invented thousands of years ago. He saw boats that were really big, +round clay pots, built by people in places where there was plenty of +clay but very little wood. He saw huge basket boats woven from a kind of +grass and waterproofed with a covering of tar. Some of the basket boats +were big enough to carry twenty passengers--or several men and three +horses! + +[Illustration: A Quffa on the Tigris] + +[Illustration: Raft of Timber and Inflated Skins Discharging Grain at +Bagdad. Small quffas Serve as Lighters.] + +Smaller basket boats were used as lighters. (A lighter is any craft that +helps to unload freight from another.) Here on the Tigris River, the +freight was carried on a large raft supported by animal skins blown up +like balloons. A little raft floating downstream sometimes carried its +owner, his donkey and the grain he had to sell. After selling the grain, +the boatman took the skins from under the raft, let the air out, piled +them on the donkey’s back and walked back home upriver. + +Out at sea, whenever Lars sees a life raft on the top deck, he realizes +it is just like the skin-float rafts he saw on the Tigris River. Instead +of blown-up skins, water-tight metal containers filled with air hold the +life raft up. When Lars puts on his life jacket for lifeboat drill, he +is getting ready to use a float, just the way people long ago used +bundles of reeds. Even though men have learned so much about ships in +all the years since they first started to travel on water, they still +use some of the first knowledge they ever acquired. + +All of these things interest Lars. He grew up by the sea in Norway, and +his people have been seamen since the days of the Vikings. But best of +all he likes the clean, modern, comfortable tankers. He is not only +going somewhere himself when he is on a tanker. He is also helping to +carry a cargo that helps other people to go places. + +[Illustration: Life raft] + +[Illustration: Life ring] + +[Illustration] + + +SEATRAINS + +Lars’s tanker was built to do a very special kind of job. So were many +other kinds of ships. Look at the Seatrain, which carries fully loaded +freight cars--a hundred of them at a time. + +To load a Seatrain, the railroad locomotive pushes a string of cars out +onto a long pier. A derrick lifts the cars up one by one, swings them +over an open hatch, and lowers them neatly onto tracks in the ship’s +hold. After the holds are filled, there’s still room for more cars on +the main deck outside. + +It seems queer for trains to travel by ship, but sometimes that’s the +best way to send cargo. Freight cars can be filled with sugar on the +island of Cuba and brought across the water to the United States, +without any extra loading and unloading. It’s often cheaper for freight +cars to go by ship than by rail from New York to Savannah or New Orleans +or Texas City. + +[Illustration] + + +BANANA BOATS + +Banana boats do their own particular kind of work, too. Actually, they +aren’t boats, although they do carry bananas. They are refrigerator +ships. Seamen call them reefers--just as railroad men call a +refrigerator car a reefer. Everything about a banana boat is arranged to +keep her cargo cool. She is even painted white, because white things +reflect some of the sun’s rays into the air instead of absorbing their +heat. Inside the ship, blowers send cool air circulating around the +bananas all the time. It isn’t enough just to chill them once and leave +them there. Bananas actually make heat themselves. So a constant cool +breeze is needed to carry their heat away. The ships that bring bananas +from Central America do keep them in the refrigerator. + +A banana boat is fast, for she must rush the green fruit from the farm +to market as quickly as possible. There are even very quick ways of +loading and unloading. Machines called gantries stand on the pier where +the ship ties up. The gantries carry the big bunches of bananas in soft +canvas pockets arranged in an endless chain. Men on the dock lay the +bunches, one after another into the pockets. Men inside the ship take +them out and stow them away. + +A banana boat sailor does just about the same things that sailors on +other cargo vessels do. He steers and stands lookout and works on deck. +And like all sailors he has lifeboat drills. Every ship that sails the +seas must have lifeboats. Look for them on some high deck, where they +are easy to get at in emergencies. Canvas covers on the boats keep out +rain and snow and protect the things stowed inside. + +A lifeboat is equipped with everything that you may need if you have to +float around on the open sea after your ship has gone down. There are +water-tight containers full of food, drinking water and matches. There +are oars and sails and life jackets, first-aid equipment and ropes. +There are flares to light, so that rescuers can locate the boat, and +pistols that shoot signal flares like Roman candles high into the air. +There are scoops called bailers for dipping water out of the boat. And +each lifeboat carries a supply of storm oil. When this oil is spread out +on the water, it keeps stormy waves from breaking near the boat. If a +wave breaks too close, it may fill the boat with water and sink it. + +[Illustration] + +The can of storm oil fits inside a cone-shaped canvas bag called a sea +anchor. The sea anchor floats ahead of the boat and keeps it pointed +toward the wind, while the oil drips slowly out and calms the waves. +It’s important to be pointed into the wind, because a boat that bobs +around sidewise can easily be tipped over by a wave. Long ago sailors +discovered what a wonderful help oil can be in stormy weather, and +that’s where the expression “oil on troubled waters” came from. It means +to calm things down. + +A blast from the ship’s whistle tells seamen when it’s time for lifeboat +drill. Every man knows which boat he’s supposed to use. He runs first +for his life jacket, then up the ladders by the shortest route to his +boat. All the knots and fastenings on the boat are made so that they can +be loosened with one jerk. Quickly the men work machines called davits +that are always in perfect order, ready to swing the lifeboat out over +the water. In a real emergency, the boats would be lowered into the sea, +and the men would scramble down rope ladders which are kept ready on +deck. But in a drill, seamen just test the davits and lines. + +Most lifeboats are double-enders. This means that the bow and stern are +rounded and look just alike. The rounded shape helps keep waves from +tumbling in at either end. Lifeboats are modeled after the old-time +boats in which sailors rowed away from sailing vessels when they went +out to harpoon whales. + +[Illustration] + + +“THAR SHE BLOWS” + +Nowadays, a group of very modern vessels go out together on whaling +expeditions. A big ship called the factory ship waits in one place while +a half-dozen or more killer boats cruise around hunting whales. The +killer boats are power driven, and they are almost as big as an old-time +sailing ship. + +In June or July, one of these little fleets sets out for the South +Pacific. At the whaling grounds, each killer boat begins its search. +Suddenly--“Thar she blows!” A whale rises to the surface and spouts. The +killer boat dashes after it. The harpooner in the bow aims a gun that’s +fastened to the deck. The harpoon in the gun is as tall as a man and +heavy, with an explosive charge in its pointed head, and a line attached +to the shaft. When the head strikes the whale, the charge goes off +inside, killing the great animal. The harpoon barbs spread out. Now the +whale is held tight at the end of the line. The killer boat tows it back +to the factory ship. + +The stern of the factory ship is open. A ramp leads up from the water to +the ship’s after deck. Machinery pulls the whale up the ramp and onto +the deck. There men with knives that look like big hockey sticks cut up +the blubber and throw it into vats where the whale oil is boiled out. + +Hour after hour the killer boats bring in whales, sometimes forty or +fifty a day--or even more! Everybody works day and night, with very +little time to eat and sleep. The oil tanks in the factory ship begin to +fill up. Now an ordinary tanker comes alongside. The whale oil is pumped +from the factory ship to the tanker which delivers it at some big port +thousands of miles away. + +When at last the factory ship again has all the oil she can hold, she +steams off toward home. For seven or eight months her crew has not been +ashore. + +[Illustration] + +Now, as well as in the old days, men on whaling vessels proudly bring +home scrimshaw. That is carving they have done on the teeth or jawbones +of whales. It is often very delicate and beautiful. + +On the return trip the factory ship’s speed is much less than when she +started out--and not just because her tanks are full. In June her hull +was smooth and freshly painted, and it slipped easily through the water. +Now in February she has barnacles all over the hull under water--such a +rough coat of barnacles that she’s held back a great deal. + +Barnacles are tiny sea creatures that grow by the millions. They attach +themselves to anything under water and form hard little shells. They +hold so tightly to the ship that they must be chipped off. That’s a job +to be done in a place called drydock. + + +DRYDOCK + +All ships go to drydock for regular cleaning and repairing and painting. +This is what happens: The ship noses into a place surrounded by three +concrete walls. Huge water-tight gates swing shut behind her, penning +her in. Mooring lines hold her steady in the exact center of the dock, +and pumps go to work taking out all the water in which she floats. +Slowly the ship settles into a sort of cradle that has been prepared on +the floor of the dock to fit her hull just right. When the water is all +out, there she stands, balanced and braced. Now men can work under her +and all over her--and inside. They scrape off the barnacles, paint the +hull, and repair any parts that have begun to wear out. To reach some +parts of the hull painters use long-handled brushes--really long. +They’re often three times as tall as a man! + +[Illustration] + +Experts go over the ship as carefully as doctors examine people. But +many men work at top speed in shifts around the clock, and a ship often +spends only twenty-four hours in drydock. Then the gates open. Water +flows back into the dock. The ship floats again, ready to go to sea. + +Sometimes a ship can’t get to drydock. Then a floating drydock comes to +the ship. It works the same way as a regular one. Floating drydocks have +traveled to distant parts of the world, pulled by seagoing tugs. + + +TUGS + +A tug is a vessel that looks small but has an enormously powerful +engine--an engine almost as big as one that moves a cargo ship. In fact, +the tugboat’s job is to push and pull cargo and passenger ships around. + +Big ships need help getting in and out of the narrow spaces between +piers in a harbor. If they used only their own power, they might either +smash themselves up or crush the piers. Tugs, working together, can push +a little here, pull a little there, and ease a huge vessel gently into +place. + +A tugboat captain must have a great deal of knowledge about the harbor +in which he works. In order to pass his captain’s examination, he has to +draw a map of the harbor from memory, showing every pier and marker and +even the rocks, hills and valleys underwater. Most important, he must +have a feel for what a ship is going to do when he nudges her at a +certain point or when he reverses his propeller and pulls. + +For all his skill and responsibility, the captain wouldn’t think of +wearing a uniform at work. He prefers old work clothes, and he sits down +with the crew when the cook serves up jumbo-sized meals. + +The cook goes on duty in the galley at any time from one o’clock in the +morning on, depending on what time the tug must start work. Breakfast +may be at three or four, but the usual time is six. And often the cook’s +job isn’t over at four in the afternoon when he serves supper. If the +tug is working overtime, he fixes a meal called a “midnight snack” which +the men eat perhaps around seven o’clock. There’s enough food in the +snack to feed a shoreside person for a whole day. + +[Illustration] + +Besides the captain and the cook, a tug needs a chief engineer, an +oiler, a fireman and a deckhand. The deckhand works with the hawsers +that are often used when a tug has to pull a big ship. + +This is what happens: An AB aboard the ship holds a coil of light line, +called a heaving line. At the end of the line is a ball-shaped knot +called a monkey fist. The AB gives a big swing and sends the monkey fist +and line flying down to the tug. The deckhand on the tug grabs for the +line. He’s not an outfielder trying to catch the ball. The monkey fist +is there only to make the line uncoil and go straight. + +The deckhand pulls on the heaving line, which is attached to a hawser on +the ship. (Sailors don’t say the line is attached or tied. They say it’s +“bent” to the hawser.) The hawser is so big that it can’t be thrown, but +it can be hauled onto the tug by the heaving line. The deckhand makes +the hawser fast to a bitt on the tug’s deck, and now she can pull. + +For pushing jobs the tug has a thick pad called a bow fender made of +heavy rope hung over the bow. After the fender has been used a while, it +gets worn and shaggy and is often called a “beard.” It protects any ship +the tug is pushing. There are fenders along each side of a tug, too. +Sometimes they are made of rope. Sometimes they are old automobile tires +or just logs hung loosely over the side. The logs get so much banging +around that they may have to be replaced every few days. + +Very often a tug has something on its bridge that looks like a gun. It’s +not. It’s a water nozzle attached to a pump, and it’s there to help +fight fires on ships. + +The kind of tug that you can see on the Mississippi River is called a +towboat. She doesn’t tug, and she + +[Illustration] + +doesn’t tow. She just pushes. A Mississippi towboat gets behind a whole +string of flat-bottomed barges and shoves them up and down rivers. She +often pushes ten barges at a time, loaded with twice as much cargo as an +ordinary seagoing freighter can carry. + +[Illustration] + +Many towboats have all of the latest inventions for quick and safe +travelling in water that is often more tricky than the open sea. There’s +a lot of traffic to watch out for on the Mississippi, and the river +sweeps around in many bends. Mud collects on the river bottom, so the +captain can’t always know how deep the water is going to be. Uprooted +trees and other big things that could damage vessels often come floating +downstream. And when it’s pitch dark, or when a thick fog hangs over the +water, all these problems get much worse. + +Radar is one of the inventions that help towboats avoid danger. Radar +sends out radio waves which bounce back to the towboat from anything +they hit. In the towboat’s pilothouse is a radarscope, which is a little +like a television screen. The returning radio waves show up as spots of +light called pips on the radarscope. By looking at the pips, the pilot +can locate the shores of the river, other vessels, floating trees and +anything else that’s dangerous. + +Another wonderful invention, called a depth recorder, tells the pilot +how deep the water is under the head barge in his tow. If the river +seems to be getting shallow, he can steer the whole tow into safer +water. The depth recorder works by sending out sound waves and making a +record of them when they bounce back from the river bottom. + +[Illustration] + +In the old days, river craft had a leadman who measured depth with a +line tied to a lead weight. Knots and pieces of leather marked the +line. Even at night the leadman could tell by feel how deep the water +was. For instance, if his fingers felt that the line was wet up to a +place where there were two strips of leather, he would know that two +fathoms (twelve feet) of water lay underneath. Two markers at two +fathoms. “By the mark twain,” the leadman would call out to the captain. + +There was once a Mississippi River pilot named Samuel Clemens who, like +all pilots, loved to hear that call. It meant that there was enough +water to keep his vessel afloat. Later, when he began to write books, he +signed them with the name Mark Twain. + +In Mark Twain’s time, the Mississippi River boats were driven by huge +paddle wheels. As the wood-burning steam engine turned the wheels, the +paddles pushed against the water and shoved the boat forward. + +Steam engines began working in rivers very quickly after the first +successful paddle boat, the Clermont, proved that she could push +upstream. River boatmen needed engines more than seafaring men did, +because winds seldom blow upstream as they do on the Nile. + +Before there were paddleboats, men took cargo down the Mississippi in +keelboats. Then they had to get the boats up-river again almost entirely +by muscle-power. Pushing against the bottom with poles, or pulling with +ropes from the shore, river boatmen worked the whole way up from New +Orleans to Pittsburgh. + +[Illustration] + +A river boatman still works hard, but in a very different way. In his +time off, he may listen to radio or even watch television on board the +towboat. In the old days, he would have caught fish and fried them over +a fire built in a pile of sand on the keelboat deck. Today the cook +takes food from a freezer, prepares it on an electric range, and stows +the dirty dishes in an automatic dishwasher. + +In the old days, the river was the quickest way for passengers to +travel, and for freight, too. People now go faster by bus or train or +plane. But there’s more and more cargo for the barges to carry on the +Mississippi and the other rivers that flow into it. Oil, coal, grain, +steel, ore, sulfur are some of the things that move along ahead of the +powerful streamlined towboats. + +[Illustration] + + +GREAT LAKES SHIPS + +Grain, coal, ore and limestone for making steel travel on Great Lakes +ships, too. So do many other kinds of cargo. Long ago, explorers +believed that the enormous sea-like lakes would lead them all the way +around the world to China. One man even wore Chinese clothes as he +paddled westward in an Indian canoe, so he would be properly dressed +when he arrived! + +For nearly three hundred years since then, vessels have used these great +inland waterways to carry goods and the most precious cargo of +all--people. Settlers by the thousand from Germany, Sweden, Scotland and +other countries filled the decks of sailing vessels and paddle +steamboats that took them right up to the frontier. Today almost five +hundred modern cargo vessels shuttle back and forth on the Lakes, +carrying the wealth that the descendants of those pioneers have created. + +A Great Lakes ship doesn’t look like any other. She is broad and low and +very long--so long, in fact that she is less rigid than most ships. +Seamen say she feels “willowy” if she steams along in heavy weather +after her cargo is unloaded. The wheelhouse of a Lakes ship is forward +in the bow, along with quarters for the officers and a few passengers. +The engine and the crew’s quarters are away at the stern. In between, +are holds--a great many more of them than on any ocean-going ship. +Marvellous loading machines dump ore or any other loose cargo into the +holds. Other wonderful unloading machines quickly scoop the cargo out. + +[Illustration] + +Many of the ships run between ports on Lake Huron and Lake Superior. +Lake Superior is 22 feet higher than Lake Huron. So ships must use a +sort of ladder to get from one to the other through a canal called the +Sault Sainte Marie--or Soo for short. Locks in the canal are the +ladder-rungs. Suppose a ship is going up. She enters the narrow canal. +Ahead are gates. Gates close behind her. She is in a lock. Now the gates +in front open and let more water into the lock, lifting the ship higher. +She moves forward into another lock and is lifted again in the same way. +Sometimes as she goes along, seamen on board toss money to ice cream +sellers on shore, and catch the pop-sticks that are thrown back. + +For eight months each year, the Lake ships keep hurrying back and forth +between Detroit, Cleveland, Buffalo, Chicago, Duluth and other port +cities. There’s hardly a time when a man can’t see smoke from other +vessels on the horizon. Then winter comes, and the Lakes freeze over. +Lake sailors tie up their ships and go ashore. Most of them have been on +the water day and night through the whole season. + +Sometimes a ship stays out too late in the year and can’t get to port +because ice has locked her in. Then a ship called an ice breaker comes +to her rescue. An ice breaker smashes up ice early in the spring, too, +so that ships can begin to move. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration: Oil Tanker] + +[Illustration: Coastal Lumber Carrier] + +[Illustration: Types of Cargo-Passenger Ships] + +[Illustration: Banana Ship] + +[Illustration: Coastal Freighter] + +[Illustration: Collier] + +[Illustration: Seatrain] + + +AMERICAN MERCHANT SHIPS + +Merchant seamen man all the different kinds of cargo ships you see in +the pictures on these two pages. Their jobs take great skill and +patience and very often courage. It has always been that way with men +who follow the sea. Some of the things they do are as old as ships +themselves. But many things are different now. + +On old sailing vessels, the crew had to get their sleep wherever they +could find a place to lie down. They might curl up on a coil of rope or +on the cargo in the hold. Later, they were given one room, the +forecastle, for the whole crew. Everybody was on watch at least twelve +hours a day. It is only in the last twenty years that seamen have worked +eight regular hours a day. + +[Illustration: Types of Freighters in Hawaiian Trade] + +[Illustration: Mariner Class Freighter] + +[Illustration: Harbor Tug] + +[Illustration: New Type Freighter] + +[Illustration: Ocean-Going Tug] + +[Illustration: Victory Class Freighter] + +[Illustration: Liberty Ship] + +Almost all ships now have more comfortable bunkrooms, with only two or +four men in each one. Instead of living on old-fashioned salt meat and +salt fish and crackers called hardtack, seamen have almost the same +things that they eat ashore. In the old days, seamen often got a disease +called scurvy because they had no fresh food. Then the British +discovered that lime juice prevented scurvy, and every one of their +ships carried barrels of it. That’s why American seamen still call +British seamen limeys. + +There are laws and regulations now that provide for better food and +working hours and pay on ships. Seamen in their unions have worked hard +to get the laws and rules that have made life better for them. + + +FISHING VESSELS + +Fishermen have always been among the most daring and hardworking men of +the sea. For thousands of years they have experimented and invented, +always in search of the boats and ships and nets that will do the best +job for them. New England fishermen used to be great whittlers of ship +models. They carved out their models partly for fun, partly to give +shipbuilders new ideas for improving their designs. + +One of the great fishing towns is Gloucester, Massachusetts, and there’s +a story about it that goes this way: Almost two hundred and fifty years +ago, a ship builder in Gloucester launched a vessel that everyone +admired. On the day when she first slid into the water, a big crowd +gathered to watch. She was graceful and light, and she fairly skimmed +along--the way a flat stone does when a boy skips it over the water. In +those days in New England, some people called skipping “scooning.” + +All at once, someone in the crowd called out, “See how she scoons!” The +builder called back, “A scooner let her be!” And according to the story, +the name schooner--a new spelling--has stuck to this very day. + +A modern schooner still has sails, but not so many as the early ones. An +engine now gives her power, so that she can make fast time to and from +the fishing grounds, and her sails are used mostly to steady her in the +sea while the men work. The engine also helps with the heavy work of +handling the nets. + +[Illustration] + +Each kind of fish has its own habits, and the fishermen know them well. +Some fish, such as cod and flounder, live down near the floor of the +sea. They are caught in drag nets which are towed at the right speed +behind the vessel. Men haul the net in, dump the catch into ice-cooled +bins in the hold, then drag the net again. + +Mackerel behave differently. They swim along in huge groups called +schools near the surface of the water. The lookout man on the mast keeps +his eye on the sea till he can yell, “School O!” Quickly the men lower a +boat that sets a huge net called a purse-seine. At first the net is +really a fence. Hundreds of floating corks at the top, and lead weights +at the bottom, hold it in place, while the seine-boat draws it into a +circle around the fish. Then, at a signal, a motor in the seine-boat +pulls on a sort of drawstring in the bottom of the net, closing it and +turning it into a kind of giant sack. The seine is “pursed” with the +fish trapped inside. + +This is what happens on a lucky day. But mackerel can be very irritating +fish. Sometimes the whole school will suddenly dive and race away to +safety, just the moment before the trap closes. Fishermen must have +patience as well as skill. + +Before engines went to sea, the men had to purse the seine by hand. +Since their schooner carried no ice, they cleaned the fish, salted them +and packed them into barrels as fast as possible. Everybody, including +the skipper, worked at top speed. Even the cook lent a hand, and he was +often a boy of ten who hung his pots in an open fireplace or smoked +some of the mackerel in the chimney. + +[Illustration] + +Fleets of fishing vessels go out together when the season is right. +There’s a race for the fishing grounds, and then a race back to deliver +the catch to market. In fishing towns all around the seacoasts, small +forests of masts fill the harbors when the fleets are in. + +Among the schooners you can also see sturdily-built trawlers, which are +usually driven by steam-power. Newest of all are the vessels that work +like quick-freeze factories. Machines on board clean the fish, cut them +up, package them and freeze them right where they are caught. Or the +fishermen may quick-freeze the whole fish, then bring them back to be +thawed and sent to market. + +People in fishing towns are proud of their fleets, and there’s a warm +welcome for the vessel that comes in first with a big load. + + +THE UNITED STATES +building. Pretty soon he will make a hole. Father Gabriel, the +Hegoumenos, he see this. He shout through the roar of the cannon: +'Shall we die, my children, or shall we yield?' They say all together +'We shall die!'" + +Lindbohm was striding up and down before the speaker. The demarch +still held the rattan cane, but the Lieutenant was making home thrusts +with his closed fist. + +"Father Gabriel he stretch out his arms. They all fall on their knees, +the women, the children, the old men. The Hegoumenos blesses them; he +say, 'Father, into thy hands I commit these souls!' Then he goes down +cellar. They know where he gone. The women hug their babies tight and +begin to sing the hymn of liberty, and the men join in. They are all +looking to the sky and chanting--" and Michali sang: + + "From the bones of the Greeks upspringing, + Who died that we might be free, + And the strength of thy strong youth bringing-- + Hail, Liberty, Hail to thee! + +"Every moment a bullet comes through and kills somebody, but they know +nothing, now, except the song 'Hail, Liberty.' Then the wall falls and +in rush the Turks and begin to kill, when 'boom' the powder magazine +roars like one gun, and all are dead--Greeks, Turks, all dead--ah! all +dead together!--two hundred Turks!" + +But the demarch, not understanding all this, was unable to enter fully +into the enthusiasm of the others. He was anxious to continue with his +picture gallery. + +"This," he said, "is the Lordos Beeron, who, being descended from the +ancient Greeks, came over to this country to fight for his native land." + +Curtis, despite his enthusiasm for Byron, did not rise. He had seen +that woodcut before, in Athens. It represented the youthful poet +wearing a brass cavalry helmet with a sublime plume. This is the Byron +honored among the uneducated classes in Greece, who know him as soldier +and not as poet. With nodding plume and warlike eye he frowns terribly +down from the dingy walls of a thousand _khans_ and wayside inns. In +this apotheosis he no longer holds high converse with Shelley and Tom +Moore; he hobnobs with Ypsilanti, Botsares and Admiral Miaoules. + +"This," continued Kyr' Nikolaki, "is the most beautiful woman in the +world. I have never found any one who knew her name, but all agree +that she is a Greek--probably a Sphakiote." + +Lindbohm and Michali gazed earnestly at the cheap engraving, but no +name was visible. Curtis arose, and, placing his hand on the mayor's +shoulder, hopped across the room. + +"An American actress, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "She's a beauty, indeed, +but she's an American, old man." And in Greek to the mayor: "She's an +American--ah--I can't think of the word for 'actor.' Michali, tell him +her picture is to be found in every nook and cranny of the civilized +globe. I can't say 'nook' and 'cranny' in Greek." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE FIRST OF MAY + +All the morning of April thirtieth Curtis saw nothing of Panayota. She +was gone into the fields and upon the hillsides with the other women +and the children of the village to gather flowers for the May-day +festival. Late in the afternoon the whole town set out for +Hepta-Miloi, or Seven-Mills, the place in the mountains where, year +after year, they were accustomed to hold this innocent and beautiful +celebration, one of the most fragrant and lovely of all the +inheritances from the days of the aesthetic old gods. Laughing, +singing, shouting merry sallies and replies, the procession scrambled +up the stony, winding street of the village, laden with baskets and +gayly colored bags filled with provisions. Everybody, too, carried +flowers--flowers in baskets, in aprons, in the hands. There were +donkeys and dogs innumerable. Some of the donkeys carried tables +strapped to their backs, with the four legs sticking up into the air, +and giving the impression that, if one of the animals should keel a +somerset into a ravine, he would be sure to light upon one or the other +of his two sets of feet. Upon others of these nodding, shambling +little animals rode such of the villagers as could not make so arduous +a journey on foot: a picturesque old man in holiday costume, +resplendent in bright, new fez, ruffled shirt and gaudy sash; here and +there an old woman who had made the same journey every year for the +last forty years; and several strings of small children, four and five +on a donkey's backbone, like monkeys on a limb or kidneys on a spit. +The demarch, in accordance with the dignity of his office, rode at the +head of the procession, side by side, when the road was not too narrow, +with Papa-Maleko, whose animal was nearly covered by his flowing black +robe, and who held an umbrella over his tall hat. Lindbohm had refused +the luxury of a mount and strode sturdily along with his hand upon +Curtis' saddle. Up and up they climbed beyond the last plumed outposts +of olive groves into the kingdom of the pines. At times they walked by +the side of a deep chasm at whose bottom swirled, darted and leapt a +stream of molten silver or of ink, according as it flashed in the +setting sun or crept beneath the shadow of dank ferns or deep green +trees. At such times Curtis' moth-eaten, blue-gray beast walked upon +the ticklish, imminent edge of destruction, loosening rocks and bits of +earth that went scurrying into the waters far below. Entreaty, +threats, blows upon the side of the head with the rope that did service +as a bridle, were of no effect to make him walk elsewhere. + +"Look here, Lindbohm," cried Curtis, "I've told you my address. If I +plunge down yonder giddy height, write to my governor, will you? And +don't trouble to pick up the pieces." + +"What's the matter?" shouted the demarch, looking back. + +"This donkey will surely fall with me." + +"Bah! Let him have his head. He knows his business. No donkey ever +falls." + +"What if he does? Cannot a stork fly?" asked a black-eyed, roguish +maiden, who possibly thought that the American could learn good Greek +from more than one pair of lips. This sally evoked such an inordinate +peal of good-natured laughter that Curtis was unable to think of an +appropriate reply, and contented himself with pulling a rose from the +basket hanging at his saddle and throwing it at the saucy girl. + +In the purple twilight they came in sight of the first of the seven +mills. A tall, slanting barrel of masonry received the water that +turned the stone wheel that lay upon its face in a small building +covered with reddish brown tiles. The miller and his wife, dusty as +moths, came out to greet the merry throng that poured into his little +plateau with much shouting and singing and strumming of guitars. Two +or three shock-headed youngsters peeped from behind the building, and a +girl, probably three years old, clothed only in a flour sack that +reached to the middle of her stomach, ran, like a frightened chicken, +to cover in the folds of her mother's dress. The child was glowing +with health and beautiful as an infant Dionysus from the broken arm of +a Hermes carved by Praxiteles himself. And now they were come into a +region of rank, water-loving trees, great ferns and streams of water +that slipped smoothly and silently through square sluices of white +masonry. The mills were close together. At the fourth in number they +stopped and found that brave preparation had already been made. The +plateau before the mill-house was here larger than ordinary and in its +midst grew a wide-spreading oak from a lower branch of which hung a +powerful lamp, protected from the wind by a glass cage. At the foot of +a shielding wall of rock, several lambs were fragrantly roasting upon +long wooden spits, and by each an old man squatted, so intent upon +turning the carcass that he scarcely looked up to welcome the gay and +noisy villagers. + +"How go the lambs, Barba Yanne?" + +"Is it tender, think you, Barba Spiro?" + +"Are they nearly done, Kosta? Holy Virgin, what an appetite I've got!" + +"And I!" + +"And I!" + +With a perfect babble of such exclamations, mingled with much laughter, +and many shouted orders and directions, Ambellaki took possession of +the place where it had elected to outwear the night with song and +feasting and to welcome the First of May. The tables were unstrapped +from the backs of the donkeys and set in line. Cloths were spread and +candles were lighted in candlesticks surmounted by protecting glass +globes. Chairs were taken down from others of the donkeys, and two or +three long benches were produced by the miller. A dozen pairs of +strong hands were extended to Curtis and he was assisted from the back +of his wilful beast to a comfortable seat. + +"Whew! I'm glad to get down from there," he exclaimed to Lindbohm. "I +think I'll stay here till my foot gets well and walk back. Looks +jolly, doesn't it? And how good those lambs smell! I believe I could +eat one all by myself." + +Plates, bottles containing oil floating upon vinegar, decanters of +wine, great piles of crisp salad, loaves of brown bread, sardellas +arranged upon plates like the spokes of a wheel, tiny snow drifts of +country cheese--began to appear upon the table. Lindbohm entered into +the spirit of the occasion with genial enthusiasm. Although he could +not speak a word of Greek, he blundered everywhere, eager to assist. +He lifted the children from the donkeys, pulled plates and provisions +from the baskets, and washed the long tender lettuce at a place where +the water leapt from one conduit to another. All this time the old men +were patiently turning the lambs. Every now and then one of them would +dip half a lemon into a plate of melted butter and rub it over the +brown, sizzling flesh. Beneath each of the lambs was a shallow bed of +ashes. The coals that glowed there were not visible, for, in roasting +meat _à la palikari_, the best effects are obtained if it be slowly +done. The proper roasting of a lamb is a matter of supreme importance. +Reputations are won thereby in a single day, and as easily lost. The +meat must be done clear through, evenly and just to a turn--not one +turn of the spit too many nor too few; it must be so tender that it is +just ready to drop from the bone, and have that delicious flavor which +is imparted from the coals of the fragrant wild thyme, but it must not +taste smoky. Verily a great art this, and the old men who sat squat at +the cranks of the spits had no time for social distractions. +Everything was ready now except the lambs, and a great silence fell +upon the company. One young fellow, who offered to lay a small wager +that Barba Yanne would be the first man ready, was sternly rebuked by +the priest: + +"Silence! do you not know that this is the critical moment, and you may +spoil everything by distracting their attention?" + +So they waited for a seeming eternity, sniffing the delicious aroma and +watching the appetizing contest with hungry eyes. At last the young +man of the wager broke the spell by crying: + +"Na! I should have won." For Barba Yanne was indeed rising slowly to +his feet, painfully straightening out the hinges of his aged knees. + +"Praise God!" shouted a chorus of voices. + +"Do you not see that it is ready?" asked Barba Yanne reproachfully. + +"O, yes!" exclaimed the demarch, "we must take it up. If it stays one +instant over time on the fire the delicate flavor will be ruined." + +Half a dozen men sprang towards the fire, but Lindbohm, comprehending +the action, was before them all. Lifting the lamb by one end of the +spit, he advanced towards the tables, and looked inquiringly about. + +"What shall I do with it?" he asked Michali. "There is no plate big +enough, and if I lay it on the table it will spoil the cloth." + +Shouts of laughter greeted the Swede's evident perplexity, and even the +bare teeth of the spitted animal seemed grinning at him in derision. + +"But you do not put it on the table," cried Michali running to his +assistance. "You stick the sharp end of the spit in the ground and +stand it up by the side of the tree. So--that's right. Head up." + +The demarch now approached Lindbohm and laughingly offered him a Cretan +knife and a huge fork. + +"He wants you to carve," explained Michali. "It is a great honor." + +"No! no!" cried the Swede, pushing the demarch playfully back. "I do +not know how. Besides, I am too weak from hunger. Moreover, I haven't +the time." And he seated himself resolutely at the table. The demarch +therefore carved, and piled the meat upon plates which the girls held +for him. Before he had finished, Barba Spiro brought his lamb and +solemnly stuck it up by its partly carved mate. + +"Shall I cut up this one, too?" asked Kyr' Nikolaki; he had finished +with number one. "Or shall we eat what we have first?" + +"We will begin on this one," said the priest, "and I will carve the +second." After a playful struggle he dispossessed the mayor of the +knife and fork and led him to the head of the table. Then the good +priest reverently bent his head and made the sign of the cross, and all +of his flock followed his example. Even Lindbohm and Curtis, watching +carefully, did as the others. And now the feast was on in earnest, +silently at first, till the sharpest pangs of hunger were appeased, +with song and laughter later in its course. The three guests and the +older members of the community sat at the table. The others and the +children found seats upon the ground, in the doorway of the mill-house, +on the water troughs. Conversation began in full-mouthed remarks as to +the quality of the lamb. + +"This is marvellous!" + +"A masterpiece." + +"Tasty." + +"A miracle. Done just to a turn. Neither too much nor too little." + +"Bravo, Barba Yanne," said the mayor, in judicial tones, raising his +glass meanwhile. + +"Barba Yanne! Barba Yanne!" shouted the entire board, and there was a +great clinking of glasses. The old man swelled and flushed with +pleasure. + +"I ought to know how to roast a lamb," he said. "I have done it this +thirty years." + +A girl brought the head of Barba Spiro's lamb and laid it before the +demarch, who plucked out one of the eyes with a fork and passed the +morsel to Curtis, who took it and looked inquiringly at Michali. + +"What am I to do with it?" he asked. + +"Eat it. It is the most delicate tid-bit of the whole lamb--sweet, +juicy, delicious." + +"I've no doubt it's juicy," replied Curtis, "but I couldn't eat it to +save my life. It looks as though it could see. Excuse me, Kyr' +Demarche," he continued in Greek, "I do not care for the eye. If you +will give me a little more of the meat, please--" and he passed his +plate. + +"Not like the eye!" shouted everybody in astonishment. Lindbohm took +the succulent morsel from Curtis' hand, and swallowed it with a loud +sipping sound, as though it were an oyster. + +"Kalo! kalo!" he exclaimed, smacking his lips. + +And so the feast wore on. When it was not possible for anybody to eat +another mouthful, Turkish coffee was prepared over the miller's +_foufous_, two or three little portable stoves, circular and made of +sheet iron; and cigarettes were lighted. Under the soothing influence +of the mild Cretan tobacco silence fell again, disturbed only by the +soft splashing of waters. Through a rift in the branches of the giant +oak Curtis could see the bright, silver bow of the new moon, and, far +below, a glittering star, like the tip of an arrow shot athwart the +night. The girls were tumbling the flowers into a pile beneath the +lamp: bright red geraniums, clusters of the fragrant heliotrope, April +roses, small, red and very sweet; aromatic basil, myrtle with its +bridal green. Then they sat down about the heap and began to weave +garlands, using the myrtle as a background for the pied coloring of the +blossoms. A nightingale sang somewhere among the trees behind the old +mill, the waters never ceased to murmur and gurgle in the moonlight, +and a faint breeze from the far sea brought a message of cherry trees +in bloom. A young man sitting on the ground with his back against the +tree played a few chords upon a guitar, and sang, with much feeling, +one line of a couplet: + + "My little angel, sugar sweet, angelic honey maiden"-- + + +That he was not improvising was evident from the fact that all the +Greeks present joined him in the second line: + + "Oh sweeter than cold water is, that angels drink in Eden!" + +For several moments he strummed the strings softly and then sang: + + "If I should die at last of love, my grave with basil + cover;"-- + +and again came the response, + + "And when you water it perchance you'll weep for + your poor lover!" + + +The words even in Greek did not mean much, but they sounded very +beautiful to those simple peasants, for they were associated with many +such scenes as this; they carried the memories of some back to +childhood, of others perhaps to their wedding day. They made Panayota +think of the little cottage among the Sphakiote mountains, and of her +mother singing as she paddled the white clothes at the brook. The +words contained the untranslatable spirit of poetry, the power to move +the heart by association rather than by their meaning. + +Some one proposed a dance; one by one the sturdy mountaineers took +their places in a line and soon, hands linked, they were bounding +beneath the flickering lamp in the wild Pyrrhic. Loud calls were made +for different members of the company, famous as leaders, and these led +the line in turn, vying with one another in difficulty of steps +executed. When Lindbohm arose from his seat and took his place at the +tail of the line, he was welcomed with shouts of "Bravo! bravo!" He +had observed the simpler steps of the minor performers carefully, and +acquitted himself with so much credit, that the girls, their hands full +of flowers and half-finished wreaths, arose and came forward, clapping +their palms and shrieking with delight. And when the handkerchief was +handed to him and he was motioned to the head of the line, he did not +refuse, but leapt into the air, whirled about under the arm of his +nearest neighbor, snapped his fingers in time to the music and cut +other terpsichorean pranks, to everybody's intense delight. + +But dancing is hard work, and even youth will tire. The last capable +leader had done his part, and even the girls, with much laughter and +many feminine shrieks and protests, had been pulled to their feet and +given a turn, when Michali was asked to tell again the story of the +shipwreck, as many there present had only heard it at second hand. He +complied, and his vivid and picturesque narrative held his audience in +rapt attention. When he had finished many were fairly carried away +with excitement, and a loud-voiced and indignant clamor arose +concerning the state of Crete, the action of the powers and matters of +like import. + +"Silence! silence!" cried the mayor, rising to his feet and hammering +on the table. "These are not matters for the May festival. Our +village, moreover, is in no danger from the Turks. We have always +dwelt quietly and peacefully behind our mountains, making our cheese, +harming no one, suffering no harm. However that may be, this is not a +suitable occasion to discuss war and politics." + +"True! true!" shouted his faithful constituency. + +"I am to blame," said Michali, "for the manner in which I told the +story. I will, therefore, make amends by singing a song, quite +suitable, I think, to the occasion. Spiro, play me the accompaniment." + +After the applause had died, revived, and died away several times like +flames that are brought to life by vagrant gusts of wind, Spiro, the +owner of the guitar, offered to sing. + +"Mind that it's perfectly proper for the ears of the ladies," cautioned +Papa-Maleko, as the young man seated himself in a chair and prepared to +play. + +"He has a fine voice," said Curtis in Greek, when Spiro had finished. + +"O, Spiro is one of our most famous singers," replied the demarch. +"And now, Kyr' Yanne, it's your turn." + +"He means you," said Michali in English. "Yanne is the Greek for John. +He means to be very friendly, to show that you are one of us." + +"I will sing you," replied Curtis, without the least hesitation, "a +Greek song that I have myself written," and turning to Michali, "I +can't quite explain that in Greek: it is an American college song that +I have translated into Greek. I have read it over two or three times +to Panayota and she says she understands it. Indeed, she has changed +it a little." And he sang in a baritone voice of indifferent timbre, +but with great spirit, the following words to the tune of "The Man Who +Drinks His Whiskey Clear": + +[Illustration: Greek song] + +"Tell them," said Lindbohm to Michali, "that I cannot sing in Greek, +but that I desire to do my share and, with their permission, I will +sing a little song in my own language, appropriate, I assure you, to +the occasion." Michali translated and there was no doubt as to the +reception of the proposition. Lindbohm had not gone farther than the +first line before smothered "Ahs!" of admiration were heard. He was a +singer. His voice was mellow, pleading, tender, rich. The song was +evidently something pathetic, for it brought tears to the eyes of the +impressionable Greeks. The last, deep, vibrating note died upon a +couch of silence. A long interval ensued, for to the Cretans it seemed +profane to reward such beautiful sound with a rude clatter of hands. +At length Panayota rose from her place, and walking straight up to +Lindbohm, laid a wreath of red roses and myrtle upon his brow. + +They packed the mules and started home long before daylight. The +procession wound down a rocky path and into the gray town in the silver +dawn, with a chill breeze blowing from the sea, and one great, white +star glowing in the heavens like a drop of dew. The wreaths had been +threaded upon the roasting-spits, and the girls, two and two, carried +them. Before sunrise a fresh wreath was hanging over the door of every +house in Ambellaki. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +A DEMAND, AND A COWARD + +"Hello!" cried Lindbohm, "what's the hubbub?" + +It was the morning of the second of May. Curtis and his two friends +were sitting in the mayor's café, drinking muddy black coffee, served +in tiny cups. + +Noisy voices, as of an increasing and excited throng, were audible. +Michali, the mayor and the Swede rushed to the door, but were almost +immediately swept back on the crest of an angry human wave. Two or +three tall young shepherds, with long crooks in their left hands and +with hairy cloaks thrown over their shoulders, were flinging their +fists in the air and shouting hoarsely. Papa-Maleko, fully as tall as +they, and looming above them by the height of his priest's hat, was +flourishing angrily a bit of letter paper, and evidently attempting to +out-yell them. His head was thrown back and his great black beard, +jerked by his rapidly moving chin, twitched and danced upon his breast. +Every moment more men, women and children crowded into the café, until +it became thronged to suffocation. Curtis seized the little table that +stood before him firmly with both hands and pulled it over his lame +foot. + +The demarch, clambering upon a bench, shouted and gesticulated, +evidently for order. His efforts, at first unavailing, at last +resulted in partial quiet, and he began to speak. He finished and +stepped down. Then one of the shepherds jumped upon the improvised +platform. He was no orator, but with few and hesitating words, told +his story. It was evidently a case where facts were eloquent, for his +voice was soon drowned in an inextinguishable roar, in the midst of +which Papa-Maleko sprang upon another bench and commenced to speak, +still shaking the bit of paper. Silence again fell. Curtis could +understand scarcely anything. Each of the speakers talked so rapidly +that the words seemed all joined together into one word of interminable +length. He only knew that he was listening to an outburst of wild, +crude eloquence--the eloquence of passion--the exultation of righteous +indignation. When the priest had finished he tore the paper into +little bits, and threw them into the air with thumbs and fingers +extended like the ribs of a fan, the Greek gesture of a curse. + +"Na!" he cried. + +In the moment of silence, of evident perplexity, which followed, Curtis +arose, and, seizing Michali firmly by the shoulder, pulled him nearer. + +"What in heaven's name is all this?" he asked. + +"Bad, very bad," replied the Cretan. "Kostakes Effendi, with two +hundred and fifty men, has two villages destroyed on other side of +mountain, and kill many people. He write letter and say we send him +Panayota, the priest's daughter, for his harem, he go 'way. If no, he +come through the pass, burn, kill." + +Curtis sank upon the seat and stared dumbly at the broad back of the +villager just before him. It expanded into the front of a whitewashed +cottage, with a laughing Greek girl standing beneath a porch of vines. +She had soft brown hair, large chestnut eyes and a low, broad forehead. +As he looked, a frightened expression crept into the eyes, and she +turned them upon him appealingly. + +"By God, they shan't have her!" he cried aloud, smiting the table with +his fist. Rising without thinking of his foot, he began to shout the +situation excitedly into Lindbohm's ear. The latter listened with +apparent stolidity, but, making a thrust with the imaginary sword, +punched the broad back viciously with his fist. + +Another of the shepherds mounted the bench. Papa-Maleko surged through +the crowd and shook his fist at the speaker. This last orator was +about forty years of age, sturdy and florid. He had small, keen eyes +and a conciliatory manner. + +"What does he say?" asked Lindbohm of Michali. + +"He say, send the girl. We have but little ammunition, few guns. +Kostakes Effendi have plenty men, plenty guns. Better one suffer than +all. Kostakes, he say is no genuine Turk anyway. His mother was a +Greek--he probably marry the girl." + +Then an unexpected thing happened. The orator was having a visible +effect on a portion of his audience. He was dispersing the patriotic +exaltation of the weaker minded, and was causing even the boldest to +feel the hopelessness of their condition. At this critical moment the +Swede, who had grown deathly pale, gave way to frenzy. He threw the +listening throng to right and left as easily as though he were walking +through a field of tall wheat. Reaching the bench of the astonished +orator, he kicked it from under him. The Cretan sprang to his feet and +drew his knife. Lindbohm seized the uplifted wrist and twisted it +until the weapon fell to the floor. Then he savagely hustled the +orator through the crowd, too astonished to interfere, to the door, the +entire throng surging into the open air after him. Curtis forgot his +foot, but was sharply reminded of it, by putting it on the floor in his +eagerness to follow. When he finally reached the door, Lindbohm was +bounding merrily after the escaping coward, beating him over the back +with his own staff. Some of the Cretans were laughing and others were +shouting "Bravo!" + +"He will go to join the Turks," said Michali to Curtis. + +"That's where he ought to be," replied the American. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +SMOKE BY DAY AND FIRE BY NIGHT + +The peaceful village was transformed into a scene of tumult. An +invisible thundercloud seemed hovering in the clear sky. The +frightened children and the timid women, running about the streets, +reminded Curtis of the sudden motherward flurry of chickens, at the +shadow of the swooping hawk. He was left alone in the deserted inn. +He dragged a bench to the open door and sat down. Those rapid +preparations for defense were going on which suggest themselves +instinctively to people bred and reared in a land of strife. A group +of sturdy mountaineers soon collected on the square, wearing +well-filled cartridge belts and carrying Gras rifles. The throng grew, +and every new arrival was greeted affectionately by his first name, +"Bravo, Kyr' Yanne!" or "Bravo, Kyr' George!" The demarch formed the +nucleus of the group, the red marks under his eyes blushing like new +cut slashes. + +A rapid jingling of bells, and the sound as of animals running, were +heard, and a sentinel goat appeared on the edge of a distant rock. He +cast an agitated glance back over his wethers, and slid down, his four +hoofs together, his back humped into a semicircle, his bucolic beard +thrust outward. Others appeared and slid over, as though borne on the +crest of a torrent. Then two tall shepherds were sketched for an +instant on a background of mountains and sky, swinging their crooked +staves. But they, too, were caught by the invisible torrent and swept +into the town. Boys were dispatched into the surrounding hills, and +within an hour the streets were filled with bleating flocks. The group +of armed men grew to fifty. Lindbohm and Michali had both been +provided with guns. The Swede had been induced to discard the straw +hat as too conspicuous a mark, and to bind a dark handkerchief about +his head. Curtis felt himself one of them, and yet knew that he was +not. + +"If I had a gun, I might get up there among the rocks and do +something," he muttered. "I can shoot just as well if I am lame, if I +could only get into position. Pshaw! What's the matter with me? This +isn't my fight. I'm a non-combatant, I am." + +The priest came down, leading Panayota by the hand and carrying a +cross. The girl was white, even to the lips, but there was a proud +smile on her face and her eyes were shining. She wore a short Cretan +knife in her belt. Papa-Maleko held aloft the cross and solemnly +blessed the waiting warriors, after which he presented the sacred +symbol to the lips of each in turn. Lindbohm strode over to Panayota +and pulling the handkerchief from his head, bowed low, with his hand +upon his heart. + +"Before they get you," he said, "they must yust take us all." + +Curtis shouted "That's right!" but was not aware of the fact until the +little army turned and looked at him inquiringly. + +"I'll make a fool of myself here yet," he said, sinking back on the +bench. + +Michali translated Lindbohm's speech and a great shout of "Bravo! +bravo!" went up. + +Lindbohm was in his element. + +"There was," he understood, "no way for the enemy to get in from the +land side except through the pass. They might approach with difficulty +from the seashore, but there was only one place where they could land. +Men were watching that, and a smoke by day or a fire by night would +warn the villagers. Very good. Fifty men might defend this pass +against two hundred and fifty, but they must lose no men and must make +every shot count. How much ammunition had they?" + +"Not much. Only their belts full, and possibly as much again, curses +on the English!" + +"Very well. We must use it the more carefully. We must not get +excited. Kostakes Effendi cannot possibly reach the ravine before +nightfall--can he get through without a guide?" + +"No," replied the demarch, "impossible." + +Panayota spoke. She said only two words, and she said them quietly, +though distinctly, but they fell like a thunderclap. + +"Peter Ampates!" + +This was the name of the cowardly shepherd whom Lindbohm had driven +from the town. + +"Is there any way to build fires so as to light up narrow places in the +ravine?" + +There were two or three such places where bonfires could be located +that would make the pass as light as day. People standing behind the +rocks in positions of comparative safety could easily feed the flames +by tossing wood into them. + +"Send out the boys and girls then to prepare these fires and to pile up +brushwood enough behind the rocks to keep them burning all night," +commanded the Swede. "Build one fire at the mouth of the pass--" but +here he was interrupted by a chorus of protest. "Let the Turks get +into the pass and then we will kill them," cried his listeners. + +"Very well, but see that they don't get through." + +Papa-Maleko had a suggestion to make. The Sphakiotes often got the +Turks into narrow defiles and rolled stones down upon their heads. +There were half a dozen precipitous places in the gorge where this +could be effectively done. + +"Capital idea," assented Lindbohm. "Let some more women go to those +places and pile up heaps of the biggest stones they can carry." +Lindbohm suggested that the men, who now numbered sixty, should take +their places near the mouth of the defile. In a few brief words he +also laid the foundation of an effective commissariat. The mayor's +brother, too old a man to fight, was instructed to superintend the +sending of food twice a day, in case the siege should be protracted, +and above all, water, which could not be found up among the rocks. +Women and boys were to act as carriers. + +A messenger was sent to Korakes, an insurgent chief, who, with three +hundred men, had established his headquarters near the village of +Alikiano. + +"We might be able to hold out for a week," said Lindbohm to Curtis, +"and Korakes will surely come to our aid. At any rate, we must yust +take our chances." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +AWAITING THE SIGNAL + +Curtis was left alone in the priest's house. Papa-Maleko had gone up +the ravine. + +"If one of my boys were wounded," he said, "and I were not there to +comfort him, God might forgive me, but I should never forgive myself." + +The day passed very peacefully. Curtis sat in the door of the +parsonage, with his bandaged foot upon a stool. The children, usually +so noisy in the streets, were quiet, and the gossips were either gone +or were talking in whispers. A woman sat in a doorway opposite holding +her babe, that squealed and shouted with delight at the familiarity of +a pet kid. The mother smiled sadly, and then clasped the child to her +bosom, smothering it with affection. The sudden purple twilight of the +orient fell, and a light breeze flew up from the sea, beating the +blossoms from the cherry and pear trees and scattering their faint, +delicious perfume. The purple changed to black and the nightingales +began to sing. The flocks had gone to sleep. The antiphonous bleating +and the jangle of the bells were swallowed up in the darkness that was +silence, save where now and then a little lamb cried softly to its +mother across the meadows of dreamland or a bell tinkled musically. +There was a purring of many waters. + +"By Jove, war's a queer thing," mused Curtis. "It's hate and lust and +bigotry. It's a big fiendish lie, and all the time a thousand voices +are preaching truth and love. Here am I, sitting among the +nightingales, the cherry blossoms and the dreaming sheep, and a mile +from here all the men of the vicinity are trying to cut one another's +throats. And I suppose I'd be with 'em if it wasn't for this blamed +foot. These Cretans are plucky fellows. By George, I glory in their +sand! Had they been a lot of cowards they would have given up the +girl--but they wouldn't have got her while I could hold a gun! Why, +she's a natural queen! She'd grace any man's fireside, she would. +What beautiful eyes she has! what a mouth! what a carriage, and spirit, +too! Talk about your ancient epics and your ancient heroines! Why, +here's the Trojan war right over again, or the spirit of it. We aren't +shy on men and women these days; we're shy on Homers. And that girl, +that Panayota, she's as pure as snow. She'd knife herself in a minute +before she'd allow herself to fall into the hands of the Turks. +Whatever else the boys do, I hope they'll pink that Kostakes chap. I'd +like to pot him myself." + +As the time wore on, Curtis found himself leaning forward in the +darkness, listening for the sound of distant shots. He wondered if the +Turks would attack that night and if he could hear the shots if they +did. + +He went to the door and called to an old man who was talking in a low +tone, but excitedly, to the woman across the way. The babe had been +put to bed. They both came running, and he asked them, framing his +sentence with much care: + +"Has the fighting begun? Can the guns be heard from here?" + +They replied in concert, volubly and at great length. Then they held a +conference and withdrew. + +"That's the trouble with a foreign tongue," mused Curtis. "You can +talk to them all right, but they talk so fast that you can't understand +what they say to you. Now, I said it correctly," and he repeated the +sentence. + +After about half an hour the old man returned, bringing some bread, +cheese, _halva_ and a glass of dark wine. Curtis repeated the Greek +word for "thank you" half a dozen times, and then fell upon the food +voraciously. "The more I see of these people, the better I like them," +he muttered. "Now, I call that thoughtful of the old man." + +After he had finished eating he tried his foot, bearing his weight on +it until he could endure the pain no longer. + +"I believe it's better," he soliloquized, and then cried +inconsequentially: + +"By Jove! I wonder if that old blockhead thought I was asking for +something to eat? Panayota would have understood me in a minute. Why, +she and I get along all right together in Greek. But then, I mustn't +judge the rest of these people by her." + +He wound up his watch at ten o'clock, and lay down upon the divan. + +"There's going to be no fight to-night," he muttered. "And, at any +rate, it wouldn't be my fight if there was." + +He fell asleep, and dreamed of Panayota, gigantic in size, standing on +a cliff by a wan, heaving sea. She was hurling jagged pieces of rock +down at a line of ant-like Turks, crawling far below. The wind was +blowing her hair straight out from her forehead, and he could only see +her mouth and chin, but he knew it was Panayota. He ran to help her, +when the demarch seized him to hold him back. He awoke, and found that +an old man was shaking his arm and crying excitedly in Greek, "Fire! +fire!" + +Curtis' first thought was that the house was burning. He put his hand +on the old man's shoulder and jumped over to the door. Half a dozen +people were standing in the moonlight, pointing toward the hills. Two +women, one holding a very young babe in her arms, were crossing +themselves hysterically and calling on the name of the Virgin. An old +man of eighty, whom Curtis had frequently seen bent nearly double and +walking with a cane, now stood erect, fingering the trigger of a rifle. +A stripling of twelve was shaking his fist toward a red eye of flame +that glowed among the rocks, high up and far away. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +WAR IN EARNEST + +That was one of Lindbohm's bonfires, sure enough. Perhaps a battle was +going on at that moment. + +"Mother of God, save my man!" cried the woman with the baby. "Save +him, save him!" + +"Mother of God, save my boy, my cypress tree, my Petro!" groaned the +old man. + +"Curse the Turks! May their fathers roast in hell!" shrieked the lad. +"Give me a gun, I'm old enough to shoot." + +For three hours they stood watching the fire, as though they could +actually see what was taking place there. At times they stood silent +for many minutes together, listening, listening for the sound of guns; +but they could hear nothing. At last a shout was heard in the distance: + +"Oo-hoo!" + +"What is it? What is it?" the watchers asked, hoarsely, looking at one +another with pale faces. + +Again "Oo-hoo! Oo-hoo!" nearer. + +At last footsteps were heard, as of one running and stumbling among +loose rocks, and at length little Spiro Kaphtakes staggered up to the +group and stood panting before them. His trousers were torn, and blood +was flowing from his legs. The women and the old man stared at him +open-mouthed for a long minute, and then, pouncing upon him, began to +shake him. + +"What is it? what news?" + +"Is my Petro safe?" + +"How goes it with my Yanne?" + +Others ran up out of dark alleys and from the doorways of distant +houses, and soon twenty or more surrounded the poor boy, gesticulating, +screaming. They could not wait for him to get his breath. His tongue +lolled out like that of a Chinese idol, and he swallowed the air +instead of breathing, rolling his eyes about helplessly the while. At +length, with a supreme effort, he gasped: + +"Yanne!" + +The woman with the babe reeled as though the earth were slipping from +beneath her-feet. A neighbor caught the child and the mother fell +limply to the ground. Then, while friends dashed water upon her face +and rubbed her hands, the boy talked rapidly, shrilly, flinging his +arms about with loose-elbowed gestures. The woman opened her eyes and +two of the men helped her to her feet. She tottered for a moment, +disheveling her hair with despairing hands and whispering hoarsely: + +"Yanne! Yanne! What shall I do? What shall I do?" + +But suddenly the brave woman-soul asserted itself and her frail body +straightened, tense, defiant, ready for any effort. Clasping the babe +to her breast she kissed it tenderly many times. Holding it for a +moment at arm's length, she looked at it hungrily, and then turned her +eyes away. A neighbor took the child. + +"Come!" said the mother, and she ran lightly up the ravine, followed by +the boy. The babe bleated "Mama! mama!" like a frightened lamb, but +the woman did not look back. Hopping two or three steps from the +doorway, Curtis seized a woman by the arm. + +"Killed?" he asked in Greek. + +"Eh?" + +"Killed?" + +Unfortunately, everybody understood, and all commenced talking at once. + +"I don't understand," shouted Curtis. "Silence! Killed? killed?" + +"Silence!" cried the old man with the musket, raising his right hand in +a commanding gesture above the heads of the too-willing talkers. + +"No," he replied to Curtis, slowly and distinctly, "not killed. Badly +wounded." + +"Thanks," replied the American. "Thanks, thanks, I understand." + +Just before sunrise Michali, with his leg broken, was brought in on a +donkey. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +AN AMATEUR SURGEON + +They laid the wounded Cretan on the lounge in the parsonage. He was +pale as death from loss of blood, and kept snapping at his under lip +with his teeth, but he did not groan. + +"We are a pair of storks now," he said, smiling at Curtis, and then he +fainted away. Curtis cut the trouser from the wounded leg. A ball had +struck the shin. + +"It's not badly splintered, old man," said the American, as Michali +opened his eyes again. "I don't know anything about surgery, but I +should think the proper thing would be to wash it, support it with some +splints and bind it up tight. Shall I try it?" + +"What you need?" asked Michali. + +"Some warm water, two or three straight sticks and a piece of cloth +that I can tear up into strips." + +The wounded man called for the necessary articles and they were soon +brought. Curtis washed the blood away carefully. + +The end of a piece of bone pushed against the skin from beneath and +made a sharp protuberance. + +"I'm awfully sorry, old man, but I've got to hurt you--like the devil, +I'm afraid." + +"All right, my friend," replied Michali, "only do not be long." + +"No, only a minute. Here, lie on your back. That's right. Now take +hold of the sides of the lounge and hang on tight. That'll help you. +I know it from having teeth filled. Now, tell this old man to take +hold of your ankle so, with both hands, and pull, slowly, carefully, +till I say 'stop,' and not to commence pulling till I say 'now.' You'd +better explain--your Greek is some better than mine." + +Michali explained. + +"Does he understand?" + +"Perfectly." + +Curtis put his hand about the broken shin in such a way that he could +push the fragment of bone into place. + +"This can't be wrong," he reflected. "At any rate, there's nothing +else to do." + +Looking at the old man he nodded. + +"Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!" gurgled Michali, as though the words were +being pulled from his throat with a hook. There was so much agony in +them, they meant so much more than the screams of a weaker person would +have meant, that the amateur surgeon felt sick at his stomach and it +cost him a tremendous effort to see through a sort of blindness that +settled like a cloud before his eyes. But the two ends of the bone +came together and he resolutely pushed the splinter into place. + +Still holding the leg tightly he looked at Michali. Great drops of +sweat were standing on the Cretan's face and his underlip was bleeding, +but he smiled bravely. + +"All over," said Curtis. "Now for the sticks and the strips." + +Fortunately for the success of the operation the boy who had led the +mule was outside, giving an account of the progress of the battle. He +proved a greater attraction even than the broken leg. Curtis, finding +himself alone with his patient, shut and locked the door. + +"Does it hurt you very much, old man?" he asked. "I suppose the proper +thing now would be to give you something to put you to sleep. Don't +you think you could sleep a little while anyway?" + +"No, no, I cannot sleep. It hurts me some, but not much--not too much." + +Curtis sat quietly for some time in the semi-darkness of the room, +listening to the chatter of the boy outside, punctuated by the excited +exclamations of the listeners. He glanced at the drawn face of +Michali, which had a ghastly hue in the wan light. The wounded man's +eyes were open, but he made no sound. + +"He's a plucky beggar," thought Curtis. "I wonder if it would do him +any harm to talk? I say, Michali," he asked aloud, "how is it going? +What are they doing up there?" + +"They tried to come through about eleven o'clock--but how can I tell +you, since you do not the ravine know? It begins wide on the other +side--a deep, steep valley, with many pine trees, and paths along the +sides. Near the top of the mountain the ravine becomes narrow, between +walls of rock, what you call it?--perpendicular. If the Turk ever gets +over the summit we are lost. Very well--that devil Ampates! Lindbohm +should have killed him!" + +"Why, what did he do?" + +"Without him the Turk never could have found the best path. Well, we +have men on all the paths with dogs--good dogs, hear half a mile, +bark--O, like the devil! We stay high up, most of us, where ravine is +narrow, so not to scatter out too much. We hide behind the rocks on +both sides of the ravine, on the other side the mountain. We listen +and listen, O, how we listen! Nothing. The wind in the pine trees. +For hours we listen. My ears get very wide awake. I think I hear the +wind among the stars. Then, all at once, we sit up very straight, +holding our guns ready. 'Boo! boo! woo!' It is old Spire's dog, down +below. We sit very still. Perhaps the dog made a mistake. Perhaps he +bark at the moon. But no. 'Bang!' goes old Spiro's gun. Then we +know. That was the signal--Ah, mother of God!" + +No Greek can talk without violent gesticulations, that frequently bring +all the muscles of his body into play. Michali forgot the leg in his +excitement, and gave a little jump that wrenched it slightly. + +"Never mind, old man. Don't talk any more--you'd better lie quiet," +said Curtis. "You drove 'em back, did you?" + +"Twenty men went down to the mouth of the pass. We stayed back the +narrow part to guard, high up, behind the rocks. Pretty soon they +commence shooting and yelling. It was moonlight there, you see, but +dark like--like--" + +"Like a pocket," suggested Curtis. + +"Like a pocket in the ravine, where we were. They keep +shooting--'biff, bang, biff, bang'--then all at once--'r-r-r-r-r!' more +than a hundred guns at once. 'That's the Turks,' said Lindbohm. 'By +damn! they must not get through. Michali, twenty men must come down +with me, twenty stay here.' I pick out twenty, and down we go, and +hide. Then the women light the fire. Whoof! the light jumps up and +slashes open the ravine. There they come, there come the Turks, +running, running. The boys keep shooting from above, 'ping! ping!' but +they not hit much, straight down so. One, two, three drop, but the +rest keep coming. We lay our rifles across the rocks and take aim. +Lindbohm, he keep saying, very low, 'Not yet, not yet, steady, boys, +steady--'" + +"Steady, boys, steady!" cried Curtis; "that's old Lindbohm--yes, yes?" + +"My God! I think the Turks get right on top of us, when 'bang!' +Lindbohm shoot right by my ear and blow a hole through a Turk. Then we +all shoot, shoot, shoot, but every time one Turk die, two new ones come +around the corner. And I think they get through, but the women pry off +big piece of rock. O, most as big as this house, and it kill two +Turks. Then the Turks turn and run--" + +"Hurrah!" sobbed Curtis. + +"Hurrah!" echoed Michali. "We killed thirty-four damned Turks!" + +"How many men did you lose?" asked Curtis. + +"One, shoot through the head. He high up and fall down into the +ravine. Turks laugh very loud. Another here, through the stomach. He +die pretty soon--he with us. His name Yanne. And me, I get this +little wound in the leg. How they hit my leg, I don't know." + +As they were talking the church bell began to ring. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +"STILL I SAY UNTO YOU, COURAGE" + +"Hello! What's that for?" asked Curtis. + +Michali shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows?" he replied. + +Curtis hopped to the door, unlocked it and looked out. The church +stood across the road on the top of a big, flat rock. Though small, it +boasted a Byzantine dome. The bell hung in a frame erected over the +porch, and the rope was tied about a wooden pillar, to prevent its +being blown out of reach by the wind. + +"Why, it's Papa-Maleko himself," cried the American. + +The priest gave the rope two or three more decisive jerks, and then, +leaving the end dangling, started for the house. His stately black +robe was rent down the front, and the wind blew the pieces out behind, +exposing his voluminous Cretan breeches and his yellow boots. His long +hair had writhed loose from its fastenings and had fallen down his +back. It was beautiful and reminded Curtis of Panayota. His tall hat +was battered at the side, so that the roof looked as though it were +slipping off. He spoke a few words to Michali, and then, opening the +trunk studded with brass nails, he took out and donned his sacerdotal +vestments, a sleeveless cloak with a cross in the middle of the back +and a richly embroidered stole. Running his fingers through his long, +glossy hair and shaking it out as a lion shakes his mane, he strode +back to the little church, into which the people were already excitedly +pouring. + +"It looks bad," said Michali; "he is about to ask for God's help." + +"I'm going across," said Curtis. + +"Can you walk so far?" asked Michali. + +"O, yes; with this crutch I can get over there all right." + +Though the church was crowded, there was absolute, solemn silence. +These simple people believed that they were in the very presence of +God. Kindly hands seized Curtis and assisted him into one of the +high-backed, narrow seats ranged along the walls. Two tall candles +threw a flickering light on a crude St. George and the Dragon, of +mammoth size, painted on the screen. Every new comer kissed the face +of a florid virgin that looked up out of a gaudy frame, reposing on the +slanting top of a tall stand near the door. Numerous _eikons_ in +gilded frames hung about the wall, and a silent throng of forgotten +saints, painted on the dome above, peered dimly down upon the +worshippers. The windows were narrow, but enough sunlight straggled in +to give a ghostly look to the candles, lighted here and there. +Papa-Maleko's voice was musical and tender. He commenced chanting in a +low, pleading tone, but as the glorious words of the litany gradually +took possession of his soul, the melodious, full-voweled Greek +syllables rolled more and more confidently from his tongue. The poor, +frightened mothers and children of his flock raised their faces and +sniffed the wholesome incense that now pervaded the building. The +spirit of the scene carried Curtis away. He was awed and mysteriously +refreshed, as one who, in a noisome cavern, feels the cool, sweet air +blowing upon him from the darkness. He found himself beating the arm +of his seat and chanting inaudibly, again and again, the sublime words, +"_Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott._" + +"Ah, yes, God will protect us! He is our very present help in time of +trouble." + +And now, Papa-Maleko is blessing his flock, one by one. Down the aisle +he passes, holding a little cross to the eager lips, speaking words of +comfort. + +"Courage, courage, my children," he says; "when God is with us who can +be against us? Christ is fighting for us and the Holy Virgin and all +the saints. Courage, courage." + +They seized his hand and kissed it. Women sobbed in an exaltation of +faith. Mothers pressed the cross to the lips and foreheads of their +wondering babes. + +"The Virgin is our helper," they said. + +"Christ and the Virgin be with you," responded the priest. + +So he stood, his left hand lifted in blessing, his right extending the +cross; stately in his flowing robes, calm in the dignity of his exalted +message. + +"Have courage, my children," he repeated, smiling benignly. "It came +to me there in the mountains, like a voice from God. 'Ye are +Christians; why do ye not call upon the God of hosts?'" + +"Papa-Maleko!" + +In an instant the whole congregation had turned and were looking +towards the door. There stood a tall shepherd with a rifle in his +hand. His face was blackened with powder and he seemed covered with +blood. + +"What is it? what is it?" shrieked a dozen voices. + +"There is a terrible fight. Loukas and Spiro are killed--" + +The words of the priest rang out clear and strong: + +"Our God is a very present help--courage, my children!" + +"My left arm is broken. The Turks got on top of the hill, where the +girls were, but the girls all jumped off, laughing. All killed, +Paraskeve, Elene, Maria--" + +The speaker's voice was drowned in a pandemonium of shrieks and sobs. + +But again the priest was heard, reverently, distinctly, firmly, like +the voice of Christ calming the waters. + +"They are with Christ in paradise. Still I say unto you, courage. +Since God is with us who shall stand against us?" + +"Panayota was with them, but her dress caught in a thorn bush, and +before she could tear herself loose the Turks had her." + +Every eye in the church was riveted upon the priest. The cross rattled +to the floor, and his arm dropped to his side. His lips were white and +there was a terrible look in the large brown eyes. + +"Panayota! Panayota!" he called hoarsely. His voice sounded far away +now. Suddenly he tore off his sacred vestments and flung them in a +heap on the floor. Striding to the wounded shepherd, he snatched the +gun from his hand. Looking from the window, Curtis saw him running +toward the hills, his long hair streaming on the wind. The flock +poured out after him and the American was sitting in the deserted house +of God, gazing at a pile of sacred robes and muttering stupidly: + +"Panayota! Panayota!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE BRAVE THING TO DO + +"Hark!" said Curtis, who was sitting in the door of the parsonage. +"What's that?" + +"I didn't hear anything," replied Michali. + +"I did. I believe it was a gun. It was a faint throb in the air. +There it goes again. There they go!" + +No mistake was possible this time. + +"They're coming through," said Michali, rising upon his elbow. "The +Turks will be here pretty quick, now, I think." + +"Hello," cried Curtis, "there comes the demarch. There he goes into +that house. Now he comes out--there he goes into another--what's up, I +wonder? Here he comes!" + +Kyr' Nikolaki looked in at the door. His face was flabby with fatigue +and his under lids had drooped perceptibly, enlarging the red pits +beneath his eyes into semicircles. + +"What is it? what is it?" asked Curtis, who had not clearly understood +the few hurried words addressed by the demarch to Michali. + +"They're nearly out of cartridges. They can't hold the pass over an +hour longer. They're going to send the flocks and the women and +children down to the sea. The village owns a lot of caiques there. +Then the men will retreat last, fighting, shooting all the time." + +"But what are you quarreling about?" + +"O, nothing. Nothing at all." + +It did not take the Ambellakians long to pack up. The most treasured +belongings were thrown into blankets, which were rolled into bundles, +and then, away for the ravine and the sea! + +A mother dashed by the house with a babe under her left arm and a +bundle over her right shoulder. Another dragged two frightened +children along the stony street, clutching tight a tiny wrist with each +hand. An aged couple doddered by, the man with feeble and palsied hand +striving to support the woman, who clung to a frame containing two +bridal wreaths. From amid the faded orange blossoms smiled the +youthful eyes of a shy mountain girl and a stout _pallikari_--man's +work lasts so much better than man himself. + +The confusion grew to frenzy. A parrot-like chatter and screaming of +women filled the air. A florid housewife stumbled and wheezed down the +street, carrying a pair of long-handled coffee stew pans. She did not +know what they were, but had seized them through force of habit. +Another bore a cheap chromo, representing skin-clad hunters thrusting +spears into a number of colossal polar bears. She fell and jabbed her +knee through the picture, but picked up the frame and ran on with that. +Scrips, or bags of pied and brightly-colored wool, of which two or more +are to be found in every Cretan peasant's house, were hanging from the +arms and shoulders of many of the fugitives. + +At a burst of firing, seemingly more distinct and nearer than anything +that had preceded it, an old woman stopped, and fumblingly extracted a +silver mounted _eikon_ from her scrip. After kissing it and making the +sign of the cross several times, she replaced it, and hurried on again. +A babe was laughing and clutching with glee at the disheveled locks of +its fleeing mother. A girl of six hugged to imminent suffocation a +shapeless and wrinkled pup. + +The demarch came in again, accompanied by Lindbohm and a stalwart +mountaineer. The Swede had a gun in his left hand. In the grime of +his powder-blackened face his eyes looked unnaturally blue. But they +were no longer childlike. It was rather the blue of an angry sea. + +"Panayota's taken," he said to Curtis. + +"I know it." + +"There's nothing to be done now except to rally the men and rescue +her." The Swede did not talk like a man in despair. He seemed, on the +contrary, exalted by a great resolve. + +"We will get together and fall upon Kostakes like a thunderbolt. We'll +not let him go far. And if he harms a hair of her head--" He doubled +his ponderous fist and shook it. Then he whirled about briskly and +gazed at Michali. + +"We'll take you somehow," he said. "We'll be as careful as we can. +They'll kill you if you stay here." + +"I not go," replied Michali. "I have said it to the demarch. Take two +strong men to carry me. They better be fighting. Leave a gun with me. +When they find me I will kill two, three Turks. Ha! By God, I +surprise them! So I die!" + +"Come, no more of this foolishness," said Lindbohm. "I take him on my +back, and the shepherd here take you," turning to Curtis. + +But Curtis had been thinking very fast, and the bright image of his +beautiful and high-spirited hostess in the hands of the Turks had +sharpened his wits to an extraordinary degree. + +"Look here, Lindbohm," he said, speaking very rapidly, "I'll stay here +and look out for Panayota. They won't kill me, I'm a non-combatant, +and the Turks won't be so apt to abuse the girl when there's a +foreigner amongst them. Help me to the wine cave. I'll hide there +till the right moment and then I'll give myself up." + +Lindbohm saluted. + +"I would not have asked it," he said, "but it is the brave thing to do. +Ah, tell the officer you're a newspaper correspondent. That's the +safest thing." + +The firing had ceased entirely for several minutes. Now rapid +footsteps were heard. Looking toward the door Curtis saw a Cretan +shepherd fling by. He was running low to the ground, carrying his gun +horizontally, like a man hunting--or being hunted. Another and another +passed. + +"We have five minutes now," said Lindbohm, holding out his arms to +Michali. "They have given up the pass. Come! Must I take you, or +will you come on my back?" + +"I come," replied Michali, "to the wine cave." + +Lindbohm kneeled by the divan and Michali put his arms about his neck. +The Swede arose, wrenching from the Cretan's throat a groan that ended +in a low, sharp shriek. + +Lindbohm strode from the door, followed by the demarch and the +shepherd, the last mentioned carrying Curtis. + +Five or six shots, followed by a persistent fusillade, were heard. + +"Now I think they come through," muttered Lindbohm, breaking into a +run. Michali was breathing in tremulous, faint groans between set +teeth. Then, mercifully, he fainted, and remained unconscious until +the Swede, panting with exertion, bounded through the arbor into the +dim café. + +The demarch ran to his wine barrels, and, pulling an empty one around +parallel with the wall, smashed in its end with the butt of a musket, +using the weapon as though it were a battering ram. Michali was shoved +into the barrel as tenderly as possible and the broken pieces were laid +in beside him. Then they pushed the tun back into place, with the open +end against the wall. + +"And you?" said Lindbohm, turning to Curtis, who was sitting upon the +table where the shepherd had dropped him. + +"Save yourselves!" cried the American, pointing to the door. A +shepherd, standing behind the platane tree, was aiming at something +above him. He fired, and jerking the empty shell from his smoking +piece, reloaded. Three Cretans darted to the rear of the café, +trailing blue ropes of smoke from the muzzles of their guns. The man +behind the tree started after them, but stopped at a crash of musketry +and dropped his gun with a "ching" among the rocks. His legs broke at +the knees as though some one had playfully jabbed them from behind. As +he instinctively threw forward his arms to save himself from falling, +his elbows collapsed and his hands fell flopping at the wrist, like +penguin's wings. He was dead before his body reached the ground. + +Lindbohm snatched his musket from the table and ran from the café, +followed by the demarch and the shepherd. Curtis slipped into a +corner, behind the huge oil crock. The sound of the firing continued, +but no one came into the café. Ten minutes, twenty minutes passed. +They seemed hours to the American. Occasionally he heard a sput, sput +against the outside of the soft wall. Once a "ftha," like the hissing +of a cat, was followed by a humming sound, as a bullet, slightly +flattened by the sand, sang in through the open door. + +It did not occur to him that these things were dangerous. + +"I must see what they are doing," he said. "It's a good fight! It's a +good fight!" + +He slid around the smooth, cool crock and leaned out from his hiding +place. He could see nothing but a strip of the open door and a huge +vine, sturdy as the trunk of a tree. He jumped back just in time to +save himself. The café was poured full of Turks, bringing Panayota and +her father. An officer, young, slender and very handsome, dropped into +a chair and laid his unsheathed sword before him on the table. The +soldiers fell respectfully back, leaving the girl and the priest +standing facing the officer. Ampates slunk in the background with +Panayota's Cretan knife in his hand. It was he who had led the way to +the women, by a round-about path. + +A long conversation ensued, in which Kostakes spoke with insinuating +sweetness, smiling continually and occasionally twirling the ends of +his small, dark mustache. His intentions with reference to Panayota +were honorable, he said. The priest began his reply in a pleading tone +but ended with a fiery denunciation. Once or twice a soldier stepped +threateningly towards him, but Kostakes waved the would-be murderer +back with a slight gesture or an almost imperceptible movement of the +head. Panayota was magnificent. She seemed at no moment to have any +doubt of herself. She stood erect, pale, calm, contemptuous, until +near the end of the interview when, with an incredibly quick movement, +she snatched the sword from the table, and, turning the hilt towards +her father, threw back her head and closed her eyes. The officer with +a loud cry sprang to his feet, tipping over the table, and a soldier +knocked the weapon harmlessly into the air. All the Turks in the room +leaped upon Papa-Maleko, who fought like a cornered cat, wounding one, +two, three of his assailants. The Turks did not dare shoot, for fear +of killing their officer or the girl. Curtis came from his hiding +place, crying hoarsely in English: + +"Panayota! For God's sake! For God's sake! Panayota!" and then +"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! You'll kill Panayota!" + +But it was no part of Kostakes' plan to kill Panayota's father in her +presence. A Turk, cooler than the rest, reaching over the heads of his +comrades, dropped the butt of a rifle on the man's skull and he sank to +the ground. Panayota fell on her knees beside him, fumbling in his +hair and sobbing, "Papa! papa!" + +The heart has a little vocabulary of its own, which it has spoken from +the beginning of the world, the same for all peoples, unchanged in the +confusion of tongues. Curtis was not noticed in the tumult until he +had forced his way into the officer's very presence, where he stood, +shaking his fist and shouting, still in his own tongue: + +"This is a shame! Do you hear me? You're a scurvy blackguard to treat +a girl in that way. If I had you alone about five minutes I'd show you +what I think of you!" + +Two or three soldiers sprang forward, and a petty officer half drew his +sword, but Kostakes, astonished at hearing a language which he did not +understand, but which he surmised to be either German or English, +motioned them back. + +"_Qui êtes vous, Monsieur, et que faites vous ici?_" he asked in the +French which he had learned at the high school at Canea. + +"_Je suis Américan, correspondant du--du--_ New York Age," replied +Curtis. + +"_Ah, charmé! charmé! Comment dites vous en Anglais?_ Welcome. _Je +suis Kostakes, Capitaine de Cavalerie, à votre service!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A CRITICAL MOMENT + +Curtis did not find it easy to express his feelings in French to this +smiling officer with the straight, large nose, dazzling white teeth and +cordial manner, who wore an inverted red flower pot for a hat. French +is no language for a self-respecting man to swear in, any way. +Besides, one does not, in Ollendorf, learn a vocabulary suitable to +critical occasions. All Curtis could think of was "_lâche_," "_sacré +bleu_" and "_caramba_." The first did not seem appropriate, the second +lost its force by translating itself in his mind into English and he +was not certain whether the last was French, Spanish or Italian, so he +asked: + +"Is this lady a prisoner of war?" And Kostakes answered: + +"Monsieur is as gallant as he is brave. I give you my word of honor +that neither the lady nor her father shall come to any harm. Is that +sufficient?" + +It had to be, so Curtis, being anything but a fool, replied: + +"A gentleman's word of honor is always sufficient." + +"And now," continued Kostakes, "being a non-combatant, you are at +perfect liberty to follow your own wishes. Will you remain here or go +with us? We shall be charmed, I assure you, charmed to have your +society." + +"How long will you stay here?" + +"About an hour. Just long enough to collect any spoils of war and burn +the town." + +"Burn the town?" + +"Certainly, this is war, and war, even for a nation as highly civilized +as Turkey, consists in doing your enemy as much harm as possible." + +Curtis glanced uneasily at the row of barrels in the cave. Here was a +new dilemma. Should he give up the brave Cretan and appeal to +Kostakes' manliness and chivalry? He looked at the Turk shrewdly. +Somehow he did not have confidence in him. + +Besides, Michali could understand French. If he were conscious, he +could call out and give himself up, if he thought it were safe. + +"I would stay here," thought Curtis, "and ask him to leave me the café +as a shelter. But there's Panayota, I mustn't desert her." + +The firing had ceased and the looting had begun. Turks darted by the +door in the abandoned glee of destruction, or passed more slowly, +dragging bedticks, doors, pieces of furniture and other inflammable +articles, which they were casting upon a great bonfire in the square. +A wave of ribald laughter, that started somewhere in the distance and +ran nearer and louder, splashed into the open door. A soldier danced +in with an _eikon_ of the Holy Virgin, and held it up for the guard to +spit upon. Then he tossed it into the fire. The priest, who was +sitting on the floor, supported by the kneeling Panayota, covered his +eyes with his hands and shuddered with horror. The trellis for the +demarch's grape arbor came down with a crash and was wrenched loose +from the grip of the despairing vines. The benches whereon the gossip +shepherds had sat and sipped their coffee, bore company in the fire +with the only rocking chair in the village, in which a very old lady +used to sway to and fro and sing lullabies of her forgotten childhood. +A soldier seized one of the tables within the café and tossed it +through the open door. Then he dragged out a long bench, that scraped +and spluttered on the floor of hard beaten earth. Two others braced +themselves between the wall and the oil crock. An inspiration flashed +through Curtis' mind. + +"Stop! stop!" he shouted. "It is full of oil--the lady on the floor." + +"_Mais, certainement_," cried Kostakes, and he sent the soldiers from +the room. + +"The same argument will apply to the wine barrels," reflected Curtis. +"They would have been at them in a minute more." + +"Does Monsieur elect to stay with us, or with the Greeks?" asked the +Captain. "We must leave here immediately, before the Greeks return +with reinforcement and seize the ravine." + +"If I might be permitted to go with you? But I am lame; I have hurt my +foot." + +"I regret greatly to hear it. Not seriously, I hope?" + +"No, I stepped on a--a--thorn," he did not know the French word for sea +urchin. + +"I will give a horse--my own, if necessary. I shall be charmed, +charmed. And now, perhaps you will excuse me one moment while I +marshal the force? Perhaps, also, you will look at the priest's head. +I regret that our surgeon was killed in the attack." + +Rising, he said a few words in Greek to Panayota, bending deferentially +with his hand on his heart. His tones were musical and earnest and +Curtis understood him almost perfectly. He spoke high Greek very +distinctly. He expressed regret for Papa-Maleko's hurt, and assured +the girl of his undying love. + +"You are the cause of all this ruin, fair creature," he murmured +earnestly. "My love for you brought me here. Have no fears. You +shall be treated like a queen. Not a hair of your head nor of your +father's shall be harmed. All I ask is a little love in return." + +She made no reply. She did not even look up. Curtis felt a great +spasm of rage contract his heart, and a queer sickness swoop down upon +him. He wanted to kill Kostakes, he did not know exactly why. The man +certainly had a right to love the girl; it is any man's inalienable +right, established from the beginning of the world, to love any girl; +and the protestations of protection were exactly what Curtis wanted, +but somehow they made him sick and mad. In the midst of all this +killing, why couldn't he do a little for himself? Then Kostakes bent +lower, and attempted to lift Panayota's hands to his lips. She threw +his arm from her with horror, and, shrinking back, with doubled fists, +looked at him with such an ague of open-mouthed, staring disgust as no +Duse or Bernhardt ever dreamed of. Curtis felt almost friendly toward +Kostakes, who bowed solemnly, with hand upon heart, and strode from the +room. Two sentinels took their places just inside the open door, and +closed the entrance with crossed bayonets. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE MAN IN THE BARREL + +Curtis parted the long hair carefully on Papa-Maleko's head with his +fingers and looked for the wound. + +"I ought to have been a doctor," he said to Panayota. + +She smiled, a little, fleeting smile that was sadder than tears. Her +hair, that had been wound into a great coil at the back of her head, +had slipped partly loose. Even as she looked up at Curtis, the glossy +rope writhed like a living thing, and a massive loop dropped down upon +her temple. Though her cheeks were pale, her lips were still +red--Curtis had never noticed until now how red and velvety they were. + +"Is he badly hurt?" she asked. + +Papa-Maleko's hair was clotted with blood, but Curtis made absolutely +sure that the skull was not fractured. + +"No," he replied, "it is not broken." + +"Thank God! thank God!" cried Panayota. + +The priest put his hand on his daughter's shoulder and shuffled to his +feet. He staggered a little and caught his head in his hands. + +"O papa! papa!" cried the girl, throwing her arms about his neck. + +"Bah! I'm all right. I was a little dizzy, that's all." + +"Nothing broken. Nothing broken," reiterated Curtis. "The blood is +from the--" he did not know the word for skin, so he lifted up a little +tent on the back of his left hand with the finger and thumb of his +right. + +"Nothing, nothing at all," said the priest. Panayota turned her eyes +toward the smoky and cobwebbed rafters and crossed herself. The steel +cross in the door leaped to a parallel of presented muskets, and +Kostakes Effendi reappeared. Twirling his mustache, he gazed +perplexedly at the group within the café, but recovered himself in a +moment and advanced smiling. + +"So his reverence is quite well again! I am glad to see it, very glad. +I feared that his skull was fractured. A musket butt is no plaything." + +The Turk assisted Curtis to the door, and into a cavalry saddle on the +back of a respectable looking horse. + +"It is the horse of my sous-lieutenant," explained Kostakes, "who +really prefers to walk--Lieutenant Gadben, Monsieur--but I have not the +honor of knowing your name." + +"Curtis--" + +"John Curtis, American journalist." + +Half an inch of saber cut disfigured the lieutenant's left temple. +Curtis wondered at first glance how far it extended under the flower +pot hat. The possessor of the cut was a grizzled man of fifty, with a +short pointed beard and a mustache, into the left side of which +cigarettes had burned a semicircular hole. The Turkish troops were +drawn up in marching order, dirty, dust-stained, faded, some of them +shoeless, but there was something about them, something in the attitude +of the bodies and the obedient expectancy of the countenances, that +suggested the soldier. + +Curtis was amazed at the amount of desolation which had been +accomplished in so short a time. The ruffian hand of war had wrecked +the peaceful and idyllic town as a discontented child smites a +playhouse of blocks. Everything combustible had been set on fire, and +even from the stone houses smoke was pouring. Doors had been torn from +the hinges, windows smashed in, arbors pulled down. The fire in the +square filled the nostrils with the familiar odor of burning olive oil. +The houses with their denuded window holes reminded Curtis of men whose +eyes had been ruthlessly gouged out. + +Lieutenant Gadben brought the hilt of his sword to his forehead and +said something to the Captain in Turkish. The latter glanced at his +little army and Curtis followed his eye. The men involuntarily +straightened up, stiff as posts. + +Turning in his saddle Curtis cast a furtive glance at Panayota. She +was sitting on a mule, looking sadly to earth. One white hand rested +caressingly on the wrist of her father, who stood by, holding to the +pommel of her high pack-saddle. She had tied a handkerchief about his +wound. He was a manly and appealing, albeit extraordinary figure, as +he stood there erect, his dark eyes flashing scorn and defiance. His +billowy, spade-shaped beard covered his entire breast. He wore no coat +and the enormous Cretan breeches and yellow boots seemed to take on +added proportions for that reason. An empty cartridge belt, passed +under his right arm and over his left shoulder, bore strange +comradeship with the cross that hung from his neck. His dark brown +hair, that any woman might have envied, fell quite to his waist and +rippled in the breeze. Even as Curtis looked, Panayota gathered it in +her hands and hastily twisted it into a knot. The Captain said a few +words to the Lieutenant, who, turning to the ranks, pointed to four of +the men nearest him and transmitted the order to them. They saluted, +and stacking their muskets, ran into the café. Instantly the huge oil +crock fell across the door, and breaking, gave up its inoffensive +golden contents. + +"Monsieur, you will destroy the café!" cried Curtis in alarm. + +Over went the bar with a sound of smashing glass. + +"It will take but a moment," replied the Captain, apologetically. The +tables and benches were now going into the pile in the middle of the +floor. + +"The rascals should have saved the oil to pour on their bonfire," +remarked Kostakes judicially. The sound of dull blows caused the +Captain to bend and look in at the door. + +"Hey! hey!" he shouted, and gave an order. "I told them not to spill +the wine, but to roll the full barrels close to the fire," he explained +to Curtis. "There is sure to be one or two of them filled with brandy, +and their loud explosion does more execution than half a dozen axes." + +Michali's barrel was fourth from this end. + +"Why the devil wasn't I born with some brains in my head?" groaned +Curtis, inwardly. "Why can't you think of something, blockhead?" He +was seized with an almost uncontrollable desire to butt his skull +against the stone wall of the café. He knew that a happy thought would +save poor Michali, and he realized also that undue excitement on his +part would betray everything. The picture of his friend being dragged +from his hiding place by his broken leg and thrust through with +bayonets, leaped before his imagination. + +"Monsieur," he said, "I beg grace for the café. Stop the soldiers one +moment and I will explain." + +Kostakes called to the four vandals and they desisted. + +"I beg of you," he said inquiringly to Curtis, "but pray be brief." + +"I am the correspondent of the New York Age. I am neither Greek nor +Turk, I assure you. I wish to write glowing accounts of your +heroism--and your magnanimity. I have a sentiment connected with the +café. It is so beautiful. I have written a little poem about it. It +begins thus: + + "The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold, + And his cohorts were gleaming with purple and gold." + + +Curtis beat off the waltz time of the meter with great energy. + +"It sounds very beautiful. What a pity that I do not understand +English! Monsieur's sentiment shall be respected. He shall write for +his paper that Kostakes Effendi is not only a magnanimous soldier, but +a patron of letters." + +The four vandals took their places again in the ranks. Kostakes, +waving his sword theatrically, gave the order to march, and they were +off up the rocky, winding street, with the little army pattering +behind. As they passed the parsonage Curtis noticed that it was in +ruins, but the festal wreath of yesterday hung brave and bright above +the blackened door. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +TO NO AVAIL + +The priest strode by his daughter's side, his hand still lying upon +hers. As the cavalcade started he shuddered, and, looking at Panayota, +sobbed: + +"Oh, my daughter! Would to God you were in your grave beside your +mother!" + +She put out her white arm, and laid it around his neck. + +"I am my mother's child," she replied, piously, "I shall find death +somehow sooner than dishonor." + +An occasional corpse lay in their path. Curtis observed with pleasure +that red, woolen flower pots were beside two of the bodies, but a wave +of indignation and pity passed over him as his horse shied from a +corpulent body, bent horribly over a sharp backbone of rock. The head +lolled downward, and the pupils of the eyes were rolled upward out of +sight. There were two red pits beneath the eyes, that made the whites +look doubly ghastly. + +Curtis lifted his hat. + +"Why do you do that?" asked the Captain. + +"Because he died like a brave man," replied the American, shuddering as +he thought of the jolly and hospitable demarch, who, like an heroic +captain of a sinking ship, had remained at his post of duty until +escape became impossible. + +"I fear you like the Greeks better than you do the Turks," observed +Kostakes. "You do not know us yet. You will like us better when you +have been with us a few days." + +Curtis was determined to be politic. Only thus, he foresaw, could he +hope to be of any help to Panayota. + +"He stayed behind to fight, when he might have escaped. Had he been a +Turk, I should have taken off my hat just the same." + +They were about to enter the ravine. From their elevated position the +whole town was visible. The American turned in his saddle and cast a +glance backward. The smoke from a score of fires tumbled heavenward +until, commingling, it formed a somber roof above the town, supported +by trembling and bending pillars. There was the distant sea--the very +spot where the "Holy Mary" had been sunk. The little stream, whose +course they had followed to the ill-fated town, looked no larger than a +silver thread. There was the square, ending in the ledge upon which he +had first seen Panayota with the water jug upon her shoulder. It had +been but a short time ago, a few hours comparatively, and here she was +now, a captive being led away in all probability to a shameful fate. +Curtis seemed to have lived ages in the past few days, and yet their +whole history flashed through his mind during the brief moment of this +parting glance. There was the girl, beautiful, desolate, defiant, pure +as snow; her hand rested on the shoulder of her father, in one of those +pitiful, yet sublime feminine caresses that cry "courage" when, even +God Himself seems to fail. She was a Christian, the father a Christian +priest, and this was the nineteenth century of our blessed Lord, and +there, but a few miles away, lay the great battleships of the Christian +powers of Europe, defending the integrity of the Turkish empire! + +Curtis gave such a violent start that he nearly fell out of his saddle. +Great heavens, was not that the café on fire? The café, where he had +left hidden his comrade and friend, Michali, the brave, the boyish, the +noble-minded! + +"Monsieur!" he cried, "the café! It is burning!" + +"Oh, I think not," replied Kostakes. + +"But it is. I can see it plainly; you must send people back to put it +out." + +Kostakes took a pair of field glasses from the hands of an orderly, +and, calmly adjusting the focus, looked down the hill, while the little +army, escorting Panayota and her father, marched rapidly past, and were +swallowed up in the ravine. + +"You are right," he said, "it is indeed the café." + +"But you are not sending anybody back to put it out!" + +"Monsieur could hardly ask me to do that much for sentiment. Some of +my rascals must have eluded my vigilance. They shall be punished." + +Curtis whirled his horse around, urging it with his fists and his sound +foot, and started back toward the town. But the way was steep and +rough, and the animal had not gone ten paces before two soldiers sprang +to its head and seized the bridle on each side. Curtis kicked and +struck at them, and, suddenly overcome with a paroxysm of rage, swore +at them, but all to no avail. They turned the horse around and led it +back to Kostakes. + +"Monsieur's sentiment must be very strong," said the Captain, smiling +sweetly. + +"There's a wounded man in that building. A wounded man, I tell you, +and he'll burn up alive!" + +Kostakes shrugged his shoulders. + +"It cannot be helped," he replied, "in war, what is a man more or less? +But we must not delay. _Allons_, Monsieur." + +And he spurred his horse to a brisk walk, while a stout Turk, throwing +the bridle rein of Curtis' animal over his shoulder, trotted along +after. + +The American looked back. + +"I'll slip off and run to the café," he thought, "foot or no foot--damn +the foot, anyway!" But another soldier with a loaded musket was +following close behind. In his despair, the thought of his passport +occurred to him. He pulled it from his pocket with feverish haste. It +was badly damaged by water, but it held together and the big seal was +still there. Urging his horse forward, he flourished the document in +Kostakes' face and shouted: + +"I am an American citizen. Do you see that? Voilà! If you do not let +me go you suffer for it." + +But all to no avail. He was hustled along by order of the smiling and +affable Kostakes, and the last thing his eyes rested upon as he plunged +into the ravine was a cloud of smoke pouring from the front door of the +demarch's café. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +IN THE TRACK OF WAR + +It did not require a trained eye to see that the Greeks had defended +themselves stubbornly and had inflicted much more injury than they had +suffered. Curtis counted twenty-five dead Turks in the defile. The +continual dread that his horse should step on them kept him in a state +of nervousness. But the animal evidently was possessed of as keen +sensibilities as his temporary master, for he avoided the corpses with +the most patent aversion. At a turn in the pass, behind a jutting +rock, lay two Greeks. Curtis fancied this must have been the place +where Michali had received his wound. It was evident that a +well-organized and desperate stand had been made here, because in the +narrowest part of the pass, only a few yards distant, lay seven Turks +in a heap. Glancing back at the two dead Greeks, under the impression +that he recognized one of them, the American beheld a sight at once +noble and disgusting. The priest had lingered and was leaning toward +his slain compatriots, making the sign of the cross with solemn +gestures, the while he cried in tones sorrowful and defiant. + +"I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in me, though he +were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me +shall never die." + +Panayota, her glorious eyes streaming with tears, her white hands +clasped to her bosom, was looking to heaven and silently praying. +Curtis felt his soul uplifted. The narrow walls of the ravine changed +to the dim aisle of a cathedral; he seemed to hear a grand organ +pealing forth a funeral march. + +"Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O +grave, where is thy victory?" + +When he opened his eyes he found himself in hell. Two or three Turks, +grinning with diabolical hate and derision, were spitting at the dead +Cretans. The soldier directly behind Papa-Maleko was jabbing him in +the back viciously with the butt of his musket, while another touched +him playfully between the shoulders with the point of a bayonet. The +priest shrank from the steel with a gasp of pain, but turned back as he +stumbled along chanting: + +"Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through Jesus Christ, +our Lord, amen!" + +A little farther on they came upon a sight which made Curtis reel in +his saddle--the bodies of the seven peasant girls who had leaped over +the cliff: Four lay together in a heap. Of the remaining three, one +had fallen face down upon a rock, and her long hair, shaken loose, +rippled earthward from the white nape of her neck. Another was +sleeping the last sleep peacefully, her head upon her outstretched arm, +a smile upon her lips; and still a third lay upon her back. This one +seemed to have suffered, for there was a look of terror in the staring +eyes. Again the priest lifted his voice. + +"I am the resurrection and the life," but the solemn chant was this +time interrupted by a shriek from Panayota. Curtis, who had resolutely +turned his face from the scene of fascinating horror, looked back +quickly at the sound. A slender young girl had arisen upon her elbow, +and was stretching her hand imploringly toward the priest. The hand +was brown and chubby, but the arm from which the flowing sleeve had +slipped away, was very white and shapely. She was dying even then, but +the blessed words of her mother's faith and her mother's tongue had +pierced her swooning ears and she had paused at the very threshold of +death for the priest's benediction. A Turkish soldier thrust her +through the neck with his bayonet, and her head dropped softly upon the +bosom of a dead fellow. + +"But this is barbarous," cried Curtis. "The civilized world shall know +of this. Barbarous, I say, uncivilized--you an officer? A gentleman? +Bah!" + +"But Monsieur is too violent and hasty," replied Kostakes. +"Irregularities happen in all armies. The man shall be punished." + +"If he is to be shot," said the American, "please put me in the firing +squad!" + +Emerging from the pass, they came to a steep, wooded ravine, and their +path led through an aisle of tall pine trees. The feet of the soldiers +made no noise on the carpet of fallen spines. They found four more +dead Turks and picked up two that were wounded. After about an hour of +forced marching the ravine spread out into a beautiful sunlit valley, +whereon the new plowed ground lay in patches of rich brown, terra-cotta +and black loam. The vines were just putting forth their pale green +sprouts. The laborers had been surprised in the act of heaping conical +mounds about the roots, and an occasional discarded mattock betokened +hasty flight. Poppies lifted everywhere their slender-stemmed, scarlet +beakers--such glasses in shape as are fit to hold the vintage of the +Rhine. The little slopes were set thick with candelabras of the +ghostly asphodel, whose clusters of pale-pinkish, waxen flowers seemed +indeed to belong to regions where the dear sun is but a memory. +Scattering fruit trees, in the full revel and glory of their snowy +bloom called to each other with perfume. + +It was some time after noon now, but they stopped neither to eat nor +rest. Curtis' foot began to pain him fearfully, but he made no sign. +In the midst of such desolation, he felt pain to be a trivial thing. +The vines were here, but where were the toilers? The pear trees were +in bloom, but where were the laughing children, the wives and maidens +with wine and bread for the midday feast? Once they passed a +shock-headed boy of fourteen, or possibly younger, lying dead in a +vineyard, with his mattock beside him, and later in the day they came +upon a plow in the unfinished furrow. One of the oxen was dead, and +the other great beast had struggled to his feet and stood patiently +beside the body of his mate. + +After that their path led for a way through a field of half-grown +wheat. Around nearly every shoot the sweet wild-pea had twined its +graceful spiral, bravely lifting the pretty blue of the flowers among +the pale green of the grain. When the wind swept over the field it +looked like changeable silk. + +Toward sunset they came within seeing distance of a white village on a +mountain side. A vast olive orchard surrounded it and a dozen or more +dark green cypress trees pointed heavenward among the houses, like +spires. + +"_Voilà_, Monsieur," cried Kostakes, gaily. "There we shall rest +to-night, and shall find time to eat. Are you hungry?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +A DESERTED TOWN + +An air of indescribable sadness hangs over a deserted town. Any one +who has ever passed through a shepherd village, from which the +inhabitants have gone for the summer, expecting to return again when +the first snows of autumn drive them down from the mountains, has +experienced this feeling. Here is the fountain, where the slender, +merry maidens met at sundown, to gossip and fill their water jars; here +is the café, where the old men gathered together under the platane tree +and smoked and dreamed of the long ago; here is a secret nook, guarded +by sweet poverty vines, where lovers held tryst in the fragrant +twilight. But all is lonely, lonely. + +The waters splash with a melancholy sound, the tables and chairs are +gone from under the platane tree and the lovers--let us hope they are +fled together. The spirit of loneliness dwells where man has been and +is not--in a tenantless house, in the chamber of death, by the embers +of a camp fire in a vast wilderness. As you follow the streets of a +deserted town you hear nothing but the splash, splash of the waters of +the fountain or the enquiring twitter of some little bird. Perhaps a +cat, tamed more by solitude than by hunger, tiptoes to meet you, +purring with diplomatic fervor. But these sounds do not break the +silence, they are its foil, its background. + +Galata was deserted because its inhabitants had fled two days before +from the terrible Turk. Thanks to a timely warning, most of the people +had succeeded in getting away, though an occasional corpse proved how +narrow had been the escape of the entire population from sudden death. + +Kostakes and his little troop now marched through an olive orchard, +whose gnarled and venerable trunks had perhaps witnessed the cruelties +of the only oppressors worse than the Turk--the haughty, treacherous +and inhuman Venetians; they climbed a flight of steps cut in the +natural rock and followed a street paved with cobblestones from the +walls of partly ruined houses to the village square. + +Here the men stacked arms and dispersed among the houses, looking for +temporary quarters. Curtis could not help admiring the soldierly way +in which everything was done. In ten minutes after their arrival the +square looked like a little Indian village filled with wigwams of +muskets, and sentries were pacing patiently up and down at all possible +places of approach. This was evidently a town of considerable +importance, as some of the houses facing the square were two-storied, +and in one or two instances the projecting beams supporting the +balconies were of carved marble. The fountain, too, that stood beneath +a disheveled willow, whose roots drank at the overflowing waters, was +of marble. + +Three carven swans, the successive wonder of as many generations of +unkempt children, swam full-breasted from a square pedestal, each +hissing a clear, thin stream into a circular stone basin. An +inscription informed posterity that the marble hero who sat atop of the +inevitable column was Petros Nikolaides, former mayor of Galata,--an +_euergetes_ of imperishable memory. Mr. Nikolaides, with white goggle +eyes, looked over the house tops, the olives and cypresses and away to +the distant purple hills. His chin was small and cloven with a deep +dimple and one side of his drooping mustache had been stoned away +twenty years ago by mischievous boys. + +Panayota and her father were led to a respectable looking stone house +facing the fountain and two sentries were stationed before the door. + +"Ah, well," said Kostakes amiably to Curtis, "we shall be quite +comfortable here, eh? Will you do me the honor to dine with me?" + +"I shall be delighted," replied the American. "It is I who shall +receive the honor." + +"No, no! I protest, Monsieur. It's quite the other way. We'll have a +table set here under this tree. Ah, we shall be very cozy. _Voilà_! +I shall be able to offer you some fresh cheese. If there's anything +left, trust to my rascals for finding it!" + +A soldier was dragging a stuffed goat-skin from the door of a grocery. +At a sign from Kostakes, he set it on end, and ripped open the top with +his knife, disclosing the snowy contents. + +"_Voilà_, Monsieur! And no doubt we shall be able to find you some +excellent wine, though you must excuse me from joining you in that. +Mohammedans do not drink wine." + +Kostakes leaped lightly to the ground, and gave his horse to an +orderly. Kostakes was a handsome young fellow, almost boyish, and yet +with an insolent, aristocratic air. His features seemed to combine +sensualism and cruelty with a certain refinement. His lips were too +thick and too red, and his chin was square. It was evident at a glance +that his under front teeth closed even with the uppers. His nose was +his cruel, sensitive feature. It came down straight from his forehead, +thin as a knifeblade, and the nostrils had a way of trembling when he +talked. Curtis threw his good leg over the horse's mane, and sat, +woman fashion, eyeing the Turk. He could not, somehow, reconcile this +gentlemanly, smiling young officer with the nightmare that continually +haunted him--Michali in the burning building, wounded and screaming +vainly for help. There was a sort of ghostly relief in the reflection +that the poor fellow must have been over his sufferings long ago. But +to burn to death! Ugh! How long does it take a man to burn to death? + +"Does your foot pain you?" asked Kostakes, with genuine solicitude. +"If those barbarian Greeks had not shot my surgeon--very cruel people +the Greeks, especially the Cretan Greeks. When you know them better +you will find that they are not half-civilized." + +"If you will let one of your men help me dismount," said Curtis, "I +will take a wash. I am glad to see that dinner is so nearly ready. I +assure you I am half famished." + +"One of my soldiers, Monsieur! I would never permit such a thing. I +will help you myself. So--so! Ah! How is the foot?" + +The American placed the wounded member on the ground and attempted to +bear his weight upon it. To his surprise, it seemed much better. But +a happy thought, an inspiration, took possession of him. He seized the +leg tightly with his hands above the knee and sank upon the edge of the +water basin. + +"I--I believe it's worse!" he groaned. + +"Allah forbid!" cried the Turk. "It is from the long ride. When you +have rested it will be better. Now let us wash and eat something--a +soldier's frugal meal." + +Curtis attacked the repast with the zest of a ravenous appetite. The +salt cheese, the brown bread and the country wine seemed to him viands +fit for the gods. The orderly brought several heads of long Italian +lettuce, which he washed at the fountain and cut lengthwise. They ate +it like asparagus or celery, dipping it in salt. The American thought +it delicious, and rightly. He would never again be able to relish the +pale, tasteless chips sold in America for lettuce at brigand prices. +He saw that Panayota and her father were also eating. + +"Sensible girl," thought Curtis; "means to keep her strength up. We'll +outwit these Turks yet." + +He touched glasses with Kostakes, who was disposed to be convivial, +albeit in water. + +"Do you know, Monsieur le Capitaine," Curtis said, "I cannot decide +which is the greater sensation--the pleasure of eating or the pain of +my foot. Do you think, if blood poisoning should set in, you have +anybody here who could amputate it?" + +"Now, Allah forbid!" cried the Turk again. "By day after to-morrow we +shall reach a Mohammedan village, and there we shall find a doctor." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +A BLOW IN THE DARK + +Curtis shared the quarters of his amiable host, Kostakes Effendi, in +the front room of the grocery. Panayota and her father slept next +door. The American's bed consisted of blankets laid upon two tables, +placed side by side. As the blankets had been prodigally bestowed he +found the couch sufficiently comfortable. He lay on his back with his +arms under his head, gazing out into the moonlit square. Despite the +fatigue and excitement of the day, he was not in the least sleepy. The +Cretan night was too intense. The moonlight, wherever it fell, was +passionately white, and the shadows of things were as black and +distinct as though sketched in charcoal. Rows of soldiers wrapped in +their blankets were sleeping in the square. Occasionally one sat up, +looked about, and then lay down again. Once, when he was about to +drowse off, he was roused to consciousness by a faint mewing overhead, +and called softly: + +"Kitty! kitty!" + +The mewing ceased, for oriental cats are summoned by means of a whistle +between the teeth, similar to the sound made by a peanut roaster. + +"That's the grocer's cat," mused Curtis. "Poor animal, she doesn't +know what's happened. She was asking me as plain as day, 'Do you know +where my folks are?' Now, the dog probably went with the old man, but +cats are different--the cat and the mortgage stick to the old +homestead. I must make a note of that. Let's see. How do the Greeks +call their felines? 'Ps-whs-whs.' That's it. Ps-whs-whs!" + +A scrambling overhead, and a bolder "meouw!" rewarded the effort. +Pussy was between the tile roof and a covering of reeds that, nailed to +the rafters, answered the purpose of lath and plaster. + +"Ps-whs-whs!" + +"Meouw!" still more confidently, and the sound of cautious feet on dry +reeds. Kostakes sat up on his table and rubbed his eyes. + +"Are you awake, too, Monsieur?" + +"Meouw!" said pussy again. + +"Ah, the cat keeps you awake. If I were a Greek, now, I should order +it killed, but we Turks are very merciful. I will order the sentry to +drive it away." + +"No, no, I beg of you. I was holding a little conversation with it. I +cannot sleep, my leg pains me so. I fear that gangrene is setting in." + +"Allah forbid! It is from the fatigue. We shall have a surgeon soon." +Kostakes was too good a soldier to keep awake. + +"Good night again, Monsieur," he said, and turned over. + +Outside the nightingales were calling each other from far, tremulous +distances. The waters of the fountain splashed and gurgled +unceasingly. Curtis' senses became more and more acute. Sounds that +he could not hear a moment ago became audible now, without growing +louder. He heard the plying of axes, and once the sound of a hammer, +followed by laughter. + +"What the deuce are they up to?" he muttered. "Are they building a +fortification of any kind? I've got to do some tall thinking in the +morning. Somehow or other I must get away with that girl. But how? +how? I'll make Kostakes believe I'm lamer than I really am, and he +won't watch me so close. But I must have an opportunity. No man can +do anything without an opportunity--and that isn't so bad, either. I +must make a note of that in the morning. Let's see, what's that other +thing I thought of? H'm--hang it, I've forgotten it." + +"Meouw!" said kitty. + +"That's it, by Jove! Cats and mortgages." + +For fully an hour the American invented and discarded schemes for +escaping with Panayota. He tried to think of passages in novels +describing the rescue of captive maidens by heroes like himself, but +fairy tales of enchanted carpets and wishing caps persisted in running +through his head, to the exclusion of more practical methods. + +"I must watch for an opportunity," he exclaimed, aloud, bringing his +fist down upon the table. "If I can't do any better I'll stick to +Kostakes till we get to Canea, and then I'll put the matter in the +hands of the English consul. Hello! What's that!" + +He was sure he heard a dull, crushing blow, followed by a moan and the +sound of some one falling. He listened for a long time, but heard +nothing more, and yet he was conscious of a sense of horror, as though +he had just awakened from a nightmare. He rubbed his eyes and pinched +himself. + +"I'm awake," he thought, "and yet I feel as though a murder had been +committed. Lord, but I'm all haired up! If this keeps on I shall turn +spiritualistic medium. I wonder if I can see the folks at home?" And +he shut his eyes and fixed his mind upon his father and mother. + +"Let's see, now, what time of day is it in Boston?" + +He was awakened from his reverie by the voice of Panayota, violent and +pleading, by turns; one moment mingled with sobs and the next angry. +She was demanding "Where is my father?" and asking for Kostakes. The +latter sat up and listened for a moment. Then hastily buckling on his +belt and throwing his cloak over his shoulders, he went out. Curtis, +who was not undressed, followed him. As he passed through the door, +one of the guards seized him, but he struck viciously at the soldier +and cried so angrily, "Let go of me or I'll punch you!" that the +Captain looked around and spoke two or three words sharply to the +guard, who released him. Suddenly remembering that he was very lame, +he sat down upon the edge of the fountain. Panayota was standing in +the door of her lodging, in the full moonlight. Her attitude, her +voice, her face, were eloquent of terror and despair. As soon as she +saw Kostakes she stretched her arms towards him and cried: + +"Don't let them kill my father. Bring him back to me, please, please!" + +"Why, certainly, my own Panayota, You know that I would not harm you +nor any one belonging to you. But where is your father?" + +"He asked the guard to bring him a drink of water, and the guard told +him to come out and get it. And he hasn't come back, I tell you; he +hasn't come back. O, Mother of God, help! help! Don't let them kill +him." + +"I see it all," cried Kostakes; "he has escaped," and he questioned the +bystanding soldiers in Turkish. + +"Yes, my Panayota. He has taken advantage of my kindness. I ordered +that he be not bound and that he be treated with every +consideration--for your sake, dear Panayota!" Here his voice became +low and tender and he moved nearer. The Turk was, indeed, a gallant +figure in the moonlight, leaning gracefully on his sword, the cape of +his long military cloak thrown back over his shoulder. + +"You hear the men; they say that he darted away and that they ran after +him, but could not catch him. Had it been anybody else, they would +have shot him down. But I had ordered them not to injure him under any +circumstances. This I did for you, my Panayota, because I love you. +It is you who--" + +"Murderer!" screamed Panayota, leaning toward him with a look of pale +hate, the while she fixed him with a long accusing finger. +"Murderer--Oh, don't deny it! Coward! Liar! You come to me red with +my father's blood and talk to me of love. Apostate! Renegade! Where +is my father, eh? You perjured Greek, where is my father?" + +Stepping down from the door, majestic as a goddess, she advanced toward +Kostakes with arm extended. + +He shrank slightly from her and looked uneasily to right and left, to +avoid her eye. + +"But, my dear Panayota, you shouldn't give way to your temper like +that. You wrong me, really you do. I assure you, your good father has +escaped." + +She dropped her arm heavily to her side. + +"Yes," she replied, solemnly, "escaped from a world of murderers and +liars. Gone where there is no more killing and burning; where there +are no Turks and no renegades--gone, Kostakes Effendi, where you must +meet him again, with the brand of Cain upon your brow!" + +Turning, she walked back to the house, but stopped in the door and said: + +"Do you know how those are punished in hell who renounce the religion +of Christ and become Turks? And what torture awaits you, renegade and +murderer of a Christian priest? Kill, kill, give up your life to deeds +of blood. Never think of forgiveness. There is no forgiveness for +such as you. Your place in hell is already chosen. They are even now +preparing the torments for you. O God," and she raised her hands as +one praying, "may this man's deeds find him out, in this world and in +the next. May he be haunted night and day for the rest of his life. +May he die a violent and shameful death, and his memory be held in +disgust. May his soul go to the place of torment, and be tortured +forever. For he has renounced the Son of God, and has slain his holy +minister!" + +She disappeared within the house, and Curtis heard her sobbing in the +darkness, "Papa! Papa!" + +Kostakes filled the cup which hung from the pillar of the fountain by a +chain, and took a long drink. He was trembling so that the tin vessel +rattled against his teeth. + +"_Mon Dieu!_" he exclaimed, observing Curtis. "Did you ever see +anything so unreasonable as a woman? Here is her father run away, and +she accuses me of killing him, and consigns me to eternal torment. +Really, she has made me quite nervous. If I were not innocent, I +should really fear her curses." And he took another drink of the cool +water. + +Curtis thought of the dull, crushing blow and the groan that he had +heard, and he involuntarily moved a little away from the handsome and +affable Kostakes, who had sat down by him on the rim of the basin. + +"What do you keep the girl for, anyway?" he made bold to ask. "You +surely would not force her to join your--your harem, against her +consent?" + +Kostakes sighed. + +"Monsieur," he said, "is a poet. He will understand and sympathize +with me. I love Panayota. I would make her my sole wife in honorable +marriage. I desire no other woman but her. Bah! What are other women +compared to her? Is she not magnificent? I could not help loving her, +even just now, when she was cursing me. It is true that I am part +Greek by extraction, and that I was baptized into the Greek church, and +that I have become a Turk. But what is religion compared with love? +Panayota is all the heaven I want. I am willing to turn Greek again +and have a Christian wedding, if she would take me." + +"Aren't you conducting your courtship in rather a violent manner?" +asked the American. "In my country your conduct would be thought, to +say the least, irregular." + +"Have you in English the proverb, 'All things are fair in love and +war?'" + +"Certainly." + +"Well, you see this is both love and war. I have possession of +Panayota, and I mean to treat her so well that she shall love me. Not +a hair of her head shall be touched until she marries me of her own +free will." + +"But your wives?" asked Curtis. "How many have you of them?" + +The Captain shrugged his shoulders. + +"Three," he replied. "Dumpy, silly creatures. A Mohammedan has not +much difficulty in getting rid of his wives." + +Curtis arose. + +"If you will help me to the house," he said, "I will try to get a +little sleep." + +Kostakes sprang to his feet. + +"Lean on my shoulder," he said. "So, so, how is the leg?" + +"Bad, very bad. I'm really worried about it. Do I bear down on you +too heavily?" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +FOUR AGAINST ONE + +The sound of a reveille awoke Curtis, and he looked out into the dim, +dewy morning. The wigwams of muskets had disappeared, and the little +army had already fallen in. Several horses, saddled and bridled, stood +by the village fountain. One, a young and sleek charger, was +impatiently pawing the earth and another was drinking. Kostakes was +sitting at a table, giving some orders to his second in command, the +veteran with the scar. A sword attached to a leather belt kept company +on the cloth with a pile of eggs, a loaf of bread and a pot of steaming +coffee. + +"_Bon jour_," cried the Captain gaily, springing to his feet, as he +espied the American. "How have you slept, and how is the foot?" + +"I got a little sleep, despite the pain, but the foot seems no better. +I am getting very anxious to see that doctor of yours." + +"To-morrow, I promise you without fail. And now for breakfast, as we +must be off." + +The Captain and his Lieutenant ran to the American, who put an arm +about the neck of each and hopped to the table, groaning +ostentatiously. After the hurried breakfast, Panayota was summoned. +She came forth, pale as death, a beautiful, living statue of despair. +Kostakes offered to help her, but she repulsed him with loathing, and +climbed into her saddle as a refuge from his attentions. There were +dark circles under her swollen eyes. As she looked about her, as +though in hopeless search for the missing dear one, her features +trembled on the verge of tears. Groaning: + +"Ach, my God!" She clasped her hands tightly in her lap and stared +into vacancy. Her beautiful hair was disheveled and her long white +cuffs were wrinkled and soiled. The chivalry in Curtis' nature +prompted him to speak and comfort her, although the words sounded +hollow and false to his own ear. + +"Take comfort," he said, "your father is surely alive. Believe me, he +has escaped." + +She smiled sadly. + +"You do not know the Turks," she replied. + +"Did I not tell you, my darling?" cried Kostakes eagerly, "of course he +has escaped." + +She did not even look at him, but murmured: + +"Murderer! perjurer!" + +Kostakes shrugged his shoulders, as who would say, "See!" and turning +to Curtis cried: + +"But Monsieur speaks Greek famously!" + +"Only a few words and those with much difficulty." + +"_Mais non_! On the contrary I find your Greek very perfect. And now +_allons_!" + +They pushed briskly up the narrow street, through a scene of utter +desolation. The whirlwind of war had struck the town and wrecked it. +As they turned a corner a long-legged, half-grown fowl broke for cover +and tilted away, balancing its haste with awkward, half-fledged wings. +They came unexpectedly upon a little Orthodox church and a putrid odor +assailed Curtis' nostrils. Their path led them around to the front +door. + +"My God!" he gasped. A sight had met his eyes that was destined to +thrill him with sickness and horror to the latest day of his life, as +often as the black phantom of its recollection should arise in his +mind. The village priest, an old, gray-bearded man, had died about a +month before and had been buried in his robes. There was the body, +hanging to its own church door, like the skin of a great black bat. +Nails had been driven through the clothing at the shoulders, and the +weight of the carcass, sinking down into the loose garment, had left it +pulled up above the head into the semblance of joints in a vampire's +wings. + +From a bonfire of bones, half-decayed corpses and sacred _eikons_--the +last named gathered from the houses and the church--a disgusting odor +arose and filled the air. The Turks broke forth in derisive laughter +as their eyes fell upon the horrid spectacle. + +"My rascals have eluded my vigilance, I see," observed Kostakes, "and +have been having a little fun in their own way." + +"Different nations have different ideas about a joke," gasped Curtis +through his handkerchief. + +Emerging from the town, they picked their way through a large patch of +freshly felled olive trees. The sound of the nocturnal chopping was +now explained. About eleven o'clock they stopped for dinner in a +small, deserted hamlet. During the progress of the meal a wounded +Bashi Bazouk rode into the town and up to the table where Curtis and +Kostakes were sitting. The man wore a red turban, which gave to his +pallid face a tint similar to that of the underside of a toadstool. +His soft shirt had sagged into a little bagful of blood, that dripped +out like the whey from a sack of cottage cheese, upon his yellow sash +and blue breeches. He said a few words with mouth wide open, as though +his under jaw had suddenly grown heavy, and then, reeling, was caught +by two soldiers, dragged from the saddle and carried into a hut. + +"I must ask you to excuse me for several hours," said Kostakes, rising. +"My Bashi Bazouks, whom I left with certain commissions to execute, are +being defeated at Reveni, about an hour's march from here. How fifty +Bashi Bazouks can find any difficulty with a little place like Reveni +is more than I can understand! But I shall soon put a new face on +affairs when I arrive!" + +"God help the poor people," prayed Curtis, inaudibly. + +"I shall leave three of my men behind to look after your wants and +those of the young lady. I shall explain to the one I leave with you +that he is your servant--that he must bring you anything you ask for. +He speaks Greek, so you will be able to get along with him." + +Five minutes afterward Kostakes was riding away at the head of his +troop. He turned once in the saddle and waved his hand to Curtis. The +American picked up his hat from the table and swung it in the air. + +"_Au revoir_, Kostakes," he cried. "The devil confound you and your +whole crew of cutthroats--I wonder if this beggar speaks English?" + +He glanced suspiciously at the tall, sallow-faced Turk who stood a +short distance away, leaning upon his musket. + +"No, I guess not. He'd give some sign if he did." + +Two other Turks, with musket on shoulder, were pacing back and forth +before the door of the hut where Panayota was imprisoned. Curtis could +feel his heart thumping against his breast. He struck the place with +his doubled fist. + +"Keep still, curse you," he muttered, "and let me think. Here is the +opportunity--but how? how?" + +The army was crawling along a white road that streamed like a ribbon +athwart the foot of a hill. The ribbon fluttered as the dust rose in +the wind. The bayonets twinkled in a dun cloud. + +"Four against one," mused Curtis. "Four Turks against one Yankee +trick--but how?" + +Kostakes plunged into the hill and disappeared, and the blazing +bayonets, line after line, were extinguished in a billow of green +thyme. The American looked back over his shoulder at the door of a +stone hut--the one into which the wounded Bashi Bazouk had been carried. + +"Hey!" he called, "you there, hey!" + +The Turk left ostensibly as Curtis' servant, but actually as his guard, +stepped briskly forward, and, taking in his own the American's extended +hand, pulled him to his feet. + +"Help me into the house," said Curtis. "Now bring me that bench." + +The man complied, after which he went to the door, and, leaning against +the jamb, looked wistfully at his fellows. At one end of the room was +a fireplace, filled with ashes and charred pieces of log. It was a +primitive concern, the only vent for smoke being a hole in the roof +directly overhead. Board platforms on each side the fireplace served +as couches for the family. On one of these, flat on his back, lay the +wounded man. + +"I wonder how badly he's hurt," mused Curtis. "There isn't strength +enough left in him to put up a fight, but there's enough left to pull a +trigger if I tackle the other chap. Hello, he's got the hiccoughs; +why, that's queer." + +The man became quiet, and again Curtis relapsed into thought, to be +disturbed a second time by the sound of knocking on boards. Looking +around, his eyes fell directly upon the eyes of the Bashi Bazouk, and +he felt as though he heard some one crying for help when no help was +near. The man was resting upon his back and both elbows. For a moment +those bloodshot, praying, awful eyes were fixed upon Curtis; then they +swept the dingy hut and went out like panes of glass when the light is +extinguished in a room. The man fell backward, fluttered on the hard +planks and was still. Curtis shuddered. + +"That wasn't nice," he muttered, "but this is no time for sentiment." + +The other Turk stood by the body of his dead comrade, looking down at +the ghastly, upturned face. Curtis pinched the muscles of his own +right arm with the fingers and thumb of his left hand, and moved his +doubled fist tentatively up and down. + +"Where shall I hit him?" he mused. "In the chin or back of the ear? +He must never know what struck him." + +Bending over, he untied the long strip of cloth about his foot and +unwound it. Taking it in his hands he pulled several times on it, to +test its strength. + +"Strong as a hemp rope. You could hang a man with that." + +It was Panayota's blue homespun. + +"Hey!" he called to the Turk. "You there. Say, look at this foot of +mine, will you, and see what you think of it." + +The man kneeled. Curtis drew back his arm, but realized that he could +not get sufficient swing in a sitting posture. + +"O, hold on a minute. Let me try the foot on the ground and see how it +goes." + +They rose to their feet together, and the unsuspecting soldier reeled +backward, stunned by a vicious punch on the temple. But he did not +fall, and Curtis, maddened by a great fear lest he bungle his +opportunity, sprang forward and delivered a swinging, sledgehammer-like +blow upon his victim's ear, throwing into it the entire strength of his +body. The Turk dropped like an ox under the butcher's hammer. Then +Curtis hastily bound him, hand and foot, with Panayota's bandage, and, +tearing the lining from the man's coat, stuffed it down his throat. +Pulling up a plank from the platform by the fireplace, he thrust the +limp form out of sight and closed up the opening. + +"I hope I didn't kill you," he muttered; "but, as old Lindbohm says, +'you must yust take your chances!'" + +He walked once or twice the length of the hut. The foot gave him +considerable pain, but it was possible to step on it. + +"What'll I do with the other two?" he mused. + +He picked up the gun lying on the floor and examined it. It was a +Mauser and charged with five shells. He peeped cautiously through the +doorway at Panayota's prison, concealing his body. The two guards +appeared at the corner and looked curiously in his direction. + +"Bah! What a fool I am!" he thought, and hopped boldly into sight, +holding up his lame leg by passing his hand under it while he leaned +against the jamb. The guards faced about and disappeared, putting the +house between themselves and Curtis on their backward march to the +other end of their beat. + +"I could pot one of them, and then--but no, I might miss, and then I'd +be in a pretty mess. And even if I did hit one, the other would have +me at a disadvantage." + +There was a sound of kicking against the boards at the fireplace. He +sprang to the spot, rifle in hand, and tore up the plank. The man was +lying upon his back with his eyes open. A great light broke in upon +Curtis--an inspiration. He had thrust the Turk out of sight through +instinct. + +"Pshaw!" he exclaimed, "they can't both leave Panayota. If I call to +them, may be one will come out of curiosity, and I'll do this thing +right over again. But what'll I tie him with?" + +He cast his eyes about the room. The inevitable chest, studded with +brass nails stood against the wall. He opened it. + +"Cleaned out, by Jove!" + +He went again to his victim, and taking a large jackknife from his +pocket, deliberately opened it. The man turned as white as veal, his +jaws worked convulsively on the gag as he made a vain effort to plead +for mercy, and a pitiful noise, a sort of gurgling bleat, sounded in +his throat. + +"What the devil ails you?" asked Curtis. "O--I see," and he added in +Greek: + +"No kill. Cut your clothes--see?" + +[Illustration: The American thought of the Turk, and looked out] + +And stooping, he slitted the Turk's sleeve from wrist to shoulder. +Following the seam around with the blade, he pulled away the large +rectangular piece of cloth. Seizing the other sleeve, he was about to +slash into it, when he thought he heard footsteps among the stones and +gravel outside the hut. + +"My God!" he cried, in a hoarse whisper, and jumped into the corner +beside the door, just as one of the other two Turks walked boldly into +the room. Without a moment's thought Curtis brought the barrel of his +rifle down upon the man's head, who dropped his own gun and pitched +sprawling upon his face. For fully a minute, which seemed an hour, the +American stood motionless, breathless, in the attitude which had +followed the blow. Every muscle was set to knotted hardness; he held +the rifle in both hands, ready to throw it suddenly to his shoulder. +He did not breathe, and he listened so intently that he could hear his +own heart beating, and the breathing of the man at the fireplace. +Suddenly his muscles relaxed like an escaping spring, and he looked +nervously about for the detached sleeve. Picking it up, he stooped +over the second Turk, when the latter moved his left arm several times +with the palm of the hand down, feebly suggesting an effort to rise. +Then the arm dropped and the hand beat a faint tattoo on the earthen +floor. There was a great shiver of the whole body, a twitching of the +muscles, a queer rattle in the throat, and--silence. Curtis stared +with open mouth and dilated eyes, and a great, inexplicable horror came +over him. "Ah!" he gasped, and, dropping upon his knees, he ran his +fingers over the skull. The hair was matted with blood, and a deep, +ragged-edged dent bore witness to the terrible force with which the +rifle barrel had fallen. + +"I've killed a man," he whispered, in an awestruck voice, rising to his +feet. Staring fixedly at the silent thing lying there before him, he +repeated the sentence over and over again: + +"I've killed a man--I've killed a man!" + +Then all at once a great change came over him, the joy and fierceness +of the lust for blood, and he laughed hysterically, gloating over the +dead man before him, as the victorious heroes used to do in the old +barbaric ages. + +He thought of the other Turk, and looked out of the door just in time +to see him turn at the hither corner and disappear as he walked back on +his beat. Curtis made a dash for an olive tree about eight rods +distant, and, skulking behind it, peeped between the high gnarled +roots. When the guard had again appeared and turned back, he ran to a +rock and threw himself down behind it, instinctively using tactics by +which he had sometimes crept up on a diving duck. He was now within +listening distance. The next run brought him to the side of the house, +and he had just time to throw his gun to his shoulder when the guard +stepped into view. He might have taken him prisoner, but the thought +did not occur to him. He had tasted blood. Panayota came to the door +and looked wonderingly out. The American ran to her with the smoking +musket in his hand and seized her by the wrist. It was the natural act +of the savage who has won his woman in fight. + +"Come, Panayota!" he cried, "you are free. They are all dead!" + +And he started down the hill, pulling the girl with him. She came +without a word. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +"MY LIFE, I LOVE YOU" + +Tied to a tree was one of those large black and tan mules that are +stronger than any horse and tough as steel. This one, a pack animal, +had been left behind in charge of the three guards. Curtis picked up +the clumsy pack saddle which lay near and threw it upon the beast's +back. In his excitement he bungled the unfamiliar straps, but Panayota +assisted with nimble and experienced fingers. He helped her to mount, +and was about to climb up, when he happened to think of the dead Turks' +ammunition. Bringing a supply from the hut, he climbed up behind the +girl. So they rode away, the fair Cretan sitting sidewise in the +saddle, the American astride behind her. He passed an arm around her +waist to steady them both, and accelerated the animal's speed by +digging the butt of his musket into its side. He could not use his +heels, because one foot was bare and still somewhat lame. Panayota +guided the mule by flipping in its eyes, first on one side of the head +and then on the other, the end of the rope that was tied about its +neck. As Curtis felt beneath his arm the firm but yielding form; as +the warm, strong heart throbbed against his hand, his madness became +complete. He had killed two men for this girl, and she was worth it. +He was ferociously happy. The very touch of her thrilled him. He knew +now why he had killed the men--for the same reason that David had slain +Uriah. Woman, gentle, refining, softening woman will, in an instant, +blot two thousand years of civilization out of a man's nature and turn +him back into a primitive savage. He held her very tight, and she made +no resistance. What trifles shape our destinies! In the giddy +happiness of the moment he could not have framed an original Greek +sentence to save his soul, but as he leaned forward with his lips close +to the girl's ear, with his face partly buried in her hair, the refrain +of Byron's "Maid of Athens" sang itself in his brain, and he whispered +again and again, "_Zoe mou, sas agapo, zoe mou, sas agapo_." She +shivered slightly the first time that he repeated the sentence, but she +did not repulse him. At last, that first keen madness of contact with +her passed away, and he chattered excitedly as he urged on the ambling +mule: "Don't be afraid, Panayota; they'll never catch us. I've got you +now, not Kostakes. My life, I love you! Go on, you dromedary, or I'll +punch a rib out of you! They must kill me before they take you again." + +After they had been about an hour on the road, they began to feel +uneasy. + +"They must have got back by this time," thought Curtis. "I wish I had +killed that other Turk, then they would have thought we were rescued," +and he looked anxiously back over his shoulder. The idea came to +Curtis of turning off sharply from the path and hiding in the hills, +but the mountains that enclosed the long valley looked forbidding. +They would certainly lose their way and perish of hunger. Besides +there were Greeks ahead of them somewhere. As they began to ascend +toward Galata, they could see for a long distance over the lovely plain +now stretched out before them in the rays of the afternoon sun. + +"It'll be time to make a break for the woods," mused Curtis, "when I +see them coming." Once a cloud of dust arose far behind and he caught +Panayota's arm. + +"Look!" he cried. "They're coming!" But she replied: + +"No, 'tis a whirlwind." + +Curtis did not understand the word, but there was no mistaking the +speaking gesture which accompanied it. The mule becoming tired, +Panayota slid to the ground, and, throwing the rope over her shoulder, +trotted on ahead. + +"There's Galata!" she cried, pointing with level arm to the distant +village. + +"How many hours?" asked Curtis. + +"About two more." + +"We shall get there after dark, then?" + +"Certainly." + +The sun was just setting behind a mountain, as it always does in the +interior of Crete. Curtis turned in the saddle and took one last long +look. The white road lay very plain on the side of the low ridge over +which they had come. It was in shape like a giant letter S, one end of +which ended at the summit and the other among the green vineyards, +climbing half way up the slope. The trees, and the deep water-ways and +castles of rock on the side of the hill were indistinguishable at that +distance, all blending into a general effect of soft color, but the top +of the hill was sketched against the sky as distinctly as a crayon +line, and on it every tree, nay, every shrub stood magnified in the +parting light. There was something unnatural about this row of trees, +rope-walking on a curved line swaying in the sky. As Curtis gazed at +the weird effect two giant horsemen balanced on the aerial rope for an +instant, and then lunged headforemost into the purple glow on the +hither side. They were followed by row after row of mounted men, four +abreast, that appeared and disappeared in rapid succession. + +"Look, Panayota," said Curtis quietly. The girl went deadly white and +crossed herself. + +"My little Virgin, help us," she prayed. "The Bashi Bazouks!" + +"They haven't got us yet. How far away are they?" + +"An hour, may be an hour and a half." + +"We'll turn off into the hills when it's a little darker. Can they see +us?" + +"I think not," replied Panayota. "We are now among the trees. But +we'd better wait a little before we turn." + +The Turkish troops had now become a long, dark quadrangle, sliding +slowly down the giant S. The sun dropped behind the mountain, the +white letter became black, and the quadrangle disappeared. The fleeing +man and woman were in the world's amethyst shadow. + +"Shall we turn now, Panayota?" asked Curtis. "I care not where, so we +go together." + +For answer she turned and held up her hand. He listened, but heard +nothing. + +"Voices," said the girl, "and footsteps. But I hear no more. They are +moving stealthily." + +"Is it more Turks, coming from in front?" + +"God knows, but I think not." + +She led the mule some distance to the side of the road into a clump of +green oleander. Curtis slid to the ground and looked carefully to his +rifle. + +"Panayota," he whispered, hurriedly, "they shall not take us while I +live. I love you. We may have but a few moments together. Let me +take one kiss, the first, perhaps the last." + +He put his arm about her, but she placed her hand against his breast +and pushed him from her, with a cautious "hist!" + +The footsteps of many men could be heard plainly, not far up the road +now. + +"If they would only speak," she muttered. + +The words were hardly out of her mouth ere some one uttered a sharp and +hurried command in a suppressed tone. + +"They are Greeks!" exclaimed the girl. "Now Christ and the Virgin--" + +But Curtis put his hand gently over her mouth, whispering: + +"Hush! Perhaps it is a ruse." + +The moon had not yet arisen, and the darkness was like ink. Some one +stumbled, and a musket fell "ching!" among the rocks. + +"Take care!" said an imperious voice in Greek. + +"That's Kyrios Lindbohm," whispered Panayota. "I know his voice." + +"Lindbohm don't know any Greek," replied her companion. + +"He could not be in Crete one day without learning the word for 'take +care!' I tell you it's Lindbohm. Who that has ever heard that voice +could forget it? I should know it," murmured the girl, "if I heard it +in my grave." + +Curtis was too excited to take note of the singular remark. + +The men were now passing them quite close and several of them were +conversing in low tones. The girl leaned forward, listening. Then +suddenly she called in a loud voice: + +"_Patriotai_, where are you?" + +Utter silence for several moments, broken at last by an inquiring "Eh?" +and the clicking of rifle locks. + +"Lindbohm!" + +"Curtis, by damn! It's all right; come out!" + +The American sprang eagerly forward, but stepped on a stone. Then he +leaped on to the back of the mule and Panayota led the animal out into +the highway and into the midst of a goodly company of armed insurgents, +who forgot all discipline, and broke forth into a volley of questions. + +The American and the Lieutenant were shaking each other by the hand +through it all. + +"I saved her!" cried Curtis. "I killed two Turks and did up another. +Then we ran away on this mule. I cracked one of 'em on the head and +shot another. I smashed one with my fist and took his gun away from +him. Then I--" + +"So you saved Panayota?" + +"Yes, I saved her, I tell you. I--" + +"Thank God! thank God!" cried Lindbohm, throwing his arms about Curtis' +neck. + +"Where is my father?" asked Panayota, in a shrill voice that pierced +the bubble of questions, suddenly, awkwardly. + +"Her father is dead," said the Lieutenant huskily. "We found his body. +She must not know. Poor girl! Poor girl!" + +"I blew a hole right through the last one and then we departed. We got +here just in time, old man, for they're right behind us--the whole +shooting-match." + +"How many?" + +"All the Bashi Bazouks--about fifty of 'em." + +"Good," cried Lindbohm, "we'll ambush 'em. We'll give 'em hell!" + +"We'll settle 'em, Lindbohm. We'll lick 'em out of their boots. How +many men have you got?" + +"Thirty." + +"Why, it's a cinch. We sha'n't let one of them get away alive. We'll +shoot down the Bashi Bazouks and ride away on their horses." + +When, half an hour later, the great, tranquil, yellow moon looked down +upon the town of Galata from a neighboring mountain top, all was +seemingly peaceful in its desolate streets. Save the dreadful figure +nailed to the church door, not a human form was to be seen. And yet +death and hate crouched there in the shadows, for Lindbohm and his +thirty men lurked in the ruined houses that surrounded the square, and +whosoever looked closely might have seen here and there the dull gleam +of a rifle barrel; but even then he would have suspected nothing, for +the moonlight plays strange and fantastic tricks. Curtis and Lindbohm +kneeled side by side at the same window, and Panayota sat on the floor +in a dark corner, clasping her knees with her hands and moaning gently, +"O, my father, my little father!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE AMBUSH + +Interminably they waited, listening for the sound of galloping horses. +Curtis' extreme tension passed away, and the situation suddenly assumed +an unreal aspect in his thoughts. His knees began to feel bruised on +the hard floor. He was strongly tempted to rise up and ease them. + +"Pshaw!" he said to Lindbohm, "I don't believe they're coming, after +all. I guess I'll go out and take a look." + +"Keep still!" replied the Swede. "Don't you stir on your life, and +don't you speak a word aloud," and a moment after he added more +pleasantly: + +"They may send scouts on foot." + +Panayota had fallen asleep. They could hear her deep but troubled +breathing, as her frame continued to vibrate with the sorrow that for +the moment she had mercifully forgotten. + +"Michali was burned alive," said Curtis, in a low tone, after another +stretch of waiting, during which his knees had become the most +important portions of his entire anatomy. + +"I tried to save him, but Kostakes--" + +Lindbohm seized him impatiently by the arm and whispered: + +"Tst, be quiet, can't you? Do you want to spoil the whole thing? No, +we rescued Michali." + +Curtis worked himself to his feet, and sat upon his heels. The +nightingales were singing in full chorus, and he wondered how anybody +could hear anything in that infernal racket. The water in the fountain +of Petros Nikolaides hissed and gurgled, and crashed like the waters of +Lodore. + +Curtis' new attitude became more painful than a spiked chair, and he +slid back on his knees again. He sat down for awhile, but the desire +to peep over the window sill was irresistible. Finally, just as his +knees had become boils, the Swede touched him upon the shoulder, and he +forgot them. The screeching of the nightingales, the hurtling of the +fountain, were swallowed up in the dull and distant pounding of horses' +hoofs. + +"They're yust coming right into it," said Lindbohm, in his natural +tone. "Kostakes, he's too mad to be careful. Have you got a bayonet?" + +"No, I forgot to take it. He was wearing it for a sword." + +"Here, take this Gras and give me the Mauser. You'll yust get all +tangled up with that. The Gras is simpler, and the bayonet, in the +hands of a man who doesn't know how to use it, is a terrible weapon. +Give me your ammunition. Thanks. Here's my cartridge belt." + +Lindbohm was gay, with the gaiety of a child. He was about to play his +favorite game, to indulge the innocent impulse of boys and of untutored +men. The clatter came nearer, grew louder. + +"Do you know the orders?" he asked. + +"No." + +"Each man is to pick out his mark and aim, but nobody is to shoot until +I do. I shall take Kostakes." + +"I, too, to make sure of him. He needs killing." + +"All right--now, ready!" + +The galloping changed into the chug! chug! chug! of men sitting upon +trotting horses. The moon had risen and had filled the trees and about +half of the square with its silver snow. The battered features of +Petros Nikolaides, the benefactor, were those of a frozen corpse. The +horses could now be heard plainly staggering through the narrow, stony +street. Now was the time when Lindbohm was cool. No detail escaped +him. + +"Your gun is already cocked," he whispered. "Aim just above the +saddle--shoot when I say 'three.'" + +"I'll hit him," replied Curtis. "I'm an old squirrel hunter, I am." + +Kostakes trotted into the square, and, jerking his horse nearly to its +haunches, whirled about to face his Lieutenant and the Bashi Bazouks +who debouched from the mouth of the street in twos and threes--a wild, +motley, terrible throng. Curtis aimed first at the Captain's breast +and then at his head. The intended victim was evidently in a vile +temper, for he kept twitching viciously at the bridle rein, causing his +tired animal to rear and throw its head in the air. The American was +one moment aiming at the horse's neck and then at the marble corpse of +Petros Nikolaides. + +"Will Lindbohm never shoot?" he asked himself every time that the +Turk's form swung squarely in line with his gun. The Bashi Bazouks +continued to pour into the square, sitting very straight, resting their +short guns over their shoulders or on the necks of their horses. + +"Hup!" cried Kostakes, flourishing his sword in the moonlight, and +giving an order in Turkish. The men began to fall into line, eight +abreast. + +"One!" whispered Lindbohm. Curtis glued his cheek to the rifle barrel, +and aimed full at the breast of Kostakes, who was now sitting quietly +upon his horse. + +"I've got you, I've got you," he said in thought. + +"Two!" he tightened his finger on the trigger, when "bang!" went the +gun of an impatient Greek on the other side of the square, and one of +the Bashi Bazouks pitched from his saddle. Lindbohm sprang to his +feet, with a roar of rage that was cut in two by the terrific clatter +of the rifles that were now spitting fire from more than a dozen doors +and windows. One sound had wailed out between the first shot and the +volley, as vivid as a lightning flash between thunder claps,--Panayota, +fatigued beyond human endurance, had fallen asleep as soon as she found +herself again in the hands of her friends, and the sound of the gun, +breaking in upon her overwrought nerves, had drawn from her a long +piercing shriek. + +There was now a maelstrom of horses in the square, and a pandemonium of +yelling men. Curtis could not distinguish Kostakes. He had, in fact, +forgotten all about him. He stood in the door laughing and swearing +and shooting into the whirling, plunging, snorting, yelling, scrambling +mêlée. But the maelstrom period was brief, for there were three +streets that gave into the square, and the outside horses broke for +safety. They were hurled like mud from a wagon wheel into these exits, +and went clattering away, with or without their riders, until at last +only one maddened beast was left, dragging over the ground a Turk whose +foot was caught in the stirrup. The terror of the animal was something +pitiful to see. He ran blindly into a house. He plunged into the +fountain, slipped, fell and scrambled to his feet again. His master's +clothing caught on a sharp rock, and he left the saddle behind, with +the dead Turk still attached. Then he found the opening of a street, +and disappeared with a mad clatter of hoofs. The Greeks darted from +the houses and scurried after the Turks, loading and firing as they +ran. Curtis shot into a last tangle of horses, wedged together at the +mouth of a lane. They slipped loose and plunged through, scraping off +one of the Bashi Bazouks, who bounded to his feet uninjured, and, +whipping out a long, curved sword, came toward Curtis. He was a big +man, bare-headed and hairy as an ape. Curtis threw the Gras to his +shoulder and pulled the trigger. He had forgotten to reload it. The +Turk laughed. Curtis lowered the gun, and, presenting the bayonet, +tiptoed about his foe in a semi-circle. The Turk revolved as on a +pivot, squat, alert, weapon deftly advanced. Suddenly, to Curtis' +surprise, his enemy turned and ran. The American bounded after, and +then, for the first time during the fray, he remembered that he had a +sore foot, and that that foot was bare. Panayota came to him. She +carried a rifle that she had picked up in the square. + +"Bravo! Panayota!" said Curtis. "Two to one frightened him away. But +why didn't you shoot?" + +"I wanted to get close and make sure," replied the girl, "and then, +when he ran, you were in the way." + +Slipping a fresh shell into his Gras, Curtis picked his way through the +stones toward a distant spot where he heard continued firing. Panayota +attempted to follow, but he stopped her with a wave of the hand. + +"I'll be right back," he shouted, "as soon as I get another shot. +You're safe here." + +He left her standing in the deserted square, among the dead Turks. The +moon shone full upon her there, leaning toward him, holding her gun by +the extreme muzzle, the butt trailing behind on the ground. Her hair +blew into her eyes, and she tossed a great brush of it over her +shoulder. A wounded horse rose to its haunches near her and threw its +fore feet dangerously about. Then it pitched over on its side with a +groan. + +Curtis had gone some distance up the narrow street, when he heard again +the clatter of horses' hoofs. He stepped behind a tree that grew close +against a wall and waited. A Greek ran by and darted under a house. +He was followed by the Bashi Bazouk, who had run from Panayota's rifle. +He was trotting by the side of a mounted comrade, holding to the +stirrup-strap. One, two, three, four, five, horsemen followed. The +firing continued in the outskirts of the town. + +"My God! Panayota!" It flashed over Curtis in a moment. The Greeks +had scattered too much and the Turks, getting together in small +parties, were returning to the attack. While he was still in the +crooked lane, making frantic haste toward Panayota, he heard a shot in +the square. His heart stood still for one moment with terror, which +instantly gave way to fury. A woman's scream, mingled with brutal +laughter, told him that the girl had again been made a prisoner. When +he at last reached the square, the six Bashi Bazouks had gone, taking +her with them. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +A FRIEND WORTH HAVING + +Curtis sat down upon the edge of the fountain. There was a faint smell +of powder in the air. He heard a shot now and again in the distance. +A bugle sounded. Fortunately no more of the Bashi Bazouks passed +through the square. + +"Gone!" said Curtis; "gone!" + +The Greeks began to come in, talking excitedly and gesticulating like +madmen. They seemed to be in high spirits. They gathered about +Curtis, and, pointing at the dead bodies, all talked at once. They +enraged him. He could hardly resist the desire to jump up and lay +about among them with the butt of his musket. Lindbohm pushed his way +through the crowd. Holding his gun in his left hand, he brought the +right to his forehead, saluting gaily with the imaginary sword. + +"Well, my friend, we had a little fun with them, didn't we? The +ambush, however, would have been more of a success had the men obeyed +my orders. If I had my way I would yust shoot a soldier who disobeyed +orders. Still, we taught them a lesson. We have killed, let me see +how many, one two, three-- + +"Hell!" interrupted Curtis, rising suddenly. + +"What!" said Lindbohm, turning upon him, "what's the matter?" + +"She's gone." + +Lindbohm clutched at the shoulder of a bystanding insurgent. + +"Panayota!" he gasped. + +"Huh! Where were you? Eh? Where were you? Here they came, six of +'em, right down here, and the girl and I all alone. What could I do, +one against six? You're a healthy soldier, you are--scatter all over +the country! Lindbohm, you're to blame for this. You've got to answer +to me--somebody's got to settle for this." Flinging his rifle down +among the stones, he turned his back contemptuously and limped toward +one of the houses. A kindly insurgent sprang to his assistance. + +"Right up through there they went, carrying her with them. Four men +could have stopped 'em. Where were you, damn you?" and, pushing the +insurgent from him, he shook his fist in his face. "Get out of my +sight, get out!" he cried. + +Lindbohm was sitting on the side of the basin, his face buried in his +hands. He was sobbing and talking to himself in Swedish. Those who +stood near heard the word "Panayota." Reason returned to Curtis as +speedily as he had lost it. His blind rage passed away, and in its +place came a resolve to recover Panayota and to settle with Kostakes +according to the present debt and all that might accrue. The spirit of +Crete had taken thorough possession of him. He had been wronged by the +Turk, he lived only for vengeance. His eye fell upon a Cretan in the +act of pulling a boot from a dead Turk's foot. He was tugging with all +his might. All at once he flew over backwards with the boot in his +hands. His comrades broke into laughter. Lindbohm did not look up. + +"They don't feel this thing about Panayota as badly as Lindbohm and I +do," soliloquized Curtis. "Poor old Lindbohm! I'll tell him I'm in +love with Panayota, and then he'll see how foolish it is for him to +take on so. He ought to stand it if I can." + +The insurgent detached the other boot and brought the pair to him. + +"Will those fit?" he asked. "Good boots." + +Curtis took the boots and went over to the drinking fountain. He +patted Lindbohm on the back. "Cheer up, old man," he said. "They +can't get away from us. There's another day coming." + +It was impossible to get the boot upon the sore foot, so one of the +insurgents cut it off at the ankle and slit it down nearly to the toe. +Then he punched a number of holes, and Curtis was able, by means of a +string, to lace on this improvised shoe. As the leather was soft, it +proved very comfortable. Lindbohm staggered to his feet, stretched +himself like a man awakening from sleep, and ran his finger through his +blonde pompadour. + +"That's right, old man," said Curtis; "we must brace up. Of course, +you feel bad because we sort of fumbled the thing. But consider what +my feelings must be. Lindbohm, I love that girl." + +The Swede started violently. + +"You have made court to her?" he asked. + +"Why, I told her that I loved her--yes, yes, several times." + +"And, pardon me, she said that she loved you?" + +"Now that you ask me, I don't believe she did. No, she didn't. But I +didn't have much time, you see." + +Lindbohm held out his big, soft hand, and, as Curtis grasped it, said: + +"We will not turn back; we will find Panayota. And if Kostakes has +insulted her we will punish him, though he flee to the ends of the +earth." + +"Old man, you're a friend worth having," cried Curtis, wringing the +hand which he held. "I'll never forget this till the last day of my +life." + +One of the insurgents, a former resident of Canea, spoke some French. +It was through the medium of this man that Lindbohm had communicated +with his troop thus far. He called him now and told him to get the men +together, as they must march. He feared lest Kostakes, surmising the +smallness of their numbers, might return to the attack. + +So they set forth in the moonlight, taking with them the arms and other +spoils of the dead Turks, of whom the number proved to be eight. Their +plan was to conceal themselves somewhere in the fields and get some +sleep. But half a mile out of Galata they encountered a band of fifty +Cretan insurgents, young men of the region, armed to the teeth, and +thirsting for vengeance. These, learning that Lindbohm was a foreign +officer of approved mettle, put themselves also under his leadership. +Thus reinforced he returned and camped in Galata. The next morning he +pushed on vigorously after Kostakes--a pursuit that was destined to +last several weeks, and that was prosecuted with a continually +increasing band. Several encounters took place, and three Turkish +villages were destroyed, by way of reprisal. They did not succeed in +capturing Kostakes, but two wounded Turks that fell into their hands at +different times, told them that Panayota was in his camp. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +A GLITTERING ESPLANADE + +Europeanism, that bubbles up in the tailor shops of Regent Street, and +pours its thin coating of dull color on the heels of the ever advancing +British musket, has not yet washed over the island of Crete. The +Akoond of Swat has donned a sack-coated suit of blue serge and a straw +hat; the cousins of native princes go down to the government offices +with brown linen on their backs and Buddha in their hearts; Fuzzy-Wuzzy +is cutting his hair--his Samson locks--and buying cork helmets. And +the missionary is picking his way through the corpses left in the trail +of the machine gun, bringing Christ and calico to the survivors. They +are putting pantaloons on the bronze statues of the desert, and are +sending the piquant apples of the Tree of Knowledge wrapped up in +bundles of mother hubbards, to the naked maidens of the South Sea Isles. + +But Crete, beautiful Crete, is the one corner of the globe which the +dull, tame wave of European fashion has not yet touched and commonized. +The esplanade of Canea to-day, fronting the harbor, is the most +picturesque, fantastic, kaleidoscopic spot on earth. Here commingle, +swarm, interweave, huddle, scatter, pass and repass, costumes from the +Greek islands, from the provinces of Asia Minor, from the oases and +nomad tents of Africa, from Persia and the farthest East. The +traveler's first view of Canea, from the rowboat that takes him ashore, +is a half moon of white houses, splashed with red, terra cotta, yellow +and striped awnings, and beneath, a squirming, ever-changing mass of +bright turbans and sashes, fluttering black and yellow robes, naked +limbs and chests--and donkeys; moth-eaten donkeys laden with sacks, +goatskins of honey and cheese, huge panniers of green vegetables. +There on the right, in letters that can be read a mile away, is the +name of a café dedicated "Au Concert Européen." This is a bait for the +foreigners attached to the half-dozen steel hulks floating out yonder +in the sea, pointing ever shoreward their great guns that seem to +whisper: + +"Be good. Don't kill each other, or we'll kill you all." + +All Europeans are supposed to speak French. Several of the cafés +announce their business in more than one tongue: Greek, Turkish, +English, Italian. Under the awning of one sits a group of elderly +Mohammedans, smoking their bubbling narghiles and reading the tiny +local sheet; these are stout gentlemen in fezzes, pillars of Islam, +faithful husbands of harems. They have kindly faces and are really +good-hearted men whom no provocation, save that of religion, could +induce to cut your throat. You sit down and a bare-legged waiter, +whose fez and braid-trimmed jacket are sadly faded, "zigzags" among the +chairs, like a fly through raindrops, and stands at your side, the very +incarnation of silent and respectful inquiry. You are tired and you +say: + +"Some cognac and brown soda." The waiter looks distressed, puzzled. + +"Cognac," you repeat, "cognac and cold water, then." + +He casts his eye over the group of pillars, and one of them, the +fattest and most benevolent appearing, carefully wipes the mouthpiece +of his narghile and hands the tube to his nearest neighbor. The latter +accepts the trust with a grave bow; it is his duty now to give the pipe +an occasional pull, that it may not go out during his friend's absence. + +The proprietor of the café, for it is he, approaches you. He bends +low, with a sign as though pressing his hand upon the earth, then, +straightening, he touches his heart, his lips, his forehead. It is a +most graceful and courteous salutation; it is the greeting of the very +heart of the East--the salaam. + +"We have no cognac nor any intoxicating liquor," he explains in +tolerable French. "This is a Mohammedan café. You can get spirituous +drinks yonder at the Greek café." + +"Ah, but we have no desire to change. We are thirsty. Surely he has +something to quench thirst?" + +"Certainly, many things, as for instance, cherry water, lemonade, +almond water. A cup of Turkish coffee or a piece of _loukoumi_ with a +glass of cold spring water, are also good things to quench the thirst." + +You decide upon cherry water, an excellent drink made from stirring a +quantity of preserved sour cherries into a glass of cold water, and +mine host returns to his narghile. + +The kaleidoscope keeps turning, presenting new combinations, new +colors, new effects. At times the whole square is crowded, and again +the mass of humanity breaks up and drifts away, as sometimes happens to +a dense cloud. Then some grotesque or sublime figure or group of +figures is sure to straggle across the rift. You sip your cooling +drink and look up. There go two Greek priests, in flowing dark robes +and high, black hats. They are tall men with red, swarthy cheeks and +luxuriant beards. They wear their hair long, neatly done up in Psyche +knots. They walk with dignified strides, their hands crossed upon +their stomachs and hidden in voluminous sleeves. They both carry +strings of large beads of polished wood. The crowd closes in behind +them, to open out again good-naturedly, as a Cretan in soft red fez, +shirt sleeves, blue breeches with a seat that drags upon the ground and +high, yellow boots, swings a long crook to right and left and shouts +frantically to his flock of scurrying turkeys. The birds dart in and +out among the throng with an action that reminds one of a woman lifting +her skirts and stepping through the mud. He is assisted by a boy of +ten, an exact reproduction of himself in miniature. + +A priest of Islam passes; he, too, in a graceful robe that falls to the +ground from his shoulders. A thick turban encircles his brow. He is +tall and slender one moment, corpulent the next, according as the wind +inflates his robe or escapes and allows it to collapse. + +What a feast of color! And you notice that somehow these changing +combinations always result in harmonies. One feels the same effect as +though he were listening to a clash of barbarous instruments in a +sweet, wild melody of the desert. + +There goes a chocolate-colored Nubian, in a terra cotta tunic, carrying +a shining copper kettle under each arm. His glistening feet and legs +are bare. + +That bronze-skinned Arab yonder in the white turban must be a very old +man, for his beard and hair are as white as the wool on a sheep that is +newly washed and ready for the shearer; yet he is straight and lithe as +a figure on a French clock, and his skin is exactly the same color. He +wears a bright red sash about his waist and walks with a staff as tall +as himself. Red fezzes everywhere and turbans of all bright hues. + +But we must have another cherry water--_vicinada_--and move into the +shade. + +Now, who are these somber-looking creatures, coming across the square? +If there were any such thing on earth they would be agents of the +Spanish Inquisition. But that horror does not exist even in Turkey. +Through the warm yellow sun they move, slowly, silently, muffled all in +black, with black umbrellas above their heads--shapeless, sepulchral +figures. On the black veil that covers each face are painted white +eyes, a nose and a mouth; or a palm tree or other device. They stroll +by us talking in whispers, but a silvery girlish laugh, stifled almost +in its birth, betrays them. Ah, sweet demons, we know you now! These +are nuns of love, houris of the harem. Who knows what sweet faces, +merry eyes, red lips, warm and yielding forms masquerade in those +forbidding garments? We know you now; not all the disguises ever +invented by fanaticism and jealousy can cover the roguish features of +love. That one little, stifled laugh conjured up more poetry and +romance than could be read in a summer's holiday--the Arabian Nights, +Don Juan, and the vision of Dudu; the song of the bulbul in old +gardens, dangerous trystings in the shadow of the cypress trees; Tom +Moore in a city office, dreaming of camel bells and the minarets of +Ispahan. + +Donkeys. Out from under the low stone arches they come, or down the +straggling narrow street, slipping and staggering over the greasy +cobblestones, yet never falling. There is one driven by a Cretan boy, +another by a jet black Nubian, with thick lips and shell-white teeth, +another by a shuffling Greek monk in dirty robe. Each in his own +outlandish way curses and threatens his animal, but the stick falls +with the same rattling thwack on the bony ribs, whether wielded by +Christian or Turk. Look at the loads which the donkeys bear in their +immense, squeaking baskets, and you will gain some idea of the +fertility of this garden spot of the world, harried though it be by +oppression and bloodshed. We see borne by or arranged in heaps yonder +on the pavement, great quantities of cucumbers, artichokes, beans, +cauliflower, garlic, tomatoes, courgets, eggplant, medlars, apricots, +cherries, and those various wild greens which are so delicious, but +which cannot be bought in the cities of America for love or money. If +you ask the price of any of these crisp, tender vegetables or fruits +dewy fresh, you will find that one penny will go as far as twenty-five +would among the stale, withered and niggardly exhibits of Chicago--the +emporium of the great Mississippi valley and the hub of a hundred +railroads. But there is no cabbage trust in Crete, and the donkey +route has no board of directors to fix the price of freight. + +It is evident that the sea is no less prodigal of her riches here than +the land, for ragged urchins dart by every few moments carrying fine +catches of fish, strung upon strands of tenacious reed; mullets that +gleam like gold in the sun, silvery mackerel, still quivering with life +and glittering with dripping brine, baskets of white-bait, leaping upon +a bed of green sea-grass; _echini_ and huge lobsters without claws. + +But alas! this seeming plenty is naught more than the crumbs from +nature's table--harpy war has seized the feast. Above all the hum of +tongues, the braying of donkeys, the rattle of shod feet on the +cobbles, rings out at intervals the bugle's wakening call. Turkish +soldiers lounge about the streets, squat, greasy, ungroomed, cruel. +There is a slight smell of smoke in the air, as the wind drifts over +from the smouldering ruins of the Christian quarter, burned during the +latest outbreak. Possibly there is a charred body or two among the +cinders, but pshaw! you cannot smell that. It is only imagination. +And here comes a foreign military demonstration. They are Italians, +immaculate in brown linen, with tufts of long blue feathers rustling +spitefully in their Garibaldi hats. Down the street they swing at +double quick, and through the crowded quay they plunge, while the lazy +Orientals scramble out of the way. How these Italians glitter! There +is a bugle corps in front, with shining instruments, and an Adonis of +an officer at the side with flashing, drawn sword; a bayonet slants +skyward from every shoulder in the squad, dancing and blazing in the +tropic sun. They are gone and the throng closes in again, like water +in the wake of a ship. + +Such is Canea, below its many colored awnings. Cast your eye above +them and you see the square white houses of a Greek town. Look higher +up, and there is the Grecian sky, the same sky that looked down upon +the birth of Jove and the giving of Cretan law, upon the flitting sail +that brought the yearly tribute of youths and maidens from Athens, upon +the knightly vengeance of Theseus, striding down the labyrinth, all +clad in ringing mail. Centuries of oppression may drag their slow +length along, the children of the desert may come and go as they will, +but that chaste sweet sky is patiently waiting above. And beneath it +is Greece. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +THREE WIVES + +A Turkish woman, closely veiled and carrying a black umbrella, was +walking along the Spladjia, or principal street of Canea. A +nondescript urchin, bare-footed, with a tuft of black hair shooting +straight up through a rent in his straw hat, followed with a string of +red mullets and a sheaf of Italian lettuce. As the mysterious woman +passed the little group of men sitting under the awnings, they turned +their heads discreetly to one side, not even casting a furtive glance +at the dainty, embroidered slippers, that now and then peeped out from +under the black robe. Turning down a narrow street, she tiptoed along +beneath the projecting upper stories of the houses, with that motion +peculiar to women whose slippers are so constructed that they fall off +if the toe is not shoved into them at each successive step. Stopping +for a moment, she drew a handkerchief from her bosom, and, passing it +under her veil, wiped her face. + +"Whew!" she said, "it's hot." Then, raising her head, she sniffed the +air sharply, eagerly. + +"Allah be praised!" she exclaimed. "I believe that Ayesha is roasting +coffee." + +The thought accelerated her footsteps to such an extent that the rapid +sliding of her slippers on the path sounded like the preparatory steps +of a jig dancer in the sand box. + +"Yes, that's from our court, surely. I do hope it's nearly ready to +grind. What's so delicious as a cup of fresh coffee and a glass of +cold water when one is hot and thirsty?" + +The aroma certainly proceeded from a garden which the Turkish woman was +now approaching, and as she arrived at the massive gate in the high +adobe wall the sound of a coffee roaster in motion could plainly be +heard within. Souleima gave the boy a penny, whereupon he set up such +a loud and voluble protest that she was obliged to give him five +paradhes more, with a threat to open the gate and let out an imaginary +dog of fearful biting powers if he did not instantly depart. The boy +out of the way, Souleima knocked upon the gate and cried. + +"Ayesha, Ferende! let me in!" + +"Go open the gate, it's Souleima," said a voice within. + +"Go yourself. When did I become a door opener?" + +"Bah! Don't you see I can't leave the coffee? It'll burn." + +The sound of a rattling chain, and a woman peeped out, holding a black +veil over the lower part of her face. Souleima entered, shutting and +locking the gate after her. + +"Whew!" she exclaimed, pulling off her veil with the finger and thumb +of the hand that now held the sheaf of lettuce. + +"It's hot outside. You two ought to be thankful to me, running around +in the sun for you, while you sit here in the cool shade." + +"Very cool it is here by this fire," retorted Ayesha. "It's Ferende +who is the lady these days. Never mind, my girl, when Panayota comes +to her senses you will have to work like your betters. You're getting +fat, too, and Kostakes is tired of fat women. Isn't she getting fat, +my Souleima?" + +The lady appealed to made no reply, but, going over to the water faucet +that projected from a marble slab built into one side of the wall, hung +the string of fish from the iron cock, laid the lettuce in the stone +basin beneath, and turned on a thin stream of cold water. + +Ayesha and Souleima are about of an age--thirty. They are both fat, +dark and greasy, with black eyes and black hair. Their lips are thick +and their teeth not too good. Their complexions are muddy and their +faces somewhat pimpled. Ferende is a strapping Albanian girl, about +Panayota's age, though of coarser build. Like the beautiful Greek who +is under lock and key upstairs, she has soft brown hair and brown eyes, +set wide apart in her head. + +It is easy to see that things are not running smoothly in Kostakes' +harem, and the reason is this: Until recently Ferende has been the +favorite, and the two elder wives have been little more than her +servants. The appearance of Panayota has led them to believe that a +new mistress will soon be established in the household, and they are +looking forward with great delight to the degradation of Ferende. The +latter, fearing her own downfall, has not openly declared war against +her two associates, but is racking her brain night and day in search of +some method by which to enlist them with her against Panayota. + +Ayesha now sits with her bare feet crossed under her, upon a rug spread +on the earthen floor of the court. Before her is a charcoal fire, +suspended over which on two crotches driven into the ground is a thing +like a section of stove pipe, closed at the ends. An iron rod, running +lengthwise of this contrivance, rests upon the crotches and is bent at +one extremity into a crank. + +Souleima removes her outer garments and appears arrayed like her +sisters, in baggy breeches drawn tight about the ankle, and a loose +fitting shirt. She kicks off her slippers and walks in her stockinged +feet to the coffee roaster. + +"Is it ready yet, Ayesha?" she asks, opening a little door in one side +of the cylinder, and letting out a black cloud of aroma. + +"Can I take out enough for one little cup?" + +"You might find enough for two while you are about it." + +"Yes, even for three. Poor Ferende, she will soon have to grind her +own coffee, and Panayota's, too." + +Souleima produced a wooden spoon from the drawer of a pine table +standing beneath the garden's one mulberry tree, and dipped a quantity +of the brown smoking berries into one of those cylindrical brass mills +which are sold by wandering gypsies to the housewives of the orient. +Sitting on the table's edge, she grasped the mill with her left hand +and firmly embedded one end of it in the fat of her corpulent stomach, +while she turned the tiny crank with her right. + +The ladies of Kostakes' household could converse or carry on their +domestic vocations without fear of intruding eyes. The wall was very +high, and the one house near enough to overlook it had no windows on +that side. A pleasant place was that enclosure, albeit two long, +shallow, rectangular tubs leaned against the wall of the house, taking +the place of the legendary guitar. They were washtubs, and upon them +Ayesha and Souleima from time to time played the stern music of +necessity. A huge copper kettle, with a very black bottom, stood near, +another adjunct of the home laundry. In the middle of the court was a +stone basin, into which water ran through a tiny channel from the +hydrant in the wall. + +"Na!" said Souleima, unscrewing the top of the mill and looking inside, +"that will be enough, I think. We'll have a cup of coffee first, and +then some dinner, out here under the tree. Look at those fish. Did +you ever see finer _barbounia_? What do you think I paid an _oke_ for +them?" + +"Ninety _paradhes_," suggested Ayesha. + +"Only eighty. I bought them of a Greek. Ferende, clean them, that's a +good girl, while I make a cup of coffee." + +"Clean them yourself. I shall tell the Effendi of these insults when +he comes, and he will make you suffer for them." + +"Poor Ferende!" cackled Souleima. "He will take off those silk +trousers and put them on Panayota. But you shouldn't complain now that +your turn has come. Better people than you have been through the same +thing." + +"If you ever went through it," snapped Ferende, "it was so long ago you +can't remember it," and rising disdainfully, she walked into the house. +Souleima raised the coffee mill as though to hurl it after her, and +then thinking better of the act, let her hand fall to her side. + +"Maybe she'll be able to warm Kostakes over again," she reflected aloud. + +"I don't believe it," replied Ayesha. "He's crazy about this Greek. I +never saw him like this before." + +"Then why does he----" + +"I don't know. Perhaps he wants the girl to love him." + +"Bah! She'll love him fast enough after he breaks her spirit." + +Souleima filled a long-handled brass dipper from the hydrant and put +into the water the coffee, ground fine as dust, together with four +teaspoonfuls of sugar. Then, screening her face with her left hand, +she kneeled in front of the fire and held the dipper in the coals until +its contents boiled over. Ayesha lifted the smoking cylinder from the +crotches and, shaking it violently for a moment, set it up against the +side of the house. + +"Shall I bring two cups or three?" she called from the door of the +kitchen. + +"Only two. Let Ferende make her own coffee." + +"Hadn't I better call her?" + +"You'll only get insulted if you do. The nasty cat!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +A HOPELESS PRISONER + +Panayota was walking to and fro in a room whose one window looked +straight against the blank wall of a house not ten feet distant. A +grating of iron bars prevented her escape in that direction and the +door was locked. She was very pale and there were deep circles under +her eyes. She was muttering as one distracted. Occasionally she +raised her eyes and hands to heaven. + +"Dear little Virgin, all Holy One, save me from this infamy, from the +pollution of the Turk. Save me in any way, help me to escape or to +die!" + +After each prayer she stood listening, as though waiting for an +immediate response--some miraculous intervention in her behalf. Often +seized by utter despair, she sank her fingers deep into her thick brown +locks, and cried: + +"No help, no help, O God! O God!" + +At every sound of a footstep without, or of any commotion in the court +below, her pale face grew paler, and she trembled with fear and +revulsion. She was expecting Kostakes. For a week now the girl had +been shut up in this manner. Kostakes had left her in the care of his +harem, with stern commands that she be kindly treated and all her wants +supplied. Ayesha and Souleima had derived much pleasure from attending +upon Panayota, as though she were indeed a member of the harem and +their lord's favorite; for thus they caused Ferende, whom they +cordially hated, much unhappiness. It seemed to Panayota that she had +been in captivity an age. For the first three or four days she had +hoped for a rescue by Lindbohm and Curtis and their band of insurgents. +Time and again the wild scenes which she had witnessed passed through +her mind as she stood with hands clasped and eyes half closed in the +middle of the floor. She saw again the impetuous Swede chasing Ampates +out of town because the scoundrel had wished to give her up; she saw +Curtis standing before her with his smoking rifle, while the fallen +Turk, his features still twitching in the death agony, lay at her feet. + +But as the days passed and no help came, her keen hope faded into the +blackness of despair. + +"They cannot find me," she moaned; "perhaps they're dead. Perhaps they +think I have yielded to the Turk, and they despise me. Do they not +know that I would die first?" Whenever she thought of death, her mind +involuntarily sought for some method by which she could accomplish it, +if worst came to worst. To hold her breath, to plunge her head against +the side of the wall, to strangle herself with a strip torn from her +bed clothing,--all these ideas suggested themselves. And as often as +she thought of self-destruction, there rose to memory a slender white +shaft that had frequently been pointed out to her in childhood. For +there had once been a suicide in her native village, and the body had +been buried in a lonely place on a hill, far away from the holy +comradeship, the blessed crosses and the benediction of God's acre. +This isolated tomb had made a great impression on her childish mind. +She and the other children had always crossed themselves when they saw +it, and they never mentioned the dead man's name. It seemed a terrible +thing not to be buried in consecrated ground. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +A PROMISE OF HELP + +"I wonder if that Greek will come to her senses and supplant me?" mused +Ferende. "If she keeps on at her present rate Kostakes will soon get +over his infatuation. Lord! But she's growing ugly, with that sallow +complexion and those big black marks under her eyes. She never saw the +day she was half as beautiful as I am." + +Going to Panayota's room, she took down the key that was hanging +outside the door and went in. Locking the door on the inside she stood +for a moment looking at the girl, who sat on the side of the bed, her +face buried in her hands. Panayota glanced up when Ferende first +entered and then took no further notice of her visitor. She knew that +this was the favorite, although Ferende, consulting her dignity, had +had little to say to her. + +"Panayota," very sweetly, "I am your friend. I, too, am a Greek, and +was brought up in the Greek religion, but the Turks killed my father +and mother and took me away when I was very young. I cannot help being +what I am, but if I were in your place, I would let them kill me before +they should turn me into a Turk. And you a priest's daughter, too!" + +A sudden wild hope thrilled Panayota's bosom. She sprang to her feet +and ran toward Ferende with arms outstretched. + +"The Holy Virgin bless you! So you have come to set me free?" + +Now Ferende could not do this, however much she would have liked. +Could Ayesha and Souleima once fix upon her the blame of having +disobeyed a command of their common husband, no subsequent wiles could +save her from complete degradation. + +"O, I dare not set you free now," she faltered, somewhat embarrassed by +the suddenness of the demand, "but--" + +"Then save me, Holy Virgin!" cried Panayota, the bright gleam of hope +dying within her, leaving her soul darker than before. "There is no +other help for me. Aren't you ashamed, coming here to mock me? What +else do I want except to get out of this place. You say you are a +Greek, and I believe you are. But what could I expect from you? You +are worse than a Turk, for their women believe at least that they are +honestly married. But you--you are a common thing." + +Ferende winced under this torrent of abuse, but there was a certain +point which she wished to make sure. + +"You talk very bravely now, my lady," she replied. "Many Greek girls +have talked like that before. It's easy for a girl to remain Christian +as long as she can save her honor, but after that is gone the +Christians are more cruel than the Turks. Then the only way to remain +respectable is to turn Turk." + +"I swear to you by the soul of my father, whom Kostakes murdered, that +I will die before I will yield!" cried Panayota. + +Ferende with difficulty suppressed an exclamation of joy. Simulating +sorrow, she laid her hand on Panayota's shoulder and murmured: + +"Did Kostakes kill your father? Forgive me, Panayota, for speaking so +harshly, but you were very hard on me. Now we can sympathize with each +other, indeed. Both my parents were murdered by the Turks. I must go +now, but remember I am your friend. Hold out against Kostakes and I +will find some way to help you." + +She turned to leave the room, but Panayota caught her by the sleeve. + +"Help me to escape from here," she sobbed. "I beg of you in the name +of your Christian mother, and I will pray the Virgin every night to +bless you." + +Ferende locked the door behind her and hung up the key. + +"Kostakes will have a sorry time with her," she soliloquized, and she +went down stairs humming a popular Greek song. + +Finding Ayesha and Souleima still in the court, exchanging gallant +confidences, she strolled up to them with the insolent air of a queen. + +"Get up, you women," she said, "and prepare dinner." + +Poor Ayesha and Souleima looked inquiringly into each other's eyes. +Thus was Ferende wont to act after some special mark of Kostakes' favor +had inflated her confidence. They arose slowly. The favorite jerked +away the rug and spread it in the shade of the mulberry tree. Sitting +upon it, she removed her gold embroidered slippers and crossed her +stockinged feet beneath her. As the two older wives glanced at her, +their hearts sank within them. She certainly did not have the +appearance of a deposed queen. Her eyes, recently treated with +belladonna, had a melting, lustrous look. The little dash of henna +under the lower fringe of lashes added a touch of abandon. Her +trousers of magenta silk, and her sleeveless purple jacket embroidered +with gold thread, were immaculate, save for a loose hair or two, or a +speck of dust, which she removed with dainty finger tips. Twisted +carelessly about her waist, with the knotted ends hanging loosely at +one side, was a broad sash with yellow and magenta stripes. Passing +her hand beneath this, she extracted a silver cigarette case. Putting +a brown cigarette no larger in diameter than a slate pencil, into her +mouth, she called out lazily between her closed teeth: + +"Ayesha, bring a match and light my cigarette," and Ayesha, with a +muttered Moslem imprecation, obeyed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +PRIDE AND ITS FALL + +Alas, for human greatness! A horseman trotting along the stony street +drew up in front of the gate with a sudden cessation of the jingling of +a saber and the rattling of trappings. Two musket butts struck the +ground simultaneously, as the two sentries at the gate finished their +salute. Ayesha dropped the fish which she was cleaning at the hydrant, +wiped her hands upon her dirty apron and tore it from her waist. +Souleima set a little pile of dishes upon the table and tried to pat +her straggling hair into place. A heavy hand, supplemented by a +cavalry boot, shook the gate till the fastenings rattled. + +"Merciful Allah, the Effendi!" screamed Ayesha and Souleima under the +breath, and they both rushed to the gate, but they were too good Turks +to open without inquiring sweetly: + +"Who is it?" + +"It's I, Kostakes. Open the gate before I kick it down." + +"He's angry!" whispered Souleima, undoing the fastenings. + +Kostakes paid no attention to the low salaams of his two wives. He +strode into the middle of the garden and, plucking off his sword, cried +fiercely: + +"Here! Some of you lazy women, take my sword. Ayesha, bring me a +chair. Souleima, fetch my slippers." + +He sank into the proffered chair with a sigh of satisfaction. The +Effendi had been riding hard and was evidently tired. He was +uncomfortable too, and needed a bath and grooming. A prickly black +beard had grown upon his square chin, and perspiration had made little +water courses in the dust upon his dark brown cheeks. He laid his +right foot upon his left knee, slapped his hands side by side upon the +high boot tops, and swept the court with inquiring eye. + +"_Barbounia_, eh?" he inquired of Ayesha, as his glance fell upon the +string of half cleaned mullets. + +"Yes, Effendi." + +"Are they fresh, eh? Are they fresh?" + +"Fresh, Effendi? They are alive." + +"Brava, brava!" There was a softer note to his voice. "Well, get 'em +ready; I haven't had anything to eat in twelve hours." + +"Yes, Effendi; immediately, Effendi." + +Ayesha trotted over to the hydrant and began scaling the mullets with +commendable zeal. + +Kostakes seized the heel and toe of his boot and gave an ineffectual +tug. Then he glanced about the court again. Souleima had not yet +returned with the slippers. + +Ayesha was scratching away at the fish as though she were trying to +break a record. The Effendi glanced sharply at Ferende! From mere +force of habit he had not ordered her to do anything. In the stress of +fatigue and immediate necessity, he had turned naturally to the two old +wheel-horses of his harem. Ferende was holding her cigarette between +two fingers of her left hand, and was gazing up into the mulberry tree +with affected unconcern. Her lips were slightly parted and a little +red spot glowed angrily in each cheek. At another time Kostakes might +have thought her beautiful, but a new idol had been set up in his +heart, crowding poor Ferende into the stale limbo of ex-favorites. + +"Here, you," he called harshly, "come and pull off my boots." + +Ayesha glanced over her shoulder at her lord and master. He was +plainly not looking at her. She turned her face to the wall and +chuckled. + +"Do you hear?" shouted Kostakes. "Throw away that cigarette and come +here." + +Ferende turned as pale as death, but called to Ayesha, sweetly: + +"Don't you hear the Effendi, Ayesha? Run!" + +Kostakes sprang to his feet, and strode toward Ferende with uplifted +riding whip. + +"None of that, you lazy drab! Who is master in this house, you or I? +Come and pull off my boots or I'll cut blood out of you!" + +[Illustration: Come and pull off my boots or I'll lash you] + +Ferende obeyed, with a half counterfeit of a smile upon her pale lips, +and revenge in her heart. + +"How long before dinner will be ready?" Kostakes called to Ayesha. + +"About twenty minutes, Effendi." + +"Call me as soon as it is ready. I shall be up in Panayota's room." + +Then an idea came to Ferende. She threw away her cigarette, crossed +the court and disappeared in the house. Souleima ran after, and hiding +behind the wall, peeped within. She saw Ferende step out of her +slippers and tiptoe up the stairs towards the room into which Kostakes +had just disappeared. Souleima waited until she was out of sight and +then followed. + +Ayesha, overcome by woman's curiosity, that passion which fears neither +death nor shame, clapped the fish, now ready for the pan, into a drawer +of the table. + +"I must know what's going on," she muttered, as she stole into the +house. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +AGAINST THE COMMON ENEMY + +Panayota was lying face down upon the bed, but when she heard heavy +footsteps in the hall and the scratching of the key upon the door, as +some one outside fumbled at the lock, she sprang to her feet and backed +to the wall at the farther side of the room. She cast her eyes about +the bare, dim room, as though there must be some way of escape, +moaning, meanwhile: + +"Little Virgin, save me! O, my God, what shall I do?" + +When Kostakes entered he found her thus, her fists clenched, her lips +white. She was looking at him, with great eyes of fear and horror, and +she scarcely seemed to breathe. There was in her attitude the +alertness of a hunted cat, that hopes to make a sudden dash for liberty +and to escape even at the last moment. + +"In the name of Allah, Panayota," he said tenderly, "why are you so +frightened? Have I not told you I would not touch a hair of your head?" + +She made no reply, but slid along the wall, with her eyes fixed on the +open door. He turned with an exclamation of impatience, shut it with a +slam, locked it and put the key in his pocket. + +"Na!" he said, "don't think of escaping. Try to fix your mind on what +I am going to say to you. In the first place, I swear to you by my +hopes of salvation that I mean you no harm. Now listen to me!--I love +you, Panayota." + +"Is that why you murdered my father?" + +"Why do you say that I murdered your father?" + +"Bring him to me alive, and then I shall know that you did not." + +"You ask an impossible thing, Panayota. He is probably among the +Sphakiote mountains by this time, and you know there aren't troops +enough in all Turkey to get him out." + +"Then I'll tell you what you do," cried Panayota eagerly, advancing a +step or two. "Let me go and find him. I'll return here to Canea with +him. Honestly I will, honestly--and you shall come and talk to me all +you like." + +Kostakes gave his mustache an impatient twist. + +"To let you go, after all the trouble I've had getting you? O, no, +Panayota. You're mine, by Allah! and whoever takes you away from me +must kill me first. You don't know how I love you, I could never tell +you. Listen. There isn't a drop of Turkish blood in me. My +grandfather became a Turk because--because of circumstances, to save +his life. I am the son of a Greek mother and she used to sing Greek +lullabies to me in my cradle." He was talking very fast now. "I have +always said I would turn Christian some time, and when I saw you, I +made up my mind to do it right away. I have heard great news. +Everybody says that the powers have decided to give the island to the +king of Greece. Then there will be no more Turks here. They will +either go away or become Orthodox. Say you'll marry me, Panayota, and +I'll get rid of my harem, and we'll go before the priest--" + +"Will you murder your wives as you did my father?" asked the girl. +Kostakes stared at her, deprived for the moment of the power of speech. +In his enthusiasm, he had talked himself into the feeling that his +dreams were already realized. Panayota's voice, hard, sneering, cold +with hate, shocked him like a sudden blow in the face with a whip. +Then rage surged up in his veins and knocked at his temples. His +hands, that he had extended pleadingly, trembled, and he gnashed his +teeth. Kostakes was not beautiful at that moment. Panayota laughed. + +"O, you Turk," she cried, "you cowardly Turk! You needn't grind your +teeth at me. I'm not afraid of death. It's only your vile love that I +fear." + +Kostakes raised his doubled fists above his head and brought them down +with such violence that an involuntary "Ah!" escaped him. + +"By God, girl, you would drive a saint crazy," he cried. "Here I am +offering to change my religion and put away my harem, and all for you, +and I get nothing out of you but an insult. Don't you know that you +are in my power, and I can do with you what I please? No cursed +foreigner will rescue you this time. He did not know enough to keep +you when he had you, and I'll see that he doesn't get another chance. +I want you to love me as I love you. Panayota, I've made an honorable +offer. I leave you to think it over. But make up your mind to +this--you're mine, and I'll never give you up while I live." + +When Kostakes stepped into the court again, Souleima was blowing up the +coals in a little charcoal stove, home-made from an American petroleum +can. Ayesha, standing by the table, called out in a stage whisper, +plainly audible throughout the enclosure: + +"The Effendi comes," and pulled the fish from the drawer. + +"Isn't dinner ready yet?" he snarled; "what have you lazy women been +doing?" + +"All ready, Effendi," replied Ayesha. "We couldn't fry the _barbounia_ +till you came. They are better hot. Souleima, bring the olive oil and +the salt. In two minutes, Effendi." + +"Got any wine?" asked Kostakes, as the platter of steaming fish was set +before him. + +"Wine, Effendi, in a Turkish house?" + +"Yes, wine; if you've got any, bring it on, I am tired and thirsty." + +"I think Ferende has some," suggested Souleima. "She drinks like a +fish." + +"Umph! And I don't suppose you help her?" + +"Effendi, I swear--" commenced Souleima. + +"I don't even know the taste of it," protested Ayesha. + +"Silence, silence! and bring me some. And look here," as the decanter +was set before him, "if I ever hear a lisp about my wine drinking I'll +wring the necks of both of you--cackling old hens that you are. And +now send Ferende to wait on me, and get out of my sight, the two of +you. You take my appetite away. She at least is not a greasy old +slattern." + +After the Effendi had eaten he betook himself to his chamber in search +of much needed rest. Ferende followed him, but he pushed her from him, +saying in a querulous and disgusted tone: + +"Get away from me, can't you? Darken the room and go. Shut the door, +and if any of you women make a noise--eh, there, listen!" + +"Yes, Effendi." Ferende had nearly closed the door, but she opened it +a little way and thrust her face back into the room. + +"Don't take Panayota up those cold fish. Fry her some hot ones, and +give her some wine." + +The ex-favorite found the two elder wives whispering together in the +garden. + +She walked straight up to them. + +"Let's be friends," she said. "We're all in the same boat, and must +work together. In fact, you are worse off than I am, for I am younger +and better looking than either of you!" + +This was not conciliatory language, but it accorded so well with what +the two women had just been saying to each other, that they could make +no reply. Each looked inquiringly at the other for a moment, and then +Souleima asked: + +"Do you think he is in earnest?" + +"Absolutely. He would have no reason to parley with the girl, else. +She is in his power." + +"We shall all be turned into the street," said Ayesha. + +"He would never dare," cried Souleima. "He has nothing against us. We +are faithful, honest wives. It would make too great a scandal." + +"He will find a way," replied Ferende, coolly. + +"What shall we do? O, what shall we do?" sobbed the two elder wives. +Poor things! They had no Virgin to take refuge with. + +"If she should fall ill and die!" suggested Souleima. + +Ferende started violently and turned pale. "No!" she cried, so loud +that all three of them glanced apprehensively at the windows. Then +lowering her voice: + +"Don't ever think of such a thing again. It's too dangerous. She must +escape." + +"But the Effendi would kill us even for that." + +"It must be done in such a way that he will never suspect us." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +A HERO AND A SIX-INCH SHELL + +"We must yust take our chances," said Lindbohm. "How far is it from +here to the blockhouse?" + +Curtis was lying on his stomach behind a rock, with his rifle beside +him. + +"About sixty or seventy rods," he replied. + +"Rods? What is a rod?" asked Lindbohm. + +The Yankee laughed. + +"The fort is--let me see, between three hundred and four hundred yards +from here." + +There was a puff of smoke from a window of the square, gray building, +followed a moment later by a distant report, and the humming of a +guitar string in the air above their heads. Curtis lay down again. + +"Damn bad shot," observed his companion. "Makes me sick after being in +South Africa. If that had been a Boer now, he would have hit you. But +these Turks cannot shoot. So we will make a rush. We will have our +best shots crawl in close and fire on the doors and windows. Then I +take a detachment and run in. When the Turks appear we drop down, and +our men fire another volley. Then we yump up and make another dash. +So we take it." + +The blockhouse was a little above them, on a rocky eminence that +commanded the gleaming sheet of Suda Bay, in shape like a written +capital V. Four warships, two Englishmen, a Frenchman and a German, +lay resting at anchor, thin columns of smoke bending from their funnels +and drifting away amicably together. Something over a mile and a half +away, those great floating engines of death and terror looked as +innocent as a toy fleet on a duck pond. Entrenched in the rocks all +about Lindbohm was an armed band, one hundred and fifty in number, +consisting of Cretan insurgents, youthful Italian enthusiasts and Greek +Turcophobes. Behind them rose the tremendous piles of Ida and the +White mountains, and below them lay the bright, smiling valleys of the +coast and the lower slopes, where an occasional white village gleamed +among its olive orchards. + +"How many are there of 'em?" asked Curtis. Lindbohm smiled, and +raising his big pink hand to his blonde mustache, gave it a playful +pull. + +"That's yust what we're going to find out," he replied. Calling an +insurgent to him who spoke French, he explained the plan for the +assault. He himself selected the men who were to accompany him, +twenty-five in number, and such as possessed bayonets proceeded to fix +them to their rifles. The places from which the shooting was to be +done were selected, and the men began to get to them as rapidly as +possible. Lindbohm and Curtis, at the head of their little band, +worked down toward the open spot across which the rush must be made. +These movements caused more or less exposure and drew repeated +fusillades from the blockhouse. Most of the bullets passed over the +heads of the attackers, but occasionally one slapped against the soft +face of a rock, or scurried through the gravel. One glanced near +Curtis' head and hummed like a musical top. He turned and looked +curiously in the direction of the sound. + +"It takes yust one good, big battle to break a man of that," observed +the Lieutenant. + +"Of what?" + +"Looking after the bullets. They sing all sorts of tunes, and +sometimes they only whisper, but they always say the same thing--death, +death." + +The attacking party spread out into a line with distances of ten feet +or more between the men. Lindbohm held out his hand to Curtis. + +"_Au revoir_, my friend," he said, fixing his innocent blue eyes upon +the American. "You better stay here. This is a little dangerous, and +you got a mother, you know." + +The men were lying upon their stomachs; Lindbohm's left elbow rested +upon the ground, his chin supported by the left hand. As he spoke, he +pushed out his right arm toward Curtis and the two men clasped hands. +The American was thrilled by a great revelation of affection for the +Swede--his eyes were so childlike, his voice so tender, and his smile +so sad and sweet; he had lost the handkerchief that had been tied about +his head, and his pompadour had fallen down in spots, like a wheat +field upon which fragments of wind have dropped here and there. He was +very much in earnest now, as nervously he swept one end of his great +blonde mustache between his teeth with the tip of his tongue, and +inquired: + +"Eh? Is it not so? We must remember the little mother." + +"Do you think I'd go back on a friend in a time like this?" asked +Curtis indignantly. "But, see here, Lindbohm, since you're uneasy +about me, you'll find my address in my pocket. If anything happens to +me, write to my folks. And--and, about Panayota--" + +Lindbohm dropped the hand that he was holding, and the color faded out +from beneath the dust and grime upon his face. + +"About Panayota?" + +"Tell her I meant what I said to her that day, every word of it. +I--I--, she'll understand." + +Lindbohm made no reply, but still resting upon his left elbow, he slid +his face down into his great soft hand, and remained silent for so long +a time that an Italian called impatiently from a little distance: + +"_Parati, signor!_" + +Then he looked up suddenly and again seized Curtis by the hand. + +"You are not going," he said sternly. "I am in command here, and I +order you to stay back." + +Before the American had a chance to reply half a dozen guns roared from +a covert near by, a dozen more followed as rapidly as the sound of a +boy trailing a stick along a picket fence, and then for a full moment +the firing continued as capriciously as the explosions of a bunch of +fire crackers. It ceased, and Lindbohm, bending low, was running +toward the blockhouse. He had not got more than ten yards away before +the others were darting after him. + +"O, damn his orders!" muttered Curtis and scrambling to his feet, he +ran so rapidly forward that he passed two or three of the Italians, and +had nearly reached Lindbohm's side when he heard a sound as though the +man behind him had stepped on a bundle of dry twigs. Turning, he saw +the poor fellow lying upon his side, bent like a bow. He was clutching +the calf of his left leg with both hands and grinning. His shin had +been shattered by a ball. Somebody fell upon Curtis and bore him to +earth, and immediately there was a crash and rattle of rifles behind +and all around him. The man at his side took deliberate aim at +somebody and fired. Curtis followed his example and shot at one of the +windows of the blockhouse. There was a lull and they dashed forward +again. Curtis kept his eye on Lindbohm this time, and pitched forward +upon his face when he saw the Swede do likewise. They ran but a short +distance each time, but the third spurt brought them half way to their +destination. Lindbohm now kept straight on, stopping every moment to +aim and fire. The others followed his example and they were able thus +to keep advancing, and none the less to maintain a fusillade against +the doors and windows of the Turkish stronghold. They were still ten +or twelve rods away, when a white flag appeared on the roof. Lindbohm +turned and motioned to his companions, who gathered about him. They +walked fearlessly through the open door, into the front room of a +square stone building. A thin-faced, gray-haired officer in a faded +fez, came forward to meet them. Twenty Turks in ragged uniforms were +huddled together in a corner. The place was dim and sulphurous with +smoke. + +"To whom have I the honor of surrendering?" asked the Turkish officer +in French, unbuckling his sword. + +"To me, Monsieur," replied Lindbohm, bringing his heels together with a +"click," and saluting with great dignity. + +"I surrender to save bloodshed," said the Turk. "I see that you are +not a Cretan and I therefore, with perfect confidence, turn these men +over to you as prisoners of war." + +"They shall give up their arms and suffer no harm. Monsieur will do me +the honor of retaining his sword." + +The remaining Cretans were now come up and many of them had crowded +into the room. Lindbohm ordered them out and put two stout fellows at +the door. + +"Now, Monsieur, if you will kindly tell your men to give up their guns." + +The officer said a few words to his little band, and one by one, as a +sergeant called their names, they stepped forward and handed their +weapons to Curtis, who passed them to a man outside the door. The last +gun had scarcely been given up when a sudden commotion broke out among +the Cretans and half a dozen burly insurgents, forcing their way past +the guard, burst into the room. The commotion now swelled to a hoarse +uproar, and Curtis caught the words, "Kill! kill!" and "No! no!" +Lindbohm did not realize the gravity of the situation. He was raging +because his orders had been disobeyed, and thought that the whole band, +actuated by curiosity, were about to swarm in. He therefore leaped to +the door with leveled bayonet, and threatened the crowd so fiercely +that they all shrank back. Meanwhile a thing happened that fairly +froze Curtis with horror. The half dozen insurgents raised their guns +to their shoulders and deliberately pointed them at the body of unarmed +Turks, who, seized with panic, assumed all the attitudes of fear. Some +crouched against the wall, as though they would shrink through it; some +fell upon the earthen floor; others squatted and doubled their arms in +front of their faces. Several tried to seize their companions and hold +them before their own bodies. + +A dreadful laugh, mingled with foul and insulting words, broke from the +insurgents' throats. The Turkish officer stepped quietly in front of +his men, and, crossing his arms over his chest, regarded the Cretans +with a look of high scorn. His thin face and gray beard added +sublimity to the dauntless soul that spoke in his attitude. He had the +beak and eyes of an eagle. + +Curtis was completely carried away with revulsion and horror. The +words, "In the name of God! In the name of God!" beat in his brain +with the regular strokes of a triphammer, and he fancied that he heard +someone shouting them. An insurgent threatened him with a bayonet and +another, with an outburst of expostulation, seized the threatener's +gun. Then a third Cretan leaped upon him, and attempted to push him to +one side of the room. Curtis, now completely crazed with rage, dropped +the gun which he was unable to use at such close quarters, and snarling +an oath, exclaimed, "I'll choke the life out of you!" as he danced with +hooked hands at his adversary's throat. Strong as a gorilla, he had +nothing to fear. He dodged between the sinewy arms of his opponent, +and, arching his back against the python embrace which now tightened +upon him, felt for the Cretan's throat, when--there was a great +crunching and trembling sound, and in the air, that had suddenly turned +milky and pungent, Cretans and Turks were leaping like imps. Curtis +stood for a moment in stupid wonder, his mouth open, his hands still +convulsively twitching. He was gazing at a great heap of debris and a +triangle of wall with one ragged side. Men were scrambling over the +rubbish, working their arms as though they were trying to fly. +Something like an electric shock--it was fear--smote the American, and +his stomach swooped as when one goes down in a swing. He leaped among +the fleeing crowd and gained the open. Without looking to see where he +was going, he struck out instinctively for the hills. Once or twice he +fell down, but was on his feet again in an instant. As he ran, his +fear grew. Some one shouted to him in a familiar voice, but he did not +stop. Lindbohm seized him firmly by the arm and held him. Curtis +struggled for a moment, and then he felt weak. He could run no +farther. He tried to speak several times, but was entirely out of +breath. At last he managed to gasp: + +"What? What? What?" + +The Swede was standing on a little eminence, with one hand in his +pocket; hair, face and clothing were dusted miller-white with powdered +lime. He was gazing toward the sea, and there was the ghost of a smile +in his childlike blue eyes. + +"Six-inch shell," he replied. Curtis looked. There was a spurt of +flame from one of the toy ships in the duck pond, followed by a muffled +detonation, and a sound such as the wind sometimes makes at sea. An +explosion threw up a great cloud of dust about thirty yards beyond the +blockhouse--or what remained of it. + +"French!" said Lindbohm. + +Another flash, again the sound of the wind, again the explosion--this +time about twenty yards short. + +"German, I think. They lowered too much, because the others fired +high." + +The third shell from yet another ship clipped away the white flag that +was still standing on the corner of the building. + +"English! That's great work!" Lindbohm's interest was entirely +professional and impersonal. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +A GRATEFUL MAJOR + +Men, still running, were disappearing into the distant hills. The +Swede and the American were entirely alone. The toy ships continued to +launch their polyphemian missiles. + +"Are they firing at us?" gasped Curtis. + +"Yudging from appearances, I should say they were," replied his +companion. + +Four Cretans had turned back and were running toward the ruined +blockhouse. One was the color bearer of Lindbohm's company, and he was +carrying the Greek flag. Straight up to the house he ran, and, handing +the standard to one of his companions, he climbed upon the wall. As he +stood there a shell dropped so near that he was for a moment obscured +in a cloud of dust. When the air became again clear he was jamming the +flagpole into the soft mortar. Then he jumped down and ran away, +together with his comrades. Another shell exploded thirty feet from +the four Cretans, and only three ran on. + +"What killed him?" asked Curtis. + +"A flying piece of rock, probably," replied Lindbohm. "When it is +raining six-inch shells a man must yust take his chances." + +The bombardment did not last much longer. The Greek flag was also +brought down by a shot which elicited unbounded admiration from the +Swede, a shell striking the corner of the house where it was planted. + +Curtis realized now for the first time the peculiar sensations of a +soldier of fortune. He had been risking his life for that flag, yet he +saw it fired upon without the thrill of horror and rage which would +have surged through his heart had it been the American emblem. + +"They are shooting at the flag!" he exclaimed, noticing that the ships +in the bay had become silent. + +"Yust so," observed Lindbohm; "and that is why they commenced in the +first place. They mistook the Turkish officer's shirt for the Greek +flag. But here he comes now." + +Hassan Bey was powdered as white as a great moth. He advanced with a +sprightly step, the scabbard of his sword jingling among the +cobblestones. Greeting Lindbohm respectfully with a military salute, +he turned to Curtis and bowed low, his hand upon his heart. He spoke +as one who had hastily prepared an address. + +"Monsieur, in my own behalf and in that of my little band, I thank you +for saving our lives. Your heroism and magnanimity do credit to the +nation which you represent. I beg of you to accept this sword as a +pledge of my undying gratitude." And he grasped with both hands his +curved simitar in its richly mounted case and held it impulsively +toward the American, who looked amazedly at Lindbohm. + +"Better take it," said the latter. "Needlessly offend a brave man if +you don't." + +"But what for? Why the deuce should he give me his sword?" + +"Very graceful act, seeing you yumped in front of the Cretan guns and +saved his life." + +"Did I do that? I don't remember anything about it." + +"Better take it," repeated Lindbohm. "He is beginning to feel +embarrassed." + +Curtis accepted the simitar, but could not find appropriate words. The +occasion seemed to demand a set speech. + +"_Merci! Merci!_" he stammered. "My father will be glad to get this. +He is fond of this sort of thing. He already has a pair of pistols and +an old Turkish gun." + +And he fell to examining the hilt, which was embossed with silver, and +the scabbard, adorned with flowers and various animals. An awkward +silence ensued, broken at last by Hassan Bey, who addressed himself to +Lindbohm: + +"And now, if Monsieur does not consider me a prisoner of war, I will +take my leave." + +Again saluting Lindbohm and salaaming to Curtis, he turned and walked +away. + +"What'll we do now?" asked Curtis. "Get the band together again?" + +"To hell with the band!" exploded Lindbohm. "I'm sick of them. They +fight all right, but there's no way to enforce discipline. I think +I'll go to America. There should be some beautiful fighting between +the Americans and Spaniards," and he looked dreamily across the sea. + +"We weren't fighting Kostakes, after all," mused Curtis. + +Lindbohm came to earth with a start and glanced sharply after the +slender, erect figure of the departing Turk, whose body was now cut off +below the arms by a ledge of rock. + +"Monsieur!" shouted the Swede, and started in pursuit. The Turk turned +slowly and waited. + +"Monsieur will pardon me," said Lindbohm, when he had overtaken Hassan +Bey. "I wish to ask a question on behalf of my friend here, which you +will use your own discretion in answering." + +Hassan bowed gravely. + +"My friend is interested in a young Cretan girl, Panayota Nicolaides, +whom Kostakes Effendi has abducted. We have been following Kostakes, +but he has disappeared. Do you know anything of him or the girl?" + +"I know it all. He and the Bashi Bazouks passed by here with the girl, +who is now locked up in Kostakes' harem at Canea. He has gone wild +over her. That is why he was not here to-day with his band to support +the blockhouse as he promised. He cannot be depended on. He passes +half his time laying siege to the affections of a girl who is already +in his power. Bah! Kostakes is no good. He is only half a man--he is +half Greek." + +Hassan had grown suddenly voluble. Kostakes, with his incomprehensible +doings, was evidently a thorn in his flesh. Rage, indignation, pity, +swooped down upon Curtis like a flood, now hot, now cold, as he thought +of Panayota, restrained in the house of that square-jawed, cruel, +supercilious Turk, subject to his vile solicitations. + +"You do not think he would dare to do her violence?" he cried, as the +thought that he knew where Panayota was and might yet save her, seemed +almost to lift him from the ground. + +"And why not?" demanded Hassan. "But, bah! It is the Christian blood +in him, I tell you. He wants her to love him--bah!" + +Curtis' face was flushed and he was trembling with eagerness. +Lindbohm, pale as death, was leaning against a rock, biting his lip. A +bugle sang out sweet and clear, in the distance. + +"It is the Cretan trumpeter," remarked the Turk. "So, once more _au +revoir_, and a thousand, thousand thanks." + +"I am done with the troop," said Lindbohm. "I cannot control them, and +I am a soldier. I will not fight where discipline is impossible. My +friend and I wish to go to Canea. We--we--desire to take ship and +leave the island." + +"Then, come with me," cried Hassan gaily. "I will pass you through the +lines, and I may be able in some way to prove my gratitude to this +gentleman who has saved my life. _Voilà_, we are comrades!" and, +stepping between Curtis and Lindbohm, he grasped each by the arm. +Again the bugle sounded. + +"They can fight," mused the Swede sadly, stooping and looking back over +his shoulder, "but no discipline, no discipline! _Allons_, Monsieur!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +A VIOLENT WOOER + +Kostakes had something of importance to say to Panayota--something +unpleasant, to judge from his perturbed appearance. The door to her +room failed to open at the first turning of the key; the lock was old +and worn and the bolt did not always respond. But Kostakes did not +calmly try again. He threw his weight pettishly against the unyielding +barrier and kicked noisily at the panels. Having thus given vent in a +slight degree to his boiling passion, he again tried the key, swearing +to himself meanwhile in Greek--that language being in every way more +satisfactory than Turkish in a crisis demanding profanity. Almost +falling into the room, he brought himself up with a jerk and stood +glaring at the unhappy girl. To Panayota, who had always seen him +hitherto in a gentle and persuasive mood, he was as a man who had put +off a mask. Somehow he did not frighten her, for his looks now +corresponded with her idea of his real character; that scowling brow, +those glaring eyes, that protruding under jaw trembling with rage, well +befitted the murderer of her father and the despoiler of her home. If +Kostakes should come into her room some time when he was drunk! But +now he was only angry, seemingly speechless with rage. She had been +peering through the grating of her window watching a rat that was +running to and fro in the sunless court below; he was so fat and his +legs were so short that he seemed to be sliding over the pavement like +a toy mouse. When she first heard Kostakes' key in the lock she +grasped the iron bars to keep herself from falling and, leaning against +the wall, stood looking at the door. And thus she stood now, a smile +of scorn faintly curling her pale lip. Kostakes strode across the room +and, seizing her wrist wrenched her hand loose from the iron bar. + +"You won't marry me, eh?" he said. "I'm not good enough for you, eh? +I suppose I'm old or ugly or you prefer somebody else? Is that it, eh? +Well, now I'm going to tame you. You wouldn't have me as a Christian, +you shall have me as a Turk. There aren't going to be any more +Christians, do you hear? Eh? Do you hear? We're going to kill the +whole cursed brood of them, English, French, Italians, Cretans! There +won't be one left. Islam is aroused. We'll cut their throats--" he +shouted, flinging her wrist from him, and making an imaginary slash at +his own neck. "The streets will run blood. Every dog of an unbeliever +in Crete must die, men, women and children--except you." + +The blood of the Turkish father had prevailed, and Kostakes was +overwhelmed with that form of religious mania which cries for blood. +He had joined a band of young Turks, who had planned a grand coup, to +save Crete, and his Christian love for Panayota was fast turning into +Turkish love. It needed but a riot of blood and rapine to make the +change complete. + +"You would not have me as a Christian," he repeated, with his hand on +the door knob; "then you shall take me as a Turk," and he went out. + +Panayota, being left alone again, was frightened, and it is proof of +the girl's nobility of soul that she thought not of herself, but of her +fellow Christians, whom she believed to be in imminent danger. If she +could only escape and give them warning! But she dismissed that +thought, for she had tried every possible means again and again. She +might stand at the window and scream, but she had already done that, +with no effect. Kostakes' house was right in the center of the Turkish +quarter, and the screams of an hysterical or angry woman attracted +little attention. A girl shouting in Greek for help was a time-honored +legend of Turkish rule; as old as Islam and as natural as murder. So, +as a last resort, she fell upon her knees and besought the Virgin to +help and save the people, to pity the mothers and the little children +and to turn away from them this danger. Now, while she was praying, a +conflict had been taking place within the breast of Kostakes, of which +he felt the effects, but of which he was entirely unconscious. The +blood of his Greek mother had been making a last stand against that of +his Mohammedan father, and while he was even yet breathing out curses +against the Christians and muttering, "She shall have me as a Turk," he +turned about automatically, as it were, and retraced his steps to +Panayota's room. The girl rose from her knees. + +"I am praying the Holy Virgin to save my people," she said in a solemn +tone. Her eyes were streaming with tears. Kostakes shuddered, and +involuntarily raised his arm, restraining himself with difficulty from +making the sign of the cross. This Virgin of his mother could be a +very terrible being when angry. + +"Panayota," he said, "I--I--was too rough with you just now. But you +are very obstinate. Listen, I tell you the truth. The young Turks +have planned a grand coup, and I have joined them. But I would do +anything for you if you would only let me. Say that you will marry me, +and I will give the foreign officers warning, and the Christians will +be saved. I will then turn Christian--O, Panayota, won't you marry me?" + +But the Virgin had comforted Panayota and given her courage. She +pointed superbly to the door. + +"Go," she cried, "God will save His people without that sacrifice." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +THE INNOCENT ONLOOKER + +Kostakes went to the bazaar of his friend Mehemet Effendi. Mehemet was +about of an age with the Captain, and had attended school with him. He +was young and handsome, with red cheeks, thin, large nose, and thick +lips. He affected European costume, but, being a full-blooded Turk, +was a sincere worshiper of the prophet, and an enthusiastic member of +that society of youths who believed that Islam was about to be +rejuvenated and purified, after which it would rise and overwhelm the +unbeliever in a series of victories greater than when it swept Asia and +the isles of the sea with the besom of fanaticism and carried its one +star to the gates of Vienna. Mehemet's partner was a black-bearded, +pale-faced Persian, forty years of age, who wore a blue vest, blue +trousers that were full about the hips and tight at the ankles, carpet +slippers and a red fez. Hassan Ben Sabbath was a Mohammedan by +profession, but his belief was colored and weakened by the secret +influence of an ancient religion. His soul was haunted by the +unrecognizable ghosts of the dead gods of Mardonis and Masistius. He +was prudent in business and mildly deprecatory in speech. The bazaar +into which Kostakes now walked was a tiny room, fronting upon the +kaleidoscopic square. The greater portion of its stock was piled in +the capacious windows,--brass candlesticks, Cretan knives and +revolvers, Byzantine silver jewelry, antique earthenware, Turkish and +Persian embroideries. The only furniture consisted of a round-topped +wooden table, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, that stood in the middle of +the floor; a divan and two chairs. Side by side upon the wall, in +cheap frames, hung the sad, cruel, blasé faces of Abdul Hamid and the +latest successor of Xerxes. + +Mehemet was standing under his awning watching the shifting throng, and +occasionally casting expectant glances at the bay. His eyes were +bright and his face was pale from nervousness. + +"Any news, Kosta? Any news?" he demanded in a cautious tone. Kostakes +made no reply, but flinging himself into one of the chairs, began to +beat a lively tattoo with his riding whip on the top of his boot. Ben +Sabbath, who had been pretending to sleep on the divan, rose to a +sitting position and yawned. + +"Don't betray your feelings so," said Mehemet; "the hour when the +faithful shall triumph is almost at hand. Be patient." + +"I'm sick of the whole cursed spawning of Christians," cried Kostakes, +making the whip crack on his boot top like a pistol shot. "I want to +see the throats of the last one of them slit. I--" + +"Now, Kosta, Kosta, in the name of Allah," protested Ben Sabbath, +springing to the door and looking to right and left. + +Mehemet patted the excited man on the shoulder soothingly. + +"He cannot help it," he explained. "It is Islam rising. Patience, +Kosta, but a little longer, and you shall have your fill of slitting. +We shall spare no one, eh? No Christian dogs to breed more litters of +Christians; no babes to grow up into Christians!" + +"Merciful Allah! If you should be heard!" whispered Ben Sabbath in an +ague of fear. + +"You can't make anything out of a Christian, try how you will," +continued Kostakes. "They don't appreciate kindness. Now, take that +girl of mine, Panayota--" + +"You are not trifling with her yet?" + +"I have treated her with the greatest kindness, I have humbled myself +to her, but she despises me, she abhors me--me!" + +And rising to his full height he smote his expanded chest. + +"Never mind, never mind," said Mehemet. + +"I've offered to make her the head of my harem, to--to--do everything +in fact, but still she is obstinate. O, I am through with kindness +now. This is a fine state of society when it is possible for a +Christian hussy to despise a Turkish gentleman and an officer to boot!" + +Under ordinary circumstances some of Mehemet's Christian neighbors +would have heard Kostakes' raving from afar, and would have stolen +near. At the present moment, however, the entire population of the +square was surging down to the water's edge watching an English ship +that was rapidly and noiselessly sliding into the harbor. Evidently it +had been expected, and its mission on this occasion was supposedly +favorable to the Christians, for they were noisily jubilant and +addressed many facetious but insulting remarks to their Mohammedan +neighbors. The latter remained silent and gazed with scowling brows at +the approaching vessel. + +"Here it comes!" cried Ben Sabbath from the door, as the masts and +funnels of the "Hazard" suddenly drifted into the background, above the +heads of the throng. Mehemet grabbed Kostakes by the arm and dragged +him to the door. + +"See there!" he cried, forgetting all restraint. "There comes the +disgrace of Islam, my brother--they have come to enslave us. Those +English are Christians, and they hate us. But your time has come, +dogs, your time has come!" and he shook his fist toward the ship. + +"But in the name of Allah!" expostulated Ben Sabbath. "These English +are our best customers. Only yesterday I sold a piece of Rhodes +embroidery to an English lieutenant for four times its value. And we +can't fight the English; they take the most terrible revenge. Look +at--" + +"Bah! Look at nothing! Look at our most glorious Sultan, the light of +the world and the defender of the faith. Has he not been keeping all +Europe at bay for the last ten years? There is no God but God, and +Mohammed is his prophet!" + +"We must not interfere with the English, I tell you," protested Ben +Sabbath, in great alarm. + +"A Christian is a Christian--all dogs--froth of the spittle of dogs. +Kostakes, they have come to install the new Christian officials and to +collect the tax. The money of the faithful goes into Christian hands. +Your old enemy, Platonides, is to be made deputy collector. How do you +like that?" + +"Curse his Virgin!" growled Kostakes, again resorting to Greek. "But +he won't live long to enjoy it. I'll see to that--despise me!" + +"Now you're talking sensibly," interposed Ben Sabbath, admiringly. +"There's a way and a time to do all things, of course. But to oppose +the English by force--it's the veriest madness." + +The metallic burr of the chain, paying out rapidly as the "Hazard's" +anchor plunged, came to their ears with startling distinctness. +Mehemet groaned. + +"Our slavery dates from this moment, unless we nip this tyranny in the +bud, unless we strike a terrible blow. They will be coming into our +houses next and taking our Christian wives away from us." + +"Not into mine while I have two hundred Bashi Bazouks at my back!" +cried Kostakes. "Curse the Christians!" + +"Have they not given them the privilege of trading in the town? Have +they not denied to Mohammedans the right to go out and visit their +farms and gardens? You will see what their next move will be." + +The sharp, clear tones of an English officer could be heard, and the +rattle of oars as they were unshipped and boated by the crew of a +man-of-war's boat. The crowd at the wharf surged back with groans and +cheers. But the wharf was not destined to be the chief center of +attraction. The scrannel drone of a bagpipe sounded faintly in the +distance, and grew rapidly more distinct, a waving thread of sound that +led the measured tread of many feet, marching to quickstep, out of the +silence and nearer, nearer. The three Mohammedans fixed their eyes +upon the opening of a street that gave, not far away, into the square. +The bagpipe turned the corner, and its defiant wail came straight to +their ears. The throng at the wharf turned and looked, then turned +back again, like the distracted spectator at a modern circus, where the +prodigality of attractions prevents the enjoyment of any. But they +were not long in doubt as to the principal attraction, for the street +ejected from its mouth at that moment the most devil-may-care, +picturesque, obstreperous, robust, business-like compound of wailing +wind and true courage on earth--a Scotch bagpiper. Tamas Macmillan +flung across the square, looking neither to right nor left. His hair +was red, and his face flamed in the tropic sun. Every time that he +puffed his cheeks full his head shook with the effort, and the +streamers of his Scotch cap leaped on the breeze. He was a tall, +gaunt, awkward Scot, whose projecting kneecaps played in front of the +sinewy knees like round shields. On he fared, with chest thrust out +and face thrust up, squeezing the bag beneath his brawny arm and +letting out its protesting squeals in the notes of "Bonnie Prince +Charlie." Behind him at a distance came a small body of Seaforth +Highlanders and a few bluejackets, bound straight for the custom house. +The throng scrambled out of the way to right and left, as though from a +bayonet charge. In fact, the natives did not wait for the troops, but +melted away before the flaming countenance of Tamas Macmillan. + +One of Kostakes' Bashi Bazouks, a great, splendid fellow, with a blue +and yellow turban about his head and a gaudy sash about his waist, +appeared beneath Mehemet's awning and salaamed. + +"Your men are going up to the custom house," he said. + +Kostakes was fretting to and fro in the shop like a big lion in a small +cage, gnawing his upper lip, twitching at his mustache. Every moment +his passion grew, and the snorts of indignation became more and more +frequent. + +"Doesn't want me, eh? What does she want? Wouldn't have me on any +terms? Ha, ha! We'll see about that!" + +"Effendi," said the man, in a louder voice. + +The Captain whirled about with a jerk and glared at the speaker. + +"Well, what do you want?" + +The man retreated a step. Kostakes' face was purple and his eyes +looked uncanny in the half light, like a cat's. + +"Your men, I said, are going to the custom house." + +"Bah! Tell them to go to the devil!" + +The Bashi Bazouk salaamed and started away, but Mehemet caught him by +the arm. + +"The Effendi is in a terrible rage about Platonides. Tell the men to +go up in twos and threes, and--and--to keep out of mischief." + +"We are not armed, Effendi," replied the man, smiling grimly, and +laying his hand upon the butt of one of the large, old-fashioned +pistols in his belt. Besides these weapons, he carried a long Cretan +knife in a leathern sheath, tipped with silver. + +"We are not armed," he repeated, "except for dress." + +"There will surely be trouble," whined Ben Sabbath, "and these +foreigners are our best customers." + +"What are the Christians doing now?" sneered Kostakes, standing in the +door. He had passed into one of those periods of calm which manifest +themselves after violent ebullitions of rage, like the fearful silences +between thunderclaps. + +Mehemet pointed. The British troops and the marines were drawn up in +front of the custom house. Red jackets and gleaming helmet tips on one +side; bare knees in a row, kilts and little caps with frisking tails on +the other. Numerous Bashi Bazouks were seen standing among the throng, +several of them upon its outer edge. Kostakes caught sight of the +hated Platonides in company with a British officer. The guard saluted, +and the Cretan raised his hat, as though the military courtesy were +intended for him. + +"If there is a row," chuckled Kostakes, "my men will attend to you. +They'll install you!" + +And he started briskly across the square, accompanied by Mehemet. + +Ben Sabbath retired into the shop, trembling with fear. + +"Our best customers," he muttered, "and they never forgive nor forget!" +But he could not restrain his curiosity, and so, after another moment, +he peeped from the door again. Everything was proceeding quietly and +in order. + +"Bah! There will be no trouble, with all those English there." + +He tiptoed across the open space in front of the door, ready to scurry +back at the least symptom of alarm. He reached the edge of the throng, +and forgetting his fear, in the midst of so many friends and neighbors, +pushed boldly through, arriving at the farther edge just in time to +receive a bullet in his breast. Clutching at the air, he staggered a +few steps into the open and fell dead, with one loud cry to Allah for +help. Like many another peaceful and inoffensive man he had fallen the +first victim in a scene of violence. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +STILL WITH THE ARMY + +Kostakes himself had been the indirect cause of Ben Sabbath's death. +This is what had happened: He and the impetuous Mehemet were standing +close to one end of the line of Highlanders, making insulting remarks +in Greek for the benefit of Platonides and their Christian neighbors. +Stung beyond endurance, the excitable Greek pulled the English +officer's sleeve and pointed to his tormentors with raised arm. +Kostakes stepped boldly forward and shook his fist in the direction of +his enemy, whereupon one of the statues in kilts came to life and +dropped the butt of his musket on the Turk's toe. The latter sprang +back with a cry of pain and the exclamation in Turkish: + +"Death to the Christians!" + +A Bashi Bazouk, enraged at the insult suffered by his commanding +officer, and taking the exclamation for a command, drew his knife and +plunged it to the handle into the Highlander's back. As the +unfortunate man fell his gun was discharged, causing the death of +Hassan Ben Sabbath and awakening the demon of massacre that now for +many years had lurked in the towns and villages of Crete, feverishly +and fitfully sleeping. And what an inconceivably horrible demon it is! +Here is the sweetly wimpling sea, with the Grecian sky above; here are +vineyards and pastures on the hillsides and the ancient pipe of the +shepherd boy; here are white villages that should hear no sound save +such as harmonize with the vesper chime of some monastery bell, +drifting across the waters, or the choiring of the Cretan nightingales. +And yet, nowhere on earth has hate, irresponsible and pitiless, found +so congenial a home as among these idyllic scenes. Mehemet whipped an +English navy revolver from beneath his coat and shouting "_Allah il +Allah!_" fired point blank at the Lieutenant in charge of the guard, +who sank to the earth, gasping: + +"Steady, boys, steady." + +Kostakes' Bashi Bazouks came plunging through the press from all +directions, gathering about their master. Knives twirled in the sun +and flashed above the heads of the people--horrible knives with concave +edges, made for the cutting of throats. And now, from windows and from +the roofs of houses, commenced a sporadic sputtering of guns against +that gallant body of men standing in front of the custom house, statues +yet, save when now and then one sank to earth--brought to life by +death. Their officer lay dead at their feet, and his last words had +been, "Steady, boys, steady!" + +The beardless boy who stood there now in command, a trifle pale, but +firm as a stripling oak, was for one moment at his wit's end. He could +not give the order to fire into the crowd, killing Turk and Christian +alike. That certainly would not be obeying the last command of the man +whom he had loved, who had been his model soldier and gentleman. At +any rate, he could die bravely; he was not in doubt about that part of +it for a single moment. But his hesitation did not last long. A gun +boomed out in the bay louder than all the pandemonium on shore, and a +shell dropped on the roof of a house from which several Turks had been +firing at the British. He would get his men to the wharf, as close +under shelter of the guns as possible. + +They arrived at the wharf just as the steam launch from the "Hazard" +drew up to take them off, and two sailors held her fast with grappling +poles. Other boats were creeping across the narrow strip of sea, their +oars moving rapidly, like the legs of frightened centipedes. The +little sub-lieutenant drew up his company facing the rioters. He then +detached a squad to put the wounded into the launch. The fall of the +first two or three shells had caused a momentary panic in the town, +during which the British succeeded in getting into the boats, save one +wounded man, who had been overlooked somehow in the excitement. + +"Shove off!" cried the little sub-lieutenant, standing in the stern of +one of the boats, whither he had leapt last of all that gallant company. + +"Shove off!" repeated the middy in charge; and the boat drifted a foot +or so from the wharf, as the grappling poles were lifted. But at that +moment the little "sub." saw the wounded Highlander, lying helpless +upon the cobblestones. Even as he looked, the man rose to his knees, +swayed a moment and fell over upon his side, a bundle of bright tartan +on the gray cobblestones. It was Tamas the piper. Without a moment's +hesitation, the sub-lieutenant sprang to the wharf and ran to the +rescue. The place was clear, as the rioters had drawn back from the +threatening guns of the British, and were pouring a galling fire into +the boats from windows and corners of houses. As the young hero +advanced, all these rifles were turned upon him, and he was aware of a +continual "zip! zip!" of bullets about his ears. His own men now, +assisted by the marines, were answering the fire, shooting at the Turks +as they stepped slyly out from the shelter of buildings, or arose at +the edge of roofs to take aim. Tamas was clutching one of the pipes of +his musical instrument with an unloosable grip. His rescuer vainly +attempted to open the bony hand. Seeing that the effort was useless, +he knelt by Tamas, and seizing his two wrists, drew the fainting man's +arms about his neck; rising to his feet, he staggered toward the wharf, +with the Scotchman upon his shoulders. The bagpipe dangled like the +limp body of some animal. Strong arms lifted Tamas into the boat, and +again the little sub-lieutenant leaped in and cried "Shove off!" The +sheath of his sword was badly bent by the impact of a bullet and a spot +of blood appeared near his groin, and rapidly grew larger. + +"My God, sir, you're wounded!" almost sobbed a burly Scot. But the +sub-lieutenant was young and familiarity is the death of authority. + +"Be silent, Ferguson!" he said, sternly, without deigning to look at +the flesh wound in his side, which was beginning to smart like a great +burn. + +Raphael, being one of the greatest modern painters, added to the beauty +of this sort of decoration by the exquisite drawing and composition of +the figures. Some of the medallions at the Loggias contain subjects said +to be taken from antique gems, and Scripture subjects are also +introduced; the expulsion of Adam and Eve from Paradise is balanced by +one of Omphale and Hercules, the queen having the club. + +When a cipher or a sign conveys to our minds an idea, or an association +of ideas, we call it a “_symbol_,” particularly if the idea is connected +with religion. The commonest form met with in symbolic art is the +circle, as the symbol of eternity, from its having neither beginning nor +ending; it often appears as a serpent with its tail in its mouth, for +this, like many other Pagan symbols, was adopted by the early +Christians. The circle in the shape of a wheel has perhaps had the +widest signification in art. The wheel of fire, or sun-wheel, was an +emblem of the Teutonic sun-worshippers. The _tchakra_, or sacred wheel, +is the emblem of the religion of Brahma; it is the shield of Brahma and +Vishnu, as a wheel of fire; it is to the Siamese a type of universal +dominion, a sign of disaster, and the symbol of eternity. (See Fig. +168.) The wheel form at Fig. 169 is the _kikumon_ or badge of the Empire +of Japan; it is derived, however, from the chrysanthemum. + +[Illustration: + + FIG. 168.--The “tchakra,” or sacred wheel of Brahma and Vishnu, + also called the “wheel of fire.” +] + +[Illustration: FIG. 169.--Kiku-Mon, badge of the empire of Japan.] + +Christian art, from the beginning of the first century of our era to the +fourth, consisted almost entirely of symbols. The first Christians were +fearful lest their new converts should relapse into Paganism, and so +avoided images; and being persecuted they used only a few symbols such +as the fish, the dove, the lamb, and the monogram of Christ. This last +consisted of two Greek letters X and P (Chi and Rho), the Chi forming +the cross as shown at A in Fig. 170; another form of this is shown at B, +in which a cross has the Rho formed on the upright stem, and has the +first and last letters of the Greek alphabet (Alpha and Omega) written +beneath the arms. This form sometimes appears on the nimbus over the +head of a lamb; the latter sometimes stands on a round hill, at the +bottom of which issue four streams, the whole symbol signifying “Christ +the first and the last, the Lamb of God,” the streams “the four +evangelists whose gospels are the water of life to the whole world.” + +At C, Fig 170, we have the monogram that the Emperor Constantine placed +on the _labarum_, or + +[Illustration: FIG. 170.--Sacred Monograms in Christian Art.] + +Imperial standard, after his conversion; it was woven in gold on purple +cloth. Christ was sometimes represented as Orpheus, with a lyre in his +hand, amid the birds and beasts; the commonest personification of Him +was, however, as the Good Shepherd caring for His sheep, in which He was +always represented young and beautiful. Every allegorical representation +of the Founder of the Christian religion was rendered pleasing to the +eye of the new converts, and anything pertaining to the dreadful scene +of the Crucifixion was avoided. The Christian Church was symbolized +under the form of a ship, with our Lord as the pilot and the +congregation as the passengers; whence we may have the word _nave_ (of +a church), from _navis_, a ship; _naus_, a ship, was also the Greek name +for the inner part of a temple. + +[Illustration: FIG. 171.--Counterchange ornament, Spanish embroidery.] + +The dove in Christian art is the emblem of fidelity and of the Holy +Spirit, the pelican of the Atonement, and the phœnix of the +Resurrection. One of the symbols of our Lord is a fish, because its +Greek name Ἰχθύς (Ichthus) contains the initials of “Jesus Christ, the +Son of God, the Saviour.” It was also used as the symbol of a Christian +passing through the world without being sullied by it, as the fish is +sweet, in spite of its living in salt water; it is found engraved in the +soft stone of the Roman catacombs (where the early Christians took +refuge), with the monogram and other inscriptions. The _Vesica piscis_, +or fish form, often encloses the Virgin and Child, and is the common +form of the seals of religious houses, abbeys, colleges, &c. The four +evangelists are represented respectively as a lion, a calf, a man, and +an eagle,--St. Mark being the lion, the calf St. Luke, the man St. +Matthew, and the eagle St. John. + +[Illustration: FIG: 172.--Moresque Counterchange pattern, inlaid +marble.] + +Many plants are used as symbols in Christian art: the vine, as typical +of Christ, during Byzantine times and the Middle Ages. In Scripture we +find frequent allusions to the vine and grapes; the wine-press is +typical of the “Passion,” as we read in Isaiah. The passion-flower, as +its name denotes, was, and is, used as an emblem of the death of Christ. +The lily is the emblem of purity, and has always been used as the +attribute of the Virgin Mary in pictures of the Annunciation. We find +this plant often engraved on the tombs of early Christian virgins. From +the iris, formerly called a lily, is derived the flower de luce, or +_fleur-de-lis_, one of the finest conventional renderings of any flower; +it was much used as a decoration in sculpture, painting, and weaving +during the thirteenth and following centuries. It was the royal insignia +of France; mediæval Florence bore it on her shield and on her coin, the +_fiorino_; and it was used in the crowns of many sovereigns, from King +Solomon down to our own Queen. The trefoil is an emblem of the Trinity, +and is a common form in Gothic decoration. + +[Illustration: FIGS. 173 and 174.--Interchange ornament.] + +The symbolic and mnemonic classes have now been described, and the +_æsthetic_ alone remains. Æsthetic form we owe to the clearness and +directness of the Greek mind. The Greeks were contented with the simple +solution of the problem before them, which was to beautify what they had +in hand. If they wanted allegorical subjects they confined them to their +figure subjects, and being thus freed from other disturbing elements, +they concentrated their whole attention on perfecting floral form. They +attained perfection in this as they did in their figures, by correcting +the peculiarities of the individual by a study of the best specimens of +a whole class; and thus succeeded in making the most perfect type of +radiating ornament, and of adapting it to sculpture and painting, on +flat and curved surfaces. This ornament has perfect fitness, for you can +neither add to it nor take away from it without spoiling its perfection. +The same may be said, only in a minor degree, of the colour applied to +the carved patterns of the Saracens and Moors: they are both æsthetic +works, solely created for their beauty. A symphony in music is a +composition of harmonious sounds; it has little subject-matter, and is +analogous to æsthetic ornament, only the ear is charmed by the former, +as the eye is by the latter. + + + + +APPENDIX + +ON THE ORDERS OF ARCHITECTURE + + +It seemed to me that a short chapter on the orders would be useful to +students, not only because so much ornament is used as an enrichment to +architecture itself, but also because a very much larger proportion of +it is used in conjunction with architecture, and without some slight +knowledge of the subject, the ornament and the architecture, instead of +setting off each other’s characteristic beauties, are apt to spoil one +another. The rigid lines of architecture should act as a foil to the +graceful curves of ornament, and the plain faces should not only set off +fretted surfaces, but make the undulations of carved ornament precious. +When I speak of ornament, I include the highest form of it, the human +figure, and I may point to the Doric frieze of the Greeks as a brilliant +example of success. This conjunction of ornament and architecture, +however, demands high qualities in the ornament, and insight in the +artists as to what is wanted for mutual contrast or emphasis; and if +this be successfully accomplished, I think it must be conceded that the +combined work gives a finer result than the uncombined excellence of +each. + +Mean ornament, whether of figures or plants, tends to degrade the +architecture with which it is associated, and may spoil it by the main +lines not properly contrasting with the adjacent architectural forms, or +by the ornament being on too large a scale. I have seen in modern work, +the stately dignity of a grand room utterly destroyed by colossal +figures. Michelangelo, in his superb ceiling at the Sistine Chapel, has +by use of gigantic figures dwarfed the vast chapel into a doll’s house. +I may add that there is monumental colouring as well as monumental form: +the finest examples of such colouring may be seen in many of the grand +buildings in Italy and at Constantinople, notably at St. Mark’s and at +Sta. Sophia; but you may also see magnificent halls and churches, +coloured to look like French plum-boxes. + +The elaborate system of proportioning parts to one another and to the +whole, which is so important in architecture as to be its main +characteristic, is equally valuable for the division of spaces for +ornament. + +Mouldings which form so great a feature in architecture as to have given +rise to the saying that “mouldings are architecture,” give lessons in +elegance of shape, and in the proper contrast of forms, that are useful +to the ornamentalist who has to design the shapes of small objects; +while the Corinthian capital has been the prototype of most of the +floral capitals up to the present day. + +It is admitted that in those periods of history when architecture, +sculpture, and painting attained their highest excellence, the painter, +sculptor, and architect have not only sympathized with one another, but +each one has been no mean judge of the sister arts. At the Renaissance, +and immediately before it, artists are to be found who were goldsmiths, +sculptors, painters, and architects, and some few who were poets, +musicians, and engineers as well. + +The origin of the orders was probably in the verandah of the Greek +wooden hut. In some of the paintings on the Greek vases may be seen the +processes by which the Doric and Ionic capitals were evolved; but for +our purpose, which is not archæology, only some of the best examples +need be referred to, after the wooden hut had been converted into a +marble temple. + +An order consists of a column supporting an architrave, frieze, and +cornice, which is called the entablature. The column generally consists +of a shaft, a capital, and a base, except in the Doric columns of the +Greeks and early Romans, which were baseless. The capital was the +capping-piece which you now see put on the tops of story-posts by +carpenters to shorten the bearing of the bressummer. The architrave was +what we now call a bressummer, and bore the trusses of the roof; the +fascias of the architrave show that in some instances this bressummer +was composed of three balks of timber, each projecting slightly over the +one below. The frieze was the wide band immediately above the architrave +and below the cornice, comprising the triglyphs or ends of the trusses, +and the filling in between them, which is called the metope. The metopes +were left open in early Greek temples, but were eventually filled with +sculpture. The cornice was the projecting boarded caves; while the +slanting + +[Illustration: FIG. 175.--The Parthenon. Greek Doric: enlarged section +of annulets at A.] + +undersides of the mutules were copied from the slanting timbers of the +roof. + +I will speak first of the Greek orders, not only because they were the +earliest, but because the Greeks showed the greatest artistic +sensibility in their choice of forms, in the composition of lines, and +in their arrangements for light and shade. I begin with the DORIC. The +shaft is conical, and fluted with twenty shallow segmental flutes that +finished under the capital, which consists of a thick square cap called +the abacus, with a circular echinus under it, finished at the bottom +with rings called annulets, and a little below them is a deep narrow +sunk chase called the necking, and the shaft has no base. + +The Greeks were a seafaring people, mainly inhabiting the sea-shore, the +islands of the Archipelago, and the edges of Asia Minor, and were thus +acquainted with the forms of the sea and of shells. The echinus of the +Doric capital resembles the shell of the sea-urchin, or echinus, when it +has lost its spines, and was probably called after it. The ovolo +moulding that was most used was called the cyma or wave. At the +Parthenon, the finest example of the Doric, the architrave is plain, and +was once adorned with golden shields and inscriptions; it is capped by a +square moulding called the tænia or band; the frieze, with its square +cymatium, is capped with a carved astragal, and is divided +longitudinally by the triglyphs, projecting pieces, ornamented with two +whole and two half vertical channels, from which the word triglyph takes +its name; below the tænia is a narrower square moulding the width of the +triglyph, and beneath it, ornamented with drops called guttæ. I may +point to this as a most artistic device both to relieve the monotony of +the tænia and to weld the architrave with the frieze. The triglyphs +begin at the angles of the frieze, and range centrally over all the rest +of the columns, with an additional triglyph between each, though in the +frieze over the larger central opening of the Propylæum there are two +intermediate triglyphs; the nearly-square metopes between the triglyphs +are filled with figure-sculpture. The cornice consists of the square +mutule band, from which the mutules project, whose slanting underside is +enriched with drops; and above the mutules is their capping, a narrow +fascia under the corona; the corona or main projecting member of the +cornice is throated at the bottom, and its capping consists of a wide +fillet, deeply-throated, with a hawk’s-bill moulding under it. These +together form the most superb piece of architectural work that exists, +and has called forth the rapturous admiration of all the tasteful in the +world, from the time it was built to the time of Ernest Renan, one of +its latest distinguished admirers. + +I have lingered over this order because it is a masterpiece for all +time. Those who have seen it in England alone are possibly convinced +that this praise has been ill-bestowed; yet even these would change +their opinion if they saw it when perfectly white on a clear day in +bright sunshine; but in London, even at its best, the clear air and +fierce sun of Athens is wanting, as well as the pentelic marble, and the +chances are that the sculpture in the metopes has been left out. This +Doric of the Greeks is true architecture, fitted to the climate, and +made by men of genius to charm the most gifted race the world has seen. +To the Greek architect no thought and no labour was too great in +designing his building, to form it so that the sun would play melodies +on it from dawn to dusk. Such truly national architecture cannot be +imported into a different climate without losing most of its effect, nor +can it be transferred to a coarse and opaque material without losing +much of its charm; while its sculpture, the finest the world has yet +seen, portrayed national traditions or events connected with its faith. +But even here in London, if you see paraphrases of Greek architecture +just painted white on a clear sunshiny day, you will see a faint reflex +of its pristine glory. The rising moon that the sun makes on the +echinus, contrasted with soft graduated warm shades and sharp blue +shadows, is the finest thing an architect has ever compassed. The +splendid sculpture that adorned its metopes may be seen in the Elgin +room of the British Museum. This one example is a model for those who +seek perfection in exquisite simplicity, for almost all the mouldings +are square ones, and there is no enrichment beyond the highest +figure-sculpture, and one little carved astragal; and I may add, that +the perfection of the whole composition of the Temple is as great as +that of this part. + + +THE IONIC. + +The example, given on account of its simplicity, is from the Temple on +the river Ilissus. The column differs from that of the Doric by being of +slenderer proportions, by having twenty-four deep elliptical flutes with +fillets in its shaft, by having a cushioned capital inserted between the +thin moulded + +[Illustration: FIG. 176.--Entablature, capital and base of the Greek +Ionic Temple on the Ilissus.] + +abacus, and a shallow echinus carved with the egg and tongue. The +peculiarity of this cushioned cap is, that each side of the front and +back faces are formed into volutes, and come down considerably below the +bottom of the capital, and are carved on the faces with a shell +spiral.[10] The junctions of the plain surfaces of the volutes with the +projecting circular echinus are masked by a half honeysuckle. At the +bottom of the shaft is a circular pedestal or base of slight projection, +consisting of an upper and lower torus joined by a hollow (trochilus), +the upper torus being horizontally fluted and the lower one plain, and +there is no square plinth. + +In this case the architrave is deep and without fascias, though the +Ionic order has mostly three fascias; its capping (cymatium) consists of +a fillet with a plain cyma and astragal beneath. The frieze, which has +no triglyphs, is supposed to have been sculptured with figures; its +cymatium consists of an ogee and astragal, to admit which the underside +of the corona is deeply hollowed out; the cymatium of the corona +consists of a narrow fillet and a cyma. The crowning member probably +only existed on the raking sides of the pediment. + +As this is not a treatise for architects, but a sketch of the subject +for ornamentalists, one example is enough to show the difference between +the Doric and Ionic, but the capital of the most ornate example, that of +the Erechtheum, is given; its main differences from the former one being +these, that the ornaments on the mouldings are carved instead of only +being painted, that in the entablature there are three fascias to the +architrave, that the column has a neck carved with floral ornaments and +a carved necking, and the sweeps of the capital as well as the spirals +of the volutes are more numerous. + +[Illustration: FIG. 177.--Side elevation, plan, and section of the Ionic +capital, from the Temple on the Ilissus. + +Side Elevation. Plan. + +Section. Section.] + +[Illustration: FIG. 178.--Greek Ionic: half of the Capitol from the +north portico of the Erechtheum at Athens. _A_ is a regular guilloche +with coloured glass beads in the eyes.] + +I have given too the capital of the internal Ionic columns of Apollo +Epicurius at Bassæ, to show how much it is improved by making the top of +the capital curved instead of straight. The Ionic is more graceful and +as a rule more ornate than the Doric, but is not so majestic. Capitals +from the + +[Illustration: FIG. 179.--Capital from the Temple of Apollo Epicurius at +Bassæ. Greek Ionic.] + +Erechtheum, from the Temple at Bassæ, from the last Temple of Diana at +Ephesus, and from the Mausoleum are at the British Museum. + + +THE CORINTHIAN. + +Callimachus, according to Vitruvius, invented this capital, and is +supposed to have lived about 396 B.C., forty years before Alexander the +Great was born. Besides the beauty of this order of the choragic +monument of Lysikrates, it is the only undoubted and complete Greek +specimen that we have in Europe. The main importance of the invention, +besides its intrinsic beauty, is its being adopted by the Romans as +their favourite order and used throughout their dominions. I give you +here the story Vitruvius tells of its invention. Besides the prettiness +of the story, it serves as an incitement to the reflection, that if +those whose hand and eye are trained will only observe what they see, +they may get notions for inventions. + +“A marriageable maid, a citizen of Corinth, was taken ill and died. +After her burial, her nurse gathered the things in which the maid most +delighted when she was alive, put them into a basket, and carried them +to the grave and put them on the top, and so that they might last the +longer in the open air, covered them with a tile. By chance this basket +was put on an acanthus root. The acanthus root meanwhile, pressed by the +weight, put forth its leaves and shoots about spring time; these shoots +growing against the sides of the basket, were forced to bend their tops +by the weight of the corners of the tile and to make themselves into +volutes. Then Callimachus, who from the elegance and subtlety of his +sculpture was called Catatechnos by the Athenians, passing by that +grave, noticed the basket and the tender growth of leaves round it, and +charmed by the style and novelty of its form, made his columns among the +Corinthians after that pattern.” (Vit. lib. 4, cap. i. pp. 9, 10.) + +[Illustration: FIG. 180.--Entablature, capital and base of the +Lysikrates monument. Greek Corinthian.] + +A Corinthian capital was found by Professor Cockerell in the Temple at +Bassæ, supposed by him to have been used there. Another was found at +Athens by Inwood, and there is a graceful capital of one of the engaged +Corinthian columns at the Temple of Apollo Didymæus, at Branchidæ, near +Miletus, of unknown date. + +I do not look on work as Greek that was done after the second century +B.C., when Greece became a Roman province. + +The Corinthian capital of the monument of Lysikrates is more than one +and a half times as high as the lower diameter of the column, while the +Doric capital of the Parthenon is only about half a diameter to the +necking, and the Ionic capital of the Erechtheum about eight-tenths. + +The abacus of the capital is deep and moulded, is hollowed out +horizontally on the four sides in plan, and has the sharp angles of the +abacus cut off. The floral cap consists of a bottom range of sixteen +plain water leaves, about half the height of the eight acanthus leaves +of the upper row; these have a blossom between each pair of leaves. + +Above the top, and at the sides of the centre leaf, on each of the four +sides of the capital, spring two acanthus sheaths, out of each sheath +spring three cauliculi; the one most distant from the centre forms a +volute under one side of the angle of the abacus, and is supported by +the turned-over top leaf of the sheath; the lowest cauliculi form two +volutes touching one another at the centre. The third cauliculus comes +from between the two former, and forms much smaller volutes than those +immediately below them, touching + +[Illustration: FIG. 181.--Capital of the Lysikrates monument. Greek +Corinthian.] + +at the centre, but turning the reverse way to those beneath; from the +middle of these springs a honeysuckle, whose top is as high as the top +of the abacus, and there is a little floral sprig between the angle +volutes and the honeysuckle, to relieve the bareness of the basket or +bell. The foliage of this capital is exquisitely graceful, but the +outline of the capital is not happy. The entablature is Ionic, to leave +the frieze clear for the sculptured history of Bacchus, turning some +pirates into dolphins. The architrave is deep with three equal fascias, +the face of each one inclined inwards, and a cymatium. Above the +cymatium of the frieze is a cornice with a heavy dentilled bed mould. + +The Greeks were consummate artists, who bore in mind the adage that +“rules are good for those who can do without them,” and adapted every +part of their buildings to produce the effect of light and shade they +wanted. The profiles of their mouldings were mostly slightly different +in every example we have, and mostly approximate to conic sections, so +as to have the shade less uniform, segments of circles being rarely +used; and there was in Athens an affluence of excellent figure +sculptors. + +It has always seemed to me that the slight variations the Greeks made in +their profiles to get perfection, and their passion for simplicity, were +greatly due to their intimate knowledge of the nude human figure. All +their recruits were exercised naked, and they must have noticed that the +perfecting of the human shape by training was brought about by slight +variations. + + +THE ROMAN ORDERS. + +The Romans, great people as they were in subjugating, governing, and +civilizing so great a portion of the world, and possibly on that very +account, were + +[Illustration: FIG. 182.--The Tuscan order.] + +not artistic in the sense that the Greeks were. The Romans were slaves +to easy rules and methods; most, if not all, the profiles of their +mouldings were struck with compasses, and they were almost destitute of +good figure sculptors. They had, however, a passion for magnificence, +and for ornate stateliness and dignity, and they rarely failed to get +these in their public monuments. + +Besides the three orders which were taken from the debased Greek +examples of their own time, the Romans added two, the order of the +_Tuscans_, and an invention of their own called the _Composite_. + + +THE TUSCAN. + +The Tuscan is described by Vitruvius, lib. 4, cap. 7, as an incomplete +Doric, but with a base and a round plinth. The portico of St. Paul’s, +Covent Garden, by Inigo Jones, is the best example we have of it in +London. The example given is from the learned Newton Vitruvius. + + +THE ROMAN DORIC. + +One of the earliest examples, with the exception of that at Cora, which +is rather debased Greek than Roman, is the example on the Theatre of +Marcellus at Rome, finished by Augustus. The column is not fluted, and +has no base, and the capital has been greatly altered from that of the +best Greek examples. The abacus has a cymatium; the echinus has been +reduced in depth, and is an ovolo, and the annulets are merely three +plain fillets; the column too has a neck and a necking. In the +entablature the architrave is + +[Illustration: FIG. 183.--Roman Doric. From the Theater of Marcellus. + +The crowning members of the cornice are conjectural, for the whole has +been broken away. See Desgodetz.] + +[Illustration: FIG. 184.--Roman Ionic. Entablature, capital, and base of +an angle column, at the Temple of Fortuna Virilis.] + +shallower than in the Greek examples. In the frieze the triglyphs are +over the centres of the angle columns; the guttæ are the frustums of +cones, while those of the Greeks were cylinders or with hollowed sides; +the cornice has a dentilled bed mould; and the mutules have disappeared, +but their edge runs through and the soffit is slanting, and ornamented +alternately with coffers and small guttæ, six on face and three deep; +and besides, the cymatium of the corona is capped by a large cavetto; +this in the Greek examples was only the crowning member of the slanting +sides of the pediment. There are Roman Doric columns at the Colosseum, +at Diocletian’s Baths at Rome, and elsewhere. The Doric, best known to +us, was elaborated by the Italian architects of the Renaissance. + + +THE ROMAN IONIC. + +The Ionic was not much more to the taste of the Romans than the Doric, +for, with the exception of the examples in tall buildings, where the +orders were piled up one over the other, the Temple of Fortuna Virilis +is the only good example, although there is a very debased one at the +Temple of Concord. The columns of the Temple of Fortuna Virilis somewhat +resemble the Greco-Roman ones of the Temple of Bacchus at Teos; they +have similar paltry capitals, and an Attic base, but their truly Roman +entablature is very notably worse than that at Teos, in fact, it might +be used as an example of what to avoid in profiling. The cornice is +crushingly heavy for the frieze and architrave, the parts are +disproportionate, the corona having almost disappeared to make room for +the + +[Illustration: FIG. 185.--Roman Corinthian. Entablature, capital, and +base of the Pantheon.] + +extra crowning member, and the floral ornaments on some of the mouldings +are gigantic. Its main importance to us is from the use made of it by +the Renaissance architects, some of whom, however, greatly improved its +appearance, by making it a four-faced capital, by adding a necking and +putting festoons from the eyes, thus giving the capital greater depth +and importance. + + +THE ROMAN CORINTHIAN. + +The magnificence of this capital took the Romans, so that good examples +of the other orders, except of the Composite, are rare. As I said +before, the only undoubted Greek Corinthian order that has come down to +us is that of the Lysikrates monument, though we have many Greco-Roman +examples. The best Roman example I can give you is that of the Pantheon; +the existing portico is believed by M. Chedanne to be a copy of +Agrippa’s, made in the days of Septimius Severus. At any rate, it has +the comparative simplicity that characterized some of the buildings just +before our era. The capital has two rows of eight leaves, the upper row +not rising to quite so great a height above the lower ones as these do +above the necking, and there is space between the upper leaves to show +the stalks of the sheaths of the cauliculi; the inner ones finish under +the rim of the basket, the outer ones form the volutes under the angles +of the abacus, and above these a curled leaf masks the overhanging of +the angles of the abacus. From some foliage on the top of the upper + +[Illustration: FIG. 186.--Roman Corinthian. Entablature of Jupiter +Tonans.] + +middle leaf, a stalk runs up behind the cauliculi, and blossoms in the +abacus. + +It may be observed that the cauliculi of the centre and of the volute +have lost the floral character and become stony. The shafts are +unfluted, being of granite, and have the favourite Roman base, a plain +upper and a lower torus, with two scotias separated by double astragals +and fillets. The entablature consists of an architrave of three fascias, +the bottom edge of whose projections are moulded, the whole architrave +is capped with a cymatium consisting of a wide fillet and an ogee with +an astragal beneath. The frieze is slightly shallower than the +architrave, and has nothing on it but the inscription, and its cymatium +is the counterpart of that of the architrave on a smaller scale. The +cornice is heavy, and its bed mould consists of an uncut dentil band, an +ovolo carved with the egg and tongue, and an astragal carved with the +bead and reel, a modilion band with carved modilions, a shallow corona, +and a deep cyma-recta-cymatium with fillets. + +I have added the fine and gigantic capital of Mars Ultor and the +entablature of Jupiter Tonans, which is overladen with ornament, as a +contrast to the almost stern simplicity of that of the Pantheon. + +I shall only draw your attention to two points in this ornamentation, +the omission of the tongues between the eggs, leaving only the upright +line, and the attempt to turn the egg and tongue into a foliated form. +The egg itself is covered with ornament, and is set in the centre of +acanthus leaves. We must praise the boldness of the author, who has +given us a new ornament, but deplore his want of tasteful invention +which has forced him to give a bad one. + +The varieties of leaves used in capitals have been mentioned in the body +of the book. + + +THE ROMAN COMPOSITE. + +This order has been called the Composite, from the mixture of Ionic and +Corinthian motives in its capital. The example given is from the Arch of +Titus, erected to celebrate the taking of Jerusalem in 70 A.D. The main +thing to be remarked is the capital; for the entablature is Corinthian, +less ornate than that of Jupiter Tonans or Jupiter Stator, and very +inferior to the latter in its proportions. It may be imagined that all +the foliage above the upper row of leaves in a Corinthian capital has +been removed, that a carved Ionic echinus has been put in at the level +of the bottom of the Corinthian cauliculi, that on the centre of the +echinus there is a calix, from which a flower runs up above the top of +the abacus, and from each side of the calix spring curved bands running +into the hollow of the abacus and ending in heavy volutes coming down to +the tops of the upper row of leaves, the lower parts of the bands and +the spaces between the spirals being filled with foliage. The parts of +the bell thus left bare by the omission of the sheaths of the cauliculi +have two little scrolls of foliage to cover them. The worst fault of the +capital is, that the upper part has no artistic connection with the +lower, and taken merely as an isolated capital, its volutes are too +ponderous for the rest. We must, however, give the Romans credit for the +merits of the invention. They + +[Illustration: FIG. 187.--Roman Corinthian. Half of the capital of Mars +Ultor.] + +saw that in tall columns, and in this case the columns are on pedestals, +the volutes of Corinthian columns + +[Illustration: FIG. 188.--Roman composite capital from the Arch of +Titus.] + +were too insignificant. This capital when once invented took the Romans, +and was applied everywhere. + +[Illustration: FIG. 189.--Roman Composite. Entablature, capital, and +base, Arch of Titus.] + +It was the practical solution for a practical people of a want that was +felt. Artistically speaking, it was no solution, and we can imagine that +if such a solution had been offered to the Athenians in their palmy +days, the author would have been howled at, and hunted out of the city. + +I may mention that the orders that have passed through the hands of the +Italian masters and been altered by them are not Classical, but +Renaissance. + +Those who wish to study this subject will find the Greek examples in +Stuart and Rivett’s _Antiquities of Athens_; in Mr. Penrose’s +_Principles of Athenian Architecture_; in the books published by the +Dilettanti Society; in Cockerell’s _Temple of Jupiter Panhellenius at +Ægina_; in Inwood’s _Erectheion_; and in Wilkins’ _Antiquities of Magna +Græcia_. J. Pennethorne’s _Elements and Mathematical Principles of the +Greek Architects_ gives many examples of profiles: “The Roman,” in _Les +Édifices Antiques de Rome_, by Desgodetz; Cresy and Taylor’s +_Architectural Antiquities of Rome_; Normand’s _Parallel of the Orders_; +and Mr. Phené Spiers’ _Orders of Architecture_. + + + + + A CHAPTER ON THE CONSTRUCTION OF SOME FIGURES AND CURVES IN + PRACTICAL PLANE GEOMETRY USEFUL IN ORNAMENT. + + +Definitions and names of figures from 1 to 13. + +An Equilateral triangle is a triangle which has _three equal_ sides. +(Fig. 1.) + +An Isosceles triangle is that which has only two sides equal. (Fig. 2.) + +A Scalene triangle is that which has _three unequal_ sides. (Fig. 3.) + +A Right-angled triangle is that which has a right angle. (Fig. 4.) + +An Acute-angled triangle is that which has _three_ acute angles. (Fig. +5.) + +A Parallelogram is a four-sided figure which has its opposite sides +parallel. (Fig. 6.) + +A Rhombus is a _four-sided_ figure which has all its sides equal, but +its angles are not right angles. (Fig. 7.) + +A Lozenge is a square set angle-wise. (Fig. 8.) + + NOTE.--A square, an oblong, a rhombus, and a rhomboid are all + species of parallelograms. + +[Illustration: FIG. 1] + +[Illustration: FIG. 2] + +[Illustration: FIG. 3] + +[Illustration: FIG. 4] + +[Illustration: FIG. 5] + +[Illustration: FIG. 6] + +[Illustration: FIG. 7] + +[Illustration: FIG. 8] + +A Diamond is composed of two _equilateral_ triangles set back to back. +(Fig. 9.) + +All other four-sided figures are called Trapeziums. If one opposite pair +of sides be parallel, and the other pair not, the figure is called a +Trapezoid. (Fig. 10.) + +Polygons.--A Polygon is a plane rectilineal figure contained by more +than four straight lines. + +A Regular Polygon is that which has its sides _equal_, and its angles +also are _equal_. + +An Irregular Polygon may have _unequal_ sides and _unequal_ angles, or +_unequal_ sides and _equal_ angles, or _equal_ sides and _unequal_ +angles. In this chapter regular polygons are only treated of. + +Polygons are named according to the number of sides or angles they may +have. A polygon having + + 5 sides is a Pentagon. + 6 “ a Hexagon. + 7 “ a Heptagon. + 8 “ an Octagon. + 9 “ a Nonagon. + 10 “ a Decagon. + 11 “ a Undecagon. + 12 “ a Dodecagon. + 13 “ a Tridecagon. + 14 “ a Tetradecagon. + 15 “ a Pentadecagon. + 16 “ a Hexadecagon. + 17 “ a Heptadecagon. + 18 “ an Octadecagon. + 19 “ a Nonodecagon. + 20 “ a Bisdecagon. + +Figs. 11, 12, and 13 are self-explanatory. + +Fig. 14. From a given point D without to draw Tangents to a given circle +A B C. + +Join E the centre of the circle D. + +Bisect D E in F. With F as centre and F E radius describe the circle D B +E cutting the given circle in A and B. Draw the required tangents from D +to touch the given circle at A and B. N.B.--A tangent to a circle or arc +is always at right angles to a radius drawn to the point of contact. + +[Illustration: FIG. 9] + +[Illustration: FIG. 10] + +[Illustration: FIG. 11] + +[Illustration: FIGS. 12 and 13] + +[Illustration: FIG. 14] + +Fig. 15. To draw an Exterior Tangent to two given circles A B and C D K. + +Join the centres E and F cutting the circumference of the larger circle +at K. Bisect E F in G. From K in the line K F cut off a part K P equal +to the radius of the smaller circle E B. + +With centre G and radius K F describe a semicircle; with F as centre and +radius F P describe a circle. The semicircle cuts this circle at H. Join +F H, and produce it to C. At E draw E A parallel to F C. Join A C, which +is the exterior tangent required. + +Fig. 16. To draw an Interior Tangent to two given circles B E and F D. + +Join the centres E and F. Bisect E F in G, and describe a semicircle on +E F. From K on the larger circle mark off K J and E F equal to the +radius of the smaller circle, and with F as centre and F J as radius +describe an arc passing through semicircle at H. Join F H cutting the +larger circle at C, and draw E A parallel to F H. The points of contact +are A and C, through which the _interior_ tangent is drawn. + +Fig. 17. Within a given circle to describe _any_ Regular Polygon--say a +Pentagon. + +Draw the diameter A F and divide it into the same number of parts as the +required polygon is to have sides--in this case it will be five parts. +To divide the diameter into the number of equal parts, draw a line A X +any angle to A F. Set off any convenient measurement five times on this +line. Join point 5 to F, and draw the lines 4, 4´, 3, 3´, &c., parallel +to 5 F to meet the diameter. With A and F as centre and A F as radius +describe arcs intersecting at L. From + +[Illustration: FIG. 15] + +[Illustration: FIG. 16] + +[Illustration: FIG. 17] + +L draw a line through the _Second_ division on A F at point 2´ cutting +the circumference at B. Join A B. This is the length of the side of the +required polygon. Set off the length of the side A B around the +circumference at C, D, and E. Join the points A, B, C, D, E to complete +the required _pentagon_. + +N.B.--A Regular Hexagon may be inscribed in a circle by setting off the +length of its radius _six_ times round the circumference, and joining +the points. + +Fig. 18. On a given line to construct _any_ Regular Polygon,--say a +Pentagon. + +Produce the given line A B to R, and with B as centre and A B as radius +describe a semicircle A C R. Divide the semicircle into as many parts as +the polygon is to have sides--in this case five. Draw a line from point +B to the _second_ division point Q C. Bisect A B and B C to find P, +which will be the centre of a circle passing through the points A B C. +Mark off the points D and E, making the distances C D, D E, and E A each +equal to A B. Join C D, D E, and E A to complete the required polygon. + +Fig. 19. Special method of drawing an Octagon in a given circle. + +Draw two diameters B F and H D at right angles to each other. Bisect +angles H K B and B K D in the lines K A and K C. Produce the lines K A, +K C, to meet the circumference at G and E. The _eight_ points thus found +on the circumference are joined to make the required octagon. + +Fig. 20. To inscribe an Octagon in a given square. + +With each corner of the square as centres, and half the diagonal of the +square as radius, describe arcs + +[Illustration: FIG. 18] + +[Illustration: FIG. 19] + +[Illustration: FIG. 20] + +cutting the sides of the square at F, G, H, K, &c. Join these points to +complete the required octagon. + +Fig. 21. To describe a circle to touch two given straight lines A B and +A C, one point of contact being given. + +Bisect the angle B A C in A D. At C draw a perpendicular to A C, meeting +A D at D. With D as centre and D C as radius describe the required +circle. + +Fig. 22. To inscribe a _circle_ in a given triangle A B C. + +Bisect any two of the angles as at B and C. The lines of bisection +intersect at D. Produce B D to E. With centre D and distance D E +inscribe the required circle. + +Fig. 23. A square being given, to inscribe _four equal circles_ each +touching _two_ others and _two_ sides of the square. + +Draw the diagonals and two lines parallel to the sides through the +centre of the given square. Join the extremities of the latter lines to +obtain the points 1, 2, 3, and 4. With these points as centres, and 1 E +drawn perpendicular to C A as radius, inscribe the four required +circles. + +Fig. 24. A square being given, to inscribe _four equal circles_ each +touching _two_ other and _one_ side of the square. + +Draw the diagonals and two lines through the centre parallel to the +sides of the given square A B C D. Bisect any one of the angles made by +a diagonal and one of the sides of the square, as at D. Produce the line +of bisection until it meets the vertical centre line at point 1. With +the central point O as centre + +[Illustration: FIG. 21] + +[Illustration: FIG. 22] + +[Illustration: FIG. 23] + +[Illustration: FIG. 24] + +and O 1 as radius, describe a circle to obtain the points 1, 2, 3, 4. +These are the centres of the required circles. + + N.B.--If the central portion made by the meeting of the four + circles were removed, the remaining parts of the circles would form + a figure known as the _quatrefoil_, a form common in architecture. + +Fig. 25. To inscribe _six equal circles_ in a given equilateral triangle +A B C. + +Bisect the angles of the given equilateral triangle as at E, and draw +the bisection lines through to meet the centre of each side. Bisect the +angle A B J to obtain the point D on C K. Through D draw G F parallel to +A B, also F H and H G parallel to the sides of the triangle. With D as +centre and D K as radius inscribe one of the required circles, and with +the same radius and F, 2, H, 1, and G as centres inscribe the remaining +circles. + +Fig. 26. (1) Within a given circle to inscribe a _hexagon_. (2) Without +the same circle to describe a _hexagon_. (3) Within the inner hexagon to +inscribe _three equal circles_ each touching each other and two sides of +the hexagon. + +(1) Mark off the length of the radius of the given circle B D F six +times on the circumference as at D E F, &c. Draw the three diameters A +D, B E, and G F, and produce them a little beyond these points. Join the +points G, D, E, F, &c., by straight lines to produce the hexagon within +the given circle. (2) Bisect the angle K O H, the line of bisection will +cut the circle at point R. Through R draw H K parallel to B C. With O as +centre and O H as radius describe a circle cutting the produced +diameters at K, L, M, &c. + +[Illustration: FIG. 25] + +[Illustration: FIG. 26] + +Join the latter points to produce the required hexagon without the given +circle. (3) Join the points G, E, A. This will obtain the points 1, 2, 3 +on the diameters. Draw 1, 4 perpendicular to G B. With 1, 4 as radius +and 1 as centre describe one of the required circles. 3 and 2 are the +centres of the other two required circles. + +Fig. 27. Within a given circle to inscribe any number of _equal +circles_, each touching the circumference and two other circles. + +Divide the circle in the same number of parts as the number of circles +required--in this case five. Draw the five radii. Bisect the angles B D +A and A D C. Draw E F perpendicular to D A. D E F is a triangle any two +angles of which bisect as at D and E. From point 1 thus obtained on D A +and radius 1 A inscribe a circle. From D as centre and D 1 as radius +describe a circle cutting the five radii in points 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. With +the latter points as centres and 1 A as radius describe the remaining +required circles. + +Fig. 28. This problem is worked in the same manner as Fig. 27, _seven_ +circles being inscribed instead of _five_ in a given circle. + +Fig. 29. To inscribe a _trefoil_, or _three equal_ semicircles having +adjacent diameters in a given circle. + +Divide the given circle into six equal parts by marking off the length +of the radius six times on the circumference. From the centre D to these +six points draw radii. Bisect any of the six sectors as at E. Draw E C +obtaining F on one of the radials. On either side of F draw lines from +it to meet the alternate radials perpendicular to B D and D C, and + +[Illustration: FIG. 27] + +[Illustration: FIG. 28] + +[Illustration: FIG. 29] + +join their extremities, thus making the equilateral triangle 1, 2, 3. On +the sides of this triangle describe the three semicircles required by +using points 1, 2, and 3 as centres, and 2 F as radius. The completed +figure is the trefoil, and the inscribed three semicircles have their +diameters adjacent. + +Fig. 30. To describe an equilateral triangle within and without a given +circle. + +[Illustration: FIG. 30] + +Draw six radii dividing the given circle into six equal parts. Join +their alternate extremities as at L M N. This makes the required +_equilateral_ triangle within the circle. Draw tangents to the circle at +L M and N, or lines at right angles to L O, M O, and N O. Produce the +latter radii to meet the tangents at A B C. A B C is the _equilateral_ +triangle without the circle. + + N.B.--It will be seen that the triangle B A C is made up of four + similar triangles each equal to L M N. Also, if six of the smaller + triangles, as A L M, were placed around points A B and C a hexagon + would be formed. This figure is very useful in designing + geometrical and other repeating _all over_ patterns in ornament. + + +CONIC SECTIONS. + +The figures known as the Conic Sections are the Ellipse, the Parabola, +and the Hyperbola. + +The Cone may have other sections in addition to these, such as the +section through any point below the apex, on the axis, and taken +parallel to the base; this would be a _circle_, and a section through +the apex perpendicular to the base would be an _isosceles triangle_. + +The Ellipse is the curve of the section made by a plane passing +_obliquely_ through a cone from side to side. + +The Parabola is the curve of the section made by a plane passing through +a cone _parallel_ to _one_ of its sides. + +The Hyperbola is the curve of a section made by a plane passing through +a cone _parallel_ to its _axis_, or _inclined_ at a greater angle to its +base than its side, but _not_ through its apex. + +Fig. 31. The elevation of a cone is shown at A B C. A section through +point X at right angles to the axis of the cone is a _Circle_. A section +passing through and across the cone from point X, but not at right +angles to the axis, is an _Ellipse_, as at X 1. A section through X +parallel to the opposite side A C is a Parabola, as at X 2. A section +through X parallel to the axis, as at X 3, or a section through X at any +other angle greater than the angle made by the side and base, as at X 4, +is a Hyperbola. + +Figs. 32, 33, and 34 show the actual shape of the sections X 1, X 2, and +X 3 respectively. + +Fig. 32. In this figure the _major_ or _transverse_ axis of the Ellipse +is equal to X 1. To find the _minor_ or _conjugate_ axis bisect X 1 +(Fig. 31) in H, draw through it F G parallel to A B, drop a +perpendicular from F to _f_, and describe the semicircle _f h g_. From H +drop a perpendicular to A B, and produce it to _h_ to meet the +semicircle, _k h_ is then half the length of the minor axis of the +Ellipse, as C D. Divide A E into any number of equal parts, and A G into +the same number. Draw from C lines through the divisions as 1, 2, 3 &c., +and from D lines to 1´ 2´ 3´ &c. The curve of the required Ellipse will +pass through the intersections of these lines, as at 1´´ 3´´ 5´´ &c. + +Fig. 33. In this figure, the Parabola, the line C D is equal to X 2 +(Fig. 31), while A B is _twice_ the length of D 2 (Fig. 31). Divide G B +into any number of equal parts, and join the points of the divisions to +C. Divide D B into the same number of equal parts, and draw lines from +the points of division parallel to D C to meet the similar numbered +lines drawn from B G; through these meeting points the curve of the +Parabola will be drawn. + +Fig. 34. The only difference between the working of this figure--the +Hyperbola--and the Parabola is that the lines which in the Parabola were +drawn parallel to G B, are here drawn to a point E on C D produced, C D +being equal to X 3 (Fig. 31). This point E is found by drawing the line +from 7 on D B to E on C D produced, where C E equals twice X O (Fig. +31). + +Fig. 35. To describe an Archimedean spiral of any number of +revolutions--say _three_, the longest radius A B being given. + +[Illustration: FIG. 31] + +[Illustration: FIG. 32] + +[Illustration: FIG. 33] + +[Illustration: FIG. 34] + +[Illustration: FIG. 35.--Archimedean Spiral.] + +Divide the radius A B into _three_ equal parts for the three +revolutions. With B as centre and B A as radius describe a circle, and +divide it into any number of equal parts--say eight, by drawing four +diameters. Each of the three divisions on A B is divided into eight +equal parts. With centre B and the point of each succeeding division as +radius, describe arcs, meeting in following order the _next nearest_ +diameter as shown at arcs 1 1´´, 2 2´´, 3 3´´, &c. Through point 8 with +radius B 8, the second division, describe a circle, and through point 16 +with centre B describe a circle. In these two divisions arcs are drawn +as described above for the division A 8, &c., to the next nearest +diameter. The _spiral_ is then drawn through the points thus formed on +the diameters, which mark its path as at 1´, 2´, 3´, &c., until it ends +in its centre at B. + +Fig. 36. To draw Goldman’s Volute, the _cathetus_ C F being given. + +Divide C F into 15 equal parts. With C as centre describe a circle A E B +to form the eye of the volute, making the diameter 3⅓ of these parts. +Bisect A C and C B in 1 and 4. On 1 4 draw a square, 1, 2, 3, 4. Produce +the sides 1 2, 2 3, and 3 4 to G, H, and I respectively. + +Divide 1 C into three equal parts. Draw lines parallel to 1 G through +the points of division to P and L, which cut the line C 2 in the points +6 and 10. Through these points (6 and 10) draw lines to M and Q parallel +to E H, cutting C 3 in 7 and 11. In the same way draw lines parallel to +3 I from 7 and 11 to N and R. The points 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, &c., will then +form the centres of the series of quadrants which are to form the _outer +spiral_ that begins with the radius 1 F. To describe the _inner spiral_. +A´ F´ in Fig. 36 (_a_) is equal to A F (Fig. 36). F´ S´ is made equal to +the breadth of the fillet at the top F S. V´ F´ is drawn at right angles +to F´ A´ and equal to C 1. By joining V´ A´ and drawing T´ S´ parallel +to V´ F´, then T´ S´ is obtained which will be the length of _half_ the +side of the square for drawing the inner spiral. The method for +obtaining the _inner spiral_ is the same as for the _outer_. + +Fig. 37. There is no geometric means of drawing a perfect catenary +curve; at best we can only obtain it by an approximation in geometry. +The curve is formed by suspending a chain from two points and pricking +points along the curve of the chain. These + +[Illustration: FIG. 36.--Goldman’s volute.] + +points will mark the path of the catenary. In the accompanying figure +three catenary curves are drawn from a chain suspended from points A and +B. + +Fig. 38.--To draw a cycloid curve when the _generating_ circle is +given. In order to find the length of the line A B on which the circle +rolls, and which must be the length of the circumference of the given +circle, we must first find _approximately_ that length by + +[Illustration: FIG. 37.--Catenary curves.] + +[Illustration: FIG. 38.--Cycloid curve.] + +the following method. Draw the vertical diameter of the circle D C. Draw +D M at right angles to D C, and make it _three_ times the length of the +radius of the circle; make an angle of 30° at E, and draw a line +parallel to D M of any convenient length. The line E L making the angle +of 30° cuts C B in L. Join M L. M L is the approximate length of half +the circumference. Make A C and C B each equal to M L. Then A B is the +length _approximately_ of the circumference, drawn at right angles to C +D on which the circle rolls. Divide now half the circle into eight equal +parts, and draw a line from E S parallel to A B, and equal to M L. +Divide E S into eight equal parts. From the points 1, 2, 3, &c., draw +lines parallel to A C. With centres 1´, 2´, 3´, &c., and with radius E +C, describe arcs cutting them at 1´´, 2´´, 3´´, &c. The curve A D, which +must be drawn by free-hand, will then pass through these points. +Complete the cycloid by drawing D B in a similar manner. The length A B +can also be found approximately by dividing C D into seven equal parts, +and taking A B = 22 of those parts. + + + + +GLOSSARY OF TERMS USED IN ORNAMENT + + +_Many of the terms which appear in this Glossary have been explained in +the previous chapters. The reader should refer back to the text when any +of the terms are inadequately described here._ + + _Æsthetics_, the science of the beautiful. + + _Æsthetic_, when applied to ornament, not only means “beautiful,” + hut that beauty was the sole aim of its production, and + distinguishes it from symbolic and mnemonic ornament. See page 143. + + _Allegory_, the representation of one thing under the image of + another. It was mostly confined to human figures, but to aid its + comprehension attributes were added. Among the Pagans strength was + shown as Hercules with his club; health as a woman with a serpent; + rivers were represented as gods with crowns of sedge or rushes; + towns as gods or goddesses with mural crowns. Among the Christians, + a man holding a lamb, or a shepherd with his flock, was an + allegorical representation of Christ the Good Shepherd; the seven + cardinal virtues and the seven deadly sins were represented by + allegorical figures, and each had its proper attributes. + + _Alternation_, two different forms in succession, or alternating + with each other. Figs. 67, 75, and 76. + + _Anthemion_, a radiating ornament with a palmate outline; the + honeysuckle ornament of the Greeks. + + _Attributes_, the things assigned to any one. Amongst the Pagans + the eagle and thunderbolt to Jupiter, the trident to Neptune, the + peacock to Juno, &c. Amongst the Christians the nimbus was the + attribute of divinity, saintship, or martyrdom, the lily of + chastity, &c. + + _Balance_, equilibrium or counterpoise. In compositions that are + not symmetrical the _weight_ of the masses must be alike on either + side of a central axis; in those of symmetrical outline with + different fillings there must be equality of weight in the + fillings. Renaissance ornament affords many admirable examples of + balance. See page 46, and Figs. 126 and 131. + + _Banding_, decorating by means of horizontal stripes, mostly filled + with ornament. Figs. 116 and 117. + + _Catenary_, the curve formed by a chain hanging from two points. + Fig. 27. + + _Cauliculus_, the shoot or stem of a plant forming the volutes + under the angles of the abacus, and those in the centre of each + face of a Corinthian capital; in modern works this name is mostly + confined to the central spirals, the outer ones being called + volutes. Figs. 180, 181, 185, 187, and 188. + + _Checkering_, covering a surface with a square pattern like a + chess-board, in which the colour or the ornament alternates. The + outline is formed by equidistant vertical and horizontal lines + crossing one another. Figs. 98 and 99. + + _Colour_, apart from the literal meaning of the word, is a vague + technical term to express character and contrast in ornament. + + _Complexity_, interweaving or intricacy; the opposite of + simplicity. Ornament in which the leading forms are not apparent, + is mainly to be found in Celtic, Saracenic, Moresque, and Gothic + ornament. It is also characteristic of the decadent periods of all + historic styles. + + _Contrast_, the opposition of dissimilar figures or positions, by + which one contributes to the effect of the other; _e. g._ the + straight line with the circle, vertical and horizontal lines + alternating; in colour black with white, &c.; ornamental forms + where flat and sharp curves contrast with one another; a plain + space alternating with an ornamented one, or an enriched moulding + round a plain panel, or _vice versâ_, &c. See page 43. + + _Conventional._ This is a word of great elasticity. In early + decoration natural objects were highly conventionalized through the + want of skill in the artists, who could not copy, but only portray + their impressions, thus the Egyptians and early Greeks represented + water by the zig-zag. These early conventionalized forms were + sometimes perpetuated through religious conservatism, after the + artists had become skilful. All ornament is more or less + conventional, but the term is usually applied to designate that + ornament in which the most beautiful and characteristic floral + forms have been abstracted and adapted to the material employed and + the effect wanted. The styles most characterized by conventional + ornament are the Greek and the early Gothic; they are equally + effective as ornament in their respective countries, but the Greek + has all the grace and vigour of the highest plant form, while + Gothic has mostly only the vigour. Figs. 49-54. The Romans and the + Renaissance architects also successfully conventionalized. Figs. 91 + and 129. Convention now too often means leaving out all grace and + vigour. Saracenic-Persian ornament is perhaps the least + conventionalized of fairly good ornament. Figs. 49, 53, 54, 118, + and 119. _Conventional_ is also used in opposition to _realistic_ + ornament. + + _Counterchange_, a pattern in which the ornament and ground are + mostly similar in shape but different in colour and alternate with + each other. See Figs. 171 and 172. + + _Cymatium_, the capping to a vertical member, as the cymatium of + the abacus of the Roman Doric, of the architrave, of the frieze, of + the corona. See Appendix on the orders. + + _Diaper_, derived from jasper, originally employed to designate + those coloured patterns on stuffs that suggested the flowerings of + jasper; subsequently a pattern enclosed in repealing geometrical + forms not composed of straight lines; but unhappily employed of + late years to designate any repeating patterns enclosed in + geometric forms, including checkers and net-work. Figs. 101, 107, + 109, and 110. + + _Emblem_, in Latin, means embossed ornament on vessels, inlaid + work, and mosaic. In modern English it is a device, and was the + animal or thing that was painted on a shield to show the temper or + striking quality or achievement of the warrior. It is also used as + an allegorical representation of some virtue or quality. We say the + cock is an emblem of watchfulness; the lion, of courage; the + scales, of justice; the lily, of purity; but the latter may be used + as a symbol of the Virgin Mary. + + _Equilibrium._ See _Balance_. Also Figs. 130 and 160. + + _Enlargement of Subject_, _e. g._ the figure of Bacchus is wanted + for a given space which it does not fill; the due filling of the + space may sometimes be attained by the addition of his attributes, + as a leopard, a thyrsus, a vine and grapes; accessories even may be + wanted, as a satyr, mænad, rocks, trees, &c. + + _Eurythmy_, harmony or elegance in ornament; a quality obtained by + the use of contrasted but harmonious and dignified forms, expressed + in a measured or proportionate quantity. + + _Even distribution_, the plain space and ornament proportionately + arranged; Indian ornament gives the most mechanical instance of + this, while good Roman and Cinque Cento pilaster panels give the + most artistic examples of this arrangement. It is sometimes + improperly used to designate the balancing of masses in a design. + Figs. 101, 102, 143, &c. + + _Expression_, the method of representing ornament by various means, + as in outline by the pencil, pen, or point; in painting, by the + brush; and in relief or sunk work by modelling. In another sense + _expression_ is giving the proper treatment and character to + ornament. + + _Fanciful_, a term sometimes applied to grotesque creations, for + example, to the hybrid animals, and the figures ending in foliage, + met with in Pompeian and other decorations. Figs. 122, 131, 134, + and 135. + + _Fitness_, absolute propriety; beautiful ornament adapted to its + purpose and not interfering with the use of the object ornamented. + See page 48. + + _Flexibility_, a quality derived from the appearance of plants of + free growth; the freedom and elasticity found in natural forms when + converted into ornament give a look of flexibility, in opposition + to rigid and angular lines which produce a look of _inflexibility_. + See Fig. 54. + + _Fluted_, channelled in hollows, semi-circular, segmental, or + elliptical in section; like those on some of the shafts of Greek + and Roman columns. See also Figs. 75 and 76. + + _Geometric_, or “geometrical arrangement,” the setting out of all + good ornament; also the bounding lines for ornament constructed on + a basis of geometry, as in diapers, &c.; the triangle, square, + lozenge, diamond, the circle, the hexagon, octagon, and other + polygons, are the chief geometrical forms for patterns in ornament. + Saracenic decorations are pre-eminently geometric in construction. + See Figs. 101, 102, 106, 107, 110, and 172. + + _Grotesque_, from the word grot or grotto. When the fantastic + arabesques of ancient Roman decoration were discovered under the + baths and in grottoes, they were originally called grotesque, and + were imitated in the Vatican. (See Figs. 122 and 128.) The word is + mainly used now to describe the coarse and humorous carvings of + heads, satyrs, &c., originally used to decorate the built grottoes + of the late Renaissance, which gradually overspread all buildings. + The word is also used to denote the quaint class of Gothic + sculptured creations (Fig. 131), such as winged dragons, grinning + monsters, &c., that serve to decorate the ends of dripstone + mouldings; gargoyles, bosses, and finials, &c. + + _Growth_ is a concise expression for those forms which denote the + special vigour shown by plants at certain epochs of their growth, + the twist of the stem of creeping plants to get light to the + flowers, the bursting of the bud from a capsule, or the clasp of a + tendril. Examples are to be met with in the volutes of Greek + Corinthian capitals, in the base of the tripod on the choragic + monument of Lysikrates, in Renaissance sculpture, and in early + Gothic. + + _Guilloche_, snare-work; an ornament composed of parallel curved + lines flowing and crossing each other; these forms may best be + illustrated by the bending of ropes round circular pins so as to + cross one another. See Figs. 37, 38, 39, and 40. + + _Hieroglyphic_, sacred carving, mostly applied to Egyptian picture + and symbolic writing. See Fig. 162. + + _Idealistic_, used by some writers as equivalent to conventional, + in opposition to “realistic”. + + _Imbrication_, overlapping scale-like ornaments; as seen in + fir-cones, the hop, and curved tiles on roofs, are examples of + imbrication. The bark of the Chili pine is a peculiar instance of + horizontal imbrication which is something like that of a Roman + roof. It is used as decoration on roofs, torus mouldings, and small + columns, and is a common way of filling certain spaces on Italian + majolica. See Fig. 26, A, B, C. + + _Inappropriate ornament_, that which is improperly applied, so as + to spoil the appearance, or interfere with the use of an object; is + false, out of scale, or redundant. See page 21. + + _Independent ornaments._ Things that are beautiful, quaint, or + curious, that may be attached to a wall or surface, as festoons, + shields, medallions, trophies, &c. See page 21, also Fig. 133. + + _Interchange_ is when running vertical or horizontal patterns are + divided by a vertical or horizontal axis, the colour of the ground + on either side of it being different, the ornament on each side of + the axis being of the colour of the opposite ground. See Figs. 173, + 174. + + _Interlacing_, ornament composed of bands, ribbons, ropes, rushes, + osiers, &c., woven together, or crossing at intervals, as seen in + Celtic, Byzantine, and Saracenic ornament; among examples of + interlaced work may be mentioned braided, trellis, basket, and + woven work. Figs. 22, 23. + + _Intersection_, the points at which lines or other forms cut one + another. + + _Monotony_, sameness of tone; often shown in excessive repetition; + a very undesirable feature in ornament: patterns within diapers + without contrasting elements; mouldings coming together whose + widths and profiles are nearly equal; panelling without sufficient + variety in size; carved ornament of nearly equal relief--in short, + any lack of variety in the composition, modelling, or colour of + ornament produces monotony. + + _Mnemonic_, ornament in which written signs or other elements are + used for the purpose of aiding the memory. See page 130. Figs. 162, + 163. + + _Naturalistic_, those forms that are used for decoration, that + resemble the spots and eyes on butterflies’ wings, or the markings + on the skins of reptiles and quadrupeds, or on the feathers of + birds; mostly found in the ornament of savage tribes. + + _Network_, as opposed to checkers, are squares set lozengewise or + forming diamonds; but the word is commonly applied to any figures + in outline, rectilinear or otherwise, covering a surface. See Fig. + 102. + + _Order_, regular disposition; a pleasing sequence in the + arrangement of opposed forms. Order is of such vital importance in + a design that ornament can scarcely have any existence without it. + + _Powdering_, sprays, flowers, leaves, and other decorative units + sprinkled on a ground; “powdering” is a favourite method of + decoration with the Japanese, and was with the Mediævals. See pp. + 63, 80, and 83, and Figs. 85, 103, and 105. + + _Proportion_, the harmonic spacing of lines and surfaces; of the + length, width, and projection of solids; the ratio between + succeeding units in flowing ornament, and the relation between the + spaces occupied by the ornament and its ground. + + _Radiation_, the divergence from a point of straight or curved + lines. Radiating ornament is improved by the point being below the + straight or curved line from which the radiation starts. Explained + at page 44. See Figs. 49, 50, and 51. + + _Realistic_, a style of decoration in which forms are applied + without alteration from natural forms or objects, or without + apparent alteration; it is opposed to the “conventional,” and is + rarely found in the best periods of good historic styles. See Figs. + 1 and 146. + + _Repetition_, a succession of the same decorative unit. For + explanation see pages 40-43. and Figs. 3, 9, and 32. + + _Reeded_, convex forms applied to a flat or curved surface, + producing the reverse effect of “fluting”; some of the columns in + Egyptian architecture are reeded, being sculptured to represent a + bundle of reeds tied together. See Figs. 76A and 76B. + + _Repose_, rest; the absence of apparent movement in ornament; this + apparent movement may be seen in some flamboyant tracery and + Saracenic work, and in some bad paper-hangings, &c.; also the + absence of spottiness. See page 45. + + _Scale_, the relative proportion of the different parts of a + decorative composition to each other, to the whole, and to the + thing ornamented. If a design is composed of different organic + forms, they should, as a rule, keep their natural proportion to + each other. Attributes are, however, often made to a much larger + scale in Greek coins and engraved gems. Equality in scale need not + be used when parts are cut off from each other by inclosing + mouldings, as in isolated panels, pilasters, medallions, spandrels, + &c.; the inclosed spaces may be filled with other subjects of + smaller or larger scale, as with landscapes, heads, or + inscriptions; the frieze of a room, from its greater importance, + may have its decoration larger in scale than the panels of the + door or shutters. The scale employed in the decoration of rooms, of + floors, or of pieces of furniture, may increase or destroy their + importance; hence, except in rare instances, the human figure + should not exceed its natural size, and may want to be much + smaller. And this precaution is equally important in the use of + plants; if the flowers or leaves in ornament are made gigantic, + they destroy the scale of the room or floor; though it may be known + that leaves four feet in diameter or six feet long actually exist. + + _Scalloping_ or _scolloping_, forming an edge with semi-circles or + segments, the convex side being outwards. + + _Scroll_, a roll of paper or parchment. As a unit in ornament, it + is usually applied to two spirals, each attached to the opposite + ends of a curved stem, each spiral coiling the reverse way, but the + word is often applied to ornament composed of a meander with + spirals. + + _Series_, usually the sequence of several dissimilar forms at + regular intervals, as the bead and reel in bead-mouldings, the + sequence of the same text in Saracenic work, and also a sequence of + forms similar in shape but in an increasing or decreasing order, as + branches of plants with leaves getting smaller from bottom to top. + + _Setting out_, the planning of a scheme of decoration; the first + constructive lines or marking-out of the ornament; the skeleton + lines of a design. See pages 26, 40, and 68. + + _Soffit_, an architectural term applied to the under side of any + fixed portion, as the soffit of a beam, an architrave, a cornice, + an arch, or a vault. + + _Spacing_, the marking of widths in mouldings, panels, stiles and + rails, borders, &c. Equality of division in decoration is, in most + cases, ineffective, and should be guarded against; harmonious + variety in such widths and distances is desirable for getting a + good effect. See pages 42, 62, 65, and 68-71. Also Figs. C, D, 88 + and 89. + + _Spiral_, the elevation of a wire continuously twisted round a + cylinder, or cone, also the plan of one twisted round a cone; in + ornament the word spiral, when used as a substantive, mostly means + the latter form. The curved line forming a volute (as in the Ionic + capital) and the outline of the wave ornament; the line of + construction in univalve shells. See Figs. 24, 41, 42, 43, 178, &c. + + _Stability_, firmness and strength in the general appearance of a + design; in climbing plants this appearance can only be given by + their attachment to a central upright or to the vertical sides of + the frame; the straight line is the chief factor of stability in + ornament. See page 42. Where many curved lines are used in the + decoration of long panels, straight-lined forms must be introduced + to counteract the effect of instability in the curved ones. See + Figs. 123 and 128. This is especially the case in pilasters which + are architectural features of support; and for the same reason the + heavier forms should be kept at the bottom and the lighter ones at + the top. + + _Style_, originally meant handwriting. In historic styles it means + the expression of the taste and skill of the people who produced + the work of art, whether it be architecture, sculpture, or + painting. Bygone styles are useful for study, and may be copied or + paraphrased, but can never be re-created, because the genius, + knowledge, opportunities, and surroundings of any later period are + unlikely to be the same. We classify them under the head of + conventional (sometimes called idealistic), realistic, and + naturalistic. It is also used to express good drawing or modelling, + which conveys the elegance, grace, or vigour of the best natural + forms. Sometimes it is applied to a composition in which those + qualities arc expressed, in contradistinction to the ill-drawn, + flabby, or commonplace. + + _Spotting._ This word has nearly the same meaning as “powdering,” + the only difference being that the units of form in such decoration + have a geometrical basis and are mostly equidistant, the ground + occupying much larger space than the ornament. See Fig. 80. + + _Stripe_, usually applied in ornament to narrow bands. + + _Suitability_, æsthetic and practical fitness; the great thing to + remember is the nature, surface, and shape of the object to be + decorated, and to design the ornament accordingly, for it is + evident that what would be a good ornament for one object or + position might be bad for another. + + _Superimposed_ or _superposed_, an ornament which is laid on the + surface of another, such as a large flowing pattern on a ground + covered with a smaller pattern, either geometric or floral; or a + broad, ribbon-like ornament laid on a pattern formed of narrow and + fine lines. This sort of ornamentation is mostly seen in the + decoration of the Saracens, but occasionally in that of the + Renaissance artists. In the wall-patterns of the Alhambra, we often + find two, three, and sometimes four different designs superimposed + on each other, the judicious use of different colours and gold + preventing confusion in the pattern; the complexity is sometimes of + a well-ordered kind. See Figs. 101, 102, and 104. + + _Subordination._ A regular gradation from the most important + feature to the least important. See the central panel of ceiling, + Fig. 89. + + _Symbol_ originally meant a token or a ticket among the Greeks; by + the Romans it meant the same, and also a signet. In modern English + it means a sign, emblem, or figurative representation. In + ornamental art it is mostly used to express some beautiful thing + that by knowledge or association brings to the mind some power or + dignity connected with religion. Attributes are often used as + symbols of the divinity to which they belong--the bow of Diana, the + thyrsus of Bacchus (Fig. 167), and the trident of Neptune, &c. In + Christian ornament the fish and lamb are mostly symbols of the + Saviour. It is sometimes difficult to determine when anything + should be called a symbol, an emblem, or an allegorical + representation; for instance, whether the Apocalyptic calf is a + symbol, an emblem, or an allegorical representation of St. Luke. + + _Symmetry_, equality of form and mass on either side of a central + line; absolute sameness in the two sides of a piece of ornament. + See Figs. 127 and 130. + + _Tangential Junction_, the meeting of curves at their tangential + points, so that they flow into one another without making an angle. + The principal constructive lines in foliated ornament and scroll + patterns should illustrate “tangential junction,” _i. e._ the + branches and curves should flow out of the central stem. See p. 45, + and Figs. 25 and 53. + + _Uniformity_, being of one shape; the square and circle are uniform + figures; it is one of the main causes of grandeur and dignity, but + if absolute, results in monotony. The Greek temples had apparently + uniform columns placed at uniform distances, and monotony was + avoided by delicate variations in the size and spacing of the + columns. + + _Unit_, the smallest or simplest _complete_ expression of ornament + in any scheme of decoration. + + _Unity_, perfect accord in all the parts of a design. Unity is + often a characteristic of designs that are very monotonous, so by + itself it will scarcely render a design pleasing. + + _Unsymmetrical_, without symmetry, such as the volute. See the word + _Balance_. + + _Variety_, the absence of similarity; a word embracing an infinity + of differences, from two things that are not absolutely alike, to + two things that are absolutely unlike. The judicious use of variety + gives interest to ornament, but uniformity with slight variety + gives the most dignity. + + + RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED, + LONDON & BUNGAY. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] M. Henri Mayeux, _La Composition Décorative_, 8vo, Paris, s.a. + +[2] See M. César Daly’s _Motifs Historique_, fol., Paris, 1881. + +[3] The chambers under Titus’ baths in which the paintings were found, +were originally parts of Nero’s golden house. + +[4] There are, however, figures of men and animals occasionally found +in their carved wood-work, tiles, damascened work, carpets, and +embroidery. + +[5] Many of the frets are woven spirals. + +[6] There is, however, a strong objection, from a sanitary point of +view, to the use of absorbent hangings, especially when the surface +is rough, for they not only absorb infection, but hold dust, which +generally contains the germs of disease. + +[7] There arc many styles of Persian ornamentation--that of the +Achæmenides, probably that of the Macedonians after the conquest of +Persia by Alexander the Great, that of the Sasanides, that of the +Saracens after they conquered the country, and their ornamentation +was doubtless influenced by the subsequent Mongul conquest. That +ornamentation which is generally called Persian, except modern work, +seems to be Saracenic. + +[8] In the sixteenth chapter of the Korân called the “Bee,” it is +said, “and of the fruit of the palm-trees and of grapes, ye obtain an +inebriating liquor and also good nourishment.” + +[9] + + “Eve’s tempter thus the rabbins have express’d, + A cherub’s face, a reptile all the rest.”--POPE. + + +[10] From Dr. Richter’s discoveries at Cyprus, it seems probable that +the Ionic volute may have taken its rise from an enlargement of the +Egyptian lotus. + + + + + + + +Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + + + + + + + + + + BOOKS BY + RUPERT HUGHES + + + CLIPPED WINGS. Frontispiece. Post 8vo. + WHAT WILL PEOPLE SAY? Illustrated. Post 8vo. + THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. Frontispiece. 16mo. + EMPTY POCKETS. Illustrated. Post 8vo. + + * * * * * + + HARPER & BROTHERS. NEW YORK + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + + CLIPPED WINGS + PUBLISHED SERIALLY AS “THE BARGE OF DREAMS” + + A NOVEL + + + BY + + RUPERT HUGHES + + AUTHOR OF + “WHAT WILL PEOPLE SAY?” + “EMPTY POCKETS” ETC. + + + + HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS + NEW YORK AND LONDON + + + + + CLIPPED WINGS + + * * * * * + + Copyright, 1914, by Harper & Brothers + Printed in the United States of America + Published January, 1916 + + + + + TO + ROBERT H. DAVIS + WITH AFFECTIONATE ADMIRATION + + + + + Clipped Wings + + + + + CHAPTER I + + +The proud lady in the new runabout was homeward bound from a shopping +raid. It was her first voyage down-town alone with the thing. She guided +the old family horse up to her curb in a graceful sweep, but, like a new +elevator-boy, could not come to a stop at the stopping-place. + +She could go forward or back, but she could not exactly negotiate her +own stepping-block. As she blushingly struggled for it she heard the +scream of a child in desperate terror. It inspired an equal terror, for +it came from her own house. + +She had left her two children at home, expecting playmate guests. She +had extracted from them every imaginable promise to be good and to +abstain from danger. But she knew how easily they romped into perils. +She heard the cry again, and clutched her breast in a little death of +fear as she half leaped, half toppled from her carriage and ran up the +walk, leaving the horse to his own devices. + +The poor woman was wondering which of her beloved had fallen on the +shears or into the fire. Which of the dogs had gone mad, and bitten +whom. While she stumbled up the steps she heard the outcry repeated and +she paused. + +That voice was the voice of neither of her own children. The thought +that a neighbor’s child might have perished in her home was almost more +fearful still. As she fumbled at the door-knob she heard the thud of a +little falling body. Then there was a most dreadful silence. + +She hastened to the big living-room. She thrust back the somber hanging, +and stepped on the arm of her own son. + +He was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. He did not move, though +his wrist rolled under her foot. + +She flinched away, sickened, only to behold a yet ghastlier spectacle: +her daughter hung across the arm of a couch, her hair over her face, and +one limp hand touching the floor. At her feet was a young nephew in a +contorted huddle with his head under the table. The son of a neighbor +was stretched out on a chair, his face flung far back and his eyes +staring. + +And on the panther-skin by the fireplace a young girl whom Mrs. Vickery +had never seen before lay sidelong, singularly beautiful in death. + +Before this vision of inconceivable horror the mother stood petrified, +her throat in the grip of such fright that she could not utter a sound. +Then her knees yielded and she sank to the side of her boy, clutched him +to her breast, and cried: + +“Eugene! my little ’Gene!” + +She pressed her palsied lips to his cheek. Thank God, it was still warm. +He moved, he thrust her arms away, and mumbled. She bent to catch the +words: + +“Lea’ me alone! I’m dead!” + +With a sigh of infinite relief she spilled him back to the rug, where he +lay motionless. She called sharply to the girl on the couch: + +“Dorothy! Dorothy!” + +A tremor ran through the child—she seemed to struggle with herself. +From her cataract of curls came a sound as of torn canvas, a sound +dangerously like one of those explosions of snicker that Dorothy +frequently emitted in church during the long prayer. But she did not +look up. + +Half angry, half ecstatic, Mrs. Vickery rose and moved among the +littered corpses, like Edith looking for King Harold’s body on Hastings +field. She passed by her nephew, Tommy Jerrems, and Mrs. Burbage’s boy, +Clyde, and proceeded to the eerie stranger on the panther-skin. + +This child would have looked deader if she had not been breathing so +hard, and if her exquisite face had not been so scarlet in the tangle of +her hair, which was curiously adorned with bottle-straw and excelsior +from a packing-case in the cellar and with artificial flowers from a +last-summer’s hat of Mrs. Vickery’s in the attic. + +Mrs. Vickery bent above the panting ruins, lifted one relaxed hand, and +inquired, “And who are you, little girl?” + +“Don’t touch me, please; I’m all wet!” + +Mrs. Vickery forgot her imagination long enough to expostulate, “Why, +no, you’re not, my dear!” + +And now the eyes opened with the answer: “Oh yes, I am, if you please. +I’ve just drownded myself in the pool here—if you please.” + +“Oh!” Mrs. Vickery assented. “Well, hadn’t you better get up before you +catch cold?” + +The answer to this question was another—a poser. + +“But how can I get up, if you please, until you lower the curtain?” + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Vickery had been a parent often enough and long enough to obey the +solemn behests of children without impertinent whys. She could not +imagine what incantational power might reside in the roller +window-shade, but she hurried to it and pulled it down. + +The little girl scrambled to her feet with a smile of brave regret: +“Thank you ever so much! That’s not a ’maginary curtain, but only a real +one. Still, it will have to do, I s’pose.” Then she addressed the other +victims of fate, all of whom were craning their necks to peek: “Now, +ladies and gent’men, take your curtain calls.” + +On every hand, as at a little local Judgment Day, the dead arose. They +joined hands in a line at her signal. Then she hissed from the side of +her mouth, “Now raise it, please.” The curtain shot up with a slap. +“Thank you. And if you wouldn’t mind applaudin’ a little.” + +The reaction from her terror had rendered Mrs. Vickery almost +hysterical, but she managed to keep her face straight and her hands busy +while the line bowed and bowed. + +Once more the directress whispered to Mrs. Vickery, “Pull the curtain +down a minute, please, and let it go up again.” When this was done she +said, “If you got any flowers handy, they’d be nice.” + +Mrs. Vickery unpinned a small bouquet of violets she had presented +herself with at the florist’s and tossed it at the foot of the swaying +line. + +The directress hissed from the other side of her mouth, “Pick ’em up, +’Gene, and give ’em to me.” + +Eugene stooped so hastily and with such rigidity of knee that an +over-tried button at the back of his knickers shot across the room. +Dorothy, who had not ceased to giggle, whooped with joy at this, and +received a glare of rebuke from the star. This did not silence Dorothy. +But then her parents had tried for nine years to find some way of making +her stop laughing without making her begin to cry. + +Eugene was solemn enough and blushed to his ears as he bestowed the +flowers upon the stranger, who first motioned the others back and then +acknowledged the tribute alone with profound courtesies to Mrs. Vickery +and to unseen and unheard plauditors at the right and left. Her smile +was the bizarre parody of innocence imitating sophistication. Then she +threw off the mien of artifice and became informal and a child again. +The game was evidently over. + +Mrs. Vickery, realizing now that she was the belated audience at a +tragedy, assumed her most lion-hunting manner and pleaded, meekly, +“Won’t somebody please introduce me to Mrs. Siddons!” + +Dorothy gasped with amazement and gulped with amusement at her mother’s +stupidity. But before she could make the presentation the stranger +cried: + +“Oh, how did you know?” + +“Know what, my dear?” + +“That my name was Siddons!” + +“Is it, really? But I was referring to the famous actress. She’s been +dead for a hundred years, I think.” + +“Oh yes, but I’m named after her. My middle name is Mrs. Siddons—of +course I mean just Siddons. I’m a linyural descender from her.” + +Dorothy broke in, seriously enough now: “Why, Sheila Kemble, how you +talk! You know you’re no such thing. Your name is Kemble. Isn’t it, +Clyde?” + +Clyde nodded and Dorothy exclaimed, “Yah!” + +Dorothy had not the faintest idea who Mrs. Siddons might be, save that +she was evidently a person of distinction, but Dorothy had a child’s +ferocious resentment at seeing any one else obtaining prestige under +false pretenses. Sheila regarded her with a grandmotherly pity and +answered: + +“My name is Kemble, yes; but if you know so much, Miss Smarty-cat, you +ought to know that Mrs. Siddons’s name was Miss Kemble before she +married Mr. Siddons.” And now in her turn she added the deadly “Yah!” + +Mrs. Vickery, in the office of peacemaker, tried to change the subject: +“‘Sheila’—what a beautiful name!” she cried. “It’s Irish, isn’t it?” + +“Oh yes, ma’am. My papa says that if you’re a great actor you have to +have a streak of either Irish or Jew in you!” + +“Indeed! And is your father a great actor?” + +“Is he? Ask him!” + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Vickery was tormented with an intuitional suspicion that she was in +the presence of a stage-child. She had never met one on the hither side +of the footlights. It was uncanny to stumble upon it dressed like other +children and playing among them as a child. There was a kind of +weirdness about the encounter as if she had found a goblin or a pixie in +the living-room, or a waif suspected of scarlet fever. + +It was she and not the pixie that felt the embarrassment! The first +defense of a person in confusion is usually a series of questions, and +Mrs. Vickery was reduced to asking: + +“What sort of plays does your father play?” + +“Draw’n-room commerdies mostly. People call ’em Roger Kemble parts.” + +Mrs. Vickery spoke with a sudden increase of respect: + +“So your father is the great Roger Kemble! And is your mother an +actress, too?” + +“Is my mother an actress? Why, Mrs. Vickery, didn’t you ever hear of +Miss Polly Farren?” + +It would have been hard indeed to escape the name of Miss Polly Farren. +It was incessantly visible in newspapers and magazines, and on +bill-boards in letters a yard high, with colossal portraits attached. +Mrs. Vickery had seen Polly Farren act. A girlish, hoydenish thing she +was, who made even the women laugh and love her. Mrs. Vickery felt at +first a pride in meeting any relative of hers. Then a chill struck her. +She lowered her voice lest the children hear: + +“But Miss Farren isn’t your mother?” + +“Indeed and she is! And I’m her daughter.” + +“And Roger Kemble is your father?” + +“Yes, indeedy. We’re all each other’s.” + +Mrs. Vickery turned dizzy; the room began to roll like a +merry-go-round—without the merriment. Sheila, never realizing the whirl +she had started, brought it to a sudden and gratifying stop by her next +chatter. + +“You see, when mamma married papa” (Mrs. Vickery’s relief was audible) +“they wanted to travel as Mr. and Mrs. Kemble, but the wicked old +manager objected. He said mamma’s name was a household word, and she was +worth five hunderd a week as Polly Farren and she wasn’t worth +seventy-five as Mrs. Kemble.” + +Mrs. Vickery, whose husband was proud of his hundred a week, was +awestruck at the thought of a woman who earned five hundred. + +Of course it was wicked money, but wasn’t there a lot of it? She was +reassured wonderfully, and, though a trifle tinged with shame for her +curiosity, she baited the child with another question: + +“And have you been on the stage, too?” + +“Indeed, I have! Oh yes, Mrs. Vickery. I was almost born on the +stage—they tell me. I don’t ’member much about it myself. But I ’member +bein’ carried on when I was very young. They tell me I behaved perf’ly +beau’fully. And then once I was one of the little princes that got +smothered in the Tower, at a benefit, and then once we childern gave a +childern’s performance of ‘The Rivals.’ And I was Mrs. Mallerpop.��� + +Mrs. Vickery shook her head over her in pity and sighed, “You poor +child!” + +Sheila gasped, “Oh, Mrs. Vickery!” Her eyes were enlarged with wonder +and protest as if she had been struck in the face. + +Mrs. Vickery hastened to explain: “To be kept up so late, I mean: +and—and—weren’t you frightened to death of all those people?” + +“Frightened? Why, they wouldn’t hurt me. They always applauded me and +said, ‘Oh, isn’t she sweet!’” + +Mrs. Vickery had read much about the woes of factory children and of the +little wretches who toil in the coal-mines, and she had heard of the +agitation to forbid the appearance of children on the stage. The +tradition of misery was so strong that she was blinded for the moment to +the extraordinary beauty, vigor, and vivacity of this example. She felt +sorry for her. + +Sheila had encountered such mysterious pity once or twice before and she +flamed to resent it. But even as eloquence rushed to her lips she +remembered her mother’s last words as she kissed her good-by—they had +been an injunction to be polite at all costs. + +The struggle to defend her mother’s glory and to obey her mother’s +self-denying ordinance was so bitter that it squeezed a big tear out of +each big eye. + +Mrs. Vickery, seeming to divine the secret of her plight, cuddled her to +her breast with a gush of affectionate homage. Reassured by this +surrender, Sheila became again a child. + + * * * * * + +And now Dorothy, with that professional jealousy which actors did not +invent and do not monopolize, that jealousy which is seen in animals and +read of in gods—Dorothy stood aloof and pouted at the invader of her +mother’s lap. Her lip crinkled and she batted out a few tears of her own +till her mother stretched forth an arm and made a haven for her at her +bosom. Then Mrs. Vickery spoke between the two wet cheeks pressed to +hers: + +“And now what was this wonderful game where so many people got killed? +Was it a war or a shipwreck or—or what?” + +Sheila forgot her tears in the luxury of instructing an elder. With +unmitigated patronage, as who in her turn should say, “You poor thing, +you!” she exclaimed: “Why, don’t you know? It’s the last ack of +‘Hamlet!’” + +“Oh, I see! Of course! How perfectly stupid of me!” + +Sheila endeavored to comfort her: “Oh no, it wasn’t stupid a tall, Mrs. +Vickery, if you’ll pardon me for cont’adictin’, but—well, you see, we +got no real paduction, no costumes or scenery or anything.” + +Mrs. Vickery said: “That doesn’t matter; but who was who? You see, I got +in so late the usher didn’t give me a program.” + +Sheila was rejoiced at this collaboration in the game. She explained: +“Oh, the p’ograms didn’t arrive in time from the pwinter, and so we had +a ’nouncement made before the curtain. He’s a most un’liable pwinter and +I sent the usher for the p’ograms and he never came back. ’Gene was +Hamlet and he was awful good. He read the silloloquy out of the book +there. He reads very well. And Dorothy was his mother, the Queen, and +she was awful good, too—very good, indeed, ’ceptin’ for gigglin’ in the +serious parts, and after she was dead.” + +Dorothy giggled and wriggled again, to show how it was done. After this +interruption was quelled Sheila went on: + +“Tommy Jerrems was Laertes and he was awful good. The duel with ’Gene +was terrible. I’m afraid one of your umbrellas was bent—the poisoned +one. Tommy didn’t want to die and I had to hit him with a hassock, and +then he was so long dyin’, he held up the whole paformance. But he was +very good. And Cousin Clyde he was the wicked King, and he was awful +good, but then, o’ course, he comes of our family, and you’d naturally +expeck him to be good.” + +Mrs. Vickery suppressed a gasp of protest from Dorothy, who was +intolerant of self-advertisement, and said: “But you were dead, too, +Sheila. Who were you?” + +“Why, I was Ophelia, o’ course!” + +“Oh! But I thought Ophelia died long before the rest, and was buried, +and Hamlet and Laertes fought in her grave, and—” + +“Oh yes, that’s the way it is in the old book. But I fixed it up so’s +Ophelia only p’tended to die—or, no, I mean they thought she was dead, +and they buried another lady, thinkin’ she was her—and all the while +Ophelia is away in a kind of a—a—insanitarum gettin’ cured up. And she +comes home in the last ack to s’prise everybody, and she enters, +laughing, and says, ‘Well, caitiffs and fellow-countrymen, I’m well +again!’ And she sees everybody lyin’ around dead—and then she goes mad +all over again and drownds herself in the big swimmin’-pool—or I guess +it’s a—a fountain—near the throne.” + +“Oh, I see,” said Mrs. Vickery. “That sounds ever so much better.” + +“Well,” said Sheila, shrugging her impudent little shoulders like any +other jackanapes of a reviser, “as my papa says, ‘It sort of knits +things together better and bolsters up the finish.’ You know it’s kind +of bad to leave the leading lady out of the last ack. It makes the +audience mad, you know.” + +“Yes, I know! And was it you who screamed so at the end of the play?” + +Sheila hung her head and tugged at a button on Mrs. Vickery’s waist as +she confessed: “Well, I did my best. O’ course I’m not very good—yet.” + +Dorothy was so matter-of-fact that she would not tolerate even +self-depreciation. She exploded: + +“Why, Sheila Kemble, you are so! She was wonderful, mamma! And she was +so mad crazy she gave me the creeps. And when finally she plounced down +and died, all us other deaders sat up and felt so scared we fell over +again. She went mad simply lovely.” + +And Tommy Jerrems added his posy: “I bet you could ’a’ heard her holler +for three blocks.” + +“I bet I did!” Mrs. Vickery sighed, remembering the fright she had had +from that edged cry. + +The other children fell into a wrangle celebrating Sheila as a person of +amazing learning, powers of make-believe and command, and Sheila, +throned on Mrs. Vickery’s lap, sat twisting her fingers in the pleasant +confusion of one who is too truthful to deny and too modest to confess a +splendid achievement. Now and then she heaved the big lids from her eyes +and Mrs. Vickery read there rapture, deprecation, appeal for applause, +superiority to flattery, self-confidence, and meekness. And Mrs. Vickery +felt that those eyes were born to persuade, to charm, to thrill and +compel. + + * * * * * + +At last Mrs. Vickery said, mainly for politeness’ sake, “I wish I could +have seen the performance.” + +The hint threw a bombshell of energy into the troupe. The mummers all +began to dance and stamp and shriek, “Oh, let’s do it again! Let’s! Oh, +let’s!” + +Every one shouted but Sheila. Her silence silenced the others at last. +She already knew enough to be silent when others were noisy and to +shriek when others were silent. Then like a leaderless army the children +urged her to take the crown. + +Sheila thought earnestly, but shook her head: “It isn’t diggenafied to +play two a day.” This evoked such a tomblike sigh that she relented a +trifle: “We might call this other one a matinée, though, and call the +other one a evening paformance.” + +This was agreed to with ululation. The children set to gathering up the +disjected equipment, the deadly umbrellas, and the envenomed cup. The +last was a golf prize of Mr. Vickery’s. Dropped from the nerveless hand +of the dying king, it had received a bruised lip and a profound dimple. + +With the humming-bird instinct, the children stood tremulously poised +before one flower only a moment, then flashed to another. It was a +proposal by Tommy Jerrems that called them away now. + +Tommy Jerrems had frequently revealed little glints of financial +promise. He had been a notorious keeper of lemonade-stands, a frequent +bankrupt, a getter-up of circuses, and a zealous impresario of baseball +games in which he did all the work and got none of the play. He was of a +useful but unenviable type and would undoubtedly become in later life a +dozen or more unsalaried treasurers and secretaries to various +organizations. + +Tommy Jerrems proposed that the play of “Hamlet” should be enacted at +his mother’s house as a regular entertainment with a fixed price of +admission. This project was hailed with riotous enthusiasm, and King +Claudius turned a cart-wheel in the general direction of a potted +palm—and potted it. + +There was some excitement over the restoration of this alien verdure, +and Mrs. Vickery was glad that her own home had not been re-elected as +playhouse. She made a mild protest on behalf of Mrs. Jerrems, but she +was assailed with so frenzied a horde of suppliants that she +capitulated; at least she gave her consent that Dorothy and Eugene might +take part. + +There was a strenuous Austrian parliament now upon a number of matters. +Somehow, out of the chaos, it was gradually agreed that there should be +real costumes as well as what Sheila called “props.” She explained that +this included gold crowns, scepters, thrones, swords, helmets, spears, +and what not. + +Suddenly Sheila let out another of those heart-stopping shrieks of hers. +She had been struck by a very lightning of inspiration. She seized Tommy +as if she would rend him in pieces and howled: “Oh, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy! +You ask your mother to have the bath-tub brought down to the back parlor +and filled up and then I can drownd myself in real water.” + +A pack of wolves could not have fallen more noisily on a wounded brother +than the children fell on this. + +Tommy alone was dubious. He was afraid that the bath-tub was too +securely fastened to the bath-room to be uprooted. But he promised to +ask his mother. Sheila, the resourceful, had an alternative ready: + +“Well, anyway, she could have a wash-boiler brought in from the kitchen, +couldn’t she?” + +Tommy thought mebbe she could, but would she? + +Mrs. Vickery did not interfere. She had an idea that Mrs. Jerrems could +be trusted to see to it that Ophelia had an extra-dry drowning. Mrs. +Jerrems was rather fond of her furniture. + +Money to buy gold paper for the crowns, and silver paper to make canes +look like swords and curtain-poles like spears, nearly wrecked the +project. But Tommy thought that by patience and assiduity he could shake +out of the patent savings-bank his father had given him enough dimes to +subsidize the institution, on condition that he might reimburse himself +out of the first moneys that were bound to flood the box-office. + +There was earnest debate over the price of admission. Clyde Burbage +suggested five pins, but Sheila turned up her nose at this; it sounded +amateurish. She said that her father and mother would never play in any +but two-dollar theaters—or “fe-aters,” as she still called them. Still, +she supposed that since the comp’ny was all juveniles they’d better not +charge more than a dollar for seats, and fifty cents for the +nigger-heaven. + +Tommy Jerrems, who had some bitter acquaintance with the ductile +qualities of that community, emitted a long, low “Whew!” He said that +they would be lucky to get five cents a head in that town, and not many +heads at that. This sum was reluctantly accepted by Sheila, and the +syndicate moved to adjourn. + +Sheila put her hand in Mrs. Vickery’s and ducked one knee respectfully. +But Mrs. Vickery, with an impulse of curious subservience, knelt down +and embraced the child and kissed her. + +She had an odd feeling that some day she would say, “Sheila Kemble? Oh +yes, I knew her when she was a tiny child. I always said she would +startle the world.” + +She seemed even now to hear her own voice echoing faintly back from the +future. + +The guests made a quiet exit at the door, but they stampeded down the +steps like a scamper of sheep. Sheila’s piercing cry came back. It was +wildly poignant, though it expressed only her excitement in a game of +tag. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + +The house seemed still to quiver after the neighbors’ young had left. +Mrs. Vickery moved about restoring order. And Dorothy bustled after her, +full of talk and snickers. But Eugene curled up in a chair by a window +as solemn as Sophokles. + +Mrs. Vickery was still thinking of Sheila. She asked first of her, “How +did you come to meet this little Kemble girl?” + +Dorothy explained: “Oh, I telephoned Clyde Burbage to come over and +play, and he said he couldn’t, ’cause they had comp’ny; and I said, +‘Bring comp’ny along,’ and he did, and she’s his cousin; her grandma +lives at his house, and her papa and mamma are going to visit there at +Clyde’s for a week. Isn’t Sheila a case, mamma? She says the funniest +things. I wish I could ’member some of ’em.” + +Mrs. Vickery smiled and stared at Dorothy. In the grand lottery of +children she had drawn Dorothy. She saw in the child many of her own +traits, many of the father’s traits. She loved Dorothy, of course, and +had much good reason for her instinctive devotion, and many rewards for +it. And yet the child was singularly talentless, as her father was, as +Mrs. Vickery confessed herself to be. + +She wondered at the strange distribution of human gifts—some dowered +from their cradles with the workaday virtues and commonplace vices, and +some mysteriously flecked with a kind of wildness that is both less and +more than virtue, an oddity that gives every speech or gesture an +unusual emphasis, a rememberable differentness. + +Dorothy was a safe child to have; she would make a reliable, admirable, +good woman. But Mrs. Vickery felt that if Sheila had been her child she +would have been incessantly afraid of the girl and for her, incessantly +uncertain of the future. Yet, she would have watched her, and the +neighbors would have watched her, with a breathless fascination as one +watches a tight-rope walker who moves on a hazardous path, yet moves +above the heads of the crowd and engages all its eyes. + +Little Eugene Vickery had a quirk of the unusual, but it was not +conspicuous; he was a burrower, who emerged like a mole in unexpected +places, and led a silent, inconspicuous life gnawing at the roots of +things. + +His mother found him now, as so often, taciturn, brooding, thinking long +thoughts—the solemnest thing there is, a solemn child. + +“Why are you so silent, Eugene?” she said. + +He smiled sedately and shook his head with evasion. But Dorothy pointed +the finger of scorn at him; she even whittled one finger with another +and taunted him, shrilly: + +“’Gene’s in love with Sheila! ’Gene’s in love with Sheila!” + +“Am not!” he growled with a puppy’s growl. + +“Are so!” cried Dorothy, jubilantly. + +“Well, s’posin’ I am?” he answered, sullenly. “She’s a durned sight +smarter and prettier than—some folks.” + +This sobered Dorothy and crumpled her chin with distress. Like her +mother, she had long ago recognized with helpless regret that she was +not brilliant. + +Mrs. Vickery, amazed at hearing the somber Eugene accused of so +frivolous a thing as a love-affair, stared at him and murmured, “Why, +’Gene!” + +Feeling a storm sultry in the air, she warned Dorothy that it was time +to practise her piano-lesson. Dorothy, whose other name was Dutiful, +made no protest, but began to trudge up and down the scales with a +perfect accuracy that was somehow perfectly musicless and almost +unendurable. + +Mrs. Vickery knew that Eugene would speak when he was ready, and not +before. She pretended to ignore him, but her heart was beating high with +the thrill of that new era in a mother’s soul when she sees the first of +her children smitten with the love-dart and becomes a sort of painfully +amused Niobe, wondering always where the next arrow will come from and +which it will hit next. + +After a long while Eugene spoke, though not at all as she expected him +to speak. But then he never spoke as she expected him to speak. He +murmured: + +“Mamma?” + +“Yes, honey.” + +“Do you s’pose I could write a play as good as that old Shakespeare +did?” + +“Why—why, yes, I’m sure you could—if you tried.” + +Mrs. Vickery had always understood the rarely comprehended truth that +praise creates less conceit than the withholding of it, as food builds +strength and slays the hunger that cries for it. + +Eugene was evidently encouraged, but he kept silence so long that +finally she gave him up. She was leaving the room when he murmured +again: + +“Mamma.” + +“Yes, honey.” + +“I guess I’ll write a play.” + +“Fine!” she said. + +“For Sheila.” + +“Oh!” + +Mrs. Vickery cast up her eyes and stole out, not knowing what to say. +Already the child was turning his affections away from home and her. + +An hour later she almost stepped on him again. He was lying on the rug +by the twilight-glimmering window of the dining-room, whither Dorothy’s +relentless scales had driven him. He was lying on his stomach with his +nose almost touching his composition-book, and he was scrawling large +words laboriously with a nub of pencil so stubby that he seemed to be +writing with his own forefinger bent like a grasshopper’s leg. + +William Shakespeare, Gent., sleeping in Avon church, had no knowledge of +what conspiracy was hatching against his long-enough prestige. And if he +had known, that very human mind of his might have suspected the truth, +that the inspiration of his new rival was less a desire to crowd an old +gentleman from the top shelf of fame than to supplant him in the esteem +of a certain very young woman. + +Shakespeare himself in that same kidnapped play of his called “Hamlet” +complained of the children’s theater that rivaled his own. + +There was complaint now of the new children’s theater in the minor city +of Braywood. Three homes were topsy-turvied by the insatiable, +irrepressible mummers. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + +It was less than an hour after Sheila had left Mrs. Vickery’s when Mrs. +Jerrems was on the telephone, plaintively demanding, “Who on earth is +this Kemble child?” + +Mrs. Vickery told her what she knew, and Mrs. Jerrems sighed: “A +stage-child! That explains everything. She’s got Tommy simply +bewitched.” + +Besides the requisition for costumes and accessories that turned every +attic trunk inside out there was an uneasy social complication. + +Mrs. Jerrems and Mrs. Burbage knew each other only slightly and liked +each other something less than that. Yet Tommy and Sheila had arranged +that Mrs. Burbage and her husband and her mother and the strangers +within their gates should all descend upon Mrs. Jerrems and pay five +cents apiece for the privilege of entering her drawing-room. + +Only one thing could have been more intolerable than obeying the +children’s embarrassing demand, and that would have been breaking the +children’s hearts by refusing it. So Sheila’s mother and father, her +grandmother and her aunt, were all browbeaten into accepting the +invitations that Mrs. Jerrems had been browbeaten into extending. + +Sheila assumed that Mrs. Jerrems was as much interested in Mr. +Shakespeare’s success as she was. And she rather took control of the +house, saying a great many “Pleases,” but uprooting the furniture from +the places it had occupied till they had become almost sacred. She had +half of the drawing-room cleared of chairs and the other half packed +with rows of them. She commandeered two of Mrs. Jerrems’s guest-room +sheets (the ones with the deep hemstitching and the swollen initials). +These she pinned upon a rope stretched from two nails driven into the +walls, with conspicuous damage to the plaster, since the first places +chosen did not hold the nails—and came out with them. The rope was the +clothes-line, which was needed in the yard, but which Tommy had calmly +cut down at Sheila’s requisition. He had cut his own finger incidentally +and it bled copiously on the dining-room drugget. He had later nailed +the bandage to the wall and gone overboard with the stepladder, carrying +with him what he could clutch from the mantelpiece _en passant_. + +This was not the only damage; _item_, a wonderful imitation cut-glass +celery-jar used during rehearsals to represent the chalice of poison; +_item_, several gouges in furniture, which Mrs. Jerrems would almost +rather have had in her own flesh than in her mahogany. + +But eventually the evening came and the guests went shyly into the rows +of chairs that made Mrs. Jerrems’s drawing-room look like a funeral. +Mrs. Jerrems was worried, too, by the thought of entertaining not only +the child of stage people, but an actor and an actress too famous to be +disguised. + +She wondered what her preacher would say of it. + +And she could not feel easy about the spectacle of her son standing in +her hallway and collecting money from callers before they were admitted. + +The performance was a torment. The strutting children were so pompous +that it was impossible to watch them without laughter, yet laughter +would have been heinously cruel. The usual relations were reversed: the +children comported themselves with vast reverence for a great work of +art, and the naughty parents sat smothering their snickers. + +The voice of the prompter was loud in the wings (the dining-room and +hall), and the action was suspended occasionally while the actors +quarreled with the prompter as to whose turn it was to speak. The +Sheila-ized Shakespeare had not been written down, and, though the play +was greatly compressed, the company forgot a good deal of what was left. +In her innocence, the editress had also neglected to omit certain +phrases that polite grown-ups suppress. These came forth with appalling +effect. + +Laertes was so enraptured with counting and recounting the box-office +receipts that he had to be sent for on two occasions. Clyde and Eugene +came to blows on a dispute extraneous to the plot, and Dorothy, as the +mother, giggled all through the closet scene and continued to whinny +long after she had quaffed the fatal cup. Her last words were: “Oh +Ha-ha-hamlet, the drink, the d-d-drink! I am poi-hoi-hoi-hoisoned.” +This, combined with the litter of corpses, set the audience into a roar +of laughter. + +Then Sheila entered as the late-returning Ophelia and sobered them +somehow on the instant. + +Sheila won an indisputable triumph. The others were at best children, +and peculiarly childish in the rôles that have swamped all but the +largest hulls. But Sheila, for all her shortcomings and far-goings, had +an uncanny power. Even when she doubled as the Ghost and tripped over +the sheet in which she squeaked and gibbered nobody laughed. Her girlish +treble, trying to be orotund, had moments of gruesome influence. Her +Ophelia was pathetically winsome in the earlier scenes, and in the mania +she struck notes that put sudden ice into the blood. There was no +denying her a dreadful intuition of things she could not know, and a +gift for interpreting what she had never felt. + +The other parents were ashamed of the contrast. As Mrs. Jerrems +whispered to Mrs. Vickery, “One thing is certain, your Dorothy and my +boy Tom will never know how to act.” + +“But,” Mrs. Vickery whispered back, “that doesn’t prove that they won’t +go on the stage.” + + * * * * * + +After the final curtain and innumerable curtain calls the play was ended +and the audience filed back of the sheet to lavish its homage on the +troupe. + +Mrs. Jerrems had resolved to make the best of it, once she was in for +it; and tried to take the curse off the profanation of collecting money +from her guests by entertaining them and the actors at a little supper. +Her son Tommy, always the financier, felt a greater profanation in the +idea of charging five cents admission and then throwing in a supper that +cost fifty cents a head. But Mrs. Jerrems told Tommy to take care of his +end of the enterprise and she would take care of hers. And she reminded +him that the supper would cost him nothing. He consoled himself with the +reflection that “Women got no head for business.” + +The juvenile tragedians ate at a small side-table, and so completely +relaxed the solemnity they had revealed on the boards that the elder +laity chiefly listened and smiled among themselves. + +Mrs. Jerrems studied Roger Kemble and his wife, “Miss” Farren, +surreptitiously, as one would study a Thibetan or a Martian. Knowing in +advance that they were actors, she felt sure that she found in them odd +and characteristic mannerisms, for it is easy to find proofs when we +have the facts. And once a man is known to be an actor it is easy to see +the marks of the grease-paint, though, not knowing it, one is as likely +to think him a preacher or a prize-fighter or whatever else he may +suggest. The talk of Mr. Kemble and Miss Farren was normal; their +manners polished, as became a class with so much leisure and culture. +But Mrs. Jerrems felt that she could see the glamour of the footlights +in everything they said or did. + +She had seen them both in some of their plays. On her excursions to New +York, a visit to their theater was hardly less important, and much more +likely to be accomplished, than a visit to the Metropolitan Museum of +Art. When “Farren and Kemble,” as they were apt to be called, left New +York for a tour they rarely visited Braywood, or if they did the prices +at the opera-house were sure to be advanced and all Braywood put on its +best clothes. + +For one thing, Polly Farren and Roger Kemble were pre-eminently +fashionable. Their plays dealt with the fashionable people of Europe and +America. They were generally English, and Roger Kemble was likely to be +Lord Somebody, and Polly Farren at least an Honorable Miss This-or-That. +Or, if they appeared in an American manuscript, they usually owned +country houses and yachts and had titles for guests. Their clothes were +sure to be a sort of prospectus of the next season’s modes. Roger Kemble +was never a fop, and always kept on the safe side of ostentation, yet he +was always scrupulously a pace ahead of the style and groomed to +flawlessness. He represented Piccadilly patterns and his clock was about +five hours ahead of New York time. Polly was a little braver. She was +beautiful, lithe, and dashing, and she was not afraid of anything that +French taste and caprice might prophesy. + +Everybody knew, too, that Polly Farren and Roger Kemble “went with” the +smartest people. Those who knew they were married knew that their summer +cottage was among the handsomest in the Long Island groups. Their +manners were smart, too, with just the right flippancy and just the +right restraint. It was a school of etiquette to see them enter a +drawing-room or sip tea importantly, or tear a passion to embroidery. + +Polly had made her first sensation in a play in which she was supposed +to have imbibed more champagne than her pretty head could carry. The +critics raved over her demonstration of the fine art of being tipsy in a +ladylike manner. Roger Kemble’s rôles frequently compelled him to be “as +drunk as a lord,” and young men of bibulosity tried to remember him in +their cups. + +So now Mrs. Jerrems, watching the husband and wife at the homely task of +stowing away a small-city supper, seemed to be watching a scene on the +stage. She dreaded them, yet she tried to copy them. Faithful +church-member that she was, she abhorred the stage theoretically, and +practically followed its influence more than the church’s. She kept +taking notes on Polly Farren’s costume and carriage, and her husband +would later be admonished that many, many things he did were pitiably +below the standard of Roger Kemble. + +The Kembles were not unaware of the inspection they underwent. They were +used enough to it, yet it irked them in this small community whither +they had retired during the Holy Week closing of their company. They +were glad to be gone as soon as they could decently take their leave and +carry off their wonder-child. + + * * * * * + +Sheila was so exhausted by her labors as editress, directress, and +actress that she had yawned even in the midst of her prettiest +thank-yous for the praise she battened on. On the way she clung to her +father’s hand in a sleep-walking drowse, and lurched into him until he +caught her into his bosom and carried her home and up the stairs to her +bed. She slept while her mother undressed her, and there was no waking +her to her prayers. Even in her heavy slumbers she fell into an attitude +of such grace that it seemed almost conscious. + +Roger and Polly looked at her and smiled; and shook their heads over +her. + +“She is hopelessly ours,” said Kemble. “I’m afraid there’ll be no +keeping her off the stage when she grows up.” + + * * * * * + +Kemble was in his bath-robe in the bath-room before his wife, who had +not moved from her posture of contemplation, suddenly thought aloud: + +“After all, why not?” + +Kemble paused with the tooth-paste tube above his tooth-brush to query, +“Why not what?” + +“What better chance is there for a woman?” + +Kemble moved close enough to her to nudge her out of her muse and demand +again, “What woman are you talking about?” + +“That one,” said Polly. “That little understudy of life. You say we +sha’n’t be able to keep her off the stage. Why should we try to?” + +“Well, knowing what we do of the stage, my dear,—it isn’t exactly the +ideal place for a girl, now is it?” + +“No, of course not. But where is the ideal place for a girl? Is there +such a thing? We know all too well how much suffering and anxiety and +disappointment and wickedness there is on the stage; but where will you +go to escape it? Look at the society wives and daughters we know, in +town and out in the country. Look at the poor girls in the shops and +factories.” + +“That’s so,” Kemble spluttered across his shuttling tooth-brush. “I +rather fancy a smaller city is better.” + +His wife laughed softly: “You ought to have heard what I’ve been hearing +about this town! You’d think it was the home of all villainy. There’s +enough scandal and tragedy here to fill a hundred volumes. There are +problem-plays here—among busy church-members, too—that make Ibsen read +like a copy of _St. Nicholas_.” + +She put out the light in Sheila’s room and went into her own, lighted +herself a cigarette from the cigar her husband had left in her hair-pin +tray, and sat down before the cold radiator as before a fireplace to +talk about life. People were all rôles to her and their histories were +scenarios that interested her more or less as she saw herself playing +them. + +“When I look around at my old school friends and relatives off the +stage,” she said, “I can’t see that they’ve found any recipe for +happiness. Clara Gaines is a domestic soul and her husband is a +druggist, but he leaves her to be domestic all by herself, and she tells +me he never spends a minute at home that he can spend outside. Ella +Westover has divorced two husbands in Terre Haute already. Marjorie +Cranford tells me that her home town out in—in the Middle West +somewhere—has a fast set that makes the Tenderloin look stupid. +Clarice—What’s her name now?—well, she has married an awfully good +man, but she has to wheedle every cent she gets out of him or cheat him +out of it, and she says she wants to scream at his hypocrisy. She thinks +she’ll run off and leave him any day now.” + +Kemble drew a chair to her side and put his feet on the radiator +alongside hers. He found his cigar out, and relighted it with difficulty +from her cigarette as he laughed: + +“Polly is a bit of a pessimist to-night, eh? Is it the quietness of this +little burg? I was rather enjoying the peace and repose and all that +sort of thing.” + +“So was I. But that’s because it’s a change for us to have an evening +off. Think of the women who never have anything else. They’re not happy, +Roger. You can’t find one of them that will say she is.” + +“You don’t fancy small-town respectability for your daughter, then?” + +“I hope she’ll be respectable. But there’s so little real respectability +in being just dull and bored to death, in just sitting round and waiting +for some man to come home, in having nothing to spend except what you +can steal out of his trousers or squeeze out of an allowance. I’d rather +have Sheila an actress than a toadstool or a parasite on some man. She +has one of those wild-bird natures that I had. The safest thing for her +is the freedom and a lot of work and admiration, and a chance to act. +The stage is no paradise, the Lord knows, but the first woman that ever +knew freedom was the actress. These votes-for-women rebels are all +clamoring now for what we actresses have always had. Would it break your +heart, Roger, if our little Sheila went on the stage?” + +Kemble followed a slow cloud of smoke with the soft words: + +“My mother was an actress.” + +He drew in more smoke and let it curl forth luxuriously as he murmured, +“And my wife is an actress.” + +It would have surprised the Farren-Kemble following to see those +flippant comedians so domesticated and holding a solemn _ante-vitam_ +inquest over the future of their child. But a father is a father and a +mother a mother the world over. + +Polly put out her hand and squeezed Roger’s, and he lifted hers and +touched it to his lips with an old comedy grace. She drew the two hands +back across the little gulf between them and returned the compliment, +then rested her cheek on their conjoined fingers and pondered: + +“We could save Sheila the hardest part of it. She wouldn’t have to hang +round the agencies or bribe any brute with herself, or barnstorm with +any cheap company. And she wouldn’t have to go on the stage by way of +any scandal.” + +Roger growled comfortably: “That’s so. She could step right into the +old-established firm of Farren & Kemble. The main thing for us to see is +that she is a good actress—as her mother was and her two grandmothers +and three of her four great-grandmothers, and so on back.” + +Polly amended: “She mustn’t go on the stage too soon, though—or too +late; and she must have a good education—French and German, and travel +abroad and all that.” + +“Then that’s settled,” Kemble laughed. “And as soon as we’ve got her all +prepared and established and on the way to big success, she’ll fall in +love with some blamed cub who’ll drag her to his home in Skaneateles.” + +“Probably; but she’ll come back.” + +“All right. And now, having written Sheila’s life for her to rewrite, +let’s go to bed. There’ll be no sleeping in this noisy house in the +morning.” + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + +That was a tremendous week for the children of Braywood. As some quiet +bayou harbors for a time a few birds of passage restlessly resting +before they fly on into the sky, so the domestic poultry of Braywood was +stirred by the Kemble wild fowl. + +Four generations were gathered at the Burbage home. Sheila’s +great-grandmother was always there at the home of Clyde Burbage, senior, +who had fallen out of the line of strollers, and become a merchant. His +wife’s mother, who was Polly Farren’s mother, too, was there for a +visit. The old lady and the older lady had left the stage and now spent +their hours in regretting the decadence of earlier glories, as their +elders had done before them, and as their children would do in their +turn. + +The Kembles and Farrens and Burbages were all peers in the aristocracy +of the theater, which, like every other world, has its princes and +peasants, its merchants and vagabonds, saints and sinners. + +None of this line dated back, however, to the time when Holy Week was a +period of industry for the churchly actors who prepared their miracles +and moralities for the edification of the people. Nowadays Holy Week is +a time when most of the theaters close, and the others entertain +diminished audiences and troupes whose enthusiasm is diminished by the +halving of their salaries. + +It is a period when so many people desire to be seen in church or fear +to be seen in the playhouse, that the receipts drop off amazingly, +though the same people feel it no sin to crowd the same theater the week +before or the week after the Passion sennight. + +Sometimes a play is strong enough in draught to pack the theater in +spite of the anniversary. This year the Farren-Kemble play was not quite +successful enough to justify the risk of half-filled auditoriums. So +they “rested.” + +But to the children, as to the other animals, there are no holy days, or +rather no unholy days. The children of Braywood made a theatrical week +of it, and Sheila reveled in her opportunity. She had an audience +everywhere she went. + +The other children stood about her and wondered. She fascinated them, +and they were eager to do as she bade, though they felt a certain +uneasiness; as if they had wished for a fairy queen to play with and had +got their wish. + +The other children commanded in their own specialties and in their +turns. At outdoor romps and sports Clyde Burbage led the way, and +endangered future limbs or present lives by his fearless banter. At +household games with dolls and diseases Dorothy had a matronly authority +and Sheila was like a novice. In hospital games, Dorothy, the head +nurse, must show her how babies should be handled, punished, and +medicined. + +It should be set down to Sheila’s credit that she was meek as Moses in +the presence of domestic genius. But it must be added that the things +she learned from Dorothy were likely to be exploited later in some drama +where Sheila took full sway. In Dorothy’s games the dolls always +recovered when Dr. Eugene was called in with his grandmother’s +spectacles on. In Sheila’s dramas the dolls almost always perished in +agony, while the desperate mother clung to the embarrassed doctor, at +the same time screaming to him to save the child and whispering him to +pronounce it dead. + +Roger Kemble happened to be passing Mrs. Vickery’s front yard during one +of these tragedies, and paused to watch it across the fence while Mrs. +Vickery attended from the porch. One of those startling unconscious +scandals in which children’s plays abound was suddenly developed, and +Roger moved on rapidly while Mrs. Vickery vanished into the house. + +All the while the young Shakespeare of Braywood wrought upon his play +for Sheila. But the moment he thought he had it perfected, he would hear +her toss off one of the dramatic principles that she had overheard her +father and mother discussing after some rehearsal. Then Eugene would +blush to realize that his drama had violated this dictum and was +unworthy of the great actress. And he would steal away to unravel his +fabric and knit it up again. + +At last it began to shape itself according to her ideals as he had +gleaned them. He sat up finishing it until he was sent to bed for the +fourth time, then he worked in his room till his mother knocked on his +door and ordered his light out and forbade him to leave his bed again. + +He waited till he knew that his parents were asleep, then he cautiously +renewed his light and, sitting up in bed, wrote with that +grasshopper-legged finger of his till he could keep his eyes ajar no +longer. Then he held one eye open with his left hand till the hand +itself went to sleep. He never knew it when his head rolled over to the +pillow. He knew nothing more till he woke, shivering, to find the +daylight in the room and the light still burning expensively. + +He put out the light and worked till breakfast and his play were ready. +After he had spooned up his porridge and chewed down his second glass of +milk he made haste toward Clyde Burbage’s house. He hesitated at the +nearest corner till he found courage to proceed. He mounted the steps +with his precious manuscript buttoned against his swinging heart. He +rang the bell. Mrs. Burbage came to the door, and he peeled his cap from +his burning head: + +“Is—is Clyde at home, Mis’ Burbage?” + +Mrs. Burbage was surprised at the formality of the visit. Boys usually +stood outside and whistled for Clyde or called “Hoo-oo!” or “Hay, +Clyde—oh, Cly-ud!” till he answered. In fact, he had only recently +answered just such a signal from another boy and slammed the door after +him. + +When Eugene learned that Clyde was abroad he made as if to depart, then +paused and, with a violent carelessness, mumbled, “I don’t suppose +Sheila is home, either?” + +“Sheila? Oh no! She and her father and mother left on the midnight +train.” + +“Is that so?” said Eugene as casually as if he had just learned that all +his relatives were dead or that he had overslept Christmas. + +He tried to make a brave exit, but he was so forlorn that Mrs. Burbage +forgot to smile as grown-ups smile at the big tragedies of the little +folk. She watched him struggling overlong at the gate-latch. She saw him +break into a frantic run for home as soon as he had gained the sidewalk. +Then she went inside, shaking her head and thinking the same words that +were clamoring in the boy’s sick heart: + +“Oh, Sheila! Sheila!” + + + + + CHAPTER V + + +The big young man with the shoulders of a bureau would never have been +taken for a student if he had not been crossing the campus with a too +small cap precariously perched on his too much hair, and if he had not +been swinging a strapful of those thin, weary-worn volumes that look to +be text-books and not novels. The eye-glasses set on his young nose +mainly accented his youth. If he had not depended on them he would have +made a splendid center rush. Instead, he was driven to the ’varsity +crew, where he won more glory than in the class-room. He paused before a +ground-floor window of the oldest of the old dormitories. That +window-seat as usual displayed the slim and gangling form of a young man +who was usually to be found there stretched out on his stomach and +reading or writing with solemn absorption. It was necessary to call him +repeatedly before he came back from the mist he surrounded himself with: + +“Hay! ’Gene! Oh, Vick! ’Gene Vickery! Hay you!” + +“Hay yourself! Oh, hey-o, Bret Winfield, h’are you?” + +“Rotten! Say—you going to the theater to-night?” + +“I usually do. What’s the play?” + +“‘A Friend in Need.’ Ran six months in New York.” + +“All right, I’ll go.” + +“Better get a seat under cover of the balcony.” + +“Why?” + +“Looks like a big night to-night. The Freshmen are going to bust up the +show.” + +“Really? Why?” + +Vickery was only a post-graduate, in his first year at Leroy University. +He had gone through the home-town schools and a preparatory school and a +smaller college, before he had moved on to Leroy to earn a Ph.D. He had +long ago given up his ambitions to replace Shakespeare. So now he asked +in his ignorance why the Freshmen of Leroy must break up the play. And +Winfield answered from his knowledge: + +“Because about this time of year the Freshman class always busts up a +show. It’s one of the sacredest traditions of our dear old Alum Mater. +Last year’s Freshies put a big musical comedy on the blink. Kidnapped +half the chorus girls. This year there’s no burlesque in view, so the +cubs are reduced to pulling down a high comedy.” + +“Won’t the faculty do anything about it?” + +“Faculty won’t know anything about it till the morning papers tell how +many policemen were lost and how much damage was done to the theater. If +you’re going, either take an umbrella or sit under the balcony, for +there will be doings.” + +“I’ll be there, Bret.” + +“I wish I could have you with me, but a gang of us Seniors have taken a +front box together. S’long!” + +“S’long!” + +Vickery went back to his text-book. He was to be a professor of Greek. +He had almost forgotten that he had ever fallen in love with an actress. +He had kept no track of stage history. + +His acquaintance with Bret Winfield had been casual until his sister +Dorothy came on to spend a few days near her brother. Dorothy had grown +up to be the sort of woman her childhood prophesied—big, beautiful, +placid, very noble at her best and stupid at her worst. Her big eyes +were the Homeric “ox-eyes,” and Eugene in the first flush of his first +Greek had called her thence Bo-opis, which he shortened later to “Bo.” + +The bo-optic Dorothy made a profound impression on Bret Winfield, and he +cultivated Eugene thereafter on her account. He had a rival in the +scientific school, Jim Greeley, a fellow-townsman of Winfield’s. +Greeley’s matter-of-fact soul was completely congenial to Dorothy, but +the two young men hated each other with great dignity, and Dorothy +reveled in their rivalry. She was quite forgotten, however, when matters +of real college moment were under way—such as the Freshman assault on +the drama. + +The news of the riot-to-be percolated through the two thousand students +without a word reaching the ears of the faculty or the officers of the +theater. There was no reason to expect trouble on this occasion. There +had been no football or baseball or other contest to excite the +students. They made a boisterous audience before the curtain rose—but +then they always did. They called to each other from crag to crag. They +whistled and stamped in unison when the curtain was a moment late; but +that was to be expected in college towns. Strangely, students have been +always and everywhere rioters. + +The first warning the audience had of unusual purposes came when a round +of uproarious applause greeted a comedian’s delivery of a bit of very +cheap wit which had been left in because the author declined to waste +time polishing the seat-banging part of his first act. In this country +an audience that is extremely displeased does not hiss or boo; it +applauds sarcastically and persistently. The poor actor who had aimed to +hurry past the line found himself held up by the ironic hand-clapping. +When he tried to go on, it broke out anew. + +An actor cannot disclaim or apologize for the lines he has to speak, +however his own prosperities are involved in them. So poor Mr. Tuell had +now to stand and perspire while the line he had begged the author to +delete provoked the tempest. + +Whenever the fuming comedian opened his mouth to speak the applause +drowned him. It soon fell into a rhythm of one-two, one-two-three, +one-two, one-two-three. Tuell could only wait till the claque had grown +weary of its own reproof. Then he went on to his next feeble witticism, +another play upon words so childish that it brought forth cries of, +“Naughty, naughty!” + +The other members of the company gathered in the wings, as uncomfortable +as a band of early martyrs waiting their turns to appear before the +lions. To most of them this was their first encounter with a mutinous +audience. + +Audiences are usually a chaos of warring tastes and motives which must +somehow be given focus and unity by the actors. That was the hardest +part of the day’s work—to get the house together. To-night they must +face a ready-made audience with a mind of its own—and that hostile. + +The actors watched the famous “first old woman,” Mrs. John Vining, sail +out with the bravery of a captive empress marching down a Roman street +in chains. She was greeted with harsh cries of, “Grandma!” and, “Oh, +boys, Granny’s came!” + +Mrs. Vining smiled indulgently and went on with her lines. The applause +broke out and continued while she and Mr. Tuell conducted a dumb-show. +Then an abrupt silence fell just in time to emphasize the banality of +her next speech. + +“You ask of Claribel? Speaking of angels, here she comes now.” + +At the sound of her name the actress summoned clutched the cross-piece +of the flat that hid her from the audience. She longed for courage to +run away. But actors do not run away, and she made ready to dance out on +the stage and gush her brilliant first line: “Oh, auntie, there you are. +I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” + +Sheila had always hated the entrance because of its bustling +unimportance. It was exciting enough to-night. No sooner had Mrs. Vining +announced her name than there was a salvo of joy from the mob. + +“Oh, girls, here comes Claribel!” + +Some one stood up and yelped, “Three hearty cheers and a tigress for +Claribel.” + +Sheila fell back into the wings as the clamor smote her. But she had +been seen and admired. There was a hurricane of protest against her +retreat: + +“Come on in, Claribel; the water’s fine!” “Don’t leave the old farm, +Claribel; we need you!” “Peekaboo! I see You Hiding behind the chair.” + +Each of the mutineers shrieked something that he thought was funny, and +laughed at it without heeding what else was shouted. The result was +deafening. + +Eugene Vickery’s heart was set aswing at the glimpse of Sheila Kemble. +The sight of her name on the program had revived his boyhood memories of +her. He rose to protest against the hazing of a young girl, especially +one whose tradition was so sweet in his remembrance, but he was in the +back of the house and his cry of “Shame!” was lost in the uproar, merely +adding to it instead of quelling it. + +Bret Winfield in a stage box had seen Sheila in the wings for some +minutes before her entrance. He knew nothing of her except that her +beauty pleased him thoroughly and that he was sorry to see how scared +she was when she retreated. + +He saw also how plucky she was, for, angered by the boorish unchivalry +of the mob, she marched forth again like a young Amazon. At the full +sight of her the Freshmen united in a huge noise of kisses and murmurs +of, “Yum-yum!” and cries of, “Me for Claribel!” “Say, that’s some gal!” +“Name and address, please!” “I saw her first!” “Second havers!” “Mamma, +buy me that!” She was called a peach, a peacherino, a pippin, a +tangerine, a swell skirt—anything that occurred to the uninspired. + +Sheila felt as if she were struck by a billow. Her own color swept past +the bounds of the stationary blushes she had painted on her cheeks. She +came out again and began her line: “Oh, auntie—” + +It was as if echo had gone into hysterics. Two hundred voices mocked +her: “Oh, auntie!” “Oh, auntie!” “Oh, auntie!” + +She wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry, she wanted to run, she wanted to +fight. She wished that the whole throng had but one ear, that she might +box it. + +The stage-manager was shrieking from the wings: “Go on! Don’t stop for +anything!” + +She continued her words with an effect of pantomime. The responses were +made against a surf of noise. + +Then Eric Folwell, who played the hero, came on. He was handsome, and +knew it. He was a trifle over-graceful, and his evening coat fitted his +perfect figure almost too perfectly. He was met with pitiless +implications of effeminacy. “Oh, Clarice!” “Say, Lizzie, are you busy?” +“Won’t somebody slap the brute on the wrist?” “My Gawd! ain’t he +primeval?” “Oh, you cave-girl!” + +As if this were not shattering enough, some of the students had provided +themselves with bags of those little torpedoes that children throw on +the Fourth of July. One of these exploded at Folwell’s feet. At the +utterly unexpected noise he jumped, as a far braver man might have done, +taken thus unawares. + +This simply enraptured the young mob, and showers of torpedoes fell +about the stage. It fairly snowed explosives. The gravel scattered in +all directions. A pebble struck Sheila on the cheek. It smarted only a +trifle, but the pain was as nothing to the sacrilege. + +Somehow the play struggled on to the cue for the entrance of the heroine +of the play. Miss Zelma Griffen was the leading woman. She was supposed +to arrive in a taxicab, and the warning “honk” of it delighted the +audience. She was followed on by a red-headed chauffeur who asked for +his fare, which she borrowed from the hero, then passed to the +chauffeur, who thanked her and made his exit. + +Miss Griffen was a somewhat sophisticated actress with a large record in +college boys. While she waited for her cue, she had cannily decided to +appease the mob by adopting a tone of good-fellowship. She had also +provided herself with a rosette of the college colors. She waved it at +the audience and smiled. + +This was a false note. It was resented as a familiarity and a +presumption. This same college had rotten-egged an actor some years +before for wearing a ’varsity sweater on the stage. It greeted Miss +Griffen with a storm of angry protest, together with a volley of +torpedoes. + +Miss Griffen, completely nonplussed, gaped for her line, could not +remember a word of it, then ran off the stage, leaving Sheila and Mrs. +Vining and Tuell to take up the fallen torch and improvise the scene. +Sheila made the effort, asked herself the questions Miss Griffen should +have asked her, and answered them. It was her religion as an actress +never to let the play stop. + +With all her wits askew, she soon had herself snarled up in a tangle of +syntax in which she floundered hopelessly. The student body railed at +her: + +“Oh, you grammar! ’Rah, ’rah, ’rah, night school!” + +This insult was too much for the girl. She lost every trace of +self-control. + +All this time Bret Winfield had grown angrier and angrier. Bear-baiting +was one thing; but dove-baiting was too cowardly even for mob-action, +too unfair even for a night of sports, unpardonable even in Freshmen. He +was thrilled with a chivalrous impulse to rush to the defense of Sheila, +whose angry beauty had inflamed him further. + +He stood up in the proscenium box and tried to call for fair play. He +was unheard and unseen; all eyes were fastened on the stage where the +fluttering actress besought the howling stage-manager to throw her the +line louder. + +Winfield determined to make himself both seen and heard. Fellow Seniors +in the box caught at his coat-tails, but he wrenched loose and, putting +a foot over the rail, stepped to the apron of the stage. In his struggle +he lost his eye-glasses. They fell into the footlight trough, and he was +nearly blind. + +Sheila, who stood close at hand, recoiled in panic at the sight of this +unheard-of intrusion. The rampart of the footlights had always stood as +a barrier between Sheila and the audience, an impassable parapet. +To-night she saw it overpassed, and she watched the invader with much +the same horror that a nun would experience at seeing a soldier enter a +convent window. + +Winfield advanced with hesitant valor and frowned fiercely at the +dazzling glare that beat upward from the footlights. + +He was recognized at once as the famous stroke-oar of the crew that had +defeated the historic rivals of Grantham University. He was hailed with +tempest. + +Sheila knew neither his fame nor his mission. She felt that he was about +to lay hands on her; all things were possible from such barbarians. Her +knees weakened. She turned to retreat and clung to a table for support. + +Suddenly she had a defender. From the wings the big actor who had played +the taxicab-driver dashed forward with a roar of anger and let drive at +Winfield’s face. Winfield heard the onset, turned and saw the fist +coming. There was no time to explain his chivalric motive. He ducked and +the blow grazed his cheek, but the actor’s impetus caught him off his +balance and hustled him on backward till one foot slid down among the +footlights. Three electric bulbs were smashed as he went overboard into +the orchestra. + +He almost broke the backs of two unprepared viola-players, but they +eased his fall. He caromed off their shoulder-blades into the +multifarious instruments of the “man in the tin-shop.” One foot thumped +bass-drum with a mighty plop; the other sent a cymbal clanging. His +clutching hands set up a riot of “effects,” and he lay on the floor in a +ruin of orchestral noises, and a bedlam of din from the audience. + +By the time he had gathered himself together the curtain had been +lowered and the whole house was in a typhoon. + +A dozen policemen who had been hastily summoned and impatiently awaited +by the manager charged down the aisles and seized each a double arm-load +of the nearest rioters. The foremost policeman received Winfield as he +clambered, shamefaced, over the orchestra rail. + +Winfield started to explain: “I went up there to ask the fellows to be +quiet.” + +The officer, indignant as he was, let out a guffaw of contemptuous +laughter: “Lord love you, kid, if that’s the best lie you can tell, +what’s the use of education?” + +Winfield realized the hopelessness of such self-defense. It was less +shameful to confess the misdemeanor than to be ridiculed for so impotent +a pretext. He suffered himself to be jostled up the aisle and tossed +into the patrol-wagon with the first van-load of prisoners. He counted +on a brief stay there, for it was a custom of the college to tip over +the patrol-wagon and rescue the victims of the police. + +This year’s Freshmen, however, lacked the necessary initiative and +leadership, and before the lost opportunity could be regained the wagon +had rolled away, leaving the class to eternal ignominy. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + +Deprived of its ringleaders, the mob fell into such disarray that it was +ready to be cowed by the manager of the theater. He had waited for the +police to remove the chief pirates, and now he addressed the audience +with the one speech that could have had success: + +“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve lowered the curtain and I’m going to keep it +lowered till the hoodlums settle down or get thrown out. The majority of +people here to-night have paid good money to see this show. It is a good +show and played by a company of ladies and gentlemen from one of the +best theaters in New York, and I propose to have them treated as such +while they are in our city. We are going to begin the play all over +again, but if there is any further disturbance I’ll ring down the +asbestos and put out the house lights. And no money will be returned at +the box-office.” + +This last argument converted the mob into a sheriff’s posse. The +house-manager received a round of applause and the first Freshman who +rose in his place was subdued by his own fellow-classmen. + +Bret Winfield spent the night in a cell. He slept little, because the +Freshmen hardly ceased to sing the night long; they were solacing +themselves with doleful glees. Winfield could not help smiling at his +imprisonment. Don Quixote was tasting the reward of misapplied chivalry. + +The next morning he made no defense before the glowering judge who had +played just such pranks in his college days and felt, therefore, a +double duty to repress it in the later generation. He excoriated Bret +Winfield especially, and Winfield kept silence, knowing that the truth +would gain him no credence and only added contempt. The judge fined the +young miscreants five dollars each and left their further punishment to +the faculty. + +On his way back to his rooms after his release, Winfield met Eugene +Vickery, and said, with a wry smile, “Hello, ’Gene! I’ve just escaped +from the penitentiary.” + +To his astonishment, Vickery snapped back, “I’m sorry to hear it.” + +Winfield, seeing that he was in earnest, fumbled for words: “What +the—Why the—Well, say!” + +The slight and spindling youth confronted the bureau-chested giant and +shook his finger in his face: “If you weren’t so much bigger than I am +I’d give you worse than that actor gave you. To think that a great big +hulk like you should try to attack a little girl like that! Don’t you +ever dare speak to me or my sister again.” + +Winfield gave an excellent imitation of incipient apoplexy. He seized +Vickery by the lapels to demand: “Good Lord, ’Gene, you don’t think +I—Say, what do you think I am, anyway? Why—Well, can you beat it? I +ask you? Ah, you can all go plumb to—Ah, what’s the good!” + +Winfield never was an explainer. He lacked language; he lacked the +ambition to be understood. It made him an excellent sportsman. When he +lost he wasted no time in explaining why he had not won. To him the +martyrdom of being misunderstood was less bitter than the martyrdom of +justifying himself. He was so dazed now by the outcome of his +knight-errantry that he resolved to leave the college to its own verdict +of him. Eugene Vickery’s ruling passion, however, was a frenzy to +understand and to be understood. He caught the meaning in Winfield’s +incoherence and seized him by the lapel: + +“You mean that you didn’t go out on the stage to scare the girl, but +to—Well, that’s more like you! I’m a lunkhead not to have known it from +the first. Why, a copper collared me, too, and accused me of being one +of the Freshmen! I talked him out of it and proved I was a +post-graduate, or I’d have spent the night in a dungeon, too. Well, +well! and to think I got you so wrong! You write a statement to the +papers right away.” + +“Ah, what’s the good?” + +“Then I will.” + +“Just as much obliged, but no, you won’t.” + +“You ought to square yourself with the people who—” + +“There’s just two people I want to square myself with—that little +actress who didn’t realize what I was there for, and that damned actor +who knocked me through the bass-drum. Who were they, anyway? I didn’t +get a program.” + +“I didn’t see the man’s name; but the girl—I used to know her.” + +“You did! Say!” + +“She was only a kid then, and so was I. She could act then, too,—for a +kid, but now—You missed the rest of the show, though, didn’t you?” + +“Yes. I was called away.” + +“After you left, the audience was as good as a congregation. Sheila +Kemble—that’s the girl—was wonderful. She didn’t have much to do, but, +golly! how she did it! She had that thing they call ‘authority,’ you +know. I wrote a play for her as a kid.” + +“You did! Say! Did she like it?” + +“She never saw it. But I’m going to write her another. I planned to be a +professor of Greek—but not now—ump-umm! I’m going to be a playwright. +And I’m going to make a star out of Sheila Kemble, and hitch my wagon to +her.” + +“Well, say, give me a ride in that wagon, will you? Do you suppose I +could meet her? I’ve got to square myself with her.” + +Eugene looked a trifle pained at Bret’s interest in another girl than +Dorothy, but he said: “I’m on my way to the theater now to find out +where she’s stopping and leave this note for her. I don’t suppose she’ll +remember me; but she might.” + +“Do you mind if I tag after you? I might get a swipe at that actor, +too.” + +“Oh, well, come along.” + +They marched to the theater, stepping high and hoping higher. The stage +door-keeper brought them to ground with the information that the company +had left on a midnight train after the performance. He had no idea where +they had gone. + +The two youths, ignorant of the simple means of following theatrical +routes, went back to their dismal university with a bland trust that +fate would somehow arrange a rencounter for them. + +Winfield was soon called before the faculty. He had rehearsed a speech +written for him by Eugene Vickery. He forgot most of it and ruined its +eloquence by his mumbling delivery. + +The faculty had dealt harshly with the Freshmen, several of whom it had +sent home to the mercy of their fathers. But Winfield’s explanation was +accepted. In the first place, he was a Senior and not likely to have +stooped to the atrocity of abetting a Freshman enterprise. In the second +place, he would be needed in the next rowing-contest at New London. In +the third place, his millionaire father was trembling on the verge of +donating to the university a second liberal endowment. + +Winfield and Vickery returned to their daily chores and put in camphor +their various ambitions. Winfield endured the multitudinous jests of the +university on his record-breaking backward dive across the footlights, +but he made it his business to find out the name of the actor who +brought him his ignominy. In time he learned it and enshrined “Floyd +Eldon” and “Sheila Kemble” in prominent niches for future attention. +Somehow his loneliness for Dorothy seemed less poignant than before. + +Eugene Vickery could have been seen at almost any hour, lying on his +stomach and changing an improbable novel into an impossible play. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + +It was Sheila Kemble’s destiny to pass like a magnet through a world +largely composed of iron filings, though it was her destiny also to meet +a number of silver chums on whom her powers exerted no drag whatever. +Her father had been greatly troubled by her growth through the various +strata of her personality. He had noted with pain that she had a company +smile which was not the smile that illumined her face when she was +simply happy. He had begun a course of education. He kept taking her +down a peg or two, mimicking her, satirizing her. Her mother protested. + +“Let the child alone. It will wear off. She has to go through it, but +she’ll molt and take on a new set of feathers in due time.” + +“She’s got to,” Kemble groaned. “I’d rather have her deformed than +affected. If she’s going to be conscious of something, let her be +conscious of her faults.” + +Sheila had been schooled at school as well as at home. With both father +and mother earning large sums, the family was prosperous enough to give +its only child the most expensive forms of education—and did. In school +she tormented and charmed her teachers; she was so endlessly eager for +attention. It was true that she always tried to earn it and deserve it, +but the effort irritated the instructors, whose ideal for a girl was +that she should be as inconspicuous as possible. That was not Sheila’s +ideal. Not at all! + +She had soon tired of her classes. She was by nature quick at study. She +learned her lessons by a sort of mental photography, as she learned her +rôles later. The grind of her lessons irked her, not because she wanted +to be out at play like other children, but because she wanted to be in +at work. As ambitious young men chafe to run away from school and begin +their destinies, so young women are beginning to fret for their own +careers. + +But Sheila’s father and mother were eager for her to stay a baby. Polly +Farren especially was not unwilling to postpone acknowledging herself +the mother of a grown-up daughter. + +“You must have your childhood,” Roger had said. + +“But I’ve had it,” Sheila declared. + +“Oh, you have, have you?” her father laughed. “Why, you little upstart +kid, you’re only a baby.” + +Sheila protested: “Juliet was only thirteen years old when she married +Romeo, and Eleonora Duse was only fourteen when she played the part, and +here I’m sixteen and I haven’t started yet.” + +“Help! help!” cried Roger, with a sickish smile. “But you must prepare +yourself for your career by first educating yourself as a lady.” + +This argument had convinced her. She consented to play one more season +at Miss Neely’s school. She came forth more zealous than ever to be an +actress. Polly and Roger had wheedled her along as best they could, +tried to interest her in literature, water-colors, needlework, golf, +tennis, European travel. But her cry for “work” could not be silenced. + +When the autumn drew on they had urged her to try one year more at +school, pleaded that there was no opening for her in their company. She +was too young, too inexperienced. + +She murmured “Yes?” with an impudent uptilt of inflection. + +She left the house, and came home that afternoon bringing a contract. +She handed it to her father with another of those rising inflections, +“No?” + +He looked at the paper, gulped, called, “Polly!” + +They looked it over together. The party of the first part was J. J. +Cassard. + +“And who is J. J. Cassard?” said Polly, trying not to breathe fast. +Roger growled: + +“One of those Pacific-coast managers trying to jimmy a way into New +York.” + +Hoping to escape the vital question by attacking the details, Roger +glanced through the various clauses. It was a splendid contract—for +Sheila. The hateful “two-weeks’ clause” by which she could be dismissed +at a fortnight’s notice was omitted and in its place was an agreement to +pay for her costumes and a maid. + +“Do you mean to say,” Kemble blustered, “that Cassard handed you a +document like that right off the reel?” + +“Oh no,” perked Sheila; “he gave me a regular white-slave mortgage at +first.” + +“Where does she learn such language!” gasped Polly. + +Sheila went on, “But I whipped him out on every point.” + +“It looks almost suspicious,” said Kemble, and Polly protested. + +“I was ten years on the stage before I got my modern costumes and a +maid.” + +“Well,” said Sheila, as blandly as if she were a traveling saleswoman +describing her wares, “Cassard said I was pretty, and I reminded him +that I had the immense advertising value of the great Roger Kemble’s +name, and I told him I had probably inherited some of the wonderful +dramatic ability of Polly Farren. I told him I might take that for my +stage name—Farren Kemble.” + +Father and mother cast their eyes up and shook their heads, but they +could not help being pleased by the flattery implied and applied. + +Roger said: “Well, if all that is true, we’d better keep it in the +family. You’ll go with us.” + +“But you said there was no part for me to play.” + +“There’s the chambermaid.” + +“No, you don’t!” said Sheila. “You don’t hide me in any of those ‘Did +you rings?’ and ‘Won’t you sit down, ma’ams?”’ + +“We’ll have the author build up the part a little, and there’s a bit in +the third act that’s really quite interesting.” + +Sheila refused flatly. But her mother cried all that night, and her +father looked so glum the next morning that she consented to chaperon +them for one more year. + +She revealed a genuine gift for the stage, and she had a carrying +personality. When she entered as the chambermaid and said, “Did you +ring?” the audience felt a strangely vivid spark of reality at once. She +needed nothing to say. She just was. Like some of the curiously alive +figures in the paintings of the Little Dutch masters, she was perfectly +in and of the picture, and yet she was rounded and complete. She was +felt when she entered and missed when she left. + +Two or three times when her mother fell ill Sheila played her part—that +of a young widow. She did not look it yet, of course, but there was that +same uncanny actuality that had stirred the people who watched her as an +infantile Ophelia. + +Seeing that she meant to be a star and was meant to be one, her parents +gave her the best of their wisdom, taught her little tricks of make-up, +and gesture, and economy of gesture; of emphasis by force and of +emphasis by restraint; the art of underlining important words and of +seeming not to have memorized her speeches, but to be improvising them +from the previous speech or from the situation. They taught her what can +be taught of the intricate technique of comedy—waiting for the laugh +while seeming to hurry past it; making speed, yet scoring points; the +great art of listening; the delicate science of when to move and when +not to move, and the tremendous power of a turn of the eyes. And, above +all, they hammered into her head the importance of sincerity—sincerity. + +“There are hundreds of right ways to read any line,” Roger would say, +“and only one way that’s wrong—the insincere way. Insincerity can be +shown as much by exaggeration as by indifference. Let your character +express what you feel, and the audience will understand you, if it’s +only a slow closing of the eyes once or a little shift of the weight. Be +sincere!” + +Two seasons later, Roger’s manager brought over from Europe a well-tried +success that suited Roger and Polly to a T, but included no rôle at all +for Sheila. She simply could not play the fat old dowager, and she +simply would not play the laconic housemaid. The time had come for the +family to part. + + * * * * * + +Fathers are always frightened to death of their daughters’ welfares in +this risky, woman-trapping world. Roger Kemble knew well enough what +dangers Sheila ran. Whether they were greater than they would have been +in any other walk of life or in the most secluded shelter, he did not +know. He knew only that his child’s honor and honesty were infinitely +dear to him, and that he could not keep her from running along the +primrose path of public admiration. He could not be with her always. + +He managed to get Sheila an engagement with the production called “A +Friend in Need.” The part was not important, but she could travel with +her great-aunt, Mrs. Vining, who could serve as her guardian and teach +her a vast deal about acting as an art and a business. Also Polly +decided to give Sheila her own maid, Nettie Pennock, a slim, prim, grim +old spinster whose very presence advertised respectability. Pennock had +spent most of her life in the theater, and looked as if she had never +seen a play. Polly said that she “looked like all the Hard-shell Baptist +ministers’ wives in the world rolled into one.” + +But Pennock was broad-hearted and reticent, and as tolerant as +ministers’ wives ought to be. She was efficient as a machine, and as +tireless. She could be a tyrant, and her faultfindings were sparse and +sharp as drops of vinegar from a cruet. Polly was more afraid of them +than of all the thumps of the bladder-swatting critics. + +Yet that frosty face could smile with the sudden sweetness of sunlight +on snow, and Sheila’s arms about her melted her at once, except when she +had done some mischief or malice. And then Pennock could be thawed only +by a genuine and lengthy penance. + +Roger urged Polly to fill Sheila’s ears with good counsel, but Polly +Farren knew how little impression advice makes on those whom no inner +instinct impels to do the right thing anyway. + + * * * * * + +After the usual rehearsals in New York, “A Friend in Need” had the usual +preliminary weeks on the road before it was submitted to New York. + +When the time came for Sheila to leave home and strike out for herself, +it fell to Roger to take her to the train. Polly was suffering from one +of those sick headaches of hers which prostrated her when she was not at +work, though they never kept her from giving a sparkling performance. +Indeed, Kemble used to say that if the Angel Gabriel wanted to raise +Polly from the grave on Judgment morning, all the trumpets of the +Apocalypse would fail to rouse the late sleeper. But if he murmured +“Overture!” she would be there in costume with all her make-up on. + +On the way to the station with Sheila, who was as excited as a boy going +to sea, Roger was mightily troubled over her. She was indeed going to +sea, and in a leaky boat, the frail barge of dreams. He felt that he +must speak to her on the Importance of Being Good. The frivolous +comedian suffered anguishes of stage-fright, but finally mustered the +courage to deliver himself as Polonius might have done if it had been +Ophelia instead of Laertes who was setting out for foreign travel. + +It was a task to daunt a preachier parent than Roger Kemble, and it was +not easy to talk first principles of behavior to a sophisticated young +woman who knew as much about things as Sheila did. + +Roger made a dozen false starts and ended in gulps, till Sheila finally +said: “What’s the matter, old boy? You’re trying to say something, but I +can’t make out what it is. Tell me, and I may be able to throw you the +line.” + +“It’s about you, honey. I’m—That is, Polly is—At least your mother and +I—Well, anyway—” + +“Yes, and then?” said Sheila. + +Roger got the bit in his teeth and bolted. “The fact is, young woman, +you are all the daughters of your father’s and mother’s house. We’re +awfully proud of you, of course. And we know you’re going to be a big +actress. But we’d rather have you Just a good girl than all the stars in +the Milky Way squeezed into one. Do you still say your prayers at night, +honey?” + +“Sometimes,” she sighed, “when I’m not too sleepy.” + +“Well, say ’em in the mornings, then, when you first get up.” + +“I’m pretty sleepy, then, too.” + +“Well, for Heaven’s sake, say ’em sometimes.” + +“All right, daddy, I promise. Was that all?” + +“Yes! No! That is—You see, Sheila, you’re starting out by yourself and +you’re awfully pretty, and you’re pretty young, and the men are always +after a pretty girl, especially on the stage. And being on the stage, +you’re sure to be misjudged, and men will attempt—will say things they +wouldn’t dare try on a nice girl elsewhere. And you must be very much on +your guard.” + +“I’ll try to be, daddy, thank you. Don’t you worry.” + +“You know you’ll have to go to hotels and wait in railroad stations and +take cabs and go about alone at all hours, and you must be twice as +cautious as you’d be otherwise.” + +“I understand, dear.” + +“You see, Sheila honey, every woman who is in business or professional +life or is an artist or a nurse or a doctor or anything like that has to +stand a lot of insult, but so long as she realizes that it really is an +insult for a man to be familiar or anything like that, why, she’s all +right. But the minute she gets to feeling too free or to acting as if +she were a man, or tries to be a good fellow and a Bohemian and all that +rot—she’s going to give men a wrong impression. And then—well, even a +man that is the very decentest sort is likely to—to grow a little too +enterprising if a girl seems to encourage him, or even if she doesn’t +discourage him right at the jump.” + +“I know.” + +That little “I know” alarmed him more than ever. He went on with +redoubled zeal. + +“I want you to remember one thing always, Sheila—you’ve got only one +life to live and one soul to take care of and only one body to keep it +in. And it’s entirely up to you what you make of yourself. Education and +good breeding and all that sort of thing help, but they don’t guarantee +anything. Even religion doesn’t always protect a girl; sometimes it +seems to make her more emotional and—Well, I don’t know what can +protect a girl unless it’s a kind of—er—well, a sort of +a—conceitedness. Call it self-respect if you want to or anything. But +it seems to me that if I were a girl the thing that would keep me +straightest would be just that. I shouldn’t want to sell myself cheap, +or give myself away forever for a few minutes of—excitement, or throw +the most precious pearl on earth before any swine of a man. That’s it, +Sheila—keep yourself precious.” + +“I’ll try to, dad. Don’t worry!” she murmured, timidly. + +Such discussions are among the most terrifying of human experiences. +Roger Kemble was trembling as he went on: “Some day, you know, you’ll +meet the man that belongs to you, and that you belong to. Save yourself +for him, eh?” + +Then the modern woman spoke sternly: “Seems to me, daddy, that a girl +ought to have some better reason for taking care of herself than just +because she’s saving herself for some man.” + +“Of course. You’re quite right, my dear. But I only meant—” + +“I understand. I’ll try to save myself for myself. I don’t belong to any +man. I belong just to me; and I’m all I’ve got.” + +“That’s a much better way to put it. Much better.” And he sighed with +immense relief. + +The idea of the man that should make his daughter his own was an odious +idea to the father. It was odious now to the girl, too, for she was not +yet ready for that stormy crisis when she would make a pride of humility +and a rapture of surrender. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + +The play that Sheila was surrendered to, “A Friend in Need,” proved a +success and raised its young author to such heights of pride and elation +that when his next work, an ambitious drama, was produced, he had a long +distance to fall. And fell hard. + +Young Trivett had tossed off “A Friend in Need” and had won from it the +highest praise as a craftsman. He had worked five years on his drama, +only to be accused of being “so spoiled by success as to think that the +public would endure anything he tossed off.” + +But the miserable collapse of his _chef-d’œuvre_ did not even check the +triumph of his _hors-d’œuvre_. “A Friend in Need” ran on “to capacity” +until the summer weather turned the theater into a chafing-dish. Then +the company was disbanded. + +In the early autumn following it was reorganized for a road tour. Of the +original company only four or five members were re-engaged—Sheila, Mrs. +Vining, Miss Griffen, and Tuell. + +During the rehearsals Sheila had paid little attention to the new +people. She was doomed to be in their company for thirty or forty weeks +and she was in no hurry to know them. She was gracious enough to those +she met, but she made no advances to the others, nor they to her. She +had noticed that a new man played the taxicab-driver, but she neither +knew nor cared about his name, his aim, or his previous condition of +servitude. + +The Freshmen of Leroy University brought him to her attention with a +spectacular suddenness in the guise of a hero. The blow he struck in her +supposed defense served as an ideal letter of introduction. + +As soon as the curtain had fallen on the riot, cutting off the view of +the battle between the police and the students, Sheila looked about for +the hero who had rescued her from Heaven alone knew what outrage. + +The neglected member of the troupe had leaped into the star rôle, the +superstar rôle of a man who wages a battle in a woman’s defense. She ran +to him and, seizing his hands, cried: + +“How can I ever, ever, ever thank you, Mr.—Mr.—I’m so excited I can’t +remember your name.” + +“Eldon—Floyd Eldon, Miss Kemble.” + +“You were wonderful, wonderful!” + +“Why, thank you, Miss Kemble. I’m glad if you—if—To have been of +service to you is—is—” + +The stage-manager broke up the exchange of compliments with a “Clear! +clear! Damn it, the curtain’s going up.” They ran for opposite wings. + +When the play was over Eldon was not to be found, and Sheila went with +her aunt to the train. At the hour when Winfield was being released from +his cell the special sleeping-car that carried the “Friend in Need” +company was three hundred miles or more away and fleeing farther. + +When Sheila raised the curtain of her berth and looked out upon the +reeling landscape the morning was nearly noon. Yet when she hobbled down +the aisle in unbuttoned shoes and the costume of a woman making a hasty +exit from a burning building, there were not many of the troupe awake to +observe her. Her aunt, however, was among these, for old age was robbing +Mrs. Vining of her lifelong habit of forenoon slumber. Like many another +of her age, she berated as weak or shiftless what she could no longer +enjoy. + +But Sheila was used to her and her rubber-stamp approval of the past and +rubber-stamp reproval of the present. They went into the dining-car +together, Sheila making the usual theatrical combination of breakfast +and lunch. As she took her place at a table she caught sight of her +rescuer of the night before. + +He was gouging an orange when Sheila surprised him with one of her best +smiles. His startled spoon shot a geyser of juice into his eye, but he +smiled back in spite of that, and made a desperate effort not to wink. +Sheila noted the stoicism and thought to herself, “A hero, on and off.” + +Later in the afternoon when she had read such morning papers as were +brought aboard the train, and found them deadly dull since there was +nothing about her in them, and when she had read into her novel till she +discovered the familiar framework of it, and when from sheer boredom she +was wishing that it were a matinée day so that she might be at her work, +she saw Floyd Eldon coming down the aisle of the car. + +He had sat in the smoking-room until he had wearied of the amusing +reminiscences of old Jaffer, who was always reminiscent, and of the grim +silence of Crumb, who was always taciturn, and of the half-smothered +groans of Tuell, who was always aching somewhere. At length Eldon had +resolved to be alone, that he might ride herd about the drove of his own +thoughts. He made his face ready for a restrained smile that should not +betray to Sheila in one passing glance all that she meant to him. + +To his ecstatic horror she stopped him with a gesture and overwhelmed +him by the delightful observation that it was a beautiful day. He freely +admitted that it was and would have moved on, but she checked him again +to present him to Mrs. Vining. + +Mrs. Vining was pleased with the distinguished bow he gave her. It was a +sort of old-comedy bow. She studied him freely as he turned in response +to Sheila’s next confusing words: + +“I want to thank you again for coming to my rescue from that horrible +brute.” + +Eldon looked as guilty as if she had accused him of being himself the +brute he had saved her from. He threw off his disgusting embarrassment +with an effort at a careless shrug: + +“It was nothing—nothing at all, I am sure.” + +“It was wonderful,” Sheila insisted. “How powerful you must be to have +lifted that monster clear over the apron of the stage into the lap of +the orchestra!” + +A man never likes to deny his infinite strength, but Eldon was honest +enough to protest: “I caught him off his balance, I am afraid. And, +besides, it comes rather natural to me to slug a man from Leroy.” + +“Yes? Why?” + +“I am a Grantham man myself. I was on our ’varsity eleven a couple of +years.” + +“Oh!” said Sheila. “Sit down, won’t you?” + + * * * * * + +She felt that she had managed this rather crassly. It would have been +more delicate to express less surprise and to delay the invitation to a +later point. But it was too late now. He had already dropped into the +place beside her, not noticing until too late that he sat upon a novel +and a magazine or two and an embroidery hoop on which she had intended +to work. But he was on so many pins and needles that he hardly heeded +one more. + +College men are increasingly frequent on the stage, but not yet frequent +enough to escape a little prestige or a little prejudice, according to +the point of view. In Sheila’s case Eldon gained prestige and a touch of +majesty that put her wits to some embarrassment for conversation. It was +one thing to be gracious to a starveling actor with a two-line rôle; it +was quite another to be gracious to a football hero full of fame and +learning. + +Mrs. Vining, however, had played _grandes dames_ too long to look up to +anybody. She felt at ease even in the presence of this big +third-baseman, or coxswain, or whatever he had been on his football +nine. She said, “Been on the stage long, Mr. Eldon?” + +Eldon grinned meekly, looked up and down the aisle with mock anxiety, +and answered: “The stage-manager isn’t listening? This is my first +engagement.” + +“Really?” was the only comment Sheila could think of. + +After his long silence in the company, and under the warming influence +of Sheila’s presence, the snows of pent-up reminiscence came down in a +flood of confession: + +“I don’t really belong on the stage, you know. I haven’t a big enough +part to show how bad an actor I really could be if I had the chance. But +I set my mind on going on the stage, and go I went.” + +“Did you find it hard to get a position?” + +“Well, when I left college and the question of my profession came up, +dad and I had several hot-and-heavies. Finally he swore that if I didn’t +accept a job in his office I need never darken his door again. Business +of turning out of house. Father shaking fist. Son exit center, swearing +he will never come back again. Sound of door slamming heard off.” + +Sheila still loved life in theatrical terms. “But what did your poor +mother do?” she said. + +A film seemed to veil Eldon’s eyes as he mumbled: “She wasn’t there. She +was spared that.” Then he gulped down his private grief and went on with +his more congenial self-derision: “I left home, feeling like Columbus +going to discover America. I didn’t expect to star the first year, but I +thought I could get some kind of a job. I went to New York and called on +all the managers. I was such an ignoramus that I hadn’t heard of the +agencies. I got to know several office-boys very well before one of them +told me about the employment bureaus. Well, you know all about that +agency game.” + +Sheila had been spared the passage through this Inferno on her way to +the Purgatory of apprenticeship. But she had heard enough about it to +feel sad for him, and she spared him any allusions to her superior luck. +Still, she encouraged him to describe his own adventures. + +He told of the hardships he encountered and the siege he laid to the +theater before he found a breach in its walls to crawl through. +Constantly he paused to apologize for his garrulity, but Sheila urged +him on. She had been born within the walls and she knew almost nothing +of the struggles that others met except from hearsay. And she had never +heard say from just such a man with just such a determination. So she +coaxed him on and on with his history, as Desdemona persuaded Othello to +talk. With a greedy ear she devoured up his discourse and made him +dilate all his pilgrimage. Only, Eldon was not a Blackmoor, and it was +of his defeats and not his victories that he told. Which made him +perhaps all the more attractive, seeing that he was well born and well +made. + +He laughed at his own ignorance, and felt none of the pity for himself +that Sheila felt for him. When she praised his determination, he sneered +at himself: + +“It was just bull-headed stubbornness. I was ashamed to go back to my +dad and eat veal, and so I didn’t eat much of anything for a long while. +The only jobs I could get were off the stage, and I held them just long +enough to save up for another try. How these actors keep alive I can’t +imagine. I nearly starved to death. It wouldn’t have been much of a loss +to the stage if I had, but it wasn’t much fun for me. I wore out my +clothes and wore out my shoes and my overcoat and my hat. I wore out +everything but my common sense. If I’d had any of that I’d have given +up.” + +Mrs. Vining moved uneasily. “If you’d had common sense you wouldn’t have +tried to get on the stage.” + +“Auntie!” Sheila gasped. But she put up her old hand like a decayed +czarina: + +“And if you have common sense you’ll never succeed, now that you’re +here.” + +When this bewildered Eldon, she added, with the dignity of a priestess: +“Acting is an art, not a business; and people come to see artists, not +business men. Half of the actors are just drummers traveling about; but +the real successes are made by geniuses who have charm and individuality +and insight and uncommon sense. I think you’re probably just fool enough +to succeed. But go on.” + +Eldon felt both flattered and dismayed by this pronouncement. He began +to talk to hide his confusion. + +“I’m a fool, all right. Whether I’m just the right sort of a fool—Well, +anyway—my money didn’t last long, and I owed everybody that would trust +me for a meal or a room. The office-boys gave me impudence until I wore +that out too, and then they treated me like any old bench-warmer in the +park. The agents grew sick of the sight of me. They sent me to the +managers until they had instructions not to send me again. But still I +stuck at it, the Lord knows why. + +“One day I went the rounds of the agencies as usual. When I came to the +last one I was so nauseated with the idiocy of asking the same old +grocery-boy’s question, ‘Anything to-day?’ I just put my head in at the +door, gave one hungry look around, and started away again. The +agent—Mrs. Sanchez, it was—beckoned to me, but I didn’t see; she +called after me, but I didn’t hear; she sent an office-boy to bring me +back. + +“When I squeezed through the crowd in the office it was like being +called out of my place in the bread-line to get the last loaf of the +day. I felt ashamed of my success and I was afraid that I was going to +be asked to take the place of some Broadway star who had suddenly fallen +ill. + +“Mrs. Sanchez swung open the gate in the rail and said: ‘Young man, can +you sing?’ + +“My heart fell to the floor and I stepped on it. I heard myself saying, +‘Is Caruso sick?’ + +“Mrs. Sanchez explained: ‘It’s not so bad as all that. But can you carry +a tune?’ + +“I told her that I used to growl as loud a bass as the rest of them when +we sang on the college fence. + +“‘That’s enough,’ said Mrs. Sanchez. ‘They’re putting on a Civil War +play and they want a man to be one of a crowd of soldiers who sing at +the camp-fire in one of the acts. The part isn’t big enough to pay a +singer and there is nothing else to do but get shot and play dead in the +battle scene.’ + +“I told her I thought I could play dead to the satisfaction of any +reasonable manager and she gave me a card to the producer. + +“Then she said, ‘You’ve never been on the stage, have you?’ + +“I shook my head. She told me to tell the producer that I had just come +in from the road with a play that had closed after a six months’ run. I +took the card and dashed out of the office so fast I nearly knocked over +a poor old thing with a head of hair like a bushel of excelsior. It took +me two days to get to the producer, and then he told me that it had been +decided not to send the play out, since the theatrical conditions were +so bad.” + +Mrs. Vining interpolated, “Theatrical conditions are like the +weather—always dangerous for people with poor circulation.” + +“I went back to the office,” said Eldon, “and told Mrs. Sanchez the +situation. The other members of the company had beaten me there. The +poor old soul was broken-hearted, and I don’t believe she regretted her +lost commissions as much as the disappointment of the actors. + +“A lot of people have told me she was heartless. She was always good to +me, and if she was a little hard in her manner it was because she would +have died if she hadn’t been. Agents are like doctors, they’ve got to +grow callous or quit. Her office was a shop where she bought and sold +hopes and heartbreaks, and if she had squandered her sympathy on +everybody she wouldn’t have lasted a week. But for some reason or other +she made a kind of pet of me.” + +Mrs. Vining murmured, “I rather fancy that she was not the first, and +won’t be the last, woman to do that.” + + * * * * * + +Eldon flushed like a young boy who has been told that he is pretty. He +realized also that he had been talking about himself to a most unusual +extent with most unusual frankness, and he relapsed into silence until +Sheila urged him on. + +It was a stupid Sunday afternoon in the train and he was like a traveler +telling of strange lands, under the insatiable expectancy of a fair +listener. There are few industries easier to persuade a human being +toward than the industry of autobiography. Eldon described the dreary +Sahara of idleness that he crossed before his next opportunity appeared. + +As a castaway sits in the cabin of a ship that has rescued him and +smiles while he recounts the straits he has escaped from, and never +dreams of the storms that are gathering in his future skies, so Eldon in +the Pullman car chuckled over the history of his past and fretted not a +whit over the miseries he was hurrying to. + +The only thing that could have completed his luxury was added to him +when he saw that Sheila, instead of laughing with him, was staring at +him through half-closed eyelids on whose lashes there was more than a +suspicion of dew. There was pity in her eyes, but in her words only +admiration: + +“And you didn’t give up even then!” + +“No,” said Eldon; “it is mighty hard knocking intelligence into as thick +a skull as mine. I went back to the garage where I had worked as a +helper. I had learned something about automobiles when I ran the one my +father bought me. But I kept nagging the agencies. Awful idiot, eh?” + +To his great surprise the cynical Mrs. Vining put in a word of implied +approval: + +“We are always reading about the splendid perseverance of men who become +leading dry-goods merchants of their towns or prominent politicians or +great painters, but the actors know as well as anybody what real +perseverance is. And nobody gives them credit for being anything but a +lot of dissipated loafers.” + +Sheila was not interested in generalizations. She wanted to know about +the immediate young man before her. She was still child enough to feel +tremendous suspense over a situation, however well she knew that it must +have a happy ending. When she had been littler the story of Jack the +Giant-killer had enjoyed an unbroken run of forty nights in the bedtime +repertoire of her mother. And never once had she failed to shiver with +delicious fright and suffer anguishes of anxiety for poor Jack whenever +she heard the ogre’s voice. At the first sound of his _leit motiv_, +“Fee, fi, fo, fum—” her little hands would clutch her mother’s arm and +her eyes would pop with terror. Yet, without losing at all the thrill of +the drama, she would correct the least deviation from the sacred text +and rebuke the least effort at interpolation. + +It was this weird combination of childish credulity, fierce imagination, +and exact intelligence that made up her gift of pretending. So long as +she could keep that without outgrowing it, as the vast majority do, she +would be set apart from the herd as one who could dream with the eyes +wide open. + +When she looked at Eldon she saw him as the ragged, hungry beggar at the +stage door. She saw him turned away and she feared that he might die, +though she knew that he still lived. There was genuine anxiety in her +voice when she demanded, “How on earth did you ever manage to succeed?” + +“I haven’t succeeded yet,” said Eldon, “or even begun to, but I am still +alive. It’s hard to get food and employment in New York, but somehow +it’s harder still to starve there. One way or another I kept at work and +hounded the managers. And one day I happened in at a manager’s office +just as he was firing an actor who thought he had some rights in the +world. He snapped me up with an offer of twenty-five dollars a week. If +he had offered me a million it wouldn’t have seemed any bigger.” + +Mrs. Vining had listened with unwonted interest and with some +difficulty, for sleep had been tugging at her heavy old eyelids. As soon +as she heard that Eldon had arrived in haven at last she felt no further +necessity of attention and fell asleep on the instant. + +Sheila sighed with relief, too. And the train had purred along +contentedly for half a mile before she realized that after all Eldon was +not with that company, but with this. Seeing that her aunt was no longer +with them in spirit, she lowered her voice to comment: + +“But if you went with the other troupe, what are you doing here?” + +“Well, you see, I thought I ought to tell Mrs. Sanchez the good news. I +thought she would be glad to hear it, and I was going to offer her the +commission for all the work she had done and all the time she had spent +on me. She looked disappointed when I told her, and she warned me that +the manager was unreliable and the play a gamble. She had just found me +a position with a company taking an assured success to the road. It was +this play of yours. The part was small and the pay was smaller still, +but it was good for forty weeks. + +“But I was ambitious, and I told her I would take the other. I wanted to +create—that was the big word I used—I wanted to ‘create’ a new part. +She told me that the first thing for an actor to do was to connect with +a steady job, but I wouldn’t listen to her till finally she happened to +mention something that changed my mind.” + +He flushed with an excitement that roused Sheila’s curiosity. When he +did not go on, she said: + +“But what was it that changed your mind?” + +Eldon smiled comfortably, and, emboldened by the long attention of his +audience, ventured to murmur the truth: “I had seen you act—in New +York—in this play, and I—I thought that you were a wonderful actress, +and more than that—the most—the most—Well, anyway, Mrs. Sanchez +happened to mention that you would be with this company, so I took the +part of the taxicab-driver. But I found I was farther away from you than +ever—till—till last night.” + +And then Eldon was as startled at the sound of his words and their +immense import as Sheila was. The little word “you” resounded softly +like warning torpedoes on a railroad track signaling: “Down brakes! +Danger ahead!” + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + +As Eldon’s words echoed back through his ears he knew that he had said +too much and too soon. Sheila was afraid to speak at all; she could not +improvise the exquisitely nice phrase that should say neither more nor +less than enough. Indeed, she could not imagine just what she wanted to +say, what she really felt or ought to feel. + +The woman was never born, probably, who could find a declaration of +devotion entirely unwelcome, no matter from whom. And yet Sheila felt +any number of inconveniences in being loved by this man who was a total +stranger yesterday and an old acquaintance to-day. It would be endlessly +embarrassing to have a member of the company, especially so humble a +member, infatuated with her. It would be infinitely difficult to be +ordinarily polite to him without either wounding him or seeming to +encourage him. She had the theatric gift for carrying on a situation +into its future developments. She was silent, but busily silent, +dramatizing to-morrows, and the to-morrows of to-morrows. + +Eldon’s thoughts also were speeding noisily through his brain while his +lips were uncomfortably idle. He felt that he had been guilty of a gross +indiscretion and he wanted to remove himself from the discomfort he had +created, but he could not find the courage to get himself to his feet, +or the wit to continue or even to take up some other subject. + +It was probably their silence that finally wakened Mrs. Vining. She +opened her drowsy eyes, wondering how long she had slept and hoping that +they had not missed her. She realized at once that they were both +laboring under some confusion. She was going to ask what it was. + +Sheila resented the situation. Already she was a fellow-culprit with +this troublesome young man. An unwitting rescuer appeared in the person +of the stage-manager who dawdled along the aisle in the boredom of a +stage-manager, who can never quite forget his position of authority and +is never allowed to forget that his flock are proud individuals who feel +that they know more than he does. + +Sheila was impelled to appeal to Batterson on Eldon’s behalf, but she +and the stage-manager had been in a state of armed truce since a clash +that occurred at rehearsals. Batterson was not the original producer of +the play, but he put out the road company and kept with it. + +A reading of Sheila’s had always jarred him. He tried to change it. She +tried to oblige him, but simply could not grasp what he was driving at. +One of those peculiar struggles ensued in which two people are mutually +astounded and outraged at their inability to explain or understand. + +But if Mr. Batterson was hostile to Sheila, he was afraid of Mrs. +Vining, both because he revered her and because she had known him when +he was one of the most unpromising beginners that ever attempted the +stage. He had never succeeded as an actor, which was no proof of his +inability to tell others how to act, but always seemed so to them. + +As he would have passed, Mrs. Vining, quite as if Sheila had prompted +her, made a gesture of detention: + +“Oh, Mr. Batterson, will you do me a great favor?” He bowed meekly, and +she said, “Be a good boy and give Mr. Eldon here a chance to do some +real work the first opportunity you get.” + +Batterson sighed. “Good Lord! has he been pestering you, too?” + +“He has been telling me of his struggles and his ambitions,” Mrs. Vining +answered, with reproving dignity, “and I can see that he has ability. He +is a gentleman, at least, and that is more than can be said of some of +the people who are given some of the rôles.” + +Batterson did not relish this. He had had one or two battles with Mrs. +Vining over some of her stage business and had been withered by her +comments on his knowledge of what really went on in real drawing-rooms. +She had told him that they were as different as possible from stage +drawing-rooms, and he had lacked information to answer. All he said now +was: + +“I’ve promised Eldon a dozen times that he should have a try at the +first vacancy. But you know this old guard; they never surrender and +they never die.” + +“Except when they get a cue,” was Mrs. Vining’s drop of acid. + +Batterson renewed his pledge and moved on, with a glance in which Eldon +felt more threat than promise. But he thanked Mrs. Vining profusely and +apologized to Sheila for taking so much of her time talking about +himself. This made a good exit speech and he retired to his cell, +carrying with him a load of new anxieties and ambitions. + + * * * * * + +Triply happy was Eldon now. He had been commended to the stage-manager +and promised the first opportunity. He was getting somewhere. He had +established himself in the good graces of the old duchess of the troupe. +He had put his idol, Sheila, under obligations to him. He had ventured +to let her know that he had joined the company on her account, and she +had not rebuked him. This in itself was a thousand miles on his journey. + +The meter of the train had hitherto been but a dry, monotonous +clickety-click like the rattle bones of a dolorous negro minstrel. Now +it was a jig, a wedding jig. The wheels and the rails fairly sang to him +time after tune. The amiable hippety-hop fitted itself to any joyful +thought that cantered through his heart. + +By and by a town came sliding to the windows—Milton, a typical smallish +city with a shabby station, a stupid hotel, no history, and no sights; +it had reached the gawky age and stopped growing. But Eldon bade it +welcome. He liked anybody and any place. He set out for the hotel, +swinging his suit-case as if it were the harp of a troubadour. He walked +with two or three other men of the company. + +Old Jaffer had said: “The Mansion House is the only hotel. It’s three +blocks to the right from the station and then two blocks to the left.” +Jaffer knew the least bad hotel and just how to find it in hundreds of +towns. He was a living gazetteer. “I’ve been to every burg in the +country, I think,” he would say, “and I’ve never seen one yet that had +anything to see.” The highest praise he could give a place was, “It’s a +good hotel town.” + +But they were all paradises to Eldon. He had fed so dismally and so +sparsely, as a man out of a job, that even the mid-Westem coffee tasted +good to him. Besides, to-day he had fed on honey dew and drunk the milk +of paradise. + +He was so jubilant that he offered to carry the hand-bag of Vincent +Tuell, who labored along at his side, groaning. Eldon’s offer offended +Tuell, who was just old enough to resent his age. It had already begun +to lop dollars off his salary and to cut him out of the line of parts he +had once commanded. + +Tuell had never reached high—but he had always hoped high. Now he had +closed the books of hope. He was on the down grade. His career had not +been a peak, but a foot-hill, and he was on the wrong side of that. He +received Eldon’s proffer as an accusation of years. He answered with a +bitter negative, “No, thank you, damn you!” + +Eldon apologized with a laugh. He felt as hilariously contented and +sportive as a young pup whom no rebuff can offend. As he strode along he +glanced back and saw that Sheila and Mrs. Vining were footing it, too, +and carrying such luggage as Pennock could not accommodate. Eldon was +amazed. He had supposed that they would ride. He dropped back to +Sheila’s elbow and pleaded: + +“Won’t you let me take a cab and ride you to the hotel?” + +Sheila thanked him No, and Mrs. Vining finished him off: + +“Young man, if you’re going to be an actor you must learn to practise +small economies—especially in small towns where you gain nothing by +extravagance. You never know how short your season may be. The actor who +wastes money on cabs in the winter will be borrowing car fare in the +summer.” + +Eldon accepted the repulse as if it were a bouquet. “I see; but at least +you must let me carry your suit-cases.” + +Mrs. Vining threw him much the same answer as Tuell: “I’m not so old as +I look, and I travel light.” + +He turned to Sheila, whose big carry-all was so heavy that it dragged +one shoulder down. She looked like the picture of somebody or other +carrying a bucket from the well—or was it from a cow? He put out his +hand. She turned aside to dodge him. He followed her closely and finally +wrested the suit-case from her. Seeing his success, Mrs. Vining yielded +him hers also. He let Pennock trudge with hers. And so they walked to +the hotel and marched up to the desk. + +Jaffer and Tuell had already registered. Eldon thought they might at +least have waited till the ladies had had first choice. He was surprised +to hear Sheila and Mrs. Vining haggling over the prices of lodging and +choosing rooms of moderate cost. + +He had no chance to speak to them at the performance or after it, but +the next morning he hung about the lobby till train-time. He pretended +much surprise at seeing Sheila,—as if he had not been waiting for her! +He was a bad actor. Again he secured the carry-all in spite of her +protests. If he had known more he would have seen that she gave up to +avoid a battle. But she dropped back with Pennock and left him to walk +with Mrs. Vining, who did not hesitate to assail him with her usual +directness: + +“Young man, you’re very nice and you mean very well, but you’ve got a +lot to learn. Have you noticed that when the company gets into a train +or a public dining-room, everybody settles as far away as possible from +everybody else?” + +Eldon had noticed it. It had shocked him. Mrs. Vining went on: + +“And no doubt you’ve seen a big, husky actor let a poor, tired actress +drag her own baggage to a far-off hotel.” + +Eldon had noted that, too, with deep regret. He was astounded when Mrs. +Vining said: + +“Well, that actor is showing that actress the finest courtesy he can. +When men and women are traveling this way on business, the man who is +attentive to a woman is doing her a very dubious kindness, unless +they’re married or expect to be.” + +“Why?” said Eldon. “Can’t he pay her ordinary human courtesy?” + +“He’d better not,” said Mrs. Vining, “or he’ll start the other members +of the company and the gaping crowd of outsiders to whispering: ‘Oh, +he’s carrying her valise now! It’s a sketch!’” + +“A ‘sketch’?” Eldon murmured. + +“Yes, a—an alliance, an affair. A theatrical troupe is like a little +village on wheels. Everybody gossips. Everybody imagines—builds a big +play out of a little scenario. And so the actor who is a true gentleman +has to keep forgetting that he is one. It’s a penalty we women must pay +for earning our livings. You see now, don’t you, Mr. Eldon?” + +He bowed and blushed to realize that it was all meant as a rebuke to his +forwardness. He had been treated with consideration, and had immediately +proceeded to make a nuisance of himself. He had no right to carry +Sheila’s burdens, and his insistence had been only an embarrassment to +her. He had behaved like a greedy porter at a railroad station to whom +one surrenders with wrath in order to silence his demands. + +He had not progressed so far as he thought. His train had been ordered +to back up. When he had placed Sheila’s baggage and Mrs. Vining’s in the +seats they chose in the day coach, he declined Sheila’s invitation to +sit down, and sulked in the smoking-car. + +The towns that followed Milton were as stupid as Jaffer had said they +were. The people who lived there seemed to love them, or at least they +did not leave them, but they were dry oases for the lonely traveler. Few +of the towns had even a statue, and most of those that had statues would +have been the richer for their absence. + +Of one thing Eldon made sure—that he would never inflict another of his +compromising politenesses on Miss Sheila Kemble. He avoided her so +ostentatiously that the other members of the company noticed it. Those +who had instantly said when he carried her valise, “Aha! he is carrying +her valise now!” were presently saying, “Oh, he’s not carrying her +valise now!” + + + + + CHAPTER X + + +Gradually the company worked a zigzag passage to Chicago, where it was +booked for an indefinite stay. If the “business” were good, it would be +announced that, “owing to the unprecedented success, it has been found +necessary to extend the run originally contemplated.” If the business +were not so good, it would be announced that, “owing to previous +bookings, it would unfortunately be impossible to extend the run beyond +the next two weeks.” + +Jaffer was saying as they rolled in: “There’s no telling in advance what +Chicago’s going to do to us. New York stood for this rotten show for a +whole season; Chicago may be too wise for us. I hope so. It’s a ghastly +town. The Lake winds are death to a delicate throat. I always lose my +voice control in Chicago.” + +With Jaffer the success he was in was always a proof of the stupidity of +the public. In his unending reminiscences, which he ran serially in the +smoking-room like another _Arabian Nights_, the various failures he had +met were variously described. Those in which he had had a good part were +“over the heads of the swine”; those in which he had shone dimly were +“absolutely the worst plays ever concocted, my boy—hopeless from the +start. How even a manager could fail to see it in the script I can’t for +the life of me imagine.” + +Old Jim Crumb said: “Chicago is a far better judge of a play than New +York is. Chicago’s got a mind of her own. She’s the real metropolis. The +critics have got a heart; they appreciate honest effort. If they don’t +like you they say so fairly, without any of the brutality of New York.” +Crumb’s last appearance in Chicago had been in a highly successful play. + +Tuell stopped groaning long enough to growl: “Don’t you believe it! +Chicago’s jealous of New York, and the critics have got their axes out +for anything that bears the New York stamp. If they don’t like you, they +lynch you—that’s all, they just lynch you.” Tuell’s last appearance +there had been with a failure. + +Eldon felt little interest in the matter one way or another. He had been +snubbed in his romance. The other rôle he played would never be +dignified even by a tap of the critical bludgeon. He was tired of the +stage. + +And then the opportunity he had prayed for fell at his feet, after he +had ceased to pray for it. + + * * * * * + +The play opened on a Sunday night. It was Eldon’s first performance of a +play on the Sabbath. He rather expected something to come through the +roof. But the play went without a mishap. The applause was liberal, and +the next morning’s notices were enthusiastic. + +Sheila was picked out for especial praise. The leading woman, Miss Zelma +Griffen, was slighted. She was very snappy to Sheila, which added the +final touch to Sheila’s rapture. + +Old Jaffer was complimented and remembered, and now he was loud in the +praises of the town, the inspiring, bracing ozone from the Lake, and his +splendid hotel. Jim Crumb’s bit as a farmer was mentioned, and his +previous appearance recalled with “regret that he had not more +opportunity to reveal his remarkable gifts of characterization.” + +This was too much for poor Crumb. He went about town renewing former +acquaintances with the fervor of a far voyager who has come home to +stay. When he appeared at the second performance his speech was glucose +and his gait rippling. In his one scene it was his duty to bring in a +lantern and hold it over an automobile map on which Sheila and Mrs. +Vining were trying to trace a lost road. It was a passage of some +dramatic moment, but Crumb in his cups made unexpected farce of it by +swinging the lantern like a switchman. + +No comic genius from Aristophanes _via_ Molière to Hoyt has ever yet +devised a scene that will convulse an audience like the mistake or +mishap of an actor. Poor, befuddled Crumb’s wabbly lantern was the +laughing hit of the piece. He was too thick to be rebuked that night. +Friends took him to his hotel and left him to sleep it off. + +When the next morning he realized what he had done, what sacrilege he +had committed, he sought relief from insanity in a hair of the dog that +bit him. He was soon mellow enough to fall a victim to an hallucination +that Tuesday was a matinée day. He appeared at the theater at half-past +one, and made up to go on. He fell asleep waiting for his cue, and was +discovered when his dressing-room mate arrived at seven o’clock. Then he +insisted on descending to report for duty. He was still so befogged that +Batterson did not dare let him ruin another performance. He addressed to +Crumb that simple phrase which is the theatrical death-warrant: + +“Hand me back your part.” + +With the automatic heroism of a soldier sentenced to execution, Crumb +staggered to his room and, fetching the brochure from his trunk, +surrendered it to the higher power, revealing a somewhat shaky majesty +of despair. + +Eldon was standing in the wings, and Batterson thrust the document at +him and growled: “You say you’re a great actor. I’m from Missouri. Get +up in that and show me, to-night.” + +If he had placed a spluttering bomb in Eldon’s hands, and told him to +blow up a Czar with it, Eldon could hardly have felt more terrified. + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + +Eldon climbed the three flights of iron stairway to his cubby-hole more +drunkenly than Crumb. The opportunity he had counted on was his and he +was afraid of it. This was the sort of chance that had given great +geniuses their start, according to countless legends. And he had been +waiting for it, making ready for it. + +Weeks before during the rehearsals and during the first performances he +had hung about in the offing, memorizing every part, till he had found +himself able to reel off whole scenes with a perfection and a vigor that +thrilled him—when he was alone. Crumb’s rôle had been one of the first +that he had memorized. But now, when he propped the little blue book +against his make-up box and tried to read the dancing lines, they seemed +to have no connection whatsoever with the play. He would have sworn he +had never heard them. He had been told that the best method for quickly +memorizing a part was to photograph each page or “side.” But the lines +danced before him at an intoxicated speed that would have defied a +moving-picture camera. + +He mumbled good counsels to himself, however, as if he were undertaking +the rescue of a drowning heroine, and at length the letters came to a +focus, the words resumed their familiarity. + +He had received the part nearly an hour before the time for the +overture, that faint rumor which is to the actor what the bugle-call is +to the soldier. By half past seven he found that he could whisper the +lines to himself without a slip. + +The character he was to impersonate did not appear until the third act, +but Eldon was in the wings made up and on tiptoe with readiness when the +first curtain rose. His heart went up with it and lodged in his pharynx, +where it throbbed chokingly. + +The property-man had been recruited to replace Eldon as the +taxicab-driver, but Eldon was on such tenterhooks that when his old cue +came for entrance he started to walk on as usual. Only a hasty backward +shove from the arm of the property-man saved him from a public blunder. + +The rest of the play seemed to unfold itself with an unendurable +slowness. The severer critics had remarked on this. + +As Eldon watched, the lines he heard kept jostling the lines he was +trying to remember and he fell into a panic of uncertainty. At times he +forgot where he was and interfered with the entrances and exits of the +other actors, yet hardly heard the rebukes they flung at him. + +Sheila, following one of her cues to “exit laughing L 2 E,” ran plump +into Eldon’s arms. He was as startled as a sleep-walker suddenly +awakened, and clung to her to keep from falling. His stupor was +pleasingly troubled by a vivid sense of how soft and round her shoulders +were when he caught them in his hands. + +As he fell back out of her way he trod upon Mrs. Vining’s favorite toe +and she swore at him with an old-comedy vigor. She would have none of +his apology, and the stage-manager with another oath ordered him to his +room. + +Once there, he fell to studying his lines anew. The more he whispered +them to himself the more they eluded him. The vital problem of positions +began to harass him. He began to wonder just where Crumb had stood. + +He had learned from watching the rehearsals that few things upset or +confuse actors like a shift of position. They learned their lines with +reference to the geography of the stage and seemed curiously bewildered +if the actor whom they had addressed on the right side appeared on the +left. + +Eldon foresaw himself throwing Sheila and Mrs. Vining out of their +stride by standing up-stage when he should stand down, or right when he +should stand left. He knew there was an etiquette about “giving the +stage” to the superior characters. He remembered one rather heated +argument in which Batterson had insinuated that old Mrs. Vining had been +craftily “stealing the stage” from one young woman who was selfish +enough in all conscience, but who had foolishly imagined that the closer +she was to the audience the more she commanded it. + +Eldon was disgusted with his ability to forget what he had watched +incessantly. He was to make his entrance from the left, yet, as he +recollected it, Crumb had stood to the right of Sheila as he held the +lantern over the map. Now he wondered how he was to get round her. This +bit of stage mechanism had always impressed him. He had seen endless +time spent by the stage-manager in trying to devise a natural and +inconspicuous method for attaining the simple end of moving an actor +from one side of a table to the other side. At first he would have said, +bluntly, “The way to go round a table is to go round it.” But he had +finally realized that the audience must always be taken into account +while seeming always to be ignored. + +The more he pondered his brief rôle the more intricate it grew. It began +to take on the importance of Hamlet. He repeated it over and over until +he fell into a panic of aphasia. + +Suddenly he heard the third act called and ran down the steps to secure +his lantern. It was not to be found. The property-man was not to be +found. When both were discovered, the lighting of the lantern proved too +intricate for Eldon’s bethumbed fingers. The disgusted property-man +performed it for him. He took his place in the wings. + +Agues and fevers made a hippodrome of his frame. He saw his time +approaching. He saw Sheila unfolding the road-map, scanning it closely. +She was going to see the farmer approaching with a lantern. She was +going to call to him to lend her the light of it. Now she saw him. She +called to him. But he must not start yet, for he was supposed to be at a +distance. She called again. She spoke to her aunt. + +Now is the time! No, not yet! Now! Not yet! + +“Why, here you are!” said Sheila. + +But he was not there. He was a cigar Indian riveted to the floor. She +beckoned to him, and summoned him in a stage whisper, but he did not +move. Batterson dashed from his position near the curtain and shoved him +forward, with a husky comment, “Go on, you—” + +Eldon never knew what Batterson called him, but he was sure that he +deserved it. He started like a man who has fallen out of bed. He +tripped, dropped to one knee, recovered himself with the lurch of a +stumbling horse, and plunged into the scene. + +The quick and easy way to extinguish a lantern is to lower it quickly +and lift it with a snap. That is what Eldon did. He found himself in the +presence of two actresses on a little strip of dark beach with the +audience massed threateningly before it like a tremendous phosphorescent +billow curved inward for the crash. The billow shook a little as Eldon +stumbled; a few titters ran through it in a whispering froth. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + +Eldon was unaware that his light was out. He was unaware of almost +everything important. He forgot his opening lines and marched across the +stage with the granite tread of the statue that visited Don Juan. + +Sheila improvised at once a line to supply what Eldon forgot. But she +could not improvise a flame on a wick. Indeed, she had not noticed that +the flame was missing. Even when Eldon, with the grace of a scarecrow, +held out the cold black lantern, she went on studying the map and +cheerily recited: + +“Oh, that’s better! Now we can see just where we are.” + +The earthquake of joy that smote the audience caught her unaware. The +instant enormity of the bolt of laughter almost shook her from her feet. +They do well to call it “bringing down the house.” There was a sound as +of splitting timbers and din upon din as the gallery emptied its howls +into the orchestra and the orchestra sent up shrieks of its own. The +sound was like the sound that Samson must have heard when he pulled the +temple in upon him. + +Sheila and Mrs. Vining were struck with the panic that such unexpected +laughter brings to the actor. They clutched at their garments to make +sure that none of them had slipped their moorings. They looked at each +other for news. Then they saw the dreadfully solemn Eldon holding aloft +the fireless lantern. + +The sense of incongruity that makes people laugh got them, too. They +turned their backs to the audience and fought with their uncontrollable +features. Few things delight an audience like the view of an actress +broken up. It is so successful that in comic operas they counterfeit it. + +The audience was now a whirlpool. Eldon might have been one of the +cast-iron effigies that hold up lanterns on gate-posts; he could not +have been more rigid or more unreal. His own brain was in a whirlpool, +too, but not of mirth. Out of the eddies emerged a line. He seized it as +a hope of safety and some desperate impulse led him to shout it above +the clamor: + +“It ain’t a very big lantern, ma’am, but it gives a heap o’ light.” + +Sheila’s answer was lost in the renewed hubbub, but it received no +further response from Eldon. His memory was quite paralyzed; he couldn’t +have told his own name. He heard Sheila murmuring to comfort him: + +“Can’t you light the lantern again? Don’t be afraid. Just light it. +Haven’t you a match? Don’t be afraid!” + +If Eldon had carried the stolen fire of Prometheus in his hand he could +not have kindled tinder with it. He heard Mrs. Vining growling: + +“Get off, you damned fool, get off!” + +But the line between his brain and his legs had also blown out a fuse. + +The audience was almost seasick with laughter. Ribs were aching and +cheeks were dripping with tears. People were suffering with their mirth +and the reinfection of laughter that a large audience sets up in itself. +Eldon’s glazed eyes and stunned ears somehow realized the activity of +Batterson, who was epileptic in the wings and howling in a strangled +voice: + +“Come off, you—! Come off, or—I’ll come and kick you off!” + +And now Eldon was more afraid of leaving than of staying. + +In desperation Sheila took him by the elbow and started him on his way. +Just as the hydrophobic Batterson was about to shout, “Ring!” Eldon +slipped slowly from the stage. + +Little Batterson met the blinded Cyclops and was only restrained from +knocking him down by a fear that he might knock him back into the scene. +As he brandished his arms about the giant he resembled an infuriated +spider attacking a helpless caterpillar. + +Batterson’s oration was plentifully interlarded with simple old +Anglo-Saxon terms that can only be answered with a blow. But Eldon was +incapable of resentment. He understood little of what was said except +the reiterated line, “If you ever ask me again to let you play a part +I’ll—” + +Whatever he threatened left Eldon languid; the furthest thing from his +thoughts was a continuance upon the abominable career he had insanely +attempted. + +He stalked with iron feet up the iron stairs to his dressing-room, put +on his street clothes, and went to his hotel. He had forgotten to remove +his greast-paint, the black on his eyebrows and under his eyes, or the +rouge upon his mouth. A number of passers-by gave him the entire +sidewalk and stared after him, wondering whether he were on his way to +the madhouse or the hospital. + + * * * * * + +The immensity of the disaster to the play was its salvation. The +audience had laughed itself to a state of exhaustion. The yelps of +hilarity ended in sobs of fatigue. The well-bred were ashamed of their +misbehavior and the intelligent were disgusted to realize that they had +abused the glorious privilege of laughter and debauched themselves with +mirth over an unimportant mishap to an unfortunate actor who had done +nothing intrinsically humorous. + +Sheila and Mrs. Vining went on with the scene, making up what was +necessary and receiving the abjectly submissive audience’s complete +sympathy for their plight and extra approval for their ingenuity in +extricating themselves from it. When the curtain fell upon the act there +was unusual applause. + +To an actor the agony of “going up” in the lines, or “fading,” is not +much funnier after the first surprise than the death or wounding of a +soldier is to his comrade. The warrior in the excitement of battle may +laugh hysterically when a friend or enemy is ludicrously maimed, when he +crumples up and grimaces sardonically, or is sent heels over head by the +impact of a shell. But there is little comfort in the laughter since the +same fate may come to himself. + +The actor has this grinning form of death always at his elbow. He may +forget his lines because they are unfamiliar or because they are old, +because another actor gives a slightly different cue, some one person +laughs too loudly in the audience, or coughs, or a baby cries, or for +any one of a hundred reasons. That fear is never absent from the stage. +It makes every performance a fresh ordeal. And the actor who has +faltered meets more sympathy than blame. + +If Eldon had not sneaked out of the theater and had remained until the +end of the play he would have found that he had more friends than before +in the company. Even Batterson, after his tirade was over, regretted its +violence, and blamed himself. He had sent a green actor out on the stage +without rehearsal. Batterson was almost tempted to apologize—almost. + +But Eldon was not to be found. He was immured in the shabby room of his +cheap hotel sick with nausea and feverish with shame. + +Somehow he lived the long night out. He read the morning papers fiercely +through. There were no head-lines on the front page describing his +ruinous incapacity. There was not even a word of allusion to him or his +tragedy in the theatrical notices. He was profoundly glad of his +obscurity and profoundly convinced that obscurity was where he belonged. +He wrote out a note of humble apology and resignation. He resolved to +send it by messenger and never to go near that theater again, or any +other after he had removed his trunk. + +With the utmost reluctance he forced himself to go back to the scene of +his shame. The stage-door keeper greeted him with a comforting +indifference. He had evidently known nothing of what had happened. +Stage-door keepers never do. None of the actors was about, and the +theater was as lonely and musty as the tomb of the Capulets before Romeo +broke in upon Juliet’s sleep. + +Eldon mounted to his dressing-room and stared with a rueful eye at the +make-up box which he had bought with all the pride a boy feels in his +first chest of tools. He tried to tell himself that he was glad to be +quit of the business of staining his face with these unmanly colors and +of rubbing off the stains with effeminate cold-creams. He threw aside +the soiled and multicolored towel with a gesture of disdain. But he was +too honest to deceive himself. The more he denounced the actor’s calling +the more he denounced himself for having been incompetent in it. He +writhed at the memory of the hardships he had undergone in gaining a +foothold on the stage and at the poltroonery of leaping overboard to +avoid being thrown overboard. + +As he left the theater to find an expressman to call for his trunk he +looked into the letter-box where there was almost never a letter for +him. To his surprise he found his name on a graceful envelope gracefully +indited. He opened it and read the signature first. It was a note from +Sheila. + + * * * * * + +Eldon’s eyes fairly bulged out of his head with amazed enchantment. His +heart ached with joy. He went back to his dressing-room to read the +letter over and over. + + DEAR MR. ELDON,—Auntie John and I tried to see you last night, + but you had gone. She was afraid that you would grieve too + deeply over the mishap. It was only what might have happened to + anybody. Auntie John says that she has known some of the most + famous actors to do far worse. Sir Charles Wyndham went up in + his lines and was fired at _his_ first appearance. She wants to + tell you some of the things that happened to her. They had to + ring down on her once. She wants you to come over to our hotel + and have tea with us this afternoon. Please do! + + Heartily, + SHEILA KEMBLE. + +There was nothing much in the letter except an evident desire to make +light of a tragedy and cheer a despondent soul across a swamp. Eldon did +not even note that it was mainly about Aunt John. To him the letter was +luminous with a glow of its own. He kissed the paper a dozen times. He +resolved to conquer the stage or die. The stage should be the humble +stepping-stone to the conquest of Sheila Kemble. Thereafter it should be +the scene of their partnership in art. He would play Romeo to her +Juliet, and they should play other rôles together till “Mr. and Mrs. +Eldon” should be as famous for their art as for their domestic bliss. + +Had she not already made a new soul of him, scattering his fright with a +few words and recalling him to his duty and his opportunity? He would +redeem himself to-night. To-night there should be no stumbling, no gloom +in the lantern, no gaiety in the audience during his scene. To-night he +would show Batterson how little old Crumb had really made of the part, +drunk or sober. + +He placed the letter as close to his heart as he could get it, and it +warmed him like a poultice. He would go shave himself again and brush up +a bit for Sheila’s tea-fête. + +As he groped slowly down the dark stairway he heard voices on the stage. +He recognized Crumb’s husky tones: + +“If you’ll give me one more chance, Val, I swear I’ll never disappoint +you again. I’m on the water-mobile for good this time.” + +Eldon felt sorry for the poor old man. He paused to hear Batterson’s +epitaph on him: + +“Well, Jim, I’ll give you another try. But it’s against my will.” + +“Oh, thank you, thank you, Val!” + +“Don’t thank me. Thank that dub, Eldon. If he hadn’t thrown the scene +last night you’d never get another look-in. No more would you if I could +pick up anybody here. So you can go on to-night, but if your foot slips +again, Jim, so help me, you’ll never put your head in another of our +theaters.” + +As Crumb’s heart went up, Eldon’s followed the see-saw law. All his +hopes and plans were collapsed. He would not go to Sheila’s tea with +this disgrace upon him and sit like a death’s-head in her presence. + +And how could he present himself at her hotel in the shabby clothes he +wore? She and her aunt were living expensively in Chicago. It was good +advertisement to live well there; at least it was a bad advertisement +not to. It was a bad advertisement for Eldon to appear anywhere. He was +under the buffets of fortune. But he tore up his resignation. + +Now of all times he needed the comfort of her cheer. Now of all times he +could not ask it or accept it. He wrote her a note of devout gratitude, +and said that a previous engagement with an old college friend prevented +his accepting her gracious hospitality. His old college friend was +himself, and they sat in his boarding-house cell and called each other +names. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + +Eldon resumed the livery of the taxicab-driver and spoke his two lines +each night with his accustomed grace, and received his accustomed +tribute of silence. He arrived on the stage just before his cue, and he +went to his room just after his exit. + +He avoided Sheila, and she, feeling repulsed, turned her attention from +him. Friends of her father and mother and friends of her school days +besieged her with entertainment. People who took pride in saying they +knew somebody on the stage sought introductions. Rich or handsome young +men were presented to her at every turn. They poured their praises and +their prayers into her pretty ears, but got no receipt for them nor any +merchandise of favor. She was not quite out of the hilarious stage of +girlhood. She said with more philosophy than she realized that she “had +no use for men.” But they were all the more excited by her evasive +charms. Her prettiness was ripening into beauty and the glow of youth +from within gave her a more shining aureole than even the ingenuities of +stage make-up and lighting. Homes of wealth were open to her and her +growing clientèle frequented the theater. Miss Griffen was voted common, +and left to the adulation of the fast young men. + +The traveling-manager of the company was not slow to notice this. He saw +that Sheila had not only the rare gifts of dramatic instinct and appeal, +but that she had the power of attracting the approval of distinguished +people as well as of the general. Men of all ages delighted in her; and +this was still more important—women of all ages liked her, paid to see +her. Women who gave great receptions in brand-new palaces bought up all +the boxes or several rows in the orchestra in honor of Sheila Kemble. +School-girls clambered to the balcony and shop-girls to the gallery to +see Sheila Kemble. + +The listening manager heard the outgoing voices again and again saying +such things as, “It’s the third time I’ve seen this. It’s not much of a +play, but Sheila Kemble—isn’t she sweet?” + +The company-manager and the house-manager and the press agent all wrote +to Reben, the manager-in-chief: + +“Keep your eye on Kemble. She’s got draught. She makes ’em come again.” + +And Reben, who had made himself a plutocrat with twenty companies on the +road, and a dozen theaters, owned or leased—Reben who had grown rich by +studying his public, planned to make another fortune by exploiting +Sheila Kemble. He kept the secret to himself, but he set on foot a still +hunt for the play that should make her while she seemed to be making it. +He schemed how to get her signature to a five-year contract without +exciting her cupidity to a duel with his own. He gave orders to play her +up gradually in the publicity. The thoughts of managers are long, long +thoughts. + +He gave out an interview to the effect that what the public wanted was +“Youth—youth, that beautiful flower which is the dearest memory of the +old, and the golden delight of the young.” + +His chief publicity man, Starr Coleman, a reformed dramatic critic, +wrote the interview for Reben, explained it to him, and was proud of it +with the vicarious pride of those strange scribes whose lives are +devoted to getting for others what they deny to themselves. + +Reben had told Coleman to play up strong his belief in the American +dramatist, particularly the young dramatist. Reben always did this just +before he set out on his annual European shopping-tour among the foreign +play-bazars. Over there he could inspect the finished products of expert +craftsmen; he could see their machines in operation, in lieu of buying +pigs in pokes from ambitious Yankees who learned their trade at the +managers’ expense. + +This widely copied “Youth” interview brought down on Reben’s play-bureau +a deluge of American manuscripts, almost all of them devoid of theme or +novelty, redolent of no passion except the passion for writing a play, +and all of them crude in workmanship. Reben kept a play-reader—or at +least a play-rejector, and paid him a moderate salary to glance over +submitted manuscripts so that Reben could make a bluff at having read +them before he returned them. This timid person surprised Reben one day +by saying: + +“There’s a play here with a kind of an idea in it. It’s hopeless as it +stands, of course, but it might be worked over a little. It’s written by +a man named Vicksburg, or Vickery, or something like that. Funny +thing—he suggests that Sheila Kemble would be the ideal woman for the +principal part. And, do you know, I’ve been thinking she has the makings +of a star some day. Had you ever thought of that?” + +“No,” said Reben, craftily. + +“Well, I believe she’ll bear watching.” + +In after-years this play-returner used to say, “I put Reben on to the +idea that there was star material in Kemble, before he ever thought of +it himself.” + +But long before either of them thought of Sheila Kemble as a star, that +destiny had been dreamed and planned for her by Sheila Kemble. + +Frivolous as she appeared on the stage and off, her pretty head was full +of sonorous ambitions. That head was not turned by the whirlwinds of +adulation, or drugged by the bouquets of flattery, because it was full +of self-criticism. She was struggling for expressions that she could not +get; she was groping, listening, studying, trying, discarding, +replacing. + +She thought she was free from any nonsense of love. Nonsense should not +thwart her progress and make a fool of her, as it had of so many others. +It should not interrupt her career or ruin it as it had so many others. +She would make friends with men, oh yes. They were so much more +sensible, as a rule, than women, except when they grew sentimental. And +that was a mere form of preliminary sparring with most of them. Once a +girl made a fellow understand that she was not interested in spoony +nonsense, he became himself and gave his mind a chance. And all the +while nature was rendering her more ready to command love from without, +less ready to withstand love from within. She was becoming more and more +of an actress. But still faster and still more was she becoming a woman. + + * * * * * + +While Sheila was drafting herself a future, Eldon was gnashing his teeth +in a pillory of inaction. He could make no step forward and he could not +back out. He had taken cheap and nasty lodgings in the same +boarding-house with Vincent Tuell, who added to his depression by his +constant distress. Tuell could not sleep nights or days; he filled +Eldon’s ears with endless denunciations of the stage and with cynical +advice to chuck it while he could. Eldon would probably have taken +Tuell’s advice if Tuell had not urged it so tyrannically. In +self-defense Eldon would protest: + +“Why don’t you leave it yourself, man? You ought to be in the hospital +or at home being nursed.” + +And Tuell would snarl: “Oh, I’d chuck it quick enough if I could. But +I’ve got no other trade, and there’s the pair of kiddies in school—and +the wife. She’s sick, too, and I’m here. God! what a business! It +wouldn’t be so bad if I were getting anywhere except older. But I’ve got +a rotten part and I’m rotten in it. Every night I have to breeze in and +breeze out and fight like the devil to keep from dying on the job. And +never a laugh do I get. It’s one of those parts that reads funny and +rehearses the company into convulsions and then plays like a column from +the telephone-book. I’ve done everything I could. I put in all the old +sure-fire business. I never lie down. I trip over rugs, I make funny +faces, I wear funny clothes, but does anybody smile?—nagh! I can’t even +fool the critics. I haven’t had a clipping I could send home to the wife +since I left the big town.” + +Eldon had been as puzzled as Tuell was. He had watched the expert actor +using an encyclopedia of tricks, and never achieving success. Tuell +usually came off dripping with sweat. The moment he reached the wings +his grin fell from him like a cheap comic mask over a tragic grimace of +real pain and despair. In addition to his mental distress, his physical +torment was incessant. In his boarding-house Tuell gave himself up to +lamentations without end. Eldon begged him to see a doctor, but Tuell +did not believe in doctors. + +“They always want to get their knives into you,” he would growl. +“They’re worse than the critics.” + +One day Eldon made the acquaintance of a young physician named Edie, who +had recently hung a sign in the front window and used the parlor as an +office during certain morning hours. Patients came rarely, and the +physician berated his profession as violently as Tuell his. Eldon +persuaded the doctor to employ some of his leisure in examining Tuell. +He persuaded Tuell to submit, and the doctor’s verdict came without +hesitation or delicacy: + +“Appendicitis, old man. The quicker you’re operated on the better for +you.” + +“What did I tell you?” Tuell snarled. “Didn’t I say they were like +critics? Their only interest in you is to knife you.” + +The young doctor laughed. “Perhaps the critics turn up the truth now and +then, too.” + +But Tuell answered, bitterly: “Well, I’ve got to stand them. I haven’t +got to stand for you other butchers.” + +Eldon apologized for his friend’s rudeness, but the doctor took no +offense: “It’s his pain that’s talking,” he said. “He’s a sick man. He +doesn’t know how sick he is.” + +One matinée day Tuell was like a hyena in the wings. He swore even at +Batterson. On the stage he was more violently merry than ever. After the +performance Eldon looked into his dressing-room and asked him to go to +dinner with him. Tuell refused gruffly. He would not eat to-day. He +would not take off his make-up. The sweat was everywhere about his +greasy face. His jaw hung down and he panted like a sick dog. Eldon +offered to bring him in some food—sandwiches or something. Tuell winced +with nausea at the mention. Then an anguish twisted through him like a +great steel gimlet. He groaned, unashamed. Eldon could only watch in +ignorant helplessness. When the spasm was over he said: + +“You’ve got to have a doctor, old man.” + +“I guess so,” Tuell sighed. “Get that young fellow, Edie. He won’t rob +me much. And he’ll wait for his fee.” + +Eldon made all haste to fetch Edie from the boarding-house. They +returned to find Tuell on the floor of his room, writhing and moaning, +unheeded in the deserted theater. The doctor gave Eldon a telephone +number and told him to demand an ambulance at once. + +Tuell heard the word, and broke out in such fierce protest that the +doctor countermanded the order. + +“I can’t go to any hospital now,” Tuell raged. “Haven’t you any sense? +You know there’s an evening performance. Get me through to-night, and I +can rest all day to-morrow. I’ve got to play to-night. I’ve got to! +There’s no understudy ready.” + +He played. They set a chair for him in the wings and the physician +waited there for him, piercing his skin with pain-deadening drugs every +time he left the stage. There was sympathy enough from the company. Even +Batterson was gentle, his fierce eyes fiercer with the cruelty of the +situation. The house was packed, and “ringing down on capacity” is not +done. + +Tuell sat in a stupor, breathing hard like a groggy prize-fighter. But +whenever his cue came it woke him as if a ringside gong had shrilled. He +flung off his suffering and marched out to his punishment. Only, +than anything in the world, but I find it so awfully difficult to say." + +Now that was odd too, for inexplicably enough it touched her; he wasn't +really cold, of course, it was his manner that was unfortunate: she +liked him at that moment better than she had ever liked him before. +Doris was to be married in November. He would be on his way to China +then and if she married him she would be with him. It wouldn't be very +nice to be a bridesmaid at Doris's wedding. She would be glad to escape +that. And then Doris as a married woman and herself still single! Every +one knew how young Doris was and it would make her seem older. It would +put her on the shelf. It wouldn't be a very good marriage for her, but +it was a marriage, and the fact that she would live in China made it +easier. She was afraid of her mother's bitter tongue. Why, all the girls +who had come out with her were married long ago and most of them had +children; she was tired of going to see them and gushing over their +babies. Walter Fane offered her a new life. She turned to him with a +smile which she well knew the effect of. + +"If I were so rash as to say I'd marry you when would you want to marry +me?" + +He gave a sudden gasp of delight, and his white cheeks flushed. + +"Now. At once. As soon as possible. We'd go to Italy for our honeymoon. +August and September." + +That would save her from spending the summer in a country vicarage, +hired at five guineas a week, with her father and mother. In a flash she +saw in her mind's eye the announcement in the _Morning Post_ that, the +bridegroom having to return to the East, the wedding would take place at +once. She knew her mother well enough, she could be counted on to make a +splash; for the moment at least Doris would be in the background and +when Doris's much grander wedding took place she would be far away. + +She stretched out her hand. + +"I think I like you very much. You must give me time to get used to +you." + +"Then it's yes?" he interrupted. + +"I suppose so." + + + + +_xii_ + + +She knew him very little then, and now, though they had been married for +nearly two years, she knew him but little more. At first she had been +touched by his kindness and flattered, though surprised, by his passion. +He was extremely considerate; he was very attentive to her comfort; she +never expressed the slightest wish without his hastening to gratify it. +He was constantly giving her little presents. When she happened to feel +ill no one could have been kinder or more thoughtful. She seemed to do +him a favour when she gave him the opportunity of doing something +tiresome for her. And he was always exceedingly polite. He rose to his +feet when she entered a room, he gave her his hand to help her out of a +car, if he chanced to meet her in the street he took off his hat, he was +solicitous to open the door for her when she left a room, he never came +into her bedroom or her boudoir without a knock. He treated her not as +Kitty had seen most men treat their wives, but as though she were a +fellow-guest in a country house. It was pleasing and yet a trifle comic. +She would have felt more at home with him if he had been more casual. +Nor did their conjugal relations draw her closer to him. He was +passionate then, fierce, oddly hysterical too, and sentimental. + +It disconcerted her to realise how emotional he really was. His +self-control was due to shyness or to long training, she did not know +which; it seemed to her faintly contemptible that when she lay in his +arms, his desire appeased, he who was so timid of saying absurd things, +who so feared to be ridiculous, should use baby talk. She had offended +him bitterly once by laughing and telling him that he was talking the +most fearful slush. She had felt his arms grow limp about her, he +remained quite silent for a little while, and then without a word +released her and went into his own room. She didn't want to hurt his +feelings and a day or two later she said to him: + +"You silly old thing, I don't mind what nonsense you talk to me." + +He had laughed in a shamefaced way. She had discovered very soon that he +had an unhappy disability to lose himself. He was self-conscious. When +there was a party and every one started singing Walter could never bring +himself to join in. He sat there smiling to show that he was pleased and +amused, but his smile was forced; it was more like a sarcastic smirk, +and you could not help feeling that he thought all those people enjoying +themselves a pack of fools. He could not bring himself to play the round +games which Kitty with her high spirits found such a lark. On their +journey out to China he had absolutely refused to put on fancy dress +when every one else was wearing it. It disturbed her pleasure that he +should so obviously think the whole thing a bore. + +Kitty was lively; she was willing to chatter all day long and she +laughed easily. His silence disconcerted her. He had a way which +exasperated her of returning no answer to some casual remark of hers. It +was true that it needed no answer, but an answer all the same would have +been pleasant. If it was raining and she said: "It's raining cats and +dogs," she would have liked him to say: "Yes, isn't it?" He remained +silent. Sometimes she would have liked to shake him. + +"I said it was raining cats and dogs," she repeated. + +"I heard you," he answered, with his affectionate smile. + +It showed that he had not meant to be offensive. He did not speak +because he had nothing to say. But if nobody spoke unless he had +something to say, Kitty reflected, with a smile, the human race would +very soon lose the use of speech. + + + + +_xiii_ + + +The fact was, of course, that he had no charm. That was why he was not +popular, and she had not been long in Tching-Yen before she discovered +that he was not. She remained very vague about his work. It was enough +for her to realise, and she did this quite distinctly, that to be the +government bacteriologist was no great fry. He seemed to have no desire +to discuss that part of his life with her. Because she was willing to be +interested in anything at first she had asked him about it. He put her +off with a jest. + +"It's very dull and technical," he said on another occasion. "And it's +grossly underpaid." + +He was very reserved. All she knew about his antecedents, his birth, his +education, and his life before he met her, she had elicited by direct +questioning. It was odd, the only thing that seemed to annoy him was a +question; and when, in her natural curiosity, she fired a string of them +at him, his answers became at every one more abrupt. She had the wit to +see that he did not care to reply because he had anything to hide from +her, but merely from a natural secretiveness. It bored him to talk about +himself. It made him shy and uncomfortable. He did not know how to be +open. He was fond of reading, but he read books which seemed to Kitty +very dull. If he was not busy with some scientific treatise he would +read books about China or historical works. He never relaxed. She did +not think he could. He was fond of games: he played tennis and bridge. + +She wondered why he had ever fallen in love with her. She could not +imagine any one less suited than herself to this restrained, cold and +self-possessed man. And yet it was quite certain that he loved her +madly. He would do anything in the world to please her. He was like wax +in her hands. When she thought of one side he showed her, a side which +only she had seen, she a little despised him. She wondered whether his +sarcastic manner, with its contemptuous tolerance for so many persons +and things she admired, was merely a façade to conceal a profound +weakness. She supposed he was clever, every one seemed to think he was, +but except very occasionally when he was with two or three people he +liked and was in the mood, she had never found him entertaining. He did +not precisely bore her, he left her indifferent. + + + + +_xiv_ + + +Though Kitty had met his wife at various tea-parties she had been some +weeks in Tching-Yen before she saw Charles Townsend. She was introduced +to him only when with her husband she went to dine at his house. Kitty +was on the defensive. Charles Townsend was Assistant Colonial Secretary +and she had no mind to allow him to use her with the condescension +which, notwithstanding her good manners, she discerned in Mrs. Townsend. +The room in which they were received was spacious. It was furnished as +was every other drawing-room she had been in at Tching-Yen in a +comfortable and homely style. It was a large party. They were the last +to come and as they entered Chinese servants in uniform were handing +round cocktails and olives. Mrs. Townsend greeted them in her casual +fashion and looking at a list told Walter whom he was to take in to +dinner. + +Kitty saw a tall and very handsome man bear down on them. + +"This is my husband." + +"I am to have the privilege of sitting next to you," he said. + +She immediately felt at ease and the sense of hostility vanished from +her bosom. Though his eyes were smiling she had seen in them a quick +look of surprise. She understood it perfectly and it made her inclined +to laugh. + +"I shan't be able to eat any dinner," he said, "and if I know Dorothy +the dinner's damned good." + +"Why not?" + +"I ought to have been told. Some one really ought to have warned me." + +"What about?" + +"No one said a word. How was I to know that I was going to meet a raging +beauty?" + +"Now what am I to say to that?" + +"Nothing. Leave me to do the talking. And I'll say it over and over +again." + +Kitty, unmoved, wondered what exactly his wife had told him about her. +He must have asked. And Townsend, looking down on her with his laughing +eyes, suddenly remembered. + +"What is she like?" he had enquired when his wife told him she had met +Dr. Fane's bride. + +"Oh, quite a nice little thing. Actressy." + +"Was she on the stage?" + +"Oh, no, I don't think so. Her father's a doctor or a lawyer or +something. I suppose we shall have to ask them to dinner." + +"There's no hurry, is there?" + +When they were sitting side by side at table he told her that he had +known Walter Fane ever since he came to the Colony. + +"We play bridge together. He's far and away the best bridge player at +the Club." + +She told Walter on the way home. + +"That's not saying very much, you know." + +"How does he play?" + +"Not badly. He plays a winning hand very well, but when he has bad cards +he goes all to pieces." + +"Does he play as well as you?" + +"I have no illusions about my play. I should describe myself as a very +good player in the second class. Townsend thinks he's in the first. He +isn't." + +"Don't you like him?" + +"I neither like him nor dislike him. I believe he's not bad at his job +and every one says he's a good sportsman. He doesn't very much interest +me." + +It was not the first time that Walter's moderation had exasperated her. +She asked herself why it was necessary to be so prudent: you either +liked people or you didn't. She had liked Charles Townsend very much. +And she had not expected to. He was probably the most popular man in the +Colony. It was supposed that the Colonial Secretary would retire soon +and every one hoped that Townsend would succeed him. He played tennis +and polo and golf. He kept racing ponies. He was always ready to do any +one a good turn. He never let red tape interfere with him. He put on no +airs. Kitty did not know why she had resented hearing him so well spoken +of, she could not help thinking he must be very conceited: she had been +extremely silly; that was the last thing you could accuse him of. + +She had enjoyed her evening. They had talked of the theatres in London, +and of Ascot and Cowes, all the things she knew about, so that really +she might have met him at some nice house in Lennox Gardens; and later, +when the men came into the drawing-room after dinner, he had strolled +over and sat beside her again. Though he had not said anything very +amusing, he had made her laugh; it must have been the way he said it: +there was a caressing sound in his deep, rich voice, a delightful +expression in his kind, shining blue eyes, which made you feel very much +at home with him. Of course he had charm. That was what made him so +pleasant. + +He was tall, six foot two at least, she thought, and he had a beautiful +figure; he was evidently in very good condition and he had not a spare +ounce of fat on him. He was well-dressed, the best-dressed man in the +room, and he wore his clothes well. She liked a man to be smart. Her +eyes wandered to Walter: he really should try to be a little better +turned out. She noticed Townsend's cuff-links and waistcoat buttons; she +had seen similar ones at Cartier's. Of course the Townsends had private +means. His face was deeply sunburned, but the sun had not taken the +healthy colour from his cheeks. She liked the little trim curly +moustache which did not conceal his full red lips. He had black hair, +short and brushed very sleek. But of course his eyes, under thick, bushy +eyebrows, were his best feature: they were so very blue, and they had a +laughing tenderness which persuaded you of the sweetness of his +disposition. No man who had those blue eyes could bear to hurt any one. + +She could not but know that she had made an impression on him. If he had +not said charming things to her his eyes, warm with admiration, +would have betrayed him. His ease was delightful. He had no +self-consciousness. Kitty was at home in these circumstances and she +admired the way in which amid the banter which was the staple of their +conversation he insinuated every now and then a pretty, flattering speech. +When she shook hands with him on leaving he gave her hand a pressure +that she could not mistake. + +"I hope we shall see you again soon," he said casually but his eyes gave +his words a meaning which she could not fail to see. + +"Tching-Yen is very small, isn't it?" she said. + + + + +_xv_ + + +Who would have thought then that within three months they would be on +such terms? He had told her since that he was crazy about her on that +first evening. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He +remembered the dress she wore; it was her wedding dress, and he said she +looked like a lily of the valley. She knew that he was in love with her +before he told her, and a little frightened she kept him at a distance. +He was impetuous and it was difficult. She was afraid to let him kiss +her, for the thought of his arms about her made her heart beat so fast. +She had never been in love before. It was wonderful. And now that she +knew what love was she felt a sudden sympathy for the love that Walter +bore her. She teased him, playfully, and saw that he enjoyed it. She had +been perhaps a little afraid of him, but now she had more confidence. +She chaffed him and it amused her to see the slow smile with which at +first he received her banter. He was surprised and pleased. One of these +days, she thought, he would become quite human. Now that she had learnt +something of passion it diverted her to play lightly, like a harpist +running his fingers across the strings of his harp, on his affections. +She laughed when she saw how she bewildered and confused him. + +And when Charlie became her lover the situation between herself and +Walter seemed exquisitely absurd. She could hardly look at him, so grave +and self-controlled, without laughing. She was too happy to feel +unkindly towards him. Except for him, after all, she would never have +known Charlie. She had hesitated some time before the final step, not +because she did not want to yield to Charlie's passion, her own was +equal to his, but because her upbringing and all the conventions of her +life intimidated her. She was amazed afterwards (and the final act was +due to accident; neither of them had seen the opportunity till it was +face to face with them) to discover that she felt in no way different +from what she had before. She had expected that it would cause some, she +hardly knew what, fantastic change in her so that she would feel like +somebody else; and when she had a chance to look at herself in the glass +she was bewildered to see the same woman she had seen the day before. + +"Are you angry with me?" he asked her. + +"I adore you," she whispered. + +"Don't you think you were very silly to waste so much time?" + +"A perfect fool." + + + + +_xvi_ + + +Her happiness, sometimes almost more than she could bear, renewed her +beauty. Just before she married, beginning to lose her first freshness, +she had looked tired and drawn. The uncharitable said that she was going +off. But there is all the difference between a girl of twenty-five and a +married woman of that age. She was like a rosebud that is beginning to +turn yellow at the edges of the petals, and then suddenly she was a rose +in full bloom. Her starry eyes gained a more significant expression; her +skin (that feature which had always been her greatest pride and most +anxious care) was dazzling: it could not be compared to the peach or to +the flower; it was they that demanded comparison with it. She looked +eighteen once more. She was at the height of her glowing loveliness. It +was impossible not to remark it and her women friends asked her in +little friendly asides if she was going to have a baby. The indifferent +who had said she was just a very pretty woman with a long nose admitted +that they had misjudged her. She was what Charlie had called her the +first time he saw her, a raging beauty. + +They managed their intrigue with skill. He had a broad back, he told her +("I will not have you swank about your figure," she interrupted +lightly), and it did not matter about him; but for her sake they mustn't +take the smallest risk. They could not meet often alone, not half often +enough for him, but he had to think of her first, sometimes in the curio +shop, now and then after luncheon in her house when no one was about; +but she saw him a good deal here and there. It amused her then to see +the formal way he spoke to her, jovial, for he was always that, with the +same manner he used with every one. Who could imagine when they heard +him chaff her with that charming humour of his that so lately he had +held her in his passionate arms? + +She worshipped him. He was splendid, in his smart top boots and his +white breeches, when he played polo. In tennis clothes he looked a mere +boy. Of course he was proud of his figure: it was the best figure she +had ever seen. He took pains to keep it. He never ate bread or potatoes +or butter. And he took a great deal of exercise. She liked the care he +took of his hands; he was manicured once a week. He was a wonderful +athlete and the year before he had won the local tennis championship. +Certainly he was the best dancer she had ever danced with; it was a +dream to dance with him. No one would think he was forty. She told him +she did not believe it. + +"I believe it's all bluff and you're really twenty-five." + +He laughed. He was well pleased. + +"Oh, my dear, I have a boy of fifteen. I'm a middle-aged gent. In +another two or three years I shall just be a fat old party." + +"You'll be adorable when you're a hundred." + +She liked his black, bushy eyebrows. She wondered whether it was they +that gave his blue eyes their disturbing expression. + +He was full of accomplishments. He could play the piano quite well, +rag-time, of course, and he could sing a comic song with a rich voice +and good humour. She did not believe there was anything he could not do. +He was very clever at his work too and she shared his pleasure when he +told her that the Governor had particularly congratulated him on the way +he had done some difficult job. + +"Although it's I as says it," he laughed, his eyes charming with the +love he bore her, "there's not a fellow in the Service who could have +done it better." + +Oh, how she wished that she were his wife rather than Walter's! + + + + +_xvii_ + + +Of course it was not certain yet that Walter knew the truth, and if he +didn't it was better perhaps to leave well alone; but if he did, well, +in the end it would be the best thing for all of them. At first she had +been, if not satisfied, at least resigned to seeing Charlie only by +stealth; but time had increased her passion and for some while now she +had been increasingly impatient of the obstacles which prevented them +from being always together. He had told her so often that he cursed his +position which forced him to be so discreet, the ties which bound him, +and the ties which bound her: how marvellous it would have been, he +said, if they were both free! She saw his point of view; no one wanted a +scandal, and of course it required a good deal of thinking over before +you changed the course of your life; but if freedom were thrust upon +them, ah, then, how simple everything would be! + +It was not as though any one would suffer very much. She knew exactly +what his relations were with his wife. She was a cold woman and there +had been no love between them for years. It was habit that held them +together, convenience, and of course the children. It was easier for +Charlie than for her: Walter loved her; but after all, he was absorbed +in his work; and a man always had his club, he might be upset at first, +but he would get over it; there was no reason why he should not marry +somebody else. Charlie had told her that he could not make out how she +came to throw herself away on Walter Fane. + +She wondered, half smiling, why a little while before she had been +terrified at the thought that Walter had caught them. Of course it was +startling to see the handle of the door slowly turn. But after all they +knew the worst that Walter could do, and they were ready for it. Charlie +would feel as great a relief as she that what they both desired more +than anything in the world should be thus forced upon them. + +Walter was a gentleman, she would do him the justice to acknowledge +that, and he loved her; he would do the right thing and allow her to +divorce him. They had made a mistake and the lucky thing was that they +had found it out before it was too late. She made up her mind exactly +what she was going to say to him and how she would treat him. She would +be kind, smiling, and firm. There was no need for them to quarrel. Later +on she would always be glad to see him. She hoped honestly that the two +years they had spent together would remain with him as a priceless +memory. + +"I don't suppose Dorothy Townsend will mind divorcing Charlie a bit," +she thought. "Now the youngest boy is going back to England it will be +much nicer for her to be in England too. There's absolutely nothing for +her to do in Tching-Yen. She'll be able to spend all the holidays with +her boys. And then she's got her father and mother in England." + +It was all very simple and everything could be managed without scandal +or ill-feeling. And then she and Charlie could marry. Kitty drew a long +sigh. They would be very happy. It was worth going through a certain +amount of bother to achieve that. Confusedly, one picture jostling +another, she thought of the life they would lead together, of the fun +they would have and the little journeys they would take together, the +house they would live in, the positions he would rise to and the help +she would be to him. He would be very proud of her and she, she adored +him. + +But through all these day-dreams ran a current of apprehension. It was +funny: it was as though the wood and the strings of an orchestra played +Arcadian melodies and in the bass the drums, softly but with foreboding, +beat a grim tattoo. Sooner or later Walter must come home and her heart +beat fast at the thought of meeting him. It was strange that he had gone +away that afternoon without saying a word to her. Of course she was not +frightened of him; after all what could he do, she repeated to herself; +but she could not quite allay her uneasiness. Once more she repeated +what she would say to him. What was the good of making a scene? She was +very sorry, Heaven knew she didn't want to cause him pain, but she +couldn't help it if she didn't love him. It was no good pretending and +it was always better to tell the truth. She hoped he wouldn't be +unhappy, but they had made a mistake and the only sensible thing was to +acknowledge it. She would always think kindly of him. + +But even as she said this to herself a sudden gust of fear made the +sweat start out in the palms of her hands. And because she was +frightened she grew angry with him. If he wanted to make a scene, that +was his lookout; he must not be surprised if he got more than he +bargained for. She would tell him that she had never cared two pins for +him and that not a day had passed since their marriage without her +regretting it. He was dull. Oh, how he'd bored her, bored her, bored +her! He thought himself so much better than anyone else, it was +laughable; he had no sense of humour; she hated his supercilious air, +his coldness, and his self-control. It was easy to be self-controlled +when you were interested in nothing and nobody but yourself. He was +repulsive to her. She hated to let him kiss her. What had he to be so +conceited about? He danced rottenly, he was a wet blanket at a party, he +couldn't play or sing, he couldn't play polo and his tennis was no +better than anybody else's. Bridge? Who cared about bridge? + +Kitty worked herself up into a towering passion. Let him dare to +reproach her. All that had happened was his own fault. She was thankful +that he knew the truth at last. She hated him and wished never to see +him again. Yes, she was thankful that it was all over. Why couldn't he +leave her alone? He had pestered her into marrying him and now she was +fed up. + +"Fed up," she repeated aloud, trembling with anger. "Fed up! Fed up!" + +She heard the car draw up to the gate of their garden. He was coming up +the stairs. + + + + +_xviii_ + + +He came into the room. Her heart was beating wildly and her hands were +shaking; it was lucky that she lay on the sofa. She was holding an open +book as though she had been reading. He stood for an instant on the +threshold and their eyes met. Her heart sank; she felt on a sudden a +cold chill pass through her limbs and she shivered. She had that feeling +which you describe by saying that someone was walking over your grave. +His face was deathly pale; she had seen it like that once before, when +they sat together in the Park and he asked her to marry him. His dark +eyes, immobile and inscrutable, seemed preternaturally large. He knew +everything. + +"You're back early," she remarked. + +Her lips trembled so that she could hardly frame the words. She was +terrified. She was afraid she would faint. + +"I think it's about the usual time." + +His voice sounded strange to her. It was raised on the last word in +order to give his remark a casual air, but it was forced. She wondered +if he saw that she was shaking in every limb. It was only by an effort +that she did not scream. He dropped his eyes. + +"I'm just going to dress." + +He left the room. She was shattered. For two or three minutes she could +not stir, but at last, raising herself from the sofa with difficulty, as +though she had had an illness and were still weak, she found her feet. +She did not know if her legs would support her. She felt her way by +means of chairs and tables to the veranda and then with one hand on the +wall went to her room. She put on a tea-gown and when she went back into +her boudoir (they only used the drawing-room when there was a party) he +was standing at a table looking at the pictures of the _Sketch_. She had +to force herself to enter. + +"Shall we go down? Dinner is ready." + +"Have I kept you waiting?" + +It was dreadful that she could not control the trembling of her lips. + +When was he going to speak? + +They sat down and for a moment there was silence between them. Then he +made a remark and because it was so commonplace it had a sinister air. + +"The _Empress_ didn't come in to-day," he said. "I wonder if she's been +delayed by a storm." + +"Was she due to-day?" + +"Yes." + +She looked at him now and saw that his eyes were fixed on his plate. He +made another observation, equally trivial, about a tennis tournament +that was about to be played, and he spoke at length. His voice as a rule +was agreeable, with a variety of tone, but now he spoke on one note. It +was strangely unnatural. It gave Kitty the impression that he was +speaking from a long way off. And all the time his eyes were directed to +his plate, or the table, or to a picture on the wall. He would not meet +hers. She realised that he could not bear to look at her. + +"Shall we go upstairs?" he said when dinner was finished. + +"If you like." + +She rose and he held open the door for her. His eyes were cast down as +she passed him. When they reached the sitting-room he took up the +illustrated paper once more. + +"Is this a new _Sketch_? I don't think I've seen it." + +"I don't know. I haven't noticed." + +It had been lying about for a fortnight and she knew that he had looked +it through and through. He took it and sat down. She lay again on the +sofa and took her book. As a rule in the evening, when they were alone, +they played coon-can or patience. He was leaning back in an arm-chair, +in a comfortable attitude, and his attention seemed absorbed by the +illustration he was looking at. He did not turn the page. She tried to +read, but she could not see the print before her eyes. The words were +blurred. Her head began to ache violently. + +When would he speak? + +They sat in silence for an hour. She gave up the pretence of reading, +and letting her novel fall on her lap, gazed into space. She was afraid +to make the smallest gesture or the smallest sound. He sat quite still, +in that same easy attitude, and stared with those wide, immobile eyes of +his at the picture. His stillness was strangely menacing. It gave Kitty +the feeling of a wild beast prepared to spring. + +When suddenly he stood up she started. She clenched her hands and she +felt herself grow pale. Now! + +"I have some work to do," he said in that quiet, toneless voice, his +eyes averted. "If you don't mind I'll go into my study. I daresay you'll +have gone to bed by the time I've finished." + +"I _am_ rather tired to-night." + +"Well, good night." + +"Good night." + +He left the room. + + + + +_xix_ + + +As soon as she could next morning she rang Townsend up at his office. + +"Yes, what is it?" + +"I want to see you." + +"My dear, I'm awfully busy. I'm a working man." + +"It's very important. Can I come down to the office?" + +"Oh, no, I wouldn't do that if I were you." + +"Well, come here then." + +"I can't possibly get away. What about this afternoon? And don't you +think it would be better if I didn't come to your house?" + +"I must see you at once." + +There was a pause and she was afraid that she had been cut off. + +"Are you there?" she asked anxiously. + +"Yes, I was thinking. Has anything happened?" + +"I can't tell you over the telephone." + +There was another silence before he spoke again. + +"Well, look here, I can manage to see you for ten minutes at one if +that'll do. You'd better go to Ku-Chou's and I'll come along as soon as +I can." + +"The curio shop?" she asked in dismay. + +"Well, we can't meet in the lounge at the Tching Yen Hotel very well," +he answered. + +She noticed a trace of irritation in his voice. + +"Very well. I'll go to Ku-Chou's." + + + + +_xx_ + + +She got out of her rickshaw in the Victoria Road and walked up the +steep, narrow lane till she came to the shop. She lingered outside a +moment as though her attention were attracted by the bric-à-brac which +was displayed. But a boy who was standing there on the watch for +customers, recognising her at once, gave her a broad smile of +connivance. He said something in Chinese to someone within and the +master, a little, fat-faced man in a black gown, came out and greeted +her. She walked in quickly. + +"Mr. Townsend no come yet. You go top-side, yes?" + +She went to the back of the shop and walked up the rickety, dark stairs. +The Chinese followed her and unlocked the door that led into the +bedroom. It was stuffy and there was an acrid smell of opium. She sat +down on a sandalwood chest. + +In a moment she heard a heavy step on the creaking stairs. Townsend came +in and shut the door behind him. His face bore a sullen look, but as he +saw her it vanished, and he smiled in that charming way of his. He took +her quickly in his arms and kissed her lips. + +"Now what's the trouble?" + +"It makes me feel better just to see you," she smiled. + +He sat down on the bed and lit a cigarette. + +"You look rather washed out this morning." + +"I don't wonder," she answered. "I don't think I closed my eyes all +night." + +He gave her a look. He was smiling still, but his smile was a little set +and unnatural. She thought there was a shade of anxiety in his eyes. + +"He knows," she said. + +There was an instant's pause before he answered. + +"What did he say?" + +"He hasn't said anything." + +"What!" He looked at her sharply. "What makes you think he knows then?" + +"Everything. His look. The way he talked at dinner." + +"Was he disagreeable?" + +"No, on the contrary, he was scrupulously polite. For the first time +since we married he didn't kiss me good night." + +She dropped her eyes. She was not sure if Charlie understood. As a rule +Walter took her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers and would not +let them go. His whole body grew tender and passionate with his kiss. + +"Why do you imagine he didn't say anything?" + +"I don't know." + +There was a pause. Kitty sat very still on the sandalwood box and looked +with anxious attention at Townsend. His face once more was sullen and +there was a frown between his brows. His mouth drooped a little at the +corners. But all at once he looked up and a gleam of malicious amusement +came into his eyes. + +"I wonder if he _is_ going to say anything." + +She did not answer. She did not know what he meant. + +"After all, he wouldn't be the first man who's shut his eyes in a case +of this sort. What has he to gain by making a row? If he'd wanted to +make a row he would have insisted on coming into your room." His eyes +twinkled and his lips broke into a broad smile. "We should have looked a +pair of damned fools." + +"I wish you could have seen his face last night." + +"I expect he was upset. It was naturally a shock. It's a damned +humiliating position for any man. He always looks a fool. Walter doesn't +give me the impression of a fellow who'd care to wash a lot of dirty +linen in public." + +"I don't think he would," she answered reflectively. "He's very +sensitive, I've discovered that." + +"That's all to the good as far as we're concerned. You know, it's a very +good plan to put yourself in somebody else's shoes and ask yourself how +you would act in his place. There's only one way in which a man can save +his face when he's in that sort of position and that is to pretend he +knows nothing. I bet you anything you like that that is exactly what +he's going to do." + +The more Townsend talked the more buoyant he became. His blue eyes +sparkled and he was once more his gay and jovial self. He irradiated an +encouraging confidence. + +"Heaven knows, I don't want to say anything disagreeable about him, but +when you come down to brass tacks a bacteriologist is no great shakes. +The chances are that I shall be Colonial Secretary when Simmons goes +home, and it's to Walter's interest to keep on the right side of me. +He's got his bread and butter to think of, like the rest of us: do you +think the Colonial Office are going to do much for a fellow who makes a +scandal? Believe me, he's got everything to gain by holding his tongue +and everything to lose by kicking up a row." + +Kitty moved uneasily. She knew how shy Walter was and she could believe +that the fear of a scene, and the dread of public attention, might have +influence upon him; but she could not believe that he would be affected +by the thought of a material advantage. Perhaps she didn't know him very +well, but Charlie didn't know him at all. + +"Has it occurred to you that he's madly in love with me?" + +He did not answer, but he smiled at her with roguish eyes. She knew and +loved that charming look of his. + +"Well, what is it? I know you're going to say something awful." + +"Well, you know, women are often under the impression that men are much +more madly in love with them than they really are." + +For the first time she laughed. His confidence was catching. + +"What a monstrous thing to say!" + +"I put it to you that you haven't been bothering much about your husband +lately. Perhaps he isn't quite so much in love with you as he was." + +"At all events I shall never delude myself that _you_ are madly in love +with me," she retorted. + +"That's where you're wrong." + +Ah, how good it was to hear him say that! She knew it and her belief in +his passion warmed her heart. As he spoke he rose from the bed and came +and sat down beside her on the sandalwood box. He put his arm round her +waist. + +"Don't worry your silly little head a moment longer," he said. "I +promise you there's nothing to fear. I'm as certain as I am of anything +that he's going to pretend he knows nothing. You know, this sort of +thing is awfully difficult to prove. You say he's in love with you; +perhaps he doesn't want to lose you altogether. I swear I'd accept +anything rather than that if you were my wife." + +She leaned towards him. Her body became limp and yielding against his +arm. The love she felt for him was almost torture. His last words had +struck her: perhaps Walter loved her so passionately that he was +prepared to accept any humiliation if sometimes she would let him love +her. She could understand that; for that was how she felt towards +Charlie. A thrill of pride passed through her, and at the same time a +faint sensation of contempt for a man who could love so slavishly. + +She put her arm lovingly round Charlie's neck. + +"You're simply wonderful. I was shaking like a leaf when I came here and +you've made everything all right." + +He took her face in his hand and kissed her lips. + +"Darling." + +"You're such a comfort to me," she sighed. + +"I'm sure you need not be nervous. And you know I'll stand by you. I +won't let you down." + +She put away her fears, but for an instant unreasonably she regretted +that her plans for the future were shattered. Now that all danger was +past she almost wished that Walter were going to insist on a divorce. + +"I knew I could count on you," she said. + +"So I should hope." + +"Oughtn't you to go and have your tiffin?" + +"Oh, damn my tiffin." + +He drew her more closely to him and now she was held tight in his arms. +His mouth sought hers. + +"Oh, Charlie, you must let me go." + +"Never." + +She gave a little laugh, a laugh of happy love and of triumph; his eyes +were heavy with desire. He lifted her to her feet and not letting her go +but holding her close to his breast he locked the door. + + + + +_xxi_ + + +All through the afternoon she thought of what Charlie had said about +Walter. They were dining out that evening and when he came back from the +Club she was dressing. He knocked at her door. + +"Come in." + +He did not open. + +"I'm going straight along to dress. How long will you be?" + +"Ten minutes." + +He said nothing more, but went to his own room. His voice had that +constrained note which she had heard in it the night before. She felt +fairly sure of herself now. She was ready before he was and when he came +downstairs she was already seated in the car. + +"I'm afraid I've kept you waiting," he said. + +"I shall survive it," she replied, and she was able to smile as she spoke. + +She made an observation or two as they drove down the hill, but he +answered curtly. She shrugged her shoulders; she was growing a trifle +impatient: if he wanted to sulk, let him, she didn't care. They drove in +silence till they reached their destination. It was a large dinner +party. There were too many people and too many courses. While Kitty +chatted gaily with her neighbours she watched Walter. He was deathly +pale and his face was pinched. + +"Your husband is looking rather washed out. I thought he didn't mind the +heat. Has he been working very hard?" + +"He always works hard." + +"I suppose you're going away soon?" + +"Oh, yes, I think I shall go to Japan as I did last year," she said. +"The doctor says I must get out of the heat if I don't want to go all to +pieces." + +Walter did not as usual when they were dining out give her a little +smiling glance now and then. He never looked at her. She had noticed +that when he came down to the car he kept his eyes averted, and he did +the same when, with his usual politeness, he gave her his hand to +alight. Now, talking with the women on either side of him, he did not +smile, but looked at them with steady and unblinking eyes; and really +his eyes looked enormous and in that pale face coal black. His face was +set and stern. + +"He must be an agreeable companion," thought Kitty ironically. + +The idea of those unfortunate ladies trying to indulge in small talk +with that grim mask not a little diverted her. + +Of course he knew; there was no doubt about that, and he was furious +with her. Why hadn't he said anything? Was it really because, though +angry and hurt, he loved her as much that he was afraid she would leave +him. The thought made her ever so slightly despise him, but +good-naturedly: after all, he was her husband and he provided her with +board and lodging; so long as he didn't interfere with her and let her +do as she liked she would be quite nice to him. On the other hand, +perhaps his silence was due merely to a morbid timidity. Charlie was +right when he said that no one would hate a scandal more than Walter. He +never made a speech if he could help it. He had told her once that when +he was subpœnaed as a witness on a case where he was to give expert +evidence he had hardly slept for a week before. His shyness was a +disease. + +And there was another thing: men were very vain, and so long as no one +knew what had happened it might be that Walter would be content to +ignore it. Then she wondered whether by any possibility Charlie was +right when he suggested that Walter knew which side his bread was +buttered. Charlie was the most popular man in the Colony and soon would +be Colonial Secretary. He could be very useful to Walter; on the other +hand he could make himself very unpleasant if Walter put his back up. +Her heart exulted as she thought of her lover's strength and +determination; she felt so defenceless in his virile arms. Men were +strange: it would never have occurred to her that Walter was capable of +such baseness, and yet you never knew; perhaps his seriousness was +merely a mask for a mean and pettifogging nature. The more she +considered it the more likely it seemed that Charlie was right; and she +turned her glance once more on her husband. There was no indulgence in +it. + +It happened that just then the women on either side of him were talking +with their neighbours and he was left alone. He was staring straight in +front of him, forgetful of the party, and his eyes were filled with a +mortal sadness. It gave Kitty a shock. + + + + +_xxii_ + + +Next day when she was lying down after luncheon dozing, she was aroused +by a knock at her door. + +"Who is it?" she cried irritably. + +At that hour she was unaccustomed to be disturbed. + +"I." + +She recognized her husband's voice and she sat up quickly. + +"Come in." + +"Did I wake you?" he asked as he entered. + +"In point of fact you did," she answered in the natural tone she had +adopted with him for the last two days. + +"Will you come into the next room? I want to have a little talk with +you." + +Her heart gave a sudden beat against her ribs. + +"I'll put on a dressing-gown." + +He left her. She slipped her bare feet into mules and wrapped herself in +a kimono. She looked in the glass; she was very pale and she put on some +rouge. She stood at the door for a moment, nerving herself for the +interview, and then with a bold face joined him. + +"How did you manage to get away from the Laboratory at this hour?" she +said. "I don't often see you at this sort of time." + +"Won't you sit down?" + +He did not look at her. He spoke gravely. She was glad to do as he +asked: her knees were a little shaky, and unable to continue in that +jocular tone she kept silent. He sat also and lit a cigarette. His eyes +wandered restlessly about the room. He seemed to have some difficulty in +starting. + +Suddenly he looked full at her; and because he had held his eyes so long +averted, his direct gaze gave her such a fright that she smothered a +cry. + +"Have you ever heard of Mei-tan-fu?" he asked. "There's been a good deal +about it in the papers lately." + +She stared at him in astonishment. She hesitated. + +"Is that the place where there's cholera? Mr. Arbuthnot was talking +about it last night." + +"There's an epidemic. I believe it's the worst they've had for years. +There was a medical missionary there. He died of cholera three days ago. +There's a French convent there and of course there's the Customs man. +Everyone else has got out." + +His eyes were still fixed on her and she could not lower hers. She tried +to read his expression, but she was nervous, and she could only discern +a strange watchfulness. How could he look so steadily? He did not even +blink. + +"The French nuns are doing what they can. They've turned the orphanage +into a hospital. But the people are dying like flies. I've offered to go +and take charge." + +"You?" + +She started violently. Her first thought was that if he went she would +be free and without let or hindrance could see Charlie. But the thought +shocked her. She felt herself go scarlet. Why did he watch her like +that? She looked away in embarrassment. + +"Is that necessary?" she faltered. + +"There's not a foreign doctor in the place." + +"But you're not a doctor, you're a bacteriologist." + +"I am an M.D., you know, and before I specialised I did a good deal of +general work in a hospital. The fact that I'm first and foremost a +bacteriologist is all to the good. It will be an admirable chance for +research work." + +He spoke almost flippantly and when she glanced at him she was surprised +to see in his eyes a gleam of mockery. She could not understand. + +"But won't it be awfully dangerous?" + +"Awfully." + +He smiled. It was a derisive grimace. She leaned her forehead on her +hand. Suicide. It was nothing short of that. Dreadful! She had not +thought he would take it like that. She couldn't let him do that. It was +cruel. It was not her fault if she did not love him. She couldn't bear +the thought that he should kill himself for her sake. Tears flowed +softly down her cheeks. + +"What are you crying for?" + +His voice was cold. + +"You're not obliged to go, are you?" + +"No, I go of my own free will." + +"Please don't, Walter. It would be too awful if something happened. +Supposing you died?" + +Though his face remained impassive the shadow of a smile once more +crossed his eyes. He did not answer. + +"Where is this place?" she asked after a pause. + +"Mei-tan-fu? It's on a tributary of the Western River. We should go up +the Western River and then by chair." + +"Who is we?" + +"You and I." + +She looked at him quickly. She thought she had heard amiss. But now the +smile in his eyes had travelled to his lips. His dark eyes were fixed on +her. + +"Are you expecting me to come too?" + +"I thought you'd like to." + +Her breath began to come very fast. A shudder passed through her. + +"But surely it's no place for a woman. The missionary sent his wife and +children down weeks ago and the A. P. C. man and his wife came down. I +met her at a tea-party. I've just remembered that she said they left +some place on account of cholera." + +"There are five French nuns there." + +Panic seized her. + +"I don't know what you mean. It would be madness for me to go. You know +how delicate I am. Dr. Hayward said I must get out of Tching-Yen on +account of the heat. I could never stand the heat up there. And cholera. +I should be frightened out of my wits. It's just asking for trouble. +There's no reason for me to go. I should die." + +He did not answer. She looked at him in her desperation and she could +hardly restrain a cry. His face had a sort of black pallor which +suddenly terrified her. She saw in it a look of hatred. Was it possible +that he wanted her to die? She answered her own outrageous thought. + +"It's absurd. If you think you ought to go it's your own lookout. But +really you can't expect me to. I hate illness. A cholera epidemic. I +don't pretend to be very brave and I don't mind telling you that I +haven't pluck for that. I shall stay here until it's time for me to go +to Japan." + +"I should have thought that you would want to accompany me when I am +about to set out on a dangerous expedition." + +He was openly mocking her now. She was confused. She did not quite know +whether he meant what he said or was merely trying to frighten her. + +"I don't think anyone could reasonably blame me for refusing to go to a +dangerous place where I had no business or where I could be of no use." + +"You could be of the greatest use; you could cheer and comfort me." + +She grew even a little paler. + +"I don't understand what you're talking about." + +"I shouldn't have thought it needed more than average intelligence." + +"I'm not going, Walter. It's monstrous to ask me." + +"Then I shall not go either. I shall immediately file my petition." + + + + +_xxiii_ + + +She looked at him blankly. What he said was so unexpected that at the +first moment she could hardly gather its sense. + +"What on earth are you talking about?" she faltered. + +Even to herself her reply rang false, and she saw the look of disdain +which it called forth on Walter's stern face. + +"I'm afraid you've thought me a bigger fool than I am." + +She did not quite know what to say. She was undecided whether +indignantly to assert her innocence or to break out into angry +reproaches. He seemed to read her thoughts. + +"I've got all the proof necessary." + +She began to cry. The tears flowed from her eyes without any particular +anguish and she did not dry them: to weep gave her a little time to +collect herself. But her mind was blank. He watched her without concern, +and his calmness frightened her. He grew impatient. + +"You're not going to do much good by crying, you know." + +His voice, so cold and hard, had the effect of exciting in her a certain +indignation. She was recovering her nerve. + +"I don't care. I suppose you have no objection to my divorcing you. It +means nothing to a man." + +"Will you allow me to ask why I should put myself to the smallest +inconvenience on your account?" + +"It can't make any difference to you. It's not much to ask you to behave +like a gentleman." + +"I have much too great a regard for your welfare." + +She sat up now and dried her eyes. + +"What _do_ you mean?" she asked him. + +"Townsend will marry you only if he is correspondent and the case is so +shameless that his wife is forced to divorce him." + +"You don't know what you're talking about," she cried. + +"You stupid fool." + +His tone was so contemptuous that she flushed with anger. And perhaps +her anger was greater because she had never before heard him say to her +any but sweet, flattering and delightful things. She had been accustomed +to find him subservient to all her whims. + +"If you want the truth you can have it. He's only too anxious to marry +me. Dorothy Townsend is perfectly willing to divorce him and we shall be +married the moment we're free." + +"Did he tell you that in so many words or is that the impression you +have gained from his manner?" + +Walter's eyes shone with bitter mockery. They made Kitty a trifle +uneasy. She was not quite sure that Charlie had ever said exactly that +in so many words. + +"He's said it over and over again." + +"That's a lie and you know it's a lie." + +"He loves me with all his heart and soul. He loves me as passionately as +I love him. You've found out. I'm not going to deny anything. Why should +I? We've been lovers for a year and I'm proud of it. He means everything +in the world to me and I'm glad that you know at last. We're sick to +death of secrecy and compromise and all the rest of it. It was a mistake +that I ever married you, I never should have done it, I was a fool. I +never cared for you. We never had anything in common. I don't like the +people you like and I'm bored by the things that interest you. I'm +thankful it's finished." + +He watched her without a gesture and without a movement of his face. He +listened attentively and no change in his expression showed that what +she said affected him. + +"Do you know why I married you?" + +"Because you wanted to be married before your sister Doris." + +It was true, but it gave her a funny little turn to realise that he knew +it. Oddly enough, even in that moment of fear and anger, it excited her +compassion. He faintly smiled. + +"I had no illusions about you," he said. "I knew you were silly and +frivolous and empty-headed. But I loved you. I knew that your aims and +ideals were vulgar and commonplace. But I loved you. I knew that you +were second-rate. But I loved you. It's comic when I think how hard I +tried to be amused by the things that amused you and how anxious I was +to hide from you that I wasn't ignorant and vulgar and scandal-mongering +and stupid. I knew how frightened you were of intelligence and I did +everything I could to make you think me as big a fool as the rest of the +men you knew. I knew that you'd only married me for convenience. I loved +you so much, I didn't care. Most people, as far as I can see, when +they're in love with someone and the love isn't returned feel that they +have a grievance. They grow angry and bitter. I wasn't like that. I +never expected you to love me, I didn't see any reason that you should, +I never thought myself very lovable. I was thankful to be allowed to +love you and I was enraptured when now and then I thought you were +pleased with me or when I noticed in your eyes a gleam of good-humoured +affection. I tried not to bore you with my love; I knew I couldn't +afford to do that and I was always on the lookout for the first sign +that you were impatient with my affection. What most husbands expect as +a right I was prepared to receive as a favour." + +Kitty, accustomed to flattery all her life, had never heard such things +said to her before. Blind wrath, driving out fear, arose in her heart: +it seemed to choke her, and she felt the blood-vessels in her temples +swell and throb. Wounded vanity can make a woman more vindictive than a +lioness robbed of her cubs. Kitty's jaw, always a little too square, +protruded with an apish hideousness and her beautiful eyes were black +with malice. But she kept her temper in check. + +"If a man hasn't what's necessary to make a woman love him, it's his +fault, not hers." + +"Evidently." + +His derisive tone increased her irritation. She felt that she could +wound him more by maintaining her calm. + +"I'm not very well educated and I'm not very clever. I'm just a +perfectly ordinary young woman. I like the things that the people like +among whom I've lived all my life. I like dancing and tennis and +theatres and I like the men who play games. It's quite true that I've +always been bored by you and by the things you like. They mean nothing +to me and I don't want them to. You dragged me round those interminable +galleries in Venice: I should have enjoyed myself much more playing golf +at Sandwich." + +"I know." + +"I'm sorry if I haven't been all that you expected me to be. +Unfortunately I always found you physically repulsive. You can hardly +blame me for that." + +"I don't." + +Kitty could more easily have coped with the situation if he had raved +and stormed. She could have met violence with violence. His self-control +was inhuman and she hated him now as she had never hated him before. + +"I don't think you're a man at all. Why didn't you break into the room +when you knew I was there with Charlie? You might at least have tried to +thrash him. Were you afraid?" + +But the moment she had said this she flushed, for she was ashamed. He +did not answer, but in his eyes she read an icy disdain. The shadow of a +smile flickered on his lips. + +"It may be that, like a historical character, I am too proud to fight." + +Kitty, unable to think of anything to answer, shrugged her shoulders. +For a moment longer he held her in his immobile gaze. + +"I think I've said all I had to say: if you refuse to come to Mei-tan-fu +I shall file my petition." + +"Why won't you consent to let me divorce you?" + +He took his eyes off her at last. He leaned back in his chair and lit a +cigarette. He smoked it to the end without saying a word. Then, throwing +away the butt, he gave a little smile. He looked at her once more. + +"If Mrs. Townsend will give me her assurance that she will divorce her +husband and if he will give me his written promise to marry you within a +week of the two decrees being made absolute, I will do that." + +There was something in the way he spoke which disconcerted her. But her +self-respect obliged her to accept his offer in the grand manner. + +"That is very generous of you, Walter." + +To her astonishment he burst suddenly into a shout of laughter. She +flushed angrily. + +"What are you laughing at? I see nothing to laugh at." + +"I beg your pardon. I daresay my sense of humour is peculiar." + +She looked at him, frowning. She would have liked to say something +bitter and wounding, but no rejoinder occurred to her. He looked at his +watch. + +"You had better look sharp if you want to catch Townsend at his office. +If you decide to come with me to Mei-tan-fu it would be necessary to +start the day after to-morrow." + +"Do you want me to tell him to-day?" + +"They say there is no time like the present." + +Her heart began to beat a little faster. It was not uneasiness that she +felt, it was, she didn't quite know what it was. She wished she could +have had a little longer; she would have liked to prepare Charlie. But +she had the fullest confidence in him, he loved her as much as she loved +him, and it was treacherous even to let the thought cross her mind that +he would not welcome the necessity that was forced upon them. She turned +to Walter gravely. + +"I don't think you know what love is. You can have no conception how +desperately in love Charlie and I are with one another. It really is the +only thing that matters and every sacrifice that our love calls for will +be as easy as falling off a log." + +He gave a little bow, but said nothing, and his eyes followed her as she +walked with measured step from the room. + + + + +_xxiv_ + + +She sent in a little note to Charlie on which she had written: "_Please +see me. It is urgent._" A Chinese boy asked her to wait and brought the +answer that Mr. Townsend would see her in five minutes. She was +unaccountably nervous. When at last she was ushered into his room +Charlie came forward to shake hands with her, but the moment the boy, +having closed the door, left them alone he dropped the affable formality +of his manner. + +"I say, my dear, you really mustn't come here in working hours. I've got +an awful lot to do and we don't want to give people a chance to gossip." + +She gave him a long look with those beautiful eyes of hers and tried to +smile, but her lips were stiff and she could not. + +"I wouldn't have come unless it was necessary." + +He smiled and took her arm. + +"Well, since you're here come and sit down." + +It was a long bare room, narrow, with a high ceiling; its walls were +painted in two shades of terra cotta. The only furniture consisted of a +large desk, a revolving chair for Townsend to sit in and a leather +arm-chair for visitors. It intimidated Kitty to sit in this. He sat at +the desk. She had never seen him in spectacles before; she did not know +that he used them. When he noticed that her eyes were on them he took +them off. + +"I only use them for reading," he said. + +Her tears came easily and now, she hardly knew why, she began to cry. +She had no deliberate intention of deceiving, but rather an instinctive +desire to excite his sympathy. He looked at her blankly. + +"Is anything the matter? Oh, my dear, don't cry." + +She took out her handkerchief and tried to check her sobs. He rang the +bell and when the boy came to the door went to it. + +"If anyone asks for me say I'm out." + +"Very good, sir." + +The boy closed the door. Charlie sat on the arm of the chair and put his +arm round Kitty's shoulders. + +"Now, Kitty dear, tell me all about it." + +"Walter wants a divorce," she said. + +She felt the pressure of his arm on her shoulder cease. His body +stiffened. There was a moment's silence, then Townsend rose from her +chair and sat down once more in his. + +"What exactly do you mean?" he said. + +She looked at him quickly, for his voice was hoarse, and she saw that +his face was dully red. + +"I've had a talk with him. I've come straight from the house now. He +says he has all the proof he wants." + +"You didn't commit yourself, did you? You didn't acknowledge anything?" + +Her heart sank. + +"No," she answered. + +"Are you quite sure?" he asked, looking at her sharply. + +"Quite sure," she lied again. + +He leaned back in his chair and stared vacantly at the map of China +which was hanging on the wall in front of him. She watched him +anxiously. She was somewhat disconcerted at the manner in which he had +received the news. She had expected him to take her in his arms and tell +her he was thankful, for now they could be together always; but of +course men were funny. She was crying softly, not now to arouse +sympathy, but because it seemed the natural thing to do. + +"This is a bloody mess we've got into," he said at length. "But it's no +good losing our heads. Crying isn't going to do us any good, you know." + +She noticed the irritation in his voice and dried her eyes. + +"It's not my fault, Charlie. I couldn't help it." + +"Of course you couldn't. It was just damned bad luck. I was just as much +to blame as you were. The thing to do now is to see how we're going to +get out of it. I don't suppose you want to be divorced any more than I +do." + +She smothered a gasp. She gave him a searching look. He was not thinking +of her at all. + +"I wonder what his proofs really are. I don't know how he can actually +prove that we were together in that room. On the whole we've been about +as careful as anyone could be. I'm sure that old fellow at the curio +shop wouldn't have given us away. Even if he'd seen us go in there's no +reason why we shouldn't hunt curios together." + +He was talking to himself rather than to her. + +"It's easy enough to bring charges, but it's damned difficult to prove +them; any lawyer will tell you that. Our line is to deny everything, and +if he threatens to bring an action we'll tell him to go to hell and +we'll fight it." + +"I couldn't go into court, Charlie." + +"Why on earth not? I'm afraid you'll have to. God knows, I don't want a +row, but we can't take it lying down." + +"Why need we defend it?" + +"What a question to ask! After all, it's not only you that are +concerned, I'm concerned too. But as a matter of fact I don't think you +need be afraid of that. We shall be able to square your husband somehow. +The only thing that worries me is the best way to set about it." + +It looked as though an idea occurred to him, for he turned towards her +with his charming smile and his tone, a moment before abrupt and +business-like, became ingratiating. + +"I'm afraid you've been awfully upset, poor little woman. It's too bad." +He stretched out his hand and took hers. "It's a scrape we've got into, +but we shall get out of it. It's not . . ." He stopped and Kitty had a +suspicion that he had been about to say that it was not the first he had +got out of. "The great thing is to keep our heads. You know I shall +never let you down." + +"I'm not frightened. I don't care what he does." + +He smiled still, but perhaps his smile was a trifle forced. + +"If the worst comes to the worst I shall have to tell the Governor. +He'll curse me like hell, but he's a good fellow and a man of the world. +He'll fix it up somehow. It wouldn't do him any good if there was a +scandal." + +"What can he do?" asked Kitty. + +"He can bring pressure to bear on Walter. If he can't get at him through +his ambition he'll get at him through his sense of duty." + +Kitty was a little chilled. She did not seem able to make Charlie see +how desperately grave the situation was. His airiness made her +impatient. She was sorry that she had come to see him in his office. The +surroundings intimidated her. It would have been much easier to say what +she wanted if she could have been in his arms with hers round his neck. + +"You don't know Walter," she said. + +"I know that every man has his price." + +She loved Charlie with all her heart, but his reply disconcerted her; +for such a clever man it was a stupid thing to say. + +"I don't think you realise how angry Walter is. You haven't seen his +face and the look of his eyes." + +He did not reply for a moment, but looked at her with a slight smile. +She knew what he was thinking. Walter was the bacteriologist and +occupied a subordinate position; he would hardly have the impudence to +make himself a nuisance to the upper officials of the Colony. + +"It's no good deceiving yourself, Charlie," she said earnestly. "If +Walter has made up his mind to bring an action nothing that you or +anybody else can say will have the slightest influence." + +His face once more grew heavy and sulky. + +"Is it his idea to make me co-respondent?" + +"At first it was. At last I managed to get him to consent to let me +divorce him." + +"Oh, well, that's not so terrible." His manner relaxed again and she saw +the relief in his eyes. "That seems to me a very good way out. After +all, it's the least a man can do, it's the only decent thing." + +"But he makes a condition." + +He gave her an inquiring glance and he seemed to reflect. + +"Of course I'm not a very rich man, but I'll do anything in my power." + +Kitty was silent. Charlie was saying things which she would never have +expected him to say. And they made it difficult for her to speak. She +had expected to blurt it out in one breath, held in his loving arms, +with her burning face hid on his breast. + +"He agrees to my divorcing him if your wife will give him the assurance +that she will divorce you." + +"Anything else?" + +Kitty could hardly find her voice. + +"And--it's awfully hard to say, Charlie, it sounds dreadful--if you'll +promise to marry me within a week of the decrees being made absolute." + + + + +_xxv_ + + +For a moment he was silent. Then he took her hand again and pressed it +gently. + +"You know, darling," he said, "whatever happens we must keep Dorothy out +of this." + +She looked at him blankly. + +"But I don't understand. How can we?" + +"Well, we can't only think of ourselves in this world. You know, other +things being equal, there's nothing in the world I'd love more than to +marry you. But it's quite out of the question. I know Dorothy: nothing +would induce her to divorce me." + +Kitty was becoming horribly frightened. She began to cry again. He got +up and sat down beside her with his arm round her waist. + +"Try not to upset yourself, darling. We _must_ keep our heads." + +"I thought you loved me . . ." + +"Of course I love you," he said tenderly. "You surely can't have any +doubt of that now." + +"If she won't divorce you Walter will make you co-respondent." + +He took an appreciable time to answer. His tone was dry. + +"Of course that would ruin my career, but I'm afraid it wouldn't do you +much good. If the worst came to the worst I should make a clean breast +of it to Dorothy; she'd be dreadfully hurt and wretched, but she'd +forgive me." He had an idea. "I'm not sure if the best plan wouldn't be +to make a clean breast of it anyhow. If she went to your husband I +daresay she could persuade him to hold his tongue." + +"Does that mean you don't want her to divorce you?" + +"Well, I have got my boys to think of, haven't I? And naturally I don't +want to make her unhappy. We've always got on very well together. She's +been an awfully good wife to me, you know." + +"Why did you tell me that she meant nothing to you?" + +"I never did. I said I wasn't in love with her. We haven't slept +together for years except now and then, on Christmas Day for instance, +or the day before she was going home or the day she came back. She isn't +a woman who cares for that sort of thing. But we've always been +excellent friends. I don't mind telling you that I depend on her more +than anyone has any idea of." + +"Don't you think it would have been better to leave me alone then?" + +She found it strange that with terror catching her breath she could +speak so calmly. + +"You were the loveliest little thing I'd seen for years. I just fell +madly in love with you. You can't blame me for that." + +"After all, you said you'd never let me down." + +"But, good God, I'm not going to let you down. We've got in an awful +scrape and I'm going to do everything that's humanly possible to get you +out of it." + +"Except the one obvious and natural thing." + +He stood up and returned to his own chair. + +"My dear, you must be reasonable. We'd much better face the situation +frankly. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but really I must tell you +the truth. I'm very keen on my career. There's no reason why I shouldn't +be a Governor one of these days, and it's a damned soft job to be a +Colonial Governor. Unless we can hush this up I don't stand a dog's +chance. I may not have to leave the service, but there'll always be a +black mark against me. If I do have to leave the service then I must go +into business in China, where I know people. In either case my only +chance is for Dorothy to stick to me." + +"Was it necessary to tell me that you wanted nothing in the world but +me?" + +The corners of his mouth drooped peevishly. + +"Oh, my dear, it's rather hard to take quite literally the things a man +says when he's in love with you." + +"Didn't you mean them?" + +"At the moment." + +"And what's to happen to me if Walter divorces me?" + +"If we really haven't a leg to stand on of course we won't defend. There +shouldn't be any publicity and people are pretty broad-minded nowadays." + +For the first time Kitty thought of her mother. She shivered. She looked +again at Townsend. Her pain now was tinged with resentment. + +"I'm sure you'd have no difficulty in bearing any inconvenience that I +had to suffer," she said. + +"We're not going to get much further by saying disagreeable things to +one another," he answered. + +She gave a cry of despair. It was dreadful that she should love him so +devotedly and yet feel such bitterness towards him. It was not possible +that he understood how much he meant to her. + +"Oh, Charlie, don't you know how I love you?" + +"But, my dear, I love you. Only we're not living in a desert island and +we've got to make the best we can out of the circumstances that are +forced upon us. You really must be reasonable." + +"How can I be reasonable? To me our love was everything and you were my +whole life. It is not very pleasant to realise that to you it was only +an episode." + +"Of course it wasn't an episode. But you know, when you ask me to get my +wife, to whom I'm very much attached, to divorce me, and ruin my career +by marrying you, you're asking a good deal." + +"No more than I'm willing to do for you." + +"The circumstances are rather different." + +"The only difference is that you don't love me." + +"One can be very much in love with a woman without wishing to spend the +rest of one's life with her." + +She gave him a quick look and despair seized her. Heavy tears rolled +down her cheeks. + +"Oh, how cruel! How can you be so heartless?" + +She began to sob hysterically. He gave an anxious glance at the door. + +"My dear, do try and control yourself." + +"You don't know how I love you," she gasped. "I can't live without you. +Have you no pity for me?" + +She could not speak any more. She wept without restraint. + +"I don't want to be unkind and, Heaven knows, I don't want to hurt your +feelings, but I must tell you the truth." + +"It's the ruin of my whole life. Why couldn't you leave me alone? What +harm had I ever done you?" + +"Of course if it does you any good to put all the blame on me you may." + +Kitty blazed with sudden anger. + +"I suppose I threw myself at your head. I suppose I gave you no peace +till you yielded to my entreaties." + +"I don't say that. But I certainly should never have thought of making +love to you if you hadn't made it perfectly clear that you were ready to +be made love to." + +Oh, the shame of it! She knew that what he said was true. His face now +was sullen and worried and his hands moved uneasily. Every now and then +he gave her a little glance of exasperation. + +"Won't your husband forgive you?" he said after a while. + +"I never asked him." + +Instinctively he clenched his hands. She saw him suppress the +exclamation of annoyance which came to his lips. + +"Why don't you go to him and throw yourself on his mercy? If he's as +much in love with you as you say he's bound to forgive you." + +"How little you know him!" + + + + +_xxvi_ + + +She wiped her eyes. She tried to pull herself together. + +"Charlie, if you desert me I shall die." + +She was driven now to appeal to his compassion. She ought to have told +him at once. When he knew the horrible alternative that was placed +before her his generosity, his sense of justice, his manliness, would be +so vehemently aroused that he would think of nothing but her danger. Oh, +how passionately she desired to feel his dear, protecting arms around +her! + +"Walter wants me to go to Mei-tan-fu." + +"Oh, but that's the place where the cholera is. They've got the worst +epidemic that they've had for fifty years. It's no place for a woman. +You can't possibly go there." + +"If you let me down I shall have to." + +"What do you mean? I don't understand." + +"Walter is taking the place of the missionary doctor who died. He wants +me to go with him." + +"When?" + +"Now. At once." + +Townsend pushed back his chair and looked at her with puzzled eyes. + +"I may be very stupid, but I can't make head or tail out of what you're +saying. If he wants you to go to this place with him, what about a +divorce?" + +"He's given me my choice. I must either go to Mei-tan-fu or else he'll +bring an action." + +"Oh, I see." Townsend's tone changed ever so slightly. "I think that's +rather decent of him, don't you?" + +"Decent?" + +"Well, it's a damned sporting thing of him to go there. It's not a thing +I'd fancy. Of course he'll get a C.M.G. for it when he comes back." + +"But me, Charlie?" she cried, with anguish in her voice. + +"Well, I think if he wants you to go, under the circumstances I don't +see how you can very well refuse." + +"It means death. Absolutely certain death." + +"Oh, damn it all, that's rather an exaggeration. He would hardly take +you if he thought that. It's no more risk for you than for him. In point +of fact there's no great risk if you're careful. I've been here when +there's been cholera and I haven't turned a hair. The great thing is not +to eat anything uncooked, no raw fruit or salads, or anything like that, +and see that your drinking water is boiled." He was gaining confidence +as he proceeded, and his speech was fluent; he was even becoming less +sullen and more alert; he was almost breezy. "After all, it's his job, +isn't it? He's interested in bugs. It's rather a chance for him if you +come to think of it." + +"But me, Charlie?" she repeated, not with anguish now, but with +consternation. + +"Well, the best way to understand a man is to put yourself in his shoes. +From his point of view you've been rather a naughty little thing and he +wants to get you out of harm's way. I always thought he never wanted to +divorce you, he doesn't strike me as that sort of chap; but he made what +he thought was a very generous offer and you put his back up by turning +it down. I don't want to blame you, but really for all our sakes I think +you ought to have given it a little consideration." + +"But don't you see it'll kill me? Don't you know that he's taking me +there because he _knows_ it'll kill me." + +"Oh, my dear, don't talk like that. We're in a damned awkward position +and really it's no time to be melodramatic." + +"You've made up your mind not to understand." Oh, the pain in her heart, +and the fear! She could have screamed. "You can't send me to certain +death. If you have no love or pity for me you must have just ordinary +human feeling." + +"I think it's rather hard on me to put it like that. As far as I can +make out your husband is behaving very generously. He's willing to +forgive you if you'll let him. He wants to get you away and this +opportunity has presented itself to take you to some place where for a +few months you'll be out of harm's way. I don't pretend that Mei-tan-fu +is a health resort, I never knew a Chinese city that was, but there's no +reason to get the wind up about it. In fact that's the worst thing you +can do. I believe as many people die from sheer fright in an epidemic as +because they get infected." + +"But I'm frightened now. When Walter spoke of it I almost fainted." + +"At the first moment I can quite believe it was a shock, but when you +come to look at it calmly you'll be all right. It'll be the sort of +experience that not everyone has had." + +"I thought, I thought . . ." + +She rocked to and fro in an agony. He did not speak, and once more his +face wore that sullen look which till lately she had never known. Kitty +was not crying now. She was dry-eyed, calm, and though her voice was low +it was steady. + +"Do you want me to go?" + +"It's Hobson's choice, isn't it?" + +"Is it?" + +"It's only fair to you to tell you that if your husband brought an +action for divorce and won it I should not be in a position to marry +you." + +It must have seemed an age to him before she answered. She rose slowly +to her feet. + +"I don't think that my husband ever thought of bringing an action." + +"Then why in God's name have you been frightening me out of my wits?" he +asked. + +She looked at him coolly. + +"He knew that you'd let me down." + +She was silent. Vaguely, as when you are studying a foreign language and +read a page which at first you can make nothing of, till a word or a +sentence gives you a clue; and on a sudden a suspicion, as it were, of +the sense flashes across your troubled wits, vaguely she gained an +inkling into the workings of Walter's mind. It was like a dark and +ominous landscape seen by a flash of lightning and in a moment hidden +again by the night. She shuddered at what she saw. + +"He made that threat only because he knew that you'd crumple up at it, +Charlie. It's strange that he should have judged you so accurately. It +was just like him to expose me to such a cruel disillusion." + +Charlie looked down at the sheet of blotting paper in front of him. He +was frowning a little and his mouth was sulky. But he did not reply. + +"He knew that you were vain, cowardly and self-seeking. He wanted me to +see it with my own eyes. He knew that you'd run like a hare at the +approach of danger. He knew how grossly deceived I was in thinking that +you were in love with me, because he knew that you were incapable of +loving anyone but yourself. He knew you'd sacrifice me without a pang to +save your own skin." + +"If it really gives you any satisfaction to say beastly things to me I +suppose I've got no right to complain. Women always are unfair and they +generally manage to put a man in the wrong. But there is something to be +said on the other side." + +She took no notice of his interruption. + +"And now I know all that he knew. I know that you're callous and +heartless. I know that you're selfish, selfish beyond words, and I know +that you haven't the nerve of a rabbit, I know you're a liar and a +humbug, I know that you're utterly contemptible. And the tragic part +is"--her face was on a sudden distraught with pain--"the tragic part is +that notwithstanding I love you with all my heart." + +"Kitty." + +She gave a bitter laugh. He had spoken her name in that melting, rich +tone of his which came to him so naturally and meant so little. + +"You fool," she said. + +He drew back quickly, flushing and offended; he could not make her out. +She gave him a look in which there was a glint of amusement. + +"You're beginning to dislike me, aren't you? Well, dislike me. It +doesn't make any difference to me now." + +She began to put on her gloves. + +"What are you going to do?" he asked. + +"Oh, don't be afraid, you'll come to no harm. You'll be quite safe." + +"For God's sake, don't talk like that, Kitty," he answered and his deep +voice rang with anxiety. "You must know that everything that concerns +you concerns me. I shall be frightfully anxious to know what happens. +What are you going to say to your husband?" + +"I'm going to tell him that I'm prepared to go to Mei-tan-fu with him." + +"Perhaps when you consent he won't insist." + +He could not have known why, when he said this, she looked at him so +strangely. + +"You're not really frightened?" he asked her. + +"No," she said. "You've inspired me with courage. To go into the midst +of a cholera epidemic will be a unique experience and if I die of +it--well, I die." + +"I was trying to be as kind to you as I could." + +She looked at him again. Tears sprang into her eyes once more and her +heart was very full. The impulse was almost irresistible to fling +herself on his breast and crush her lips against his. It was no use. + +"If you want to know," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "I go +with death in my heart and fear. I do not know what Walter has in that +dark, twisted mind of his, but I'm shaking with terror. I think it may +be that death will be really a release." + +She felt that she could not hold on to her self control for another +moment. She walked swiftly to the door and let herself out before he had +time to move from his chair. Townsend gave a long sigh of relief. He +badly wanted a brandy and soda. + + + + +_xxvii_ + + +Walter was in when she got home. She would have liked to go straight to +her room, but he was downstairs, in the hall, giving instructions to one +of the boys. She was so wretched that she welcomed the humiliation to +which she must expose herself. She stopped and faced him. + +"I'm coming with you to that place," she said. + +"Oh, good." + +"When do you want me to be ready?" + +"To-morrow night." + +She did not know what spirit of bravado entered into her. His +indifference was like the prick of a spear. She said a thing that +surprised herself. + +"I suppose I needn't take more than a few summer things and a shroud, +need I?" + +She was watching his face and knew that her flippancy angered him. + +"I've already told your amah what you'll want." + +She nodded and went up to her room. She was very pale. + + + + +_xxviii_ + + +They were reaching their destination at last. They were borne in chairs, +day after day, along a narrow causeway between interminable rice-fields. +They set out at dawn and travelled till the heat of the day forced them +to take shelter in a wayside inn and then went on again till they +reached the town where they had arranged to spend the night. Kitty's +chair headed the procession and Walter followed her; then in a +straggling line came the coolies that bore their bedding, stores and +equipment. Kitty passed through the country with unseeing eyes. All +through the long hours, the silence broken only by an occasional remark +from one of the bearers or a snatch of uncouth song, she turned over in +her tortured mind the details of that heart-rending scene in Charlie's +office. Recalling what he had said to her and what she had said to him, +she was dismayed to see what an arid and business-like turn their +conversation had taken. She had not said what she wanted to say and she +had not spoken in the tone she intended. Had she been able to make him +see her boundless love, the passion in her heart, and her helplessness, +he could never have been so inhuman as to leave her to her fate. She had +been taken unawares. She could hardly believe her ears when he told her, +more clearly than with words, that he cared nothing for her. That was +why she had not even cried very much, she had been so dazed. She had +wept since, wept miserably. + +At night in the inns, sharing the principal guest chamber with her +husband and conscious that Walter, lying on his camp bed, a few feet +away from her, lay awake, she dug her teeth in the pillow so that no +sound might escape her. But in the daytime, protected by the curtains of +her chair, she allowed herself to give way. Her pain was so great that +she could have screamed at the top of her voice; she had never known +that one could suffer so much; and she asked herself desperately what +she had done to deserve it. She could not make out why Charlie did not +love her: it was her fault, she supposed, but she had done everything +she knew to make him fond of her. They had always got on so well, they +laughed all the time they were together, they were not only lovers but +good friends. She could not understand; she was broken. She told herself +that she hated and despised him; but she had no idea how she was going +to live if she was never to see him again. If Walter was taking her to +Mei-tan-fu as a punishment he was making a fool of himself, for what did +she care now what became of her? She had nothing to live for any more. +It was rather hard to be finished with life at twenty-seven. + + + + +_xxix_ + + +On the steamer that took them up the Western River Walter read +incessantly, but at meal-times he endeavoured to make some kind of +conversation. He talked to her as though she were a stranger with whom +he happened to be making the journey, of indifferent things, from +politeness, Kitty imagined, or because so he could render more marked +the gulf that separated them. + +In a flash of insight she had told Charlie that Walter had sent her to +him with the threat of divorce as the alternative to her accompanying +him to the stricken city in order that she might see for herself how +indifferent, cowardly and selfish he was. It was true. It was a trick +which accorded very well with his sardonic humour. He knew exactly what +would happen and he had given her amah necessary instructions before her +return. She had caught in his eyes a disdain which seemed to include her +lover as well as herself. He said to himself, perhaps, that if he had +been in Townsend's place nothing in the world would have hindered him +from making any sacrifice to gratify her smallest whim. She knew that +was true also. But then, when her eyes were opened, how could he make +her do something which was so dangerous, and which he must know +frightened her so terribly? At first she thought he was only playing +with her and till they actually started, no, later, till they left the +river and took to the chairs for the journey across country, she thought +he would give that little laugh of his and tell her that she need not +come. She had no inkling what was in his mind. He could not really +desire her death. He had loved her so desperately. She knew what love +was now and she remembered a thousand signs of his adoration. For him +really, in the French phrase, she did make fine weather and foul. It was +impossible that he did not love her still. Did you cease to love a +person because you had been treated cruelly? She had not made him suffer +as Charlie had made her suffer and yet, if Charlie made a sign, +notwithstanding everything, even though she knew him now, she would +abandon all the world had to offer and fly to his arms. Even though he +had sacrificed her and cared nothing for her, even though he was callous +and unkind, she loved him. + +At first she thought that she had only to bide her time, and sooner or +later Walter would forgive her. She had been too confident of her power +over him to believe that it was gone for ever. Many waters could not +quench love. He was weak if he loved her, and she felt that love her he +must. But now she was not quite sure. When in the evening he sat reading +in the straight-backed blackwood chair of the inn with the light of a +hurricane lamp on his face she was able to watch him at her ease. She +lay on the pallet on which her bed presently would be set and she was in +shadow. Those straight, regular features of his made his face look very +severe. You could hardly believe that it was possible for them on +occasion to be changed by so sweet a smile. He was able to read as +calmly as though she were a thousand miles away; she saw him turn the +pages and she saw his eyes move regularly as they travelled from line to +line. He was not thinking of her. And when, the table being set and +dinner brought in, he put aside his book and gave her a glance (not +knowing how the light on his face threw into distinctness his +expression), she was startled to see in his eyes a look of physical +distaste. Yes, it startled her. Was it possible that his love had left +him entirely? Was it possible that he really designed her death? It was +absurd. That would be the act of a madman. It was odd, the little shiver +that ran through her as the thought occurred to her that perhaps Walter +was not quite sane. + + + + +_xxx_ + + +Suddenly her bearers, long silent, began to speak and one of them, +turning round, with words she could not understand and with a gesture, +sought to attract her attention. She looked in the direction he pointed +and there, on the top of a hill, saw an archway; she knew by now that it +was a memorial in compliment of a fortunate scholar or a virtuous widow, +she had passed many of them since they left the river; but this one, +silhouetted against the westering sun, was more fantastic and beautiful +than any she had seen. Yet, she knew not why, it made her uneasy; it had +a significance which she felt but could not put into words: Was it a +menace that she vaguely discerned or was it derision? She was passing a +grove of bamboos and they leaned over the causeway strangely as if they +would detain her; though the summer evening was windless their narrow +green leaves shivered a little. It gave her the sensation that someone +hidden among them was watching her as she passed. Now they came to the +foot of the hill and the rice-fields ceased. The bearers took it with a +swinging stride. The hill was covered close with little green mounds, +close, close to one another, so that the ground was ribbed like the +sea-sand when the tide has gone out; and this she knew too, for she had +passed just such a spot as they approached each populous city and left +it. It was the graveyard. Now she knew why the bearers had called her +attention to the archway that stood on the crest of the hill: they had +reached the end of their journey. + +They passed through the archway and the chair-bearers paused to change +the pole from shoulder to shoulder. One of them wiped his sweating face +with a dirty rag. The causeway wound down. There were bedraggled houses +on each side. Now the night was falling. But the bearers on a sudden +broke into excited talk and with a jump that shook her ranged themselves +as near as they could to the wall. In a moment she knew what had +startled them, for as they stood there, chattering to one another, four +peasants passed, quick and silent, bearing a new coffin, unpainted, and +its fresh wood gleamed white in the approaching darkness. Kitty felt her +heart beat in terror against her ribs. The coffin passed, but the +bearers stood still; it seemed as though they could not summon up the +will to go on. But there was a shout from behind and they started. They +did not speak now. + +They walked for a few minutes longer and then turned sharply into an +open gateway. The chair was set down. She had arrived. + + + + +_xxxi_ + + +It was a bungalow and she entered the sitting-room. She sat down while +the coolies, straggling in one by one, brought in their loads. Walter in +the courtyard gave directions where this or that was to be placed. She +was very tired. She was startled to hear an unknown voice. + +"May I come in?" + +She flushed and grew pale. She was overwrought and it made her nervous +to meet a stranger. A man came out of the darkness, for the long low +room was lit only by a shaded lamp, and held out his hand. + +"My name is Waddington. I am the Deputy Commissioner." + +"Oh, the Customs. I know. I heard that you were here." + +In that dim light she could see only that he was a little thin man, no +taller than she, with a bald head and a small, bare face. + +"I live just at the bottom of the hill, but coming in this way you +wouldn't have seen my house. I thought you'd be too fagged to come and +dine with me, so I've ordered your dinner here and I've invited myself." + +"I'm delighted to hear it." + +"You'll find the cook's not bad. I kept on Watson's boys for you." + +"Watson was the missionary who was here?" + +"Yes. Very nice fellow. I'll show you his grave to-morrow if you like." + +"How kind you are," said Kitty, with a smile. + +At that moment Walter came in. Waddington had introduced himself to him +before coming in to see Kitty and now he said: + +"I've just been breaking it to your missus that I'm dining with you. +Since Watson died I haven't had anybody much to talk to but the nuns, +and I can never do myself justice in French. Besides, there is only a +limited number of subjects you can talk to them about." + +"I've just told the boy to bring in some drinks," said Walter. + +The servant brought whisky and soda and Kitty noticed that Waddington +helped himself generously. His manner of speaking and his easy chuckle +had suggested to her when he came in that he was not quite sober. + +"Here's luck," he said. Then, turning to Walter: "You've got your work +cut out for you here. They're dying like flies. The magistrate's lost +his head and Colonel Yü, the officer commanding the troops, is having a +devil of a job to prevent them from looting. If something doesn't happen +soon we shall all be murdered in our beds. I tried to get the nuns to +go, but of course they wouldn't. They all want to be martyrs, damn +them." + +He spoke lightly and there was in his voice a sort of ghostly laughter +so that you could not listen to him without smiling. + +"Why haven't you gone?" asked Walter. + +"Well, I've lost half my staff and the others are ready to lie down and +die at any minute. Somebody's got to stay and keep things together." + +"Have you been inoculated?" + +"Yes. Watson did me. But he did himself too, and it didn't do him much +good, poor blighter." He turned to Kitty and his funny little face was +gaily puckered. "I don't think there's any great risk if you take proper +precautions. Have your milk and water boiled and don't eat fresh fruit +or uncooked vegetables. Have you brought any gramophone records with +you?" + +"No, I don't think so," said Kitty. + +"I'm sorry for that. I was hoping you would. I haven't had any for a +long time and I'm sick of my old ones." + +The boy came in to ask if they would have dinner. + +"You won't dress to-night, will you?" asked Waddington. "My boy died +last week and the boy I have now is a fool, so I haven't been dressing +in the evening." + +"I'll go and take off my hat," said Kitty. + +Her room was next door to that in which they sat. It was barely +furnished. An amah was kneeling on the floor, the lamp beside her, +unpacking Kitty's things. + + + + +_xxxii_ + + +The dining-room was small and the greater part of it was filled by an +immense table. On the walls were engravings of scenes from the Bible and +illuminated texts. + +"Missionaries always have large dining-tables," Waddington explained. +"They get so much a year more for every child they have and they buy +their tables when they marry so that there shall be plenty of room for +little strangers." + +From the ceiling hung a large paraffin lamp, so that Kitty was able to +see better what sort of a man Waddington was. His baldness had deceived +her into thinking him no longer young, but she saw now that he must be +well under forty. His face, small under a high, rounded forehead, was +unlined and fresh-coloured; it was ugly like a monkey's, but with an +ugliness that was not without charm; it was an amusing face. His +features, his nose and his mouth, were hardly larger than a child's, and +he had small, very bright blue eyes. His eyebrows were fair and scanty. +He looked like a funny little old boy. He helped himself constantly to +liquor and as dinner proceeded it became evident that he was far from +sober. But if he was drunk it was without offensiveness, gaily, as a +satyr might be who had stolen a wine-skin from a sleeping shepherd. + +He talked of Tching-Yen; he had many friends there and he wanted to know +about them. He had been down for the races a year before and he talked +of ponies and their owners. + +"By the way, what about Townsend?" he asked suddenly. "Is he going to +become Colonial Secretary?" + +Kitty felt herself flush, but her husband did not look at her. + +"I shouldn't wonder," he answered. + +"He's the sort that gets on." + +"Do you know him?" asked Walter. + +"Yes, I know him pretty well. We travelled out from home together once." + +From the other side of the river they heard the beating of gongs and the +clatter of fire-crackers. There, so short a way from them, the great +city lay in terror; and death, sudden and ruthless, hurried through its +tortuous streets. But Waddington began to speak of London. He talked of +the theatres. He knew everything that was being played at the moment and +he told them what pieces he had seen when he was last home on leave. He +laughed as he recollected the humour of this low comedian and sighed as +he reflected on the beauty of that star of musical comedy. He was +pleased to be able to boast that a cousin of his had married one of the +most celebrated. He had lunched with her and she had given him her +photograph. He would show it to them when they came and dined with him +at the Customs. + +Walter looked at his guest with a cold and ironic gaze, but he was +evidently not a little amused by him, and he made an effort to show a +civil interest in topics of which Kitty was well aware he knew nothing. +A faint smile lingered on his lips. But Kitty, she knew not why, was +filled with awe. In the house of that dead missionary, over against the +stricken city, they seemed immeasurably apart from all the world. Three +solitary creatures and strangers to each other. + +Dinner was finished and she rose from the table. + +"Do you mind if I say good-night to you? I'm going to bed." + +"I'll take myself off, I expect the doctor wants to go to bed, too," +answered Waddington. "We must be out early to-morrow." + +He shook hands with Kitty. He was quite steady on his feet, but his eyes +were shining more than ever. + +"I'll come and fetch you," he told Walter, "and take you to see the +Magistrate and Colonel Yü, and then we'll go along to the Convent. +You've got your work cut out, I can tell you." + + + + +_xxxiii_ + + +Her night was tortured with strange dreams. She seemed to be carried in +her chair and she felt the swaying motion as the bearers marched with +their long, uneven stride. She entered cities, vast and dim, where the +multitude thronged about her with curious eyes. The streets were narrow +and tortuous and in the open shops, with their strange wares, all +traffic stopped as she went by and those who bought and those who sold, +paused. Then she came to the memorial arch and its fantastic outline +seemed on a sudden to gain a monstrous life; its capricious contours +were like the waving arms of a Hindu god, and, as she passed under it, +she heard the echo of mocking laughter. But then Charlie Townsend came +towards her and took her in his arms, lifting her out of the chair, and +said it was all a mistake, he had never meant to treat her as he had, +for he loved her and he couldn't live without her. She felt his kisses +on her mouth and she wept with joy, asking him why he had been so cruel, +but though she asked she knew it did not matter. And then there was a +hoarse, abrupt cry and they were separated and between, hurrying +silently, coolies passed in their ragged blue and they bore a coffin. + +She awoke with a start. + +The bungalow stood half way down a steep hill and from her window she +saw the narrow river below her and opposite, the city. The dawn had just +broken and from the river rose a white mist shrouding the junks that lay +moored close to one another like peas in a pod. There were hundreds of +them, and they were silent, mysterious in that ghostly light, and you +had a feeling that their crews lay under an enchantment, for it seemed +that it was not sleep, but something strange and terrible, that held +them so still and mute. + +The morning drew on and the sun touched the mist so that it shone +whitely like the ghost of snow on a dying star. Though on the river it +was light so that you could discern palely the lines of the crowded +junks and the thick forest of their masts, in front it was a shining +wall the eye could not pierce. But suddenly from that white cloud a +tall, grim and massive bastion emerged. It seemed not merely to be made +visible by the all-discovering sun but rather to rise out of nothing at +the touch of a magic wand. It towered, the stronghold of a cruel and +barbaric race, over the river. But the magician who built worked swiftly +and now a fragment of coloured wall crowned the bastion; in a moment, +out of the mist, looming vastly and touched here and there by a yellow +ray of sun, there was seen a cluster of green and yellow roofs. Huge +they seemed and you could make out no pattern; the order, if order there +was, escaped you; wayward and extravagant, but of an unimaginable +richness. This was no fortress, nor a temple, but the magic palace of +some emperor of the gods where no man might enter. It was too airy, +fantastic and unsubstantial to be the work of human hands; it was the +fabric of a dream. + +The tears ran down Kitty's face and she gazed, her hands clasped to her +breast and her mouth, for she was breathless, open a little. She had +never felt so light of heart and it seemed to her as though her body +were a shell that lay at her feet and she pure spirit. Here was beauty. +She took it as the believer takes in his mouth the wafer which is God. + + + + +_xxxiv_ + + +Since Walter went out early in the morning, came back at tiffin only for +half an hour, and did not then return till dinner was just ready, Kitty +found herself much alone. For some days she did not stir from the +bungalow. It was very hot and for the most part she lay in a long chair +by the open window, trying to read. The hard light of midday had robbed +the magic palace of its mystery and now it was no more than a temple on +the city wall, garish and shabby, but because she had seen it once in +such an ecstasy it was never again quite commonplace; and often at dawn +or at dusk, and again at night, she found herself able to recapture +something of that beauty. What had seemed to her a mighty bastion was +but the city wall and on this, massive and dark, her eyes rested +continually. Behind its crenellations lay the city in the dread grip of +the pestilence. + +Vaguely she knew that terrible things were happening there, not from +Walter who when she questioned him (for otherwise he rarely spoke to +her) answered with a humorous nonchalance which sent a shiver down her +spine; but from Waddington and from the amah. The people were dying at +the rate of a hundred a day, and hardly any of those who were attacked +by the disease recovered from it; the gods had been brought out from the +abandoned temples and placed in the streets; offerings were laid before +them and sacrifices made, but they did not stay the plague. The people +died so fast that it was hardly possible to bury them. In some houses +the whole family had been swept away and there was none to perform the +funeral rights. The officer commanding the troops was a masterful man +and if the city was not given over to riot and arson it was due to his +determination. He forced his soldiers to bury such as there was no one +else to bury and he had shot with his own hand an officer who demurred +at entering a stricken house. + +Kitty sometimes was so frightened that her heart sank within her and she +would tremble in every limb. It was very well to say that the risk was +small if you took reasonable precautions: she was panic-stricken. She +turned over in her mind crazy plans of escape. To get away, just to get +away, she was prepared to set out as she was and make her way alone, +without anything but what she stood up in, to some place of safety. She +thought of throwing herself on the mercy of Waddington, telling him +everything and beseeching him to help her to get back to Tching-Yen. If +she flung herself on her knees before her husband, and admitted that she +was frightened, frightened, even though he hated her now he must have +enough human feeling in him to pity her. + +It was out of the question. If she went, where could she go? Not to her +mother; her mother would make her see very plainly that, having married +her off, she counted on being rid of her; and besides she did not want +to go to her mother. She wanted to go to Charlie, and he did not want +her. She knew what he would say if she suddenly appeared before him. She +saw the sullen look of his face and the shrewd hardness behind his +charming eyes. It would be difficult for him to find words that sounded +well. She clenched her hands. She would have given anything to humiliate +him as he had humiliated her. Sometimes she was seized with such a +frenzy that she wished she had let Walter divorce her, ruining herself +if only she could have ruined him too. Certain things he had said to her +made her blush with shame when she recalled them. + + + + +_xxxv_ + + +The first time she was alone with Waddington she brought the +conversation round to Charlie. Waddington had spoken of him on the +evening of their arrival. She pretended that he was no more than an +acquaintance of her husband. + +"I never much cared for him," said Waddington. "I've always thought him +a bore." + +"You must be very hard to please," returned Kitty, in the bright, +chaffing way she could assume so easily. "I suppose he's far and away +the most popular man in Tching-Yen." + +"I know. That is his stock in trade. He's made a science of popularity. +He has the gift of making every one he meets feel that he is the one +person in the world he wants to see. He's always ready to do a service +that isn't any trouble to himself, and even if he doesn't do what you +want he manages to give you the impression that it's only because it's +not humanly possible." + +"That is surely an attractive trait." + +"Charm and nothing but charm at last grows a little tiresome, I think. +It's a relief then to deal with a man who isn't quite so delightful but +a little more sincere. I've known Charlie Townsend for a good many years +and once or twice I've caught him with the mask off--you see, I never +mattered, just a subordinate official in the Customs--and I know that he +doesn't in his heart give a damn for any one in the world but himself." + +Kitty, lounging easily in her chair, looked at him with smiling eyes. +She turned her wedding-ring round and round her finger. + +"Of course he'll get on. He knows all the official ropes. Before I die I +have every belief that I shall address him as Your Excellency and stand +up when he enters the room." + +"Most people think he deserves to get on. He's generally supposed to +have a great deal of ability." + +"Ability? What nonsense! He's a very stupid man. He gives you the +impression that he dashes off his work and gets it through from sheer +brilliancy. Nothing of the kind. He's as industrious as a Eurasian +clerk." + +"How has he got the reputation of being so clever?" + +"There are many foolish people in the world and when a man in a rather +high position puts on no frills, slaps them on the back, and tells them +he'll do anything in the world for them, they are very likely to think +him clever. And then of course, there's his wife. There's an able woman +if you like. She has a good sound head and her advice is always worth +taking. As long as Charlie Townsend's got her to depend on he's pretty +safe never to do a foolish thing, and that's the first thing necessary +for a man to get on in Government service. They don't want clever men; +clever men have ideas, and ideas cause trouble; they want men who have +charm and tact and who can be counted on never to make a blunder. Oh, +yes, Charlie Townsend will get to the top of the tree all right." + +"I wonder why you dislike him?" + +"I don't dislike him." + +"But you like his wife better?" smiled Kitty. + +"I'm an old-fashioned little man and I like a well-bred woman." + +"I wish she were well-dressed as well as well-bred." + +"Doesn't she dress well? I never noticed." + +"I've always heard that they were a devoted couple," said Kitty, +watching him through her eyelashes. + +"He's very fond of her: I will give him that credit. I think that is the +most decent thing about him." + +"Cold praise." + +"He has his little flirtations, but they're not serious. He's much too +cunning to let them go to such lengths as might cause him inconvenience. +And of course he isn't a passionate man; he's only a vain one. He likes +admiration. He's fat and forty now, he does himself too well, but he was +very good-looking when he first came to the Colony. I've often heard his +wife chaff him about his conquests." + +"She doesn't take his flirtations very seriously?" + +"Oh, no, she knows they don't go very far. She says she'd like to be +able to make friends of the poor little things who fall to Charlie; but +they're always so common. She says it's really not very flattering to +her that the women who fall in love with her husband are so uncommonly +second-rate." + + + + +_xxxvi_ + + +When Waddington left her Kitty thought over what he had so carelessly +said. It hadn't been very pleasant to hear and she had had to make +something of an effort not to show how much it touched her. It was +bitter to think that all he said was true. She knew that Charlie was +stupid and vain, hungry for flattery, and she remembered the complacency +with which he had told her little stories to prove his cleverness. He +was proud of a low cunning. How worthless must she be if she had given +her heart so passionately to such a man because--because he had nice +eyes and a good figure! She wished to despise him, because so long as +she only hated him she knew that she was very near loving him. The way +he had treated her should have opened her eyes. Walter had always held +him in contempt. Oh, if she could only get him out of her mind +altogether! And had his wife chaffed him about her obvious infatuation +for him? Dorothy would have liked to make a friend of her, but that she +found her second-rate. Kitty smiled a little: how indignant her mother +would be to know that her daughter was considered that! + +But at night she dreamt of him again. She felt his arms pressing her +close and the hot passion of his kisses on her lips. What did it matter +if he was fat and forty? She laughed with soft affection because he +minded so much; she loved him all the more for his childlike vanity and +she could be sorry for him and comfort him. When she awoke tears were +streaming from her eyes. + +She did not know why it seemed to her so tragic to cry in her sleep. + + + + +_xxxvii_ + + +She saw Waddington every day, for he strolled up the hill to the Fanes' +bungalow when his day's work was done; and so after a week they had +arrived at an intimacy which under other circumstances they could +scarcely have achieved in a year. Once when Kitty told him she didn't +know what she would do there without him he answered, laughing: + +"You see, you and I are the only people here who walk quite quietly and +peaceably on solid ground. The nuns walk in heaven and your husband--in +darkness." + +Though she gave a careless laugh she wondered what he meant. She felt +that his merry little blue eyes were scanning her face with an amiable, +but disconcerting attention. She had discovered already that he was +shrewd and she had a feeling that the relations between herself and +Walter excited his cynical curiosity. She found a certain amusement in +baffling him. She liked him and she knew that he was kindly disposed +towards her. He was not witty nor brilliant, but he had a dry and +incisive way of putting things which was diverting, and his funny, +boyish face under that bald skull, all screwed up with laughter, made +his remarks sometimes extremely droll. He had lived for many years in +outports, often with no man of his own colour to talk to, and his +personality had developed in eccentric freedom. He was full of fads and +oddities. His frankness was refreshing. He seemed to look upon life in a +spirit of banter, and his ridicule of the Colony at Tching-Yen was acid; +but he laughed also at the Chinese officials in Mei-tan-fu and at the +cholera which decimated the city. He could not tell a tragic story or +one of heroism without making it faintly absurd. He had many anecdotes +of his adventures during twenty years in China, and you concluded from +them that the earth was a very grotesque, bizarre and ludicrous place. + +Though he denied that he was a Chinese scholar (he swore that the +Sinologues were as mad as march hares) he spoke the language with ease. +He read little and what he knew he had learned from conversation. But he +often told Kitty stories from the Chinese novels and from Chinese +history and though he told them with that airy badinage which was +natural to him it was good-humoured and even tender. It seemed to her +that, perhaps unconsciously, he had adopted the Chinese view that the +Europeans were barbarians and their life a folly: in China alone was it +so led that a sensible man might discern in it a sort of reality. Here +was food for reflection: Kitty had never heard the Chinese spoken of as +anything but decadent, dirty and unspeakable. It was as though the corner +of a curtain were lifted for a moment, and she caught a glimpse of a +world rich with a colour and significance she had not dreamt of. + +He sat there, talking, laughing and drinking. + +"Don't you think you drink too much," said Kitty to him boldly. + +"It's my great pleasure in life," he answered. "Besides, it keeps the +cholera out." + +When he left her he was generally drunk, but he carried his liquor well. +It made him hilarious, but not disagreeable. + +One evening Walter, coming back earlier than usual, asked him to stay to +dinner. A curious incident happened. They had their soup and their fish +and then with the chicken a fresh green salad was handed to Kitty by the +boy. + +"Good God, you're not going to eat that," cried Waddington, as he saw +Kitty take some. + +"Yes, we have it every night." + +"My wife likes it," said Walter. + +The dish was handed to Waddington, but he shook his head. + +"Thank you very much, but I'm not thinking of committing suicide just +yet." + +Walter smiled grimly and helped himself. Waddington said nothing more, +in fact he became strangely taciturn, and soon after dinner he left +them. + +It was true that they ate salad every night. Two days after their +arrival the cook, with the unconcern of the Chinese, had sent it in and +Kitty, without thinking, took some. Walter leaned forward quickly. + +"You oughtn't to eat that. The boy's crazy to serve it." + +"Why not?" asked Kitty, looking at him full in the face. + +"It's always dangerous, it's madness now. You'll kill yourself." + +"I thought that was the idea," said Kitty. + +She began to eat it coolly. She was seized with she knew not what spirit +of bravado. She watched Walter with mocking eyes. She thought that he +grew a trifle pale, but when the salad was handed to him he helped +himself. The cook, finding they did not refuse it, sent them some in +every day and every day, courting death, they ate it. It was grotesque +to take such a risk. Kitty, in terror of the disease, took it with the +feeling not only that she was thus maliciously avenging herself on +Walter, but that she was flouting her own desperate fears. + + + + +_xxxviii_ + + +It was the day after this that Waddington, coming to the bungalow in the +afternoon, when he had sat a little asked Kitty if she would not go for +a stroll with him. She had not been out of the compound since her +arrival. She was glad enough. + +"There are not many walks, I'm afraid," he said. "But we'll go to the +top of the hill." + +"Oh, yes, where the archway is. I've seen it often from the terrace." + +One of the boys opened the heavy doorway for them and they stepped out +into the dusty lane. They walked a few yards and then Kitty seizing +Waddington's arm in fright, gave a startled cry. + +"Look!" + +"What's the matter?" + +At the foot of the wall that surrounded the compound a man lay on his +back with his legs stretched out and his arms thrown over his head. He +wore the patched blue rags and the wild mop of hair of the Chinese +beggar. + +"He looks as if he were dead," Kitty gasped. + +"He is dead. Come along; you'd better look the other way. I'll have him +moved when we come back." + +But Kitty was trembling so violently that she could not stir. + +"I've never seen anyone dead before." + +"You'd better hurry up and get used to it then, because you'll see a +good many before you've done with this cheerful spot." + +He took her hand and drew it in his arm. They walked for a little in +silence. + +"Did he die of cholera?" she said at last. + +"I suppose so." + +They walked up the hill till they came to the archway. It was richly +carved. Fantastic and ironical it stood like a landmark in the +surrounding country. They sat down on the pedestal and faced the wide +plain. The hill was sown close with the little green mounds of the dead, +not in lines but disorderly, so that you felt that beneath the surface +they must strangely jostle one another. The narrow causeway meandered +sinuously among the green rice fields. A small boy seated on the neck of +a water-buffalo drove it slowly home, and three peasants in wide straw +hats lolloped with sidelong gait under their heavy loads. After the heat +of the day it was pleasant in that spot to catch the faint breeze of the +evening and the wide expanse of country brought a sense of restful +melancholy to the tortured heart. But Kitty could not rid her mind of +the dead beggar. + +"How can you talk and laugh and drink whisky when people are dying all +around you?" she asked suddenly. + +Waddington did not answer. He turned round and looked at her, then he +put his hand on her arm. + +"You know, this is no place for a woman," he said gravely. "Why don't +you go?" + +She gave him a sidelong glance from beneath her long lashes and there +was the shadow of a smile on her lips. + +"I should have thought under the circumstances a wife's place was by her +husband's side." + +"When they telegraphed to me that you were coming with Fane I was +astonished. But then it occurred to me that perhaps you'd been a nurse +and all this sort of thing was in the day's work. I expected you to be +one of those grim-visaged females who lead you a dog's life when you're +ill in hospital. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I +came into the bungalow and saw you sitting down and resting. You looked +very frail and white and tired." + +"You couldn't expect me to look my best after nine days on the road." + +"You look frail and white and tired now, and if you'll allow me to say +so, desperately unhappy." + +Kitty flushed because she could not help it, but she was able to give a +laugh that sounded merry enough. + +"I'm sorry you don't like my expression. The only reason I have for +looking unhappy is that since I was twelve I've known that my nose was a +little too long. But to cherish a secret sorrow is a most effective +pose: you can't think how many sweet young men have wanted to console +me." + +Waddington's blue and shining eyes rested on her and she knew that he +did not believe a word she said. She did not care so long as he +pretended to. + +"I knew that you hadn't been married very long and I came to the +conclusion that you and your husband were madly in love with each other. +I couldn't believe that he had wished you to come, but perhaps you had +absolutely refused to stay behind." + +"That's a very reasonable explanation," she said lightly. + +"Yes, but it isn't the right one." + +She waited for him to go on, fearful of what he was about to say, for +she had a pretty good idea of his shrewdness and was aware that he never +hesitated to speak his mind, but unable to resist the desire to hear him +talk about herself. + +"I don't think for a moment that you're in love with your husband. I +think you dislike him, I shouldn't be surprised if you hated him. But +I'm quite sure you're afraid of him." + +For a moment she looked away. She did not mean to let Waddington see +that anything he said affected her. + +"I have a suspicion that you don't very much like my husband," she said +with cool irony. + +"I respect him. He has brains and character; and that, I may tell you, +is a very unusual combination. I don't suppose you know what he is doing +here, because I don't think he's very expansive with you. If any man +single-handed can put a stop to this frightful epidemic he's going to do +it. He's doctoring the sick, cleaning the city up, trying to get the +drinking water pure. He doesn't mind where he goes nor what he does. +He's risking his life twenty times a day. He's got Colonel Yü in his +pocket and he's induced him to put the troops at his disposal. He's even +put a little pluck into the magistrate and the old man is really trying +to do something. And the nuns at the convent swear by him. They think +he's a hero." + +"Don't you?" + +"After all this isn't his job, is it? He's a bacteriologist. There was +no call for him to come here. He doesn't give me the impression that +he's moved by compassion for all these dying Chinamen. Watson was +different. He loved the human race. Though he was a missionary it didn't +make any difference to him if they were Christian, Buddhist or +Confucian; they were just human beings. Your husband isn't here because +he cares a damn if a hundred thousand Chinese die of cholera; he isn't +here either in the interests of science. Why is he here?" + +"You'd better ask him." + +"It interests me to see you together. I sometimes wonder how you behave +when you're alone. When I'm there you're acting, both of you, and acting +damned badly, by George. You'd neither of you get thirty bob a week in a +touring company if that's the best you can do." + +"I don't know what you mean," smiled Kitty, keeping up a pretence of +frivolity which she knew did not deceive. + +"You're a very pretty woman. It's funny that your husband should never +look at you. When he speaks to you it sounds as though it were not his +voice but somebody's else's." + +"Do you think he doesn't love me?" asked Kitty in a low voice, hoarsely, +putting aside suddenly her lightness. + +"I don't know. I don't know if you fill him with such a repulsion that +it gives him goose-flesh to be near you or if he's burning with a love +that for some reason he will not allow himself to show. I've asked +myself if you're both here to commit suicide." + +Kitty had seen the startled glance and then the scrutinising look +Waddington gave them when the incident of the salad took place. + +"I think you're attaching too much importance to a few lettuce leaves," +she said flippantly. She rose. "Shall we go home? I'm sure you want a +whisky and soda." + +"You're not a heroine at all events. You're frightened to death. Are you +sure you don't want to go away?" + +"What has it got to do with you?" + +"I'll help you." + +"Are _you_ going to fall to my look of secret sorrow? Look at my profile +and tell me if my nose isn't a trifle too long." + +He gazed at her reflectively, that malicious, ironical look in his +bright eyes, but mingled with it, a shadow, like a tree standing at a +river's edge and its reflection in the water, was an expression of +singular kindliness. It brought sudden tears to Kitty's eyes. + +"Must you stay?" + +"Yes." + +They passed under the flamboyant archway and walked down the hill. When +they came to the compound they saw the body of the dead beggar. He took +her arm, but she released herself. She stood still. + +"It's dreadful, isn't it?" + +"What? Death." + +"Yes. It makes everything else seem so horribly trivial. He doesn't look +human. When you look at him you can hardly persuade yourself that he's +ever been alive. It's hard to think that not so very many years ago he +was just a little boy tearing down the hill and flying a kite." + +She could not hold back the sob that choked her. + + + + +_xxxix_ + + +A few days later Waddington, sitting with Kitty, a long glass of whisky +and soda in his hand, began to speak to her of the convent. + +"The Mother Superior is a very remarkable woman," he said. "The Sisters +tell me that she belongs to one of the greatest families in France, but +they won't tell me which; the Mother Superior, they say, doesn't wish it +to be talked of." + +"Why don't you ask her if it interests you?" smiled Kitty. + +"If you knew her you'd know it was impossible to ask her an indiscreet +question." + +"She must certainly be very remarkable if she can impress you with awe." + +"I am the bearer of a message from her to you. She has asked me to say +that, though of course you may not wish to adventure into the very +centre of the epidemic, if you do not mind that it will give her great +pleasure to show you the convent." + +"It's very kind of her. I shouldn't have thought she was aware of my +existence." + +"I've spoken about you; I go there two or three times a week just now to +see if there's anything I can do; and I daresay your husband has told +them about you. You must be prepared to find that they have an unbounded +admiration for him." + +"Are you a Catholic?" + +His malicious eyes twinkled and his funny little face was puckered with +laughter. + +"Why are you grinning at me?" asked Kitty. + +"Can any good come out of Galilee? No, I'm not a Catholic. I describe +myself as a member of the Church of England, which, I suppose, is an +inoffensive way of saying that you don't believe in anything very much. +. . . When the Mother Superior came here ten years ago she brought seven +nuns with her and of those all but three are dead. You see, at the best +of times, Mei-tan-fu is not a health resort. They live in the very +middle of the city, in the poorest district, they work very hard and +they never have a holiday." + +"But are there only three and the Mother Superior now?" + +"Oh, no, more have taken their places. There are six of them now. When +one of them died of cholera at the beginning of the epidemic two others +came up from Canton." + +Kitty shivered a little. + +"Are you cold?" + +"No, it was only some one walking over my grave." + +"When they leave France they leave it for ever. They're not like the +Protestant missionaries who have a year's leave every now and then. I +always think that must be the hardest thing of all. We English have no +very strong attachment to the soil, we can make ourselves at home in any +part of the world, but the French, I think, have an attachment to their +country which is almost a physical bond. They're never really at ease +when they're out of it. It always seems to me very moving that these +women should make just that sacrifice. I suppose if I _were_ a Catholic +it would seem very natural to me." + +Kitty looked at him coolly. She could not quite understand the emotion +with which the little man spoke and she asked herself whether it was a +pose. He had drunk a good deal of whisky and perhaps he was not quite +sober. + +"Come and see for yourself," he said, with his bantering smile, quickly +reading her thought. "It's not nearly so risky as eating a tomato." + +"If you're not frightened there's no reason why I should be." + +"I think it'll amuse you. It's like a little bit of France." + + + + +_xl_ + + +They crossed the river in a sampan. A chair was waiting for Kitty at the +landing-stage and she was carried up the hill to the water-gate. It was +through this that the coolies came to fetch water from the river and +they hurried to and fro with huge buckets hanging from the yoke on their +shoulder, splashing the causeway so that it was as wet as though it had +heavily rained. Kitty's bearers gave short, sharp cries to urge them to +make way. + +"Of course all business is at a standstill," said Waddington, walking by +her side. "Under normal circumstances you have to fight your way through +the coolies carrying loads up and down to the junks." + +The street was narrow and winding so that Kitty lost all sense of the +direction in which she was going. Many of the shops were closed. She had +grown used on the journey up to the untidiness of a Chinese street, but +here was the litter of weeks, garbage and refuse; and the stench was so +horrible that she had to put her handkerchief to her face. Passing +through Chinese cities she had been incommoded by the staring of the +crowd, but now she noticed that no more than an indifferent glance was +thrown at her. The passers-by, scattered rather than as usual thronging, +seemed intent on their own affairs. They were cowed and listless. Now +and then as they went by a house they heard the beating of gongs and the +shrill, sustained lament of unknown instruments. Behind those closed +doors one was lying dead. + +"Here we are," said Waddington at last. + +The chair was set down at a small doorway, surmounted by a cross, in a +long white wall, and Kitty stepped out. He rang the bell. + +"You mustn't expect anything very grand, you know. They're miserably +poor." + +The door was opened by a Chinese girl, and after a word or two from +Waddington she led them into a little room on the side of the corridor. +It contained a large table covered with a chequered oilcloth and round +the walls was a set of stiff chairs. At one end of the room was a +statue, in plaster, of the Blessed Virgin. In a moment a nun came in, +short and plump, with a homely face, red cheeks and merry eyes. +Waddington, introducing Kitty to her, called her Sœur St. Joseph. + +"_C'est la dame du docteur?_" she asked, beaming, and then added that +the Mother Superior would join them directly. + +Sister St. Joseph could speak no English and Kitty's French was halting; +but Waddington, fluent, voluble and inaccurate, maintained a stream of +facetious comment, which convulsed the good-humoured nun. Her cheerful, +easy laughter not a little astonished Kitty. She had an idea that the +religious were always grave and this sweet and childlike merriment +touched her. + + + + +_xli_ + + +The door opened, to Kitty's fancy not quite naturally, but as though it +swung back of itself on its hinges, and the Mother Superior entered the +little room. She stood for an instant on the threshold and a grave smile +hovered upon her lips as she looked at the laughing Sister and +Waddington's puckered, clownish face. Then she came forward and held out +her hand to Kitty. + +"Mrs. Fane?" She spoke in English with a good deal of accent, but with a +correct pronunciation, and she gave the shadow of a bow. "It is a great +pleasure to me to make the acquaintance of the wife of our good and +brave doctor." + +Kitty felt that the Superior's eyes held her in a long and unembarrassed +look of appraisal. It was so frank that it was not uncivil; you felt +that here was a woman whose business it was to form an opinion of others +and to whom it never occurred that subterfuge was necessary. With a +dignified affability she motioned to her visitors to take chairs and +herself sat down. Sister St. Joseph, smiling still but silent, stood at +the side but a little behind the Superior. + +"I know you English like tea," said the Mother Superior, "and I have +ordered some. But I must make my excuses if it is served in the Chinese +fashion. I know that Mr. Waddington prefers whisky, but that I am afraid +I cannot offer him." + +She smiled and there was a hint of malice in her grave eyes. + +"Oh, come, _ma mère_, you speak as if I were a confirmed drunkard." + +"I wish you could say that you never drink, Mr. Waddington." + +"I can at all events say that I never drink except to excess." + +The Mother Superior laughed and translated into French for Sister St. +Joseph the flippant remark. She looked at him with lingering, friendly +eyes. + +"We must make allowances for Mr. Waddington because two or three times +when we had no money at all and did not know how we were to feed our +orphans Mr. Waddington came to our rescue." + +The convert who had opened the door for them now came in with a tray on +which were Chinese cups, a tea-pot and a little plate of the French +cakes called _Madeleines_. + +"You must eat the _Madeleines_," said the Mother Superior, "because +Sister St. Joseph made them for you herself this morning." + +They talked of commonplace things. The Mother Superior asked Kitty how +long she had been in China and if the journey from Tching-Yen had +greatly tired her. She asked her if she had been in France and if she +did not find the climate of Tching-Yen trying. It was a conversation, +trivial but friendly, which gained a peculiar savour from the +circumstances. The parlour was very quiet, so that you could hardly +believe that you were in the midst of a populous city. Peace dwelt +there. And yet all round about the epidemic was raging and the people, +terrified and restless, were kept in check but by the strong will of a +soldier who was more than half a brigand. Within the convent walls the +infirmary was crowded with sick and dying soldiers, and of the orphans +in the nuns' charge a quarter were dead. + +Kitty, impressed she hardly knew why, observed the grave lady who asked +her these amiable questions. She was dressed in white and the only +colour on her habit was the red heart that burned on her breast. She was +a woman of middle age, she might have been forty or fifty, it was +impossible to say, for there were few wrinkles on her smooth, pale face, +and you received the impression that she was far from young chiefly from +the dignity of her bearing, her assurance, and the emaciation of her +strong and beautiful hands. The face was long with a large mouth and +large, even teeth; the nose though not small, was delicate and +sensitive; but it was the eyes, under their thin black brows, which gave +her face its intense and tragic character. They were very large, black, +and though not exactly cold, by their calm steadiness strangely +compelling. Your first thought when you looked at the Mother Superior +was that as a girl she must have been beautiful, but in a moment you +realised that this was a woman whose beauty, depending on character, had +grown with advancing years. Her voice was deep, low and controlled, and +whether she spoke in English or in French she spoke slowly. But the most +striking thing about her was the air she had of authority tempered by +Christian charity; you felt in her the habit of command. To be obeyed +was natural to her, but she accepted obedience with humility. You could +not fail to see that she was deeply conscious of the authority of the +church which upheld her. But Kitty had a surmise that notwithstanding +her austere demeanour she had for human frailty a human tolerance and it +was impossible to look at her grave smile when she listened to +Waddington, unabashed, talking nonsense, without being sure that she had +a lively sense of the ridiculous. + +But there was some other quality in her which Kitty vaguely felt, but +could not put a name to. It was something that notwithstanding the +Mother Superior's cordiality and the exquisite manners which made Kitty +feel like an awkward school-girl, held her at a distance. + + + + +_xlii_ + + +"_MONSIEUR ne mange rien_," said Sister St. Joseph. + +"Monsieur's palate is ruined by Manchu cooking," replied the Mother +Superior. + +The smile left Sister St. Joseph's face and she assumed an expression of +some primness. Waddington, a roguish glance in his eyes, took another +cake. Kitty did not understand the incident. + +"To prove to you how unjust you are, _ma mère_, I will ruin the +excellent dinner that awaits me." + +"If Mrs. Fane would like to see over the convent I shall be glad to show +her." The Mother Superior turned to Kitty with a deprecating smile. "I +am sorry you should see it just now when everything is in disorder. We +have so much work and not enough Sisters to do it. Colonel Yü has +insisted on our putting our infirmary at the disposal of sick soldiers +and we have had to make the _réfectoire_ into an infirmary for our +orphans." + +She stood at the door to allow Kitty to pass and together, followed by +Sister St. Joseph and Waddington, they walked along cool white +corridors. They went first into a large, bare room where a number of +Chinese girls were working at elaborate embroideries. They stood up when +the visitors entered and the Mother Superior showed Kitty specimens of +the work. + +"We go on with it notwithstanding the epidemic because it takes their +minds off the danger." + +They went to a second room in which younger girls were doing plain +sewing, hemming and stitching, and then into a third where there were +only tiny children under the charge of a Chinese convert. They were +playing noisily and when the Mother Superior came in they crowded round +her, mites of two and three, with their black Chinese eyes and their +black hair; and they seized her hands and hid themselves in her great +skirts. An enchanting smile lit up her grave face, and she fondled them; +she spoke little chaffing words which Kitty, ignorant though she was of +Chinese, could tell were like caresses. She shuddered a little, for in +their uniform dress, sallow-skinned, stunted, with their flat noses, +they looked to her hardly human. They were repulsive. But the Mother +Superior stood among them like Charity itself. When she wished to leave +the room they would not let her go, but clung to her, so that, with +smiling expostulations, she had to use a gentle force to free herself. +They at all events found nothing terrifying in this great lady. + +"You know of course," she said, as they walked along another corridor, +"that they are only orphans in the sense that their parents have wished +to be rid of them. We give them a few cash for every child that is +brought in, otherwise they will not take the trouble, but do away with +them." She turned to the Sister. "Have any come to-day?" she asked. + +"Four." + +"Now, with the cholera, they are more than ever anxious not to be +burdened with useless girls." + +She showed Kitty the dormitories and then they passed a door on which +was painted the word _infirmerie_. Kitty heard groans and loud cries and +sounds as though beings not human were in pain. + +"I will not show you the infirmary," said the Mother Superior in her +placid tones. "It is not a sight that one would wish to see." A thought +struck her. "I wonder if Dr. Fane is there?" + +She looked interrogatively at the Sister and she, with her merry smile, +opened the door and slipped in. Kitty shrank back as the open door +allowed her to hear more horribly the tumult within. Sister St. Joseph +came back. + +"No, he has been and will not be back again till later." + +"What about number six?" + +"_Pauvre garçon_, he's dead." + +The Mother Superior crossed herself and her lips moved in a short and +silent prayer. + +They passed by a courtyard and Kitty's eyes fell upon two long shapes +that lay side by side on the ground covered with a piece of blue cotton. +The Superior turned to Waddington. + +"We are so short of beds that we have to put two patients in one and the +moment a sick man dies he must be bundled out in order to make room for +another." But she gave Kitty a smile. "Now we will show you our chapel. +We are very proud of it. One of our friends in France sent us a little +while ago a life-size statue of the Blessed Virgin." + + + + +_xliii_ + + +The chapel was no more than a long low room with white-washed walls and +rows of deal benches; at the end was the altar on which stood the image; +it was in plaster of Paris painted in crude colours; it was very bright +and new and garish. Behind it was a picture in oils of the Crucifixion +with the two Maries at the foot of the Cross in extravagant attitudes of +grief. The drawing was bad and the dark pigments were put on with an eye +that knew nothing of the beauty of colour. Around the walls were the +Stations of the Cross painted by the same unfortunate hand. The chapel +was hideous and vulgar. + +The two nuns on entering knelt down to say a prayer and then, rising, the +Mother Superior began once more to chat with Kitty. + +"Everything that can be broken is broken when it comes here, but the +statue presented to us by our benefactor came from Paris without so much +as the smallest chip. There is no doubt that it was a miracle." + +Waddington's malicious eyes gleamed, but he held his tongue. + +"The altarpiece and the Stations of the Cross were painted by one of our +Sisters, Sœur St. Anselme." The Mother Superior crossed herself. "She +was a real artist. Unfortunately, she fell a victim to the epidemic. Do +you not think that they are very beautiful?" + +Kitty faltered an affirmative. On the altar were bunches of paper +flowers and the candlesticks were distractingly ornate. + +"We have the privilege of keeping here the Blessed Sacrament." + +"Yes?" said Kitty, not understanding. + +"It has been a great comfort to us during this time of so terrible +trouble." + +They left the chapel and retraced their steps to the parlour in which +they had first sat. + +"Would you like to see the babies that came in this morning before you +go?" + +"Very much," said Kitty. + +The Mother Superior led them into a tiny room on the other side of the +passage. On a table, under a cloth, there was a singular wriggling. The +Sister drew back the cloth and displayed four tiny, naked infants. They +were very red and they made funny restless movements with their arms and +legs; their quaint little Chinese faces were screwed up into strange +grimaces. They looked hardly human; queer animals of an unknown species, +and yet there was something singularly moving in the sight. The Mother +Superior looked at them with an amused smile. + +"They seem very lively. Sometimes they are brought in only to die. Of +course we baptize them the moment they come." + +"The lady's husband will be pleased with them," said Sister St. Joseph. +"I think he could play by the hour with the babies. When they cry he has +only to take them up, and he makes them comfortable in the crook of his +arm, so that they laugh with delight." + +Then Kitty and Waddington found themselves at the door. Kitty gravely +thanked the Mother Superior for the trouble she had taken. The nun bowed +with a condescension that was at once dignified and affable. + +"It has been a great pleasure. You do not know how kind and helpful your +husband has been to us. He has been sent to us by Heaven. I am glad that +you came with him. When he goes home it must be a great comfort to him +to have you there with your love and your--your sweet face. You must +take care of him and not let him work too hard. You must look after him +for all our sakes." + +Kitty flushed. She did not know what to say. The Mother Superior held +out her hand and while she held it Kitty was conscious of those cool, +thoughtful eyes which rested on her with detachment and yet with +something that looked like a profound understanding. + +Sister St. Joseph closed the door behind them and Kitty got into her +chair. They went back through the narrow, winding streets. Waddington +made a casual remark; Kitty did not answer. He looked round, but the +side curtains of the chair were drawn and he could not see her. He +walked on in silence. But when they reached the river and she stepped +out to his surprise he saw that her eyes were streaming with tears. + +"What is the matter?" he asked, his face puckered into an expression of +dismay. + +"Nothing." She tried to smile. "Only foolishness." + + + + +_xliv_ + + +Alone once more in the sordid parlour of the dead missionary, lying on +the long chair that faced the window, her abstracted eyes on the temple +across the river (now again at the approach of evening aerial and +lovely), Kitty tried to set in order the feelings in her heart. She +would never have believed that this visit to the convent could so have +moved her. She had gone from curiosity. She had nothing else to do and +after looking for so many days at the walled city across the water she +was not unwilling to have at least a glimpse of its mysterious streets. + +But once within the convent it had seemed to her that she was +transported into another world situated strangely neither in space nor +time. Those bare rooms and the white corridors, austere and simple, +seemed to possess the spirit of something remote and mystical. The +little chapel, so ugly and vulgar, in its very crudeness was pathetic; +it had something which was wanting in the greatness of a cathedral, with +its stained glass and its pictures it was very humble; and the faith +which had adorned it, the affection which cherished it, had endued it +with a delicate beauty of the soul. The methodical way in which the +convent's work was carried on in the midst of the pestilence showed a +coolness in the face of danger and a practical sense, almost ironical it +was so matter of fact, which were deeply impressive. In Kitty's ears +rang still the ghastly sounds she heard when for a moment Sister St. +Joseph opened the infirmary door. + +It was unexpected the way they had spoken of Walter. First the Sister +and then the Mother Superior herself, and the tone of her voice had been +very gentle when she praised him. Oddly enough it gave her a little +thrill of pride to know that they thought so well of him. Waddington +also had told something of what Walter was doing; but it was not only +his competence that the nuns praised (in Tching-Yen she had known that +he was thought clever), they spoke of his thoughtfulness and his +tenderness. Of course he could be very tender. He was at his best when +you were ill; he was too intelligent to exasperate, and his touch was +pleasant, cool and soothing. By some magic he seemed able by his mere +presence to relieve your suffering. She knew that she would never see +again in his eyes the look of affection which she had once been so used +to that she found it merely exasperating. She knew now how immense was +his capacity for loving; in some odd way he was pouring it out on these +wretched sick who had only him to look to. She did not feel jealousy, +but a sense of emptiness; it was as though a support that she had grown +so accustomed to as not to realise its presence were suddenly withdrawn +from her so that she swayed this way and that like a thing that was +top-heavy. + +She had only contempt for herself because once she had felt contempt for +Walter. He must have known how she regarded him and he had accepted her +estimate without bitterness. She was a fool and he knew it and because +he loved her it had made no difference to him. She did not hate him now, +nor feel resentment of him, but fear rather and perplexity. She could +not but admit that he had remarkable qualities, sometimes she thought +that there was even in him a strange and unattractive greatness; it was +curious then that she could not love him, but loved still a man whose +worthlessness was now so clear to her. After thinking, thinking, all +through those long days she rated accurately Charles Townsend's value; +he was a common fellow and his qualities were second-rate. If she could +only tear from her heart the love that still lingered there! She tried +not to think of him. + +Waddington too thought highly of Walter. She alone had been blind to his +merit. Why? Because he loved her and she did not love him. What was it +in the human heart that made you despise a man because he loved you? But +Waddington had confessed that he did not like Walter. Men didn't. It was +easy to see that those two nuns had for him a feeling which was very +like affection. He was different with women; notwithstanding his shyness +you felt in him an exquisite kindliness. + + + + +_xlv_ + + +But after all it was the nuns that had most deeply touched her. Sister +St. Joseph, with her merry face and apple red cheeks; she had been one +of the little band that came out to China with the Mother Superior ten +years before and she had seen one after another of her companions die of +disease, privation and homesickness; and yet she remained cheerful and +happy. What was it that gave her that naïve and charming humour? And +the Mother Superior. Kitty in fancy stood again in her presence and once +more she felt humble and ashamed. Though she was so simple and +unaffected she had a native dignity which inspired awe, and you could +not imagine that any one could treat her without respect. Sister St. +Joseph by the way she stood, by every small gesture and the intonation +of her answers, had shown the deep submission in which she held herself; +and Waddington, frivolous and impertinent, had shown by his tone that he +was not quite at his ease. Kitty thought it unnecessary to have told her +that the Mother Superior belonged to one of the great families of +France; there was that in her bearing which suggested ancient race; and +she had the authority of one who has never known that it is possible to +be disobeyed. She had the condescension of a great lady and the humility +of a saint. There was in her strong, handsome and ravaged face an +austerity that was passionate; and at the same time she had a solicitude +and a gentleness which permitted those little children to cluster, noisy +and unafraid, in the assurance of her deep affection. When she had +looked at the four new-born babies she had worn a smile that was sweet +and yet profound: it was like a ray of sunshine on a wild and desolate +heath. What Sister St. Joseph had said so carelessly of Walter moved +Kitty strangely; she knew that he had desperately wanted her to bear a +child, but she had never suspected from his reticence that he was +capable with a baby of showing without embarrassment a charming and +playful tenderness. Most men were silly and awkward with babies. How +strange he was! + +But to all that moving experience there had been a shadow (a dark lining +to the silver cloud), insistent and plain, which disconcerted her. In +the sober gaiety of Sister St. Joseph, and much more in the beautiful +courtesy of the Mother Superior, she had felt an aloofness which +oppressed her. They were friendly and even cordial, but at the same time +they held something back, she knew not what, so that she was conscious +that she was nothing but a casual stranger. There was a barrier between +her and them. They spoke a different language not only of the tongue but +of the heart. And when the door was closed upon her she felt that they +had put her out of their minds so completely, going about their +neglected work again without delay, that for them she might never have +existed. She felt shut out not only from that poor little convent, but +from some mysterious garden of the spirit after which with all her soul +she hankered. She felt on a sudden alone as she had never felt alone +before. That was why she had wept. + +And now, throwing back her head wearily, she sighed: "Oh, I'm so +worthless." + + + + +_xlvi_ + + +That evening Walter came back to the bungalow a little earlier than +usual. Kitty was lying on the long chair by the open window. It was +nearly dark. + +"Don't you want a lamp?" he asked. + +"They'll bring it when dinner is ready." + +He talked to her always quite casually, of trifling things, as though +they were friendly acquaintances, and there was never anything in his +manner to suggest that he harboured malice in his heart. He never met +her eyes and he never smiled. He was scrupulously polite. + +"Walter, what do you propose we should do if we get through the +epidemic?" she asked. + +He waited for a moment before answering. She could not see his face. + +"I haven't thought." + +In the old days she said carelessly whatever came into her head; it +never occurred to her to think before she spoke; but now she was afraid +of him; she felt her lips tremble and her heart beat painfully. + +"I went to the convent this afternoon." + +"So I heard." + +She forced herself to speak though she could hardly frame the words. + +"Did you really want me to die when you brought me here?" + +"If I were you I'd leave well alone, Kitty. I don't think any good will +come of talking about what we should do much better to forget." + +"But you don't forget; neither do I. I've been thinking a great deal +since I came here. Won't you listen to what I have to say?" + +"Certainly." + +"I treated you very badly. I was unfaithful to you." + +He stood stock still. His immobility was strangely terrifying. + +"I don't know whether you'll understand what I mean. That sort of thing +doesn't mean very much to a woman when it's over. I think women have +never quite understood the attitude that men take up." She spoke +abruptly, in a voice she would hardly have recognised as her own. "You +know what Charlie was and you knew what he'd do. Well, you were quite +right. He's a worthless creature. I suppose I shouldn't have been taken +in by him if I hadn't been as worthless as he. I don't ask you to +forgive me. I don't ask you to love me as you used to love me. But +couldn't we be friends? With all these people dying in thousands round +us, and with those nuns in their convent . . ." + +"What have they got to do with it?" he interrupted. + +"I can't quite explain. I had such a singular feeling when I went there +to-day. It all seems to mean so much. It's all so terrible and their +self-sacrifice is so wonderful; I can't help feeling it's absurd and +disproportionate, if you understand what I mean, to distress yourself +because a foolish woman has been unfaithful to you. I'm much too +worthless and insignificant for you to give me a thought." + +He did not answer, but he did not move away; he seemed to be waiting for +her to continue. + +"Mr. Waddington and the nuns have told me such wonderful things about +you. I'm very proud of you, Walter." + +"You used not to be; you used to feel contempt for me. Don't you still?" + +"Don't you know that I'm afraid of you?" + +Again he was silent. + +"I don't understand you," he said at last. "I don't know what it is you +want." + +"Nothing for myself. I only want you to be a little less unhappy." + +She felt him stiffen and his voice was very cold when he answered. + +"You're mistaken in thinking I'm unhappy. I have a great deal too much +to do to think of you very often." + +"I have wondered if the nuns would allow me to go and work at the +convent. They are very short handed and if I could be of any help I +should be grateful to them." + +"It is not easy work or pleasant work. I doubt if it would amuse you +long." + +"Do you absolutely despise me, Walter?" + +"No." He hesitated and his voice was strange. "I despise myself." + + + + +_xlvii_ + + +It was after dinner. As usual Walter sat by the lamp and read. He read +every evening till Kitty went to bed and then went into a laboratory +which he had fitted up in one of the bungalow's empty rooms. Here he +worked late into the night. He slept little. He was occupied with she +knew not what experiments. He told her nothing of his work; but even in +the old days he had been reticent on this: he was not by nature +expansive. She thought deeply of what he had just said to her: the +conversation had led to nothing. She knew him so little that she could +not be sure if he was speaking the truth or not. Was it possible that, +whereas he now existed so ominously for her, she had entirely ceased to +exist for him? Her conversation which had entertained him once because +he loved her, now that he loved her no longer might be merely tedious to +him. It mortified her. + +She looked at him. The light of the lamp displayed his profile as though +it were a cameo. With his regular and finely-cut features it was very +distinguished, but it was more than severe, it was grim: that immobility +of his, only his eyes moving as he perused each page, was vaguely +terrifying. Who would have thought that this hard face could be melted +by passion to such a tenderness of expression? She knew and it excited +in her a little shiver of distaste. It was strange that though he was +good-looking as well as honest, reliable and talented, it had been so +impossible for her to love him. It was a relief that she need never +again submit to his caresses. + +He would not answer when she had asked him whether in forcing her to +come here he had really wished to kill her. The mystery of this +fascinated and horrified her. He was so extraordinarily kind; it was +incredible that he could have had such a devilish intention. He must +have suggested it only to frighten her and to get back on Charlie (that +would be like his sardonic humour) and then from obstinacy or from fear +of looking foolish insisted on her going through with it. + +Yes, he said he despised himself. What did he mean by that? Once again +Kitty looked at his calm cool face. She might not even be in the room, +he was so unconscious of her. + +"Why do you despise yourself?" she asked, hardly knowing that she spoke, +as though she were continuing without a break the earlier conversation. + +He put down his book and observed her reflectively. He seemed to gather +his thoughts from a remote distance. + +"Because I loved you." + +She flushed and looked away. She could not bear his cold, steady and +appraising gaze. She understood what he meant. It was a little while +before she answered. + +"I think you do me an injustice," she said. "It's not fair to blame me +because I was silly and frivolous and vulgar. I was brought up like +that. All the girls I know are like that. . . . It's like reproaching +someone who has no ear for music because he's bored at a symphony +concert. Is it fair to blame me because you ascribed to me qualities I +hadn't got? I never tried to deceive you by pretending I was anything I +wasn't. I was just pretty and gay. You don't ask for a pearl necklace or +a sable coat at a booth in a fair; you ask for a tin trumpet and a toy +balloon." + +"I don't blame you." + +His voice was weary. She was beginning to feel a trifle impatient with +him. Why could he not realise, what suddenly had become so clear to her, +that beside all the terror of death under whose shadow they lay and +beside the awe of the beauty which she had caught a glimpse of that day, +their own affairs were trivial? What did it really matter if a silly +woman had committed adultery and why should her husband, face to face +with the sublime, give it a thought? It was strange that Walter with all +his cleverness should have so little sense of proportion. Because he had +dressed a doll in gorgeous robes and set her in a sanctuary to worship +her, and then discovered that the doll was filled with sawdust he could +neither forgive himself nor her. His soul was lacerated. It was all +make-believe that he had lived on, and when the truth shattered it he +thought reality itself was shattered. It was true enough, he would not +forgive her because he could not forgive himself. + +She thought that she heard him give a faint sigh and she shot a rapid +glance at him. A sudden thought struck her and it took her breath away. +She only just refrained from giving a cry. + +Was it what they called--a broken heart--that he suffered from? + + + + +_xlviii_ + + +All the next day Kitty thought of the convent; and the morning after, +early, soon after Walter had gone, taking the amah with her to get +chairs, she crossed the river. It was barely day and the Chinese +crowding the ferry boat, some in the blue cotton of the peasant, others +in the black robes of respectability, had a strange look of the dead +being borne over the water to the land of shadow. And when they stepped +ashore they stood for a little at the landing-place uncertainly as +though they did not quite know where to go, before desultorily, in twos +and threes, they wandered up the hill. + +At that hour the streets of the city were very empty so that more than +ever it seemed a city of the dead. The passers-by had an abstracted air +so that you might almost have thought them ghosts. The sky was unclouded +and the early sun shed a heavenly mildness on the scene; it was +difficult to imagine, on that blithe, fresh and smiling morn, that the +city lay gasping, like a man whose life is being throttled out of him by +a maniac's hands, in the dark clutch of the pestilence. It was +incredible that nature (the blue of the sky was clear like a child's +heart) should be so indifferent when men were writhing in agony and +going to their death in fear. When the chairs were set down at the +convent door a beggar arose from the ground and asked Kitty for alms. He +was clad in faded and shapeless rags that looked as though he had raked +them out of a muck-heap, and through their rents you saw his skin hard +and rough and tanned like the hide of a goat; his bare legs were +emaciated, and his head, with its shock of coarse grey hair (the cheeks +hollow, the eyes wild), was the head of a madman. Kitty turned from him +in frightened horror, and the chair-bearers in gruff tones bade him +begone, but he was importunate, and to be rid of him, shuddering, Kitty +gave him a few cash. + +The door was opened and the amah explained that Kitty wished to see the +Mother Superior. She was taken once more into the stiff parlour in which +it seemed a window had never been opened, and here she sat so long that +she began to think her message had not been delivered. At last the +Mother Superior came in. + +"I must ask you to excuse me for keeping you waiting," she said. "I did +not expect you and I was occupied." + +"Forgive me for troubling you. I am afraid I have come at an +inconvenient moment." + +The Mother Superior gave her a smile, austere but sweet, and begged her +to sit down. But Kitty saw that her eyes were swollen. She had been +weeping. Kitty was startled, for she had received from the Mother +Superior the impression that she was a woman whom earthly troubles could +not greatly move. + +"I am afraid something has happened," she faltered. "Would you like me +to go away? I can come another time." + +"No, no. Tell me what I can do for you. It is only--only that one of our +Sisters died last night." Her voice lost its even tone and her eyes +filled with tears. "It is wicked of me to grieve, for I know that her +good and simple soul has flown straight to Heaven; she was a saint; but +it is difficult always to control one's weakness. I am afraid I am not +always very reasonable." + +"I'm so sorry, I'm so dreadfully sorry," said Kitty. + +Her ready sympathy brought a sob into her voice. + +"She was one of the Sisters who came out from France with me ten years +ago. There are only three of us left now. I remember, we stood in a +little group at the end of the boat (what do you call it, the bow?) and +as we steamed out of the harbour at Marseilles and we saw the golden +figure of Saint-Marie la Grace, we said a prayer together. It had been +my greatest wish since I entered religion to be allowed to come to +China, but when I saw the land grow distant I could not prevent myself +from weeping. I was their Superior; it was not a very good example I was +giving my daughters. And then Sister St. Francis Xavier--that is the +name of the Sister who died last night--took my hand and told me not to +grieve; for wherever we were, she said, there was France and there was +God." + +That severe and handsome face was distorted by the grief which human +nature wrung from her and by the effort to restrain the tears which her +reason and her faith refused. Kitty looked away. She felt that it was +indecent to peer into that struggle. + +"I have been writing to her father. She, like me, was her mother's only +daughter. They were fisher folk in Brittany, and it will be hard for +them. Oh, when will this terrible epidemic cease? Two of our girls have +been attacked this morning and nothing but a miracle can save them. +These Chinese have no resistance. The loss of Sister St. Francis is very +severe. There is so much to do and now fewer than ever to do it. We have +Sisters at our other houses in China who are eager to come, all our +Order, I think, would give anything in the world (only they have +nothing) to come here; but it is almost certain death; and so long as we +can manage with the Sisters we have I am unwilling that others should +be sacrificed." + +"That encourages me, _ma mère_," said Kitty. "I have been feeling that +I had come at a very unfortunate moment. You said the other day that +there was more work than the Sisters could do, and I was wondering if +you would allow me to come and help them. I do not mind what I do if I +can only be useful. I should be thankful if you just set me to scrub the +floors." + +The Mother Superior gave an amused smile and Kitty was astonished at the +mobile temperament which could so easily pass from mood to mood. + +"There is no need to scrub the floors. That is done after a fashion by +the orphans." She paused and looked kindly at Kitty. "My dear child, do +you not think that you have done enough in coming with your husband +here? That is more than many wives would have had the courage to do, and +for the rest how can you be better occupied than in giving him peace and +comfort when he comes home to you after the day's work? Believe me, he +needs then all your love and all your consideration." + +Kitty could not easily meet the eyes which rested on her with a detached +scrutiny and with an ironical kindliness. + +"I have nothing whatever to do from morning till night," said Kitty. "I +feel that there is so much to be done that I cannot bear to think that I +am idle. I don't want to make a nuisance of myself, and I know that I +have no claim either on your kindness or on your time, but I mean what I +say and it would be a charity that you were doing me if you would let me +be of some help to you." + +"You do not look very strong. When you did us the pleasure of coming to +see us the day before yesterday it seemed to me that you were very pale. +Sister St. Joseph thought that perhaps you were going to have a baby." + +"No, no," cried Kitty, flushing to the roots of her hair. + +The Mother Superior gave a little, silvery laugh. + +"It is nothing to be ashamed of, my dear child, nor is there anything +improbable in the supposition. How long have you been married?" + +"I am pale because I am naturally pale, but I am very strong, and I +promise you I am not afraid of work." + +Now the Superior was complete mistress of herself. She assumed +unconsciously the air of authority which was habitual to her and she +held Kitty in an appraising scrutiny. Kitty felt unaccountably nervous. + +"Can you speak Chinese?" + +"I'm afraid not," answered Kitty. + +"Ah, that is a pity. I could have put you in charge of the elder girls. +It is very difficult just now, and I am afraid they will get--what do +you call? Out of hand?" she concluded with a tentative sound. + +"Could I not be of help to the Sisters in nursing? I am not at all +afraid of the cholera. I could nurse the girls or the soldiers." + +The Mother Superior, unsmiling now, a reflective look on her face, shook +her head. + +"You do not know what the cholera is. It is a dreadful thing to see. The +work in the infirmary is done by soldiers and we need a Sister only to +supervise. And so far as the girls are concerned . . . no, no, I am +sure your husband would not wish it; it is a terrible and frightening +sight." + +"I should grow used to it." + +"No, it is out of the question. It is our business and our privilege to +do such things, but there is no call for you to do so." + +"You make me feel very useless and very helpless. It seems incredible +that there should be nothing that I can do." + +"Have you spoken to your husband of your wish?" + +"Yes." + +The Mother Superior looked at her as though she were delving into the +secrets of her heart, but when she saw Kitty's anxious and appealing +look she gave a smile. + +"Of course you are a Protestant?" she asked. + +"Yes." + +"It doesn't matter. Dr. Watson, the missionary who died, was a +Protestant and it made no difference. He was all that was most charming +to us. We owe him a deep debt of gratitude." + +Now the flicker of a smile passed over Kitty's face, but she did not say +anything. The Mother Superior seemed to reflect. She rose to her feet. + +"It is very good of you. I think I can find something for you to do. It +is true that now Sister St. Francis has been taken from us, it is +impossible for us to cope with the work. When will you be ready to +start?" + +"Now." + +"_À la bonne heure._ I am content to hear you say that." + +"I promise you I will do my best. I am very grateful to you for the +opportunity that you are giving me." + +The Mother Superior opened the parlour door, but as she was going out +she hesitated. Once more she gave Kitty a long, searching and sagacious +look. Then she laid her hand gently on her arm. + +"You know, my dear child, that one cannot find peace in work or in +pleasure, in the world or in a convent, but only in one's soul." + +Kitty gave a little start, but the Mother Superior passed swiftly out. + + + + +_xlix_ + + +Kitty found the work a refreshment to her spirit. She went to the +convent every morning soon after sunrise and did not return to the +bungalow till the westering sun flooded the narrow river and its crowded +junks with gold. The Mother Superior gave into her case the smaller +children. Kitty's mother had brought to London from her native Liverpool +a practical sense of housewifery and Kitty, notwithstanding her air of +frivolity, had always had certain gifts to which she referred only in +bantering tones. Thus she could cook quite well and she sewed +beautifully. When she disclosed this talent she was set to supervise the +stitching and hemming of the younger girls. They knew a little French +and every day she picked up a few words of Chinese so that it was not +difficult for her to manage. At other times she had to see that the +smallest children did not get into mischief; she had to dress and +undress them and take care that they rested when rest was needed. There +were a good many babies and these were in charge of amahs, but she was +bidden to keep an eye on them. None of the work was very important and +she would have liked to do something which was more arduous; but the +Mother Superior paid no attention to her entreaties and Kitty stood +sufficiently in awe of her not to be importunate. + +For the first few days she had to make something of an effort to +overcome the faint distaste she felt for these little girls, in their +ugly uniforms, with their stiff black hair, their round yellow faces, +and their staring, sloe-black eyes. But she remembered the soft look +which had transfigured so beautifully the countenance of the Mother +Superior when on Kitty's first visit to the convent she had stood +surrounded by those ugly little things, and she would not allow herself +to surrender to her instinct. And presently, taking in her arms one or +other of the tiny creatures, crying because of a fall or a cutting +tooth, when Kitty found that a few soft words, though in a language the +child could not understand, the pressure of her arms and the softness of +her cheek against the weeping yellow face, could comfort and console, +she began to lose all her feeling of strangeness. The small children, +without any fear of her, came to her in their childish troubles and it +gave her a peculiar happiness to discern their confidence. It was the +same with the older girls, those to whom she taught sewing; their +bright, clever smiles and the pleasure she could give them by a word of +praise, touched her. She felt that they liked her and, flattered and +proud, she liked them in return. + +But there was one child that she could not grow used to. It was a little +girl of six, an idiot with a huge hydrocephalic head that swayed +top-heavily on a small, squat body, large vacant eyes and a drooling +mouth; the creature spoke hoarsely a few mumbled words; it was revolting +and horrible; and for some reason it conceived an idiot attachment for +Kitty so that it followed her about as she changed her place from one +part of the large room to another. It clung to her skirt and rubbed its +face against her knees. It sought to fondle her hands. She shivered with +disgust. She knew it yearned for caresses and she could not bring +herself to touch it. + +Once, speaking of it to Sister St. Joseph, she said that it was a pity +it lived. Sister St. Joseph smiled and stretched out her hand to the +misformed thing. It came and rubbed its bulging forehead against it. + +"Poor little mite," said the nun. "She was brought here positively +dying. By the mercy of Providence I was at the door just as she came. I +thought there was not a moment to lose, so I baptized her at once. You +would not believe what trouble we have had to keep her with us. Three or +four times we thought that her little soul would escape to Heaven." + +Kitty was silent. Sister St. Joseph in her loquacious way began to +gossip of other things. And next day when the idiot child came to her +and touched her hand Kitty nerved herself to place it in a caress on the +great bare skull. She forced her lips into a smile. But suddenly the +child, with an idiot perversity, left her; it seemed to lose interest in +her, and that day and the following days paid her no attention. Kitty +did not know what she had done and tried to lure it to her with smiles +and gestures, but it turned away and pretended not to see her. + + + + +_l_ + + +Since the nuns were busy from morning till night with a hundred duties +Kitty saw little of them but at the services in the bare, humble chapel. +On her first day the Mother Superior, catching sight of her seated at +the back behind the girls on the benches according to their ages, +stopped and spoke to her. + +"You must not think it necessary for you to come to the chapel when we +do," she said. "You are a Protestant and you have your own convictions." + +"But I like to come, Mother. I find that it rests me." + +The Mother Superior gave her a moment's glance and slightly inclined her +grave head. + +"Of course you will do exactly as you choose. I merely wanted you to +understand that you are under no obligation." + +But with Sister St. Joseph Kitty soon became on terms not of intimacy +perhaps but of familiarity. The economy of the convent was in her charge +and to look after the material well-being of that big family kept the +Sister on her feet all day. She said that the only time she had to rest +was that which she devoted to prayer. But it pleased her towards evening +when Kitty was with the girls at their work to come in and, vowing that +she was tired out and had not a moment to spare, sit down for a few +minutes and gossip. When she was not in the presence of the Mother +Superior she was a talkative, merry creature, fond of a joke, and she +did not dislike a bit of scandal. Kitty stood in no fear of her, her +habit did not prevent Sister St. Joseph from being a good-natured, +homely woman, and she chattered with her gaily. She did not mind with +her showing how badly she talked French and they laughed with one +another over Kitty's mistakes. The Sister taught her every day a few +useful words of Chinese. She was a farmer's daughter and at heart she +was still a peasant. + +"I used to keep the cows when I was little," she said, "like St. Joan of +Arc. But I was too wicked to have visions. It was fortunate, I think, +for my father would certainly have whipped me if I had. He used often to +whip me, the good old man, for I was a very naughty little girl. I am +ashamed sometimes when I think now of the pranks I used to play." + +Kitty laughed at the thought that this corpulent, middle-aged nun could +ever have been a wayward child. And yet there was something childlike in +her still so that your heart went out to her: she seemed to have about +her an aroma of the countryside in autumn when the apple trees are laden +with fruit and the crops are in and safely housed. She had not the +tragic and austere saintliness of the Mother Superior, but a gaiety that +was simple and happy. + +"Do you never wish to go home again, _ma sœur_?" asked Kitty. + +"Oh, no. It would be too hard to come back. I love to be here and I am +never so happy as when I am among the orphans. They're so good, they're +so grateful. But it is all very well to be a nun (_on a beau être +religieuse_) still one has a mother and one cannot forget that one drank +the milk of her breasts. She is old, my mother, and it is hard never to +see her again; but then she is fond of her daughter-in-law, and my +brother is good to her. His son is growing up now, I should think they +will be glad of an extra pair of strong arms on the farm; he was only a +child when I left France, but he promised to have a fist that you could +fell an ox with." + +It was almost impossible in that quiet room, listening to the nun, to +realise that on the other side of these four walls cholera was raging. +Sister St. Joseph had an unconcern which conveyed itself to Kitty. + +She had a naïve curiosity about the world and its inhabitants. She +asked Kitty all kinds of questions about London and England, a country, +she thought, where so thick was the fog that you could not see your hand +at midday, and she wanted to know if Kitty went to balls and whether she +lived in a grand house and how many brothers and sisters she had. She +spoke often of Walter. The Mother Superior said he was wonderful and +every day they prayed for him. How lucky Kitty was to have a husband who +was so good and so brave and so clever. + + + + +_li_ + + +But sooner or later Sister St. Joseph returned to the subject of the +Mother Superior. Kitty had been conscious from the beginning that the +personality of this woman dominated the convent. She was regarded by all +that dwelt there with love certainly and with admiration, but also with +awe and not a little dread. Notwithstanding her kindliness Kitty herself +felt like a schoolgirl in her presence. She was never quite at her ease +with her, for she was filled with a sentiment which was so strange that +it embarrassed her: reverence. Sister St. Joseph with an ingenious +desire to impress, told Kitty how great the family was to which the +Mother Superior belonged; she had among her ancestors persons of +historic importance and she was _un peu cousine_ with half the kings in +Europe: Alphonso of Spain had hunted at her father's, and they had +châteaux all over France. It must have been hard to leave so much +grandeur. Kitty listened smilingly, but not a little impressed. + +"_Du reste_, you have only to look at her," said the Sister, "to see +that, _comme famille, c'est le dessus du panier._" + +"She has the most beautiful hands that I have ever seen," said Kitty. + +"Ah, but if you only knew how she had used them. She is not afraid of +work, _notre bonne mère._" + +When they had come to this city there had been nothing. They had built +the convent. The Mother Superior had made the plans and supervised the +work. The moment they arrived they began to save the poor little +unwanted girls from the baby-tower and the cruel hands of the midwife. +At first they had had no beds to sleep in and no glass to keep out the +night air ("and there is nothing," said Sister St. Joseph, "which is +more unwholesome"); and often they had no money left, not only to pay +the builders, but even to buy their simple fare; they lived like +peasants, what was she saying? the peasants in France, _tenez_, the men +who worked for her father, would have thrown to the pigs the food they +ate. And then the Mother Superior would collect her daughters round her +and they would kneel and pray; and the Blessed Virgin would send money. +A thousand francs would arrive by post next day, or a stranger, an +Englishman (a Protestant, if you please) or even a Chinaman would knock +at the door while they were actually on their knees and bring them a +present. Once they were in such straits that they all made a vow to the +Blessed Virgin that they would recite a _neuvaine_ in her honour if she +succoured them, and, would you believe it? that funny Mr. Waddington +came to see us next day and saying that we looked as though we all +wanted a good plate of roast beef gave us a hundred dollars. + +What a comic little man he was, with his bald head and his little shrewd +eyes (_ses petits yeux malins_) and his jokes. _Mon Dieu_, how he +murdered the French language, and yet you could not help laughing at +him. He was always in a good humour. All through this terrible epidemic +he carried himself as if he were enjoying a holiday. He had a heart +quite French and a wit so that you would hardly believe he was English. +Except for his accent. But sometimes Sister St. Joseph thought he spoke +badly on purpose to make you laugh. Of course his morals were not all +one could wish; but still that was his business (with a sigh, a shrug +and a shake of the head) and he was a bachelor and a young man. + +"What is wrong with his morals, ma sœur?" asked Kitty smiling. + +"Is it possible that you do not know? It is a sin for me to tell you. I +have no business to say such things. He lives with a Chinese woman, that +is to say, not a Chinese woman, but a Manchu. A princess, it appears, +and she loves him to distraction." + +"That sounds quite impossible," cried Kitty. + +"No, no, I promise you, it is everything that is most true. It is very +wicked of him. Those things are not done. Did you not hear, when you +first came to the convent and he would not eat the _madeleines_ that I +had made expressly, that _notre bonne mère_ said his stomach was +deranged by Manchu cooking? That was what she meant and you should have +seen the head that he made. It is a story altogether curious. It appears +that he was stationed at Hankow during the revolution when they were +massacring the Manchus and this good little Waddington saved the lives +of one of their great families. They are related to the Imperial Family. +The girl fell violently in love with him and--well, the rest you can +imagine. And then when he left Hankow she ran away and followed him and +now she follows him everywhere, and he has had to resign himself to keep +her, poor fellow, and I daresay he is very fond of her; they are quite +charming sometimes, these Manchu women. But what am I thinking of? I +have a thousand things to do and I sit here. I am a bad religious. I am +ashamed of myself." + + + + +_lii_ + + +Kitty had a queer feeling that she was growing. The constant occupation +distracted her mind and the glimpses she had of other lives and other +outlooks awakened her imagination. She began to regain her spirits; she +felt better and stronger. It had seemed to her that she could do nothing +now but weep; but to her surprise, and not a little to her confusion, +she caught herself laughing at this and that. It began to seem quite +natural to live in the midst of a terrible epidemic. She knew that +people were dying to the right and left of her, but she ceased very much +to think of it. The Mother Superior had forbidden her to go into the +infirmaries and the closed doors excited her curiosity. She would have +liked to peep in, but could not do so without being seen, and she did +not know what punishment the Mother Superior would inflict upon her. It +would be dreadful to be sent away. She was devoted to the children now +and they would miss her if she went; in fact she did not know what they +would do without her. + +And one day it occurred to her that she had neither thought of Charles +Townsend nor dreamt of him for a week. Her heart gave a sudden thud +against her ribs: she was cured. She could think of him now with +indifference. She loved him no longer. Oh, the relief and the sense of +liberation! It was strange to look back and remember how passionately +she had yearned for him; she thought she would die when he failed her; +she thought life thenceforward had nothing to offer but misery. And now +already she was laughing. A worthless creature. What a fool she had made +of herself! And now, considering him calmly, she wondered what on earth +she had seen in him. It was lucky that Waddington knew nothing, she +could never have endured his malicious eyeing and his ironical +innuendoes. She was free, free at last, free! She could hardly prevent +herself from laughing aloud. + +The children were playing some romping game and it was her habit to look +on with an indulgent smile, restraining them when they made too much +noise and taking care that in their boisterousness none was hurt; but +now in her high spirits, feeling as young as any of them, she joined in +the game. The little girls received her with delight. They chased up and +down the room, shouting at the top of their shrill voices, with +fantastic and almost barbarous glee. They grew so excited that they +leaped into the air with joy. The noise was terrific. + +Suddenly the door opened and the Mother Superior stood on the threshold. +Kitty, abashed, extricated herself from the clutches of a dozen little +girls who with wild shrieks had seized her. + +"Is this how you keep these children good and quiet?" asked the Mother +Superior, a smile on her lips. + +"We were having a game, Mother. They got excited. It is my fault, I led +them on." + +The Mother Superior came forward and as usual the children clustered +about her. She put her hands round their narrow shoulders and playfully +pulled their little yellow ears. She looked at Kitty with a long, soft +look. Kitty was flushed and she was breathing quickly. Her liquid eyes +were shining and her lovely hair, disarranged in all the struggling and +the laughter, was in adorable confusion. + +"_Que vous êtes belle, ma chère enfant_," said the Mother Superior. +"It does the heart good to look at you. No wonder these children adore +you." + +Kitty blushed deeply and, she knew not why, tears suddenly filled her +eyes. She covered her face with her hands. + +"Oh, Mother, you make me ashamed." + +"Come, do not be silly. Beauty is also a gift of God, one of the most +rare and precious, and we should be thankful if we are happy enough to +possess it and thankful, if we are not, that others possess it for our +pleasure." + +She smiled again and as though Kitty were a child too gently patted her +soft cheek. + + + + +_liii_ + + +Since she had been working at the convent Kitty had seen less of +Waddington. Two or three times he had come down to the river bank to +meet her and they had walked up the hill together. He came in to drink a +whisky and soda, but he would seldom stay to dinner. One Sunday, +however, he suggested that they should take their luncheon with them and +go in chairs to a Buddhist monastery. It was situated ten miles from the +city and had some reputation as a place of pilgrimage. The Mother +Superior, insisting that Kitty must have a day's rest, would not let her +work on Sundays and Walter of course was as busy then as usual. + +They started early in order to arrive before the heat of the day and +were carried along a narrow causeway between the rice fields. Now and +then they passed comfortable farm-houses nestling with friendly intimacy +in a grove of bamboos. Kitty enjoyed the idleness; it was pleasant after +being cooped up in the city to see about her the wide country. They came +to the monastery, straggling low buildings by the side of the river, +agreeably shaded by trees, and were led by smiling monks through +courtyards, empty with a solemn emptiness, and shown temples with +grimacing gods. In the sanctuary sat the Buddha, remote and sad, +wistful, abstracted and faintly smiling. There was about everything a +sense of dejection; the magnificence was shoddy and ruined; the gods +were dusty and the faith that had made them was dying. The monks seemed +to stay on sufference, as though they awaited a notice to quit; and in +the smile of the abbot, with his beautiful politeness, was the irony of +resignation. One of these days the monks would wander away from the +shady, pleasant wood, and the buildings, crumbling and neglected, would +be battered by fierce storms and besieged by the surrounding nature. +Wild creepers would twine themselves about the dead images and trees +would grow in the courtyards. Then the gods would dwell there no longer, +but evil spirits of darkness. + + + + +_liv_ + + +They sat on the steps of a little building (four lacquered columns and a +high, tiled roof under which stood a great bronze bell) and watched the +river flow sluggish and with many a bend towards the stricken city. They +could see its crenellated walls. The heat hung over it like a pall. But +the river, though it flowed so slowly, had still a sense of movement and +it gave one a melancholy feeling of the transitoriness of things. +Everything passed, and what trace of its passage remained? It seemed to +Kitty that they were all, the human race, like the drops of water in +that river and they flowed on, each so close to the other and yet so far +apart, a nameless flood, to the sea. When all things lasted so short a +time and nothing mattered very much, it seemed pitiful that men, +attaching an absurd importance to trivial objects, should make +themselves and one another so unhappy. + +"Do you know Harrington Gardens?" she asked Waddington, with a smile in +her beautiful eyes. + +"No. Why?" + +"Nothing; only it's a long way from here. It's where my people live." + +"Are you thinking of going home?" + +"No." + +"I suppose you'll be leaving here in a couple of months. The epidemic +seems to be abating and the cool weather should see the end of it." + +"I almost think I shall be sorry to go." + +For a moment she thought of the future. She did not know what plans +Walter had in mind. He told her nothing. He was cool, polite, silent and +inscrutable. Two little drops in that river that flowed silently towards +the unknown; two little drops that to themselves had so much +individuality and to the onlooker were but an undistinguishable part of +the water. + +"Take care the nuns don't start converting you," said Waddington, with +his malicious little smile. + +"They're much too busy. Nor do they care. They're wonderful and so kind; +and yet--I hardly know how to explain it--there is a wall between them +and me. I don't know what it is. It is as though they possessed a secret +which made all the difference in their lives and which I was unworthy to +share. It is not faith; it is something deeper and more--more +significant: they walk in a different world from ours and we shall +always be strangers to them. Each day when the convent door closes +behind me I feel that for them I have ceased to exist." + +"I can understand that it is something of a blow to your vanity," he +returned mockingly. + +"My vanity." + +Kitty shrugged her shoulders. Then, smiling once more, she turned to him +lazily. + +"Why did you never tell me that you lived with a Manchu princess?" + +"What have those gossiping old women been telling you? I am sure that it +is a sin for nuns to discuss the private affairs of the Customs +officials." + +"Why should you be so sensitive?" + +Waddington glanced down, sideways, so that it gave him an air of +shyness. He faintly shrugged his shoulders. + +"It's not a thing to advertise. I do not know that it would greatly add +to my chances of promotion in the service." + +"Are you very fond of her?" + +He looked up now and his ugly little face had the look of a naughty +schoolboy's. + +"She's abandoned everything for my sake, home, family, security and +self-respect. It's a good many years now since she threw everything to +the winds to be with me. I've sent her away two or three times, but +she's always come back; I've run away from her myself, but she's always +followed me. And now I've given it up as a bad job; I think I've got to +put up with her for the rest of my life." + +"She must really love you to distraction." + +"It's a rather funny sensation, you know," he answered, wrinkling a +perplexed forehead. "I haven't the smallest doubt that if I really left +her, definitely, she would commit suicide. Not with any ill-feeling +towards me, but quite naturally, because she was unwilling to live +without me. It is a curious feeling it gives one to know that. It can't +help meaning something to you." + +"But it's loving that's the important thing, not being loved. One's not +even grateful to the people who love one; if one doesn't love them, they +only bore one." + +"I have no experience of the plural," he replied. "Mine is only in the +singular." + +"Is she really an Imperial Princess?" + +"No, that is a romantic exaggeration of the nuns. She belongs to one of +the great families of the Manchus, but they have, of course, been ruined +by the revolution. She is all the same a very great lady." + +He said it in a tone of pride, so that a smile flickered in Kitty's +eyes. + +"Are you going to stay here for the rest of your life then?" + +"In China? Yes. What would she do elsewhere? When I retire I shall take +a little Chinese house in Peking and spend the rest of my days there." + +"Have you any children?" + +"No." + +She looked at him curiously. It was strange that this little bald-headed +man with his monkey face should have aroused in the alien woman so +devastating a passion. She could not tell why the way he spoke of her, +notwithstanding his casual manner and his flippant phrases, gave her the +impression so strongly of the woman's intense and unique devotion. It +troubled her a little. + +"It does seem a long way to Harrington Gardens," she smiled. + +"Why do you say that?" + +"I don't understand anything. Life is so strange. I feel like someone +who's lived all his life by a duck-pond and suddenly is shown the sea. +It makes me a little breathless, and yet it fills me with elation. I +don't want to die, I want to live. I'm beginning to feel a new courage. +I feel like one of those old sailors who set sail for undiscovered seas +and I think my soul hankers for the unknown." + +Waddington looked at her reflectively. Her abstracted gaze rested on the +smoothness of the river. Two little drops that flowed silently, silently +towards the dark, eternal sea. + +"May I come and see the Manchu lady?" asked Kitty, suddenly raising her +head. + +"She can't speak a word of English." + +"You've been very kind to me, you've done a great deal for me, perhaps I +could show her by my manner that I had a friendly feeling towards her." + +Waddington gave a thin, mocking little smile, but he answered with good +humour. + +"I will come and fetch you one day and she shall give you a cup of +jasmine tea." + +She would not tell him that this story of an alien love had from the +first moment strangely intrigued her fancy, and the Manchu Princess +stood now as the symbol of something that vaguely, but insistently, +beckoned to her. She pointed enigmatically to a mystic land of the +spirit. + + + + +_lv_ + + +But a day or two later Kitty made an unforeseen discovery. + +She went to the convent as usual and set about her first work of seeing +that the children were washed and dressed. Since the nuns held firmly +that the night air was harmful, the atmosphere in the dormitory was +close and fetid. After the freshness of the morning it always made Kitty +a little uncomfortable and she hastened to open such windows as would. +But to-day she felt on a sudden desperately sick and with her head +swimming she stood at a window trying to compose herself. It had never +been as bad as this before. Then nausea overwhelmed her and she vomited. +She gave a cry so that the children were frightened, and the older girl +who was helping her ran up and, seeing Kitty white and trembling, +stopped short with an exclamation. Cholera! The thought flashed through +Kitty's mind and then a deathlike feeling came over her; she was seized +with terror, she struggled for a moment against the night that seemed +agonisingly to run through her veins; she felt horribly ill; and then +darkness. + +When she opened her eyes she did not at first know where she was. She +seemed to be lying on the floor and, moving her head slightly, she +thought that there was a pillow under it. She could not remember. The +Mother Superior was kneeling by her side, holding smelling salts to her +nose, and Sister St. Joseph stood looking at her. Then it came back. +Cholera! She saw the consternation on the nuns' faces. Sister St. Joseph +looked huge and her outline was blurred. Once more terror overwhelmed +her. + +"Oh, Mother, Mother," she sobbed. "Am I going to die? I don't want to +die." + +"Of course you're not going to die," said the Mother Superior. + +She was quite composed and there was even amusement in her eyes. + +"But it's cholera. Where's Walter? Has he been sent for? Oh, Mother, +Mother." + +She burst into a flood of tears. The Mother Superior gave her hand and +Kitty seized it as though it were a hold upon the life she feared to +lose. + +"Come, come, my dear child, you mustn't be so silly. It's not cholera or +anything of the kind." + +"Where's Walter?" + +"Your husband is much too busy to be troubled. In five minutes you'll be +perfectly well." + +Kitty looked at her with staring, harassed eyes. Why did she take it so +calmly? It was cruel. + +"Keep perfectly quiet for a minute," said the Mother Superior. "There is +nothing to alarm yourself about." + +Kitty felt her heart beat madly. She had grown so used to the thought of +cholera that it had ceased to seem possible that she could catch it. Oh, +the fool she had been! She knew she was going to die. She was +frightened. The girls brought in a long rattan chair and placed it by +the window. + +"Come, let us lift you," said the Mother Superior. "You will be more +comfortable on the _chaise longue_. Do you think you can stand?" + +She put her hands under Kitty's arms and Sister St. Joseph helped her to +her feet. She sank exhausted into the chair. + +"I had better shut the window," said Sister St. Joseph. "The early +morning air cannot be good for her." + +"No, no," said Kitty. "Please leave it open." + +It gave her confidence to see the blue sky. She was shaken, but +certainly she began to feel better. The two nuns looked at her for a +moment in silence, and Sister St. Joseph said something to the Mother +Superior which she could not understand. Then the Mother Superior sat on +the side of the chair and took her hand. + +"Listen, _ma chère enfant_ . . ." + +She asked her one or two questions. Kitty answered them without knowing +what they meant. Her lips were trembling so that she could hardly frame +the words. + +"There is no doubt about it," said Sister St. Joseph. "I am not one to +be deceived in such a matter." + +She gave a little laugh in which Kitty seemed to discern a certain +excitement and not a little affection. The Mother Superior, still +holding Kitty's hand, smiled with soft tenderness. + +"Sister St. Joseph has more experience of these things than I have, dear +child, and she said at once what was the matter with you. She was +evidently quite right." + +"What do you mean?" asked Kitty anxiously. + +"It is quite evident. Did the possibility of such a thing never occur to +you? You are with child, my dear." + +The start that Kitty gave shook her from head to foot, and she put her +feet to the ground as though to spring up. + +"Lie still, lie still," said the Mother Superior. + +Kitty felt herself blush furiously and she put her hands to her breasts. + +"It's impossible. It isn't true." + +"_Qu'est ce qu'elle dit?_" asked Sister St. Joseph. + +The Mother Superior translated. Sister St. Joseph's broad simple face, +with its red cheeks, was beaming. + +"No mistake is possible. I give you my word of honour." + +"How long have you been married, my child?" asked the Mother Superior. +"Why, when my sister-in-law had been married as long as you she had +already two babies." + +Kitty sank back into the chair. There was death in her heart. + +"I'm so ashamed," she whispered. + +"Because you are going to have a baby? Why, what can be more natural?" + +"_Quelle joie pour le docteur_," said Sister St. Joseph. + +"Yes, think what a happiness for your husband. He will be overwhelmed +with joy. You have only to see him with babies, and the look on his face +when he plays with them, to see how enchanted he will be to have one of +his own." + +For a little while Kitty was silent. The two nuns looked at her with +tender interest and the Mother Superior stroked her hand. + +"It was silly of me not to have suspected it before," said Kitty. "At +all events I'm glad it's not cholera. I feel very much better. I will +get back to my work." + +"Not to-day, my dear child. You have had a shock, you had much better go +home and rest yourself." + +"No, no, I would much rather stay and work." + +"I insist. What would our good doctor say if I let you be imprudent? +Come to-morrow, if you like, or the day after, but to-day you must be +quiet. I will send for a chair. Would you like me to let one of our +young girls go with you?" + +"Oh, no, I shall be all right alone." + + + + +_lvi_ + + +Kitty was lying on her bed and the shutters were closed. It was after +luncheon and the servants slept. What she had learnt that morning (and +now she was certain that it was true) filled her with consternation. +Ever since she came home she had been trying to think; but her mind was +a blank, and she could not collect her thoughts. Suddenly she heard a +step, the feet were booted so that it could not be one of the boys; with +a gasp of apprehension she realised that it could only be her husband. +He was in the sitting-room and she heard herself called. She did not +reply. There was a moment's silence and then a knock on her door. + +"Yes?" + +"May I come in?" + +Kitty rose from her bed and slipped into a dressing-gown. + +"Yes." + +He entered. She was glad that the closed shutters shadowed her face. + +"I hope I didn't wake you. I knocked very, very gently." + +"I haven't been asleep." + +He went to one of the windows and threw open the shutter. A flood of +warm light streamed into the room. + +"What is it?" she asked. "Why are you back so early?" + +"The Sisters said that you weren't very well. I thought I had better +come and see what was the matter." + +A flash of anger passed through her. + +"What would you have said if it had been cholera?" + +"If it had been you certainly couldn't have made your way home this +morning." + +She went to the dressing-table and passed the comb through her shingled +hair. She wanted to gain time. Then, sitting down, she lit a cigarette. + +"I wasn't very well this morning and the Mother Superior thought I'd +better come back here. But I'm perfectly all right again. I shall go to +the convent as usual to-morrow." + +"What was the matter with you?" + +"Didn't they tell you?" + +"No. The Mother Superior said that you must tell me yourself." + +He did now what he did seldom; he looked her full in the face; his +professional instincts were stronger than his personal. She hesitated. +Then she forced herself to meet his eyes. + +"I'm going to have a baby," she said. + +She was accustomed to his habit of meeting with silence a statement +which you would naturally expect to evoke an exclamation, but never had +it seemed to her more devastating. He said nothing; he made no gesture; +no movement on his face nor change of expression in his dark eyes +indicated that he had heard. She felt suddenly inclined to cry. If a man +loved his wife and his wife loved him, at such a moment they were drawn +together by a poignant emotion. The silence was intolerable and she +broke it. + +"I don't know why it never occurred to me before. It was stupid of me, +but . . . what with one thing and another . . ." + +"How long have you . . . when do you expect to be confined?" + +The words seemed to issue from his lips with difficulty. She felt that +his throat was as dry as hers. It was a nuisance that her lips trembled +so when she spoke; if he was not of stone it must excite his pity. + +"I suppose I've been like this between two and three months." + +"Am I the father?" + +She gave a little gasp. There was just a shadow of a tremor in his +voice; it was dreadful that cold self-control of his which made the +smallest token of emotion so shattering. She did not know why she +thought suddenly of an instrument she had been shown in Tching-Yen upon +which a needle oscillated a little and she had been told that this +represented an earthquake a thousand miles away in which perhaps a +thousand persons had lost their lives. She looked at him. He was ghastly +pale. She had seen that pallor on him once, twice before. He was looking +down, a little sideways. + +"Well?" + +She clasped her hands. She knew that if she could say yes it would mean +everything in the world to him. He would believe her, of course he would +believe her, because he wanted to; and then he would forgive. She knew +how deep was his tenderness and how ready he was, for all his shyness, +to expend it. She knew that he was not vindictive; he would forgive her +if she could but give him an excuse to, an excuse that touched his +heart, and he would forgive completely. She could count on him never to +throw the past in her teeth. Cruel he might be, cold and morbid, but he +was neither mean nor petty. It would alter everything if she said yes. + +And she had an urgent need for sympathy. The unexpected knowledge that +she was with child had overwhelmed her with strange hopes and unforeseen +desires. She felt weak, frightened a little, alone and very far from any +friends. That morning, though she cared little for her mother, she had +had a sudden craving to be with her. She needed help and consolation. +She did not love Walter, she knew that she never could, but at this +moment she longed with all her heart for him to take her in his arms so +that she could lay her head on his breast; clinging to him she could +have cried happily; she wanted him to kiss her and she wanted to twine +her arms around his neck. + +She began to weep. She had lied so much and she could lie so easily. +What could a lie matter when it could only do good? A lie, a lie, what +was a lie? It was so easy to say yes. She saw Walter's eyes melt and his +arms outstretched towards her. She couldn't say it; she didn't know why, +she just couldn't. All she had gone through during these bitter weeks, +Charlie and his unkindness, the cholera and all these people dying, the +nuns, oddly enough even that funny, drunken little Waddington, it all +seemed to have changed her so that she did not know herself; though she +was so deeply moved, some bystander in her soul seemed to watch her with +terror and surprise. She _had_ to tell the truth. It did not seem worth +while to lie. Her thoughts wandered strangely: on a sudden she saw that +dead beggar at the foot of the compound wall. Why should she think of +him? She did not sob; the tears streamed down her face, quite easily, +from wide eyes. At last she answered the question. He had asked her if +he was the child's father. + +"I don't know," she said. + +He gave the ghost of a chuckle. It made Kitty shudder. + +"It's a bit awkward, isn't it?" + +His answer was characteristic, it was exactly what she would have +expected him to say, but it made her heart sink. She wondered if he +realised how hard it had been for her to tell the truth (at the same +moment she recognised that it had not been in the least hard, but +inevitable) and if he gave her credit for it. Her answer, _I don't know, +I don't know_, hammered away in her head. It was impossible now to take +it back. She got her handkerchief from her bag and dried her eyes. They +did not speak. There was a syphon on the table by her bed and he got her +a glass of water. He brought it to her and held the glass while she +drank. She noticed how thin his hand was, it was a fine hand, slender, +with long fingers, but now it was nothing but skin and bone; it trembled +a little: he could control his face, but his hand betrayed him. + +"Don't mind my crying," she said. "It's nothing really; it's only that I +can't help the water running out of my eyes." + +She drank the water and he put the glass back. He sat down on a chair +and lit a cigarette. He gave a little sigh. Once or twice before she had +heard him sigh like that and it always gave her a catch at the heart. +Looking at him now, for he was staring with abstracted gaze out of the +window, she was surprised that she had not noticed before how terribly +thin he had grown during the last weeks. His temples were sunken and the +bones of his face showed through the skin. His clothes hung on him +loosely as though they had been made for a larger man. Through his +sunburn his face had a greenish pallor. He looked exhausted. He was +working too hard, sleeping little and eating nothing. In her own grief +and perturbation she found room to pity him. It was cruel to think that +she could do nothing for him. + +He put his hand over his forehead, as though his head were aching, and +she had a feeling that in his brain too those words hammered madly: _I +don't know, I don't know._ It was strange that this moody, cold and shy +man should have such a natural affection for very little babies; most +men didn't care much even for their own, but the nuns, touched and a +little amused, had more than once spoken of it. If he felt like that +about those funny little Chinese babies what would he have felt about +his own? Kitty bit her lips in order to prevent herself from crying +again. + +He looked at his watch. + +"I'm afraid I must go back to the city. I have a great deal to do +to-day. . . . Shall you be all right?" + +"Oh, yes. Don't bother about me." + +"I think you'd better not wait for me this evening. I may be very late +and I'll get something to eat from Colonel Yü." + +"Very well." + +He rose. + +"If I were you, I wouldn't try to do anything to-day. You'd better take +it easy. Is there anything you want before I go?" + +"No, thanks. I shall be quite all right." + +He paused for an instant, as though he were undecided, and then, +abruptly and without looking at her, took his hat and walked out of the +room. She heard him go through the compound. She felt terribly alone. +There was no need for self-restraint now and she gave herself up to a +passion of tears. + + + + +_lvii_ + + +The night was sultry and Kitty sat at the window looking at the +fantastic roofs, dark against the starlight, of the Chinese temple, when +at last Walter came in. Her eyes were heavy with weeping, but she was +composed. Notwithstanding all there was to harass her she felt, perhaps +only from exhaustion, strangely at peace. + +"I thought you'd be already in bed," said Walter as he came in. + +"I wasn't sleepy. I thought it cooler to sit up. Have you had any +dinner?" + +"All I want." + +He walked up and down the long room and she saw that he had something to +say to her. She knew that he was embarrassed. Without concern she waited +for him to summon up his resolution. He began abruptly. + +"I've been thinking about what you told me this afternoon. It seems to +me that it would be better if you went away. I have spoken to Colonel +Yü and he will give you an escort. You could take the amah with you. +You will be quite safe." + +"Where is there for me to go?" + +"You can go to your mother's." + +"Do you think she would be pleased to see me?" + +He paused for a moment, hesitating, as though for reflection. + +"Then you can go to Tching-Yen." + +"What should I do there?" + +"You will need a good deal of care and attention. I don't think it's +fair to ask you to stay here." + +She could not prevent the smile, not only of bitterness but of frank +amusement, that crossed her face. She gave him a glance and very nearly +laughed. + +"I don't know why you should be so anxious about my health." + +He came over to the window and stood looking out at the night. There had +never been so many stars in the unclouded sky. + +"This isn't the place for a woman in your condition." + +She looked at him, white in his thin clothes against the darkness; there +was something sinister in his fine profile, and yet oddly enough at this +moment it excited in her no fear. + +"When you insisted on my coming here did you want it to kill me?" she +asked suddenly. + +He was so long answering that she thought he had refused to hear. + +"At first." + +She gave a little shudder, for it was the first time he had admitted his +intention. But she bore him no ill will for it. Her feeling surprised +herself; there was a certain admiration in it and a faint amusement. She +did not quite know why, but suddenly thinking of Charlie Townsend he +seemed to her an abject fool. + +"It was a terrible risk you were taking," she answered. "With your +sensitive conscience I wonder if you could ever have forgiven yourself +if I had died." + +"Well, you haven't. You've thrived on it." + +"I've never felt better in my life." + +She had an instinct to throw herself on the mercy of his humour. After +all they had gone through, when they were living amid these scenes of +horror and desolation, it seemed inept to attach importance to the +ridiculous act of fornication. When death stood round the corner, taking +lives like a gardener digging up potatoes, it was foolishness to care +what dirty things this person or that did with his body. If she could +only make him realise how little Charlie meant to her, so that now +already she had difficulty in calling up his features to her +imagination, and how entirely the love of him had passed out of her +heart! Because she had no feeling for Townsend the various acts she had +committed with him had lost their significance. She had regained her +heart and what she had given of her body seemed not to matter a rap. She +was inclined to say to Walter: "Look here, don't you think we've been +silly long enough? We've sulked with one another like children. Why +can't we kiss and be friends. There's no reason why we shouldn't be +friends just because we're not lovers." + +He stood very still and the lamplight made the pallor of his impassive +face startling. She did not trust him; if she said the wrong thing he +would turn upon her with such an icy sternness. She knew by now his +extreme sensitiveness, for which his acid irony was a protection, and +how quickly he could close his heart if his feelings were hurt. She had +a moment's irritation at his stupidity. Surely what troubled him most +was the wound to his vanity: she vaguely realised that this is the +hardest of all wounds to heal. It was singular that men attached so much +importance to their wives' faithfulness; when first she had gone with +Charlie she had expected to feel quite different, a changed woman; but +she had seemed to herself exactly the same, she had experienced only +wellbeing and a greater vitality. She wished now that she had been able +to tell Walter that the child was his; the lie would have meant so +little to her, and the assurance would have been so great a comfort to +him. And after all it might not be a lie; it was funny, that something +in her heart which had prevented her from giving herself the benefit of +the doubt. How silly men were! Their part in procreation was so +unimportant; it was the woman who carried the child through long months +of uneasiness and bore it with pain, and yet a man because of his +momentary connection made such preposterous claims. Why should that make +any difference to him in his feeling towards the child? Then Kitty's +thoughts wandered to the child which she herself would bear; she thought +of it not with emotion nor with a passion of maternity, but with an idle +curiosity. + +"I daresay you'd like to think it over a little," said Walter, breaking +the long silence. + +"Think what?" + +He turned a little as if he were surprised. + +"About when you want to go?" + +"But I don't want to go." + +"Why not?" + +"I like my work at the convent. I think I'm making myself useful. I +should prefer to stay as long as you do." + +"I think I should tell you that in your present condition you are +probably more liable to catch any infection that happens to be about." + +"I like the discreet way you put it," she smiled ironically. + +"You're not staying for my sake?" + +She hesitated. He little knew that now the strongest emotion he excited +in her, and the most unexpected, was pity. + +"No. You don't love me. I often think I rather bore you." + +"I shouldn't have thought you were the sort of person to put yourself +out for a few stuffy nuns and a parcel of Chinese brats." + +Her lips outlined a smile. + +"I think it's rather unfair to despise me so much because you made such +a mistake in your judgment of me. It's not my fault that you were such +an ass." + +"If you're determined to stay you are of course at liberty to do so." + +"I'm sorry I can't give you the opportunity of being magnanimous." She +found it strangely hard to be quite serious with him. "As a matter of +fact you're quite right, it's not only for the orphans that I'm staying: +you see, I'm in the peculiar position that I haven't got a soul in the +world that I can go to. I know no one who wouldn't think me a nuisance. +I know no one who cares a row of pins if I'm alive or dead." + +He frowned. But he did not frown in anger. + +"We have made a dreadful hash of things, haven't we?" he said. + +"Do you still want to divorce me? I don't think I care any more." + +"You must know that by bringing you here I've condoned the offence." + +"I didn't know. You see, I haven't made a study of infidelity. What are +we going to do then when we leave here? Are we going on living +together?" + +"Oh, don't you think we can let the future take care of itself?" + +There was the weariness of death in his voice. + + + + +_lviii_ + + +Two or three days later Waddington fetched Kitty from the convent (for +her restlessness had induced her immediately to resume her work) and +took her to drink the promised cup of tea with his mistress. Kitty had +on more than one occasion dined at Waddington's house. It was a square, +white and pretentious building, such as the Customs build for their +officials all over China; and the dining-room in which they ate, the +drawing-room in which they sat, were furnished with prim and solid +furniture. They had the appearance of being partly offices and partly +hotel; there was nothing homelike in them and you understood that these +houses were merely places of haphazard sojourn to their successive +occupants. It would never have occurred to you that on an upper floor +mystery and perhaps romance dwelt shrouded. They ascended a flight of +stairs and Waddington opened a door. Kitty went into a large, bare room +with white-washed walls on which hung scrolls in various calligraphies. +At a square table, on a stiff armchair, both of blackwood and heavily +carved, sat the Manchu. She rose as Kitty and Waddington entered, but +made no step forward. + +"Here she is," said Waddington, and added something in Chinese. + +Kitty shook hands with her. She was slim in her long embroidered gown +and somewhat taller than Kitty, used to the Southern people, had +expected. She wore a jacket of pale green silk with tight sleeves that +came over her wrists and on her black hair, elaborately dressed, was the +head-dress of the Manchu women. Her face was coated with powder and her +cheeks from the eyes to the mouth heavily rouged; her plucked eyebrows +were a thin dark line and her mouth was scarlet. From this mask her +black, slightly slanting, large eyes burned like lakes of liquid jet. +She seemed more like an idol than a woman. Her movements were slow and +assured. Kitty had the impression that she was slightly shy but very +curious. She nodded her head two or three times, looking at Kitty, while +Waddington spoke of her. Kitty noticed her hands; they were +preternaturally long, very slender, of the colour of ivory; and the +exquisite nails were painted. Kitty thought she had never seen anything +so lovely as those languid and elegant hands. They suggested the +breeding of uncounted centuries. + +She spoke a little, in a high voice, like the twittering of birds in an +orchard, and Waddington, translating, told Kitty that she was glad to +neurotic fantasies, poetical myth structures, and certain forms of +mental disease and crime lie close together, although far apart as to +their causes and dynamic forces. We resist the temptation to follow one +of these divergent paths which lead to altogether different realms, but +which are as yet unblazed trails in the wilderness. + + + + + INDEX + + PAGE + + Abraham, 15 + + Aleos, 21 + + Alkmene, 45 + + Akrisios, 22 + + Ambivalence, 70 + + Amphion and Zetos, 43 + + Anarchist, 93 + + Animal motives, 88 + + Apollo, 17 + + Artembares, 29 + + Arthurian legends, 55 + + Astyages, 29 + + Attenuation of myth, 78 + + Auge, 22 + + + Babylonian myths, 12 + + Beating, 56 + + Beowulf, 60 + + Birth symbols, 69 + + Blancheflure, 38 + + Borrowing theories, 2 + + Box, 69 + + Bride true, 40 + + Brother myths, 87 + + Brothers, hostility of, 88 + + Buddha, 53 + + + Child psyche and myth formation, 63 + + Childhood of hero, 81 + + Conflict of younger and older generation, 64 + + Content reversals, 72 + + Criminality and myths, 93 + + Criticism of parents, 64 + + + Darab, 19 + + Daughter father, 77 + + Delusion formation, 91 + + Dirke, 46 + + Displacements in myths, 76 + + Dream and myth, 69 + + Dreams of water, 71 + + Dughda, 51 + + Duplication, 87 + + + Egotism motives, 92 + + Elsa, 56 + + Erotic factors, 74 + + Exposure myths, 72, 73 + + + Family relations, 62 + + Family romance of neurotics, 65 + + Father and hero, 61 + + Father and tyrant, 76 + + Father daughter, 77 + + Father replacement, 67 + + Feridun, 37 + + Flood myths, 25, 34 + + Fool motive, 90 + + + Gilgamos, 23, 79 + + Grandfather replacement, 77 + + + Hamlet, 76 + + Harpagos, 26, 27, 28 + + Hekabe, 20 + + Hercules, 44 + + Hero and father, 61 + + Hero and mother, 61 + + Hero myth, summary of, 67 + + Herod, 50 + + Horn, 55 + + Hostile brothers, 88 + + Hostility motives, 74 + + Hysteria and myth, 92 + + Hysterical fantasies, 92 + + + Incest motive in myth, 83 + + Infantile imagination, 62 + + Infantile psyche and myth, 9, 10 + + Infantile sexual theory, 82 + + Interpretation summary, 79 + + Ion, 17 + + Iranese legends, 19, 36, 37 + + Isaac, 15 + + Isolde, 38, 39 + + + Jesus, 47, 48, 49, et seq. + + Judas myth, 19 + + + Kaikaus, 36 + + Kaikhosrav, 35 + + Kamleyses, 25 + + Karna, 15 + + Krishna, 47 + + Kyros, 24, 89 + + Kyros myth, versions of, 24, 32, 33 + + Kunti, 16 + + + Lohengrin, 55, 58 + + Lunar myths, 5 + + + Mandane, 25 + + Migration theories, 2 + + Moses, 13, 79 + + Mother and hero, 61 + + Myth and hysterical fancy, 92 + + Myth and infantile psyche, 9, 10 + + Myths and paranoid mechanisms, 75 + + Myth and race, 11 + + Myth and sex, 65 + + Myth, complications of, 83 + + Myth contents, 4, 6 + + Myth displacements, 76 + + Myth distribution, 4 + + Myth, evolution of, 8 + + Myth formation and child psyche, 63 + + Myth ground plan, 61 + + Myth interpretation, 5 + + Myth of hero, summary of, 67 + + Myth, psychological significance of, 90 + + Myth structure and psychoneuroses, 63 + + Myth, type of, 61 + + Mythological theories, 1, 3 + + + Neurotic family romance, 65 + + Neurotics, 64 + + Nightmares, 7 + + + Œdipus, 74 + + Œdipus myth, 6, 18 + + Old age and youth, 64 + + Opposites, 70 + + Oriant, 56 + + + Paranoid delusions, 91 + + Paranoid mechanism in myths, 75 + + Parental authority, 63 + + Parental criticism, 64 + + Parents, fancied, 73 + + Parents, real, 73 + + Paris, 20 + + Perseus, 22 + + Persian myths, 37 + + Persian war, 32 + + Pharaoh, 80 + + Priamos, 20 + + Pritha, 16 + + Proca, 42 + + Projection, 75 + + Psychological significance of myth, 90 + + Psychoneuroses and myth structure, 63 + + Psychoneurotics, 63 + + + Races and myths, 81 + + Real parents, 73 + + Reformer, 93 + + Remus, 40 + + Replacement of father, 67 + + Retaliation and revenge, 66 + + Revenge and retaliation, 66 + + Reversals, 72 + + Revolt of hero, 82 + + Revolutionary, 93 + + River legends, 46 + + Romulus, 40 + + Romulus, modifications of, 42 + + + St. Gregory, 19 + + Sam, 21 + + Sargon myth, 12 + + Scëaf, 60 + + Scild Scefing, 60 + + Senechoros, 24 + + Sex and myth, 65 + + Siegfried, 93 + + Split personalities, 84 + + Summary interpretation, 79 + + Symbolic expression, 69 + + + Telephos, 21 + + Thebes, 43 + + Theories of myths, 1, 3 + + Tristan, 38, 39 + + True bride, 40 + + Twin myths, 44 + + Types of reversal, 77 + + Typical myth, 61 + + Tyrant and father, 76 + + + Water dreams, 71 + + Water in myth, 34 + + Wieland, 55 + + Wolfdietrich, 54 + + + Youth and old age, 64 + + + Zal, 21 + + Zetos and Amphion, 43 + + Zoroaster, 51 + + + + + FOOTNOTES: + +[1] A short and fairly complete review of the general theories of +mythology and its principal advocates is to be found in Wundt’s +“Völkerpsychologie,” Vol. II, Myths and Religion. Part I [Leipzig, +1905], p. 527. + +[2] “Das Beständige in den Menschenrassen und die Spielweise ihrer +Veränderlichkeit.” Berlin, 1868. + +[3] “Die Kyros Sage und Verwandtes,” _Sitzb. Wien. Akad._, 100, 1882, +p. 495. + +[4] Schubert. Herodots Darstellung der Cyrussage, Breslau, 1890. + +[5] Compare E. Stucken, “Astral mythen,” Leipzig, 1896-1907, especially +Part V, “Moses.” H. Lessmann, “Die Kyrossage in Europe,” _Wiss. beit. +z. Jahresbericht d. städt. Realschule zu Charlottenburg_, 1906. + +[6] “Naturgeschichte d. Sage.” Tracing all religious ideals, legends, +and systems back to their common family tree, and their primary root, 2 +volumes, Munich 1864-65. + +[7] Some of the important writings of Winckler will be mentioned in the +course of this article. + +[8] _Zeitschrift f. d. Oesterr. Gym._, 1891, p. 161, etc. Schubert’s +reply is also found here, p. 594, etc. + +[9] Lessmann, “Object and Aim of Mythological Research,” _Mythol. +Bibliot._, 1, Heft 4, Leipzig. + +[10] Winckler, “Die babylonische Geisteskultur in ihren Beziehungen zur +Kulturentwicklung der Menschheit,” _Wissenschaft u. Bildung_, Vol. 15, +1907, p. 47. + +[11] Of course no time will be wasted on the futile question as to what +this first legend may have been; for in all probability this never had +existence, any more than a “first human couple.” + +[12] As an especially discouraging example of this mode of procedure +may be mentioned a contribution by the well-known natural mythologist +Schwartz, which touches upon this circle of myths, and is entitled: +“Der Ursprung der Stamm und Gründungssage Roms unter dem Reflex +indogermanischer Mythen” [Jena, 1898]. + +[13] Frobenius, Das Zeitalter des Sonnengotten, Berlin, 1904. + +[14] Siecke, “Hermes als Mondgott,” _Myth. Bibl._, Vol. II, Pt. 1, p. +48. + +[15] Compare for example, Paul Koch, “Sagen der Bibel und ihre +Ubereinstimmung mit der Mythologie der Indogermanen,” Berlin, +1907. Compare also the partly lunar, partly solar, but at any rate +entirely one sided conception of the hero myth, in Gustav Friedrich’s +“Grundlage, Entstehung und genaue Einzeldeutung der bekanntesten +germanischen Märchen, Mythen und Sagen” [Leipzig, 1909], p. 118. + +[16] Translated by Dr. A. A. Brill. Macmillan Co. + +[17] The fable of Shakespeare’s Hamlet also permits of a similar +interpretation, according to Freud. It will be seen later on how +mythological investigators bring the Hamlet legend from entirely +different view points into the correlation of the mythical circle. + +[18] In JOURNAL OF NERVOUS AND MENTAL DISEASE, 1912. Also collected in +this Monograph Series, No. 15. + +[19] Compare Lessmann (Mythol. Bibl., I, 4). Ehrenreich alone (loc. +cit., p. 149) admits the extraordinary significance of dream-life for +the myth-fiction of all times. Wundt does so likewise, for individual +mythical motives. + +[20] Stucken [Mose, p. 432] says in this sense. The myth transmitted +by the ancestors was transferred to natural processes and interpreted +in a naturalistic way, not vice versa. “Interpretation of nature is +a motive in itself” [p. 633, annotation]. In a very similar way, we +read in Meyer’s History of Antiquity, Vol. V, p. 48: In many cases, +the natural symbolism, sought in the myths, is only apparently present +or has been secondarily introduced, as often in the Vedda and in the +Egyptian myths; it is a primary attempt at interpretation, like the +myth-interpretations which arose among the Greeks since the fifth +century. + +[21] For fairy tales, in this as well as in other essential features, +Thimme advocates the same point of view as is here claimed for the +myths. Compare Adolf Thimme, “Das Märchen,” 2d volume of the Handbücher +zur Volkskunde, Leipzig, 1909. + +[22] Volume II of the German translation, Leipzig, 1869, p. 143. + +[23] Of this myth-interpretation, Wundt has well said that it really +should have accompanied the original myth-formation. (Loc. cit., p. +352.) + +[24] See Ignaz Goldziher, “Der Mythus bei den Hebräern und seine +geschichtliche Entwickelung” [Leipzig, 1876], p. 125. According to the +writings of Siecke [“Hermes als Mondgott,” Leipzig, 1908, p. 39], the +incest myths lose all unusual features through being referred to the +moon, and its relation to the sun. The explanation being quite simple: +the daughter, the new moon, is the repetition of the mother [the old +moon], with her the father [the sun] [also the brother, the son] +becomes reunited. + +[25] Is it to be believed? In an article entitled “Urreligion der +Indogermanen” [Berlin, 1897], where Siecke points out that the incest +myths are descriptive narrations of the seen but inconceivable process +of nature, he objects to a statement of Oldenburg [“Religion der Veda,” +p. 5] who assumes a primeval tendency of myths to the incest motive, +with the remark that in the days of yore the motive was thrust upon the +narrator, without an inclination of his own, through the forcefulness +of the witnessed facts. + +[26] The great variability and wide distribution of the birth myths of +the hero results from the above quoted writings of Bauer, Schubert and +others, while their comprehensive contents and fine ramifications were +especially discussed by Husing, Lessmann, and the other representatives +of the modern direction. + +Innumerable fairy tales, stories, and poems of all times, up to the +most recent dramatic and novelistic literature, show very distinct +individual main motives of this myth. The exposure-romance is known to +appear in the following literary productions: The late Greek pastorals, +as told in Heliodor’s “Aethiopika,” in Eustathius’ “Ismenias and +Ismene,” and in the Story of the two exposed children, Daphnis and +Chloe. The more recent Italian pastorals are likewise very frequently +based upon the exposure of children, who are raised as shepherds by +their foster-parents, but are later recognized by the true parents, +through identifying marks which they received at the time of their +exposure. To the same set belong the family history in Grimmelshausen’s +“Limplizissimus” (1665), in Jean Paul’s “Titan” (1800), as well as +certain forms of the Robinson stories and Cavalier romances (compare +Würzbach’s Introduction to the Edition of “Don Quichote” in Hesse’s +edition). + +[27] The various translations of the partly mutilated text differ only +in unessential details. Compare Hommel’s “History of Babylonia and +Assyria” (Berlin, 1885), p. 302, where the sources of the tradition are +likewise found, and A. Jeremias, “The Old Testament in the Light of the +Ancient Orient,” II edition, Leipzig, 1906, p. 410. + +[28] On account of these resemblances, a dependence of the Exodus tale +from the Sargon legend has often been assumed, but apparently not +enough attention has been paid to certain fundamental distinctions, +which will be taken up in detail in the interpretation. + +[29] The parents of Moses were originally nameless, as were all persons +in this, the oldest account. Their names were only conferred upon them +by the priesthood. Chapter 6, 20, says: “And Amram took him Jocabed his +father’s sister to wife; and she bare him Aaron and Moses” [and their +sister Miriam, IV, 26, 59]. Also compare Winckler, “History of Israel,” +II, and Jeremias, l. c., p. 408. + +[30] The name, according to Winckler (“Babylonian Mental Culture,” p. +119), means “The Water-Drawer” (see also Winckler, “Ancient Oriental +Studies,” III, 468, etc.), which would still further approach the Moses +legend to the Sargon legend, for the name Akki signifies I have drawn +water. + +[31] Schemot Rabba, fol. 2, 4. Concerning 2, Moses 1, 22, says that +Pharaoh was told by the astrologers of a woman who was pregnant with +the Redeemer of Israel. + +[32] The Hindu birth legend of the mythical king Vikramâdita must also +be mentioned in this connection. Here again occur the barren marriage +of the parents, the miraculous conception, ill-omened warnings, the +exposure of the boy in the forest, his nourishment with honey, finally +the acknowledgment by the father. (See Jülg, “Mongolian Fairy Tales,” +Innsbruck, 1868, p. 73, et seq.) + +[33] “Hindu Legends,” Karlsruhe, 1846, Part II, pp. 117 to 127. + +[34] “Hindu Legends,” l. c. + +[35] See Röscher, concerning the Ion of Euripides. Where no other +source is stated, all Greek and Roman myths are taken from the +Extensive Dictionary of Greek and Roman Mythology, edited by Röscher, +which also contains a list of all sources. + +[36] According to Bethe, “Thebanische Heldenlieder,” the exposure on +the waters was the original rendering. According to other versions, the +boy is found and raised by horse herds; according to a later myth, by a +countryman, Melibios. + +[37] The entire material has been discussed by Rank in Das Inzest-Motiv +in Dichtung und Sage, 1912, Chapter X. + +[38] I. In the version of Euripides, whose tragedies “Auge” and +“Telephos” are extant, _Aleos caused the mother and the child to be +thrown into the sea in a box_, but through the protection of Athene +this box was carried to the end of the Mysian River, Kaikos. There it +was found by Teuthras. who made Auge his wife and took her child into +his house as his foster son. + +[39] Later authors, including Pindar, state that Danae was impregnated, +not by Zeus, but by the brother of her father. + +[40] Simonides of Keos (fr. 37, ed. Bergk), speaks of a casement +strong as ore, in which Danae is said to have been exposed. (Geibel, +Klassisches Liederbuch, page 52.) + +[41] According to Hüsing, the Perseus myth in several versions is +also demonstrable in Japan. Compare also, Sydney Hartland, Legend of +Perseus, 1894-96; 3 volumes. London. + +[42] Claudius Aelianus, “Historia animalium,” XII, 21, translated by +Fr. Jacobs (Stuttgart, 1841). + +[43] It was also told of Ptolemaös, the son of Lagos and Arsinoë, that +an eagle protected the exposed boy with his wings against the sunshine, +the rain and birds of prey (_loc. cit._). + +[44] F. E. Lange, “Herodot’s Geschichten” (Reclam). Compare also +Duncker’s “History of Antiquity” (Leipsig, 1880), N. 5, page 256 et +sequitur. + +[45] The same “playing king” is found in the Hindoo myth of +Candragupta, the founder of the Maurja dynasty, whom his mother exposed +after his birth, in a vessel at the gate of a cowshed, where a herder +found him and raised him. Later on he came to a hunter, where he as +cow-herder played “king” with the other boys, and as king ordered +that the hands and feet of the great criminals be chopped off. [The +mutilation motive occurs also in the Kyros saga, and is generally +widely distributed.] At his command, the separated limbs returned to +their proper position. Kanakja, who once looked on as they were at +play, admired the boy, and bought him from the hunter for one thousand +Kârshâpana; at home he discovered that the boy was a Maurja. (After +Lassen’s Indische Altertumskunde, II, 196, Annotation 1.) + +[46] Justinus, “Extract from Pompeius Trogus’ Philippian History,” I, +4-7. As far as results from Justinus’ extract, Deinon’s Persian tales +(written in the first half of the fourth century before Christ) are +presumably the sources of Trogus’ narrative. + +[47] The words in parenthesis are said to be lacking in certain +manuscripts. + +[48] Nicol. Damasc. Frag. 66, Ctes.; Frag. Pers., 2, 5. + +[49] This daughter’s name is Amytis (not Mandane) in the version of +Ktesias. + +[50] On the basis of this _motive of simulated dementia_ and certain +other corresponding features Jiriczek (“Hamlet in Iran,” in the +_Zeitschrift des Vereins für Volkskunde_, Vol. X, 1900, p. 353) has +represented the _Hamlet Saga_ as a variation of the Iranese myth of +Kaikhosrav. This idea was followed up by H. Lessmann (“Die Kyrossage +in Europa”), who shows that the Hamlet saga strikingly agrees in +certain items, for example, in the simulated folly, with the sagas +of Brutus and of Tell. (Compare also the protestations of Moses.) In +another connection, the deeper roots of these relations have been more +extensively discussed, especially with reference to the Tell saga. +(See: Das Inzest-Motiv in Dichtung und Sage, Chapter VIII.) Attention +is also directed to the story of David, as it is told in the books +of Samuel. Here again, the royal scion, David, is made a shepherd, +who gradually rises in the social scale up to the royal throne. He +likewise is given the king’s (Saul’s) daughter in marriage, and the +king seeks his life, but David is always saved by miraculous means from +the greatest perils. He also evades persecution by simulating dementia +and playing the fool. The relationship between the Hamlet saga and the +David saga has already been pointed out by Jiriczek and Lessmann. The +biblical character of this entire mythical cycle is also emphasized by +Jiriczek, who finds in the tale of Siâvaksh’s death certain features +from the Passion of the Savior. + +[51] The name Zohâk is a mutilation of the original Zend expression +Ashi-dahaka [Azis-dahaka], meaning pernicious serpent. (See “The Myth +of Feridun in India and Iran,” by Dr. R. Roth, in the _Zeitschrift +der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft_, II, p. 216.) To the +_Iranese Feridum_ corresponds the _Hindoo Trita_, whose Avestian +double is Thraetaona. The last named form is the most predominantly +authenticated; from it was formed, by transition of the aspirated +sounds, first Phreduna, then Frêdûn or Afrêdun; Feridun is a more +recent corruption. Compare F. Spiegel’s “Eranische Altertumskunde,” I, +p. 537 et seq. + +[52] Compare Immermann, “Tristan und Isolde, Ein Gedicht in Romanzen,” +Düsseldorf, 1841. Like the epic of Gottfried of Strassburg, his poem +begins with the preliminary history of the loves of Tristan’s parents, +King Riwalin Kannlengres of Parmenia and Marke’s beautiful sister +Blancheflur. The maiden never reveals her love, which is not sanctioned +by her brother, but she visits the king, who is wounded unto death, +in his chamber, and dying he procreates Tristan, “the son of the most +daring and doleful love.” Grown up as a foundling in the care of Rual +and his wife, Florete, the winsome youth Tristan introduces himself +to Marke in a stag hunt, as an expert huntsman, is recognized as his +nephew by a ring, the king’s gift to his beloved sister, and becomes +his favorite. + +[53] See translation by W. A. White, M.D.., Psychoanalytic Review, Vol. +I, No. 1, et seq. + +[54] Compare the substitution of the bride, through Brangäne. + +[55] Mommsen, Th., “Die echte und die falsche Acca Larentia”; in +Festgaben für G. Homeyer (Berlin, 1891), p. 93, et seq.; and _Römische_ +_Forschungen_ (Berlin, 1879), II, p. 1, et seq. Mommsen reconstructs +the lost narrative of Fabius from the preserved reports of Dionysius +(I, 79-831, and of Plutarch (Romulus)). + +[56] The Capitoline She Wolf is considered as the work of very ancient +Etruscan artists, which was erected at the Lupercal, in the year 296 +B.C., according to Livy (X, 231). Compare picture on title page. + +[57] All these renderings were compiled by Schwegler, in his Roman +History, I, p. 384, et seq. + +[58] Some Greek twin sagas are quoted by Schubert (loc. cit., p. 13, et +seq.) in their essential content. Concerning the extensive distribution +of this legendary form, compare the somewhat confused book of J. H. +Becker, “The Twin Saga as the Key to the Interpretation of Ancient +Tradition. With a Table of the Twin Saga.” Leipsic, 1891. German text. + +[59] Mommsen, “Die Remus Legende,” Hermes, 1881. + +[60] After Preller, Greek Mythology (Leipzig, 1854, II, pp. 120 et +seq.). + +[61] The same transformation of the divine procreator into the form +of the human father is found in the birth history of the Egyptian +queen, Hatshepset (about 1500 before Christ), who believes that the god +Amen cohabited with her mother, Aahames, in the form of her father, +Thothmes the First (see Budge: A History of Egypt, V; Books on Egypt +and Chaldea, Vol. XII, p. 21, etc.). Later on she married her brother, +Thothmes II, presumably the Pharaoh of Exodus, after whose dishonorable +death she endeavored to eradicate his memory, and herself assumed +the rulership, in masculine fashion (cp. the Deuteronium, edited by +Schrader, II ed., 1902). + +[62] A similar mingling of the divine and human posterity is related +in the myth of Theseus, whose mother Aithra, the beloved of Poseidon, +was visited in one night by this god, and by the childless King Aigeus +of Athens, who had been brought under the influence of wine. The boy +was raised in secret, and in ignorance of his father (v. Roscher’s +dictionary, article Aigeus). + +[63] Alkmene bore Herakles as the son of Zeus, and Iphikles as the +offspring of Amphitryon. According to Apollodorus, 2, 4, 8, they were +twin children, born at the same time; according to others Iphikles +was conceived and born one night later than Herakles (see Roscher’s +Lexicon, Amphitryon and Alkmene). The shadowy character of the twin +brother, and his loose connection with the entire myth, is again +evident. In a similar way, Telephos, the son of Auge, was exposed +together with Parthenopaüs, the son of Atalantis, nursed by a doe, and +taken by herders to King Korythos. The external subsequent insertion of +the partner is here again quite obvious. + +[64] For the formal demonstration of the entire identity of the birth +and early history of Jesus with the other hero-myths, the author has +presumed to re-arrange the corresponding paragraphs from the different +versions, in the Gospels, irrespective of the traditional sequence +and the originality of the individual parts. The age, origin and +genuineness of these parts are briefly summarized and discussed in W. +Soltan’s Birth History of Jesus Christ (German text), Leipsic, 1902. +The transmitted versions of the several Gospels,��which according to +Usener (Birth and Childhood of Christ, 1903, in Lectures and Essays +(German text), Leipsic, 1907), contradict and even exclude each +other,—have been placed, or left, in juxtaposition, precisely for +the reason that the apparently contradictory elements in these birth +myths are to be elucidated in the present research, no matter if these +contradictions be encountered within a single uniform saga, or in its +different versions (as, for example, in the Kyros myth). + +[65] Concerning the birth of Jesus in a cave, and the furnishing +of the birth place with the typical animals (ox and ass) compare +Jeremias, Babylonisches im Neuen Testament (Leipzig, 1905), p. 56, and +Preuschen, Jesu Geburt in einer Höhle, Zeitschrift für die Neutest. +Wissenschaften, 1902, P. 359. + +[66] According to recent investigations, the birth history of Christ +is said to have the greatest resemblance with the royal Egyptian myth, +over five thousand years old, which relates the birth of Amenophis III. +Here again recurs the divine prophecy of the birth of a son, to the +waiting queen; her fertilization by the breath of heavenly fire; the +divine cows, which nurse the new born child; the homage of the kings, +and so forth. In this connection, compare A. Malvert, Wissenschaft +und Religion, Frankfort, 1904, pp. 49 et seq, also the suggestion of +Professor Idleib in Bonn (Feuilleton of Frankfurter Zeitung, November +8, 1908). + +[67] Very similar traits are found in the Keltic saga of Habis, as +transmitted by Justin (44,4). Born as the illegitimate son of a king’s +daughter, Habis is persecuted in all sorts of ways by his royal +grandfather, Gargoris, but is always saved by divine providence, until +he is finally recognized by his grandfather, and assumes royal sway. As +in the Zarathustra legend, there occurs an entire series of the most +varied methods of persecution. He is at first exposed, but nursed by +wild animals; then he was to be trampled upon by a herd in a narrow +path; then he was cast before hungry beasts, but they again nursed him, +and finally he is thrown into the sea, but is gently lapped ashore and +nursed by a doe, near which he grows up. + +[68] Compare August Rassmann: Die deutsche Heldensage und ihre Heimat, +Hanover, 1857-8, Vol. II, pp. 7 et seq; for the sources, see Jiriczek, +Die deutsche Heldensage (collection Göschen) and Piper’s introduction +to the volume: Die Nibelungen, in Kürschner’s German National +Literature. + +[69] Compare: Deutsches Heldenbuch, Part III, Vol. I (Berlin, 1871), +edited by Amelung and Jaenicke, which also contains the second version +(B) of the Wolfdietrich saga. + +[70] The motive of calumniation of the wife by a rejected suitor, in +combination with the exposure and nursing by an animal (doe), forms +the nucleus of the story of _Genovefa_ and her son Schmerzenreich, as +told, for example, by the Grimm brothers, in their German Sagas, II, +Berlin, 1818, pp. 280 et seq. Here, again, the faithless calumniator +proposes _to drown the countess with her child in the water_. For +literary and historical orientation, compare _L. Zacher_, Die Historic +von der Pfalzgräfin Genovefa, Koenigsberg, 1860, and _B. Seuffert_, Die +Legende von der Pfalzgräfin Genovefa, Würzburg, 1877. Similar sagas of +wives suspected of infidelity and punished by exposure are discussed in +the XI chapter of my investigation of “Das Inzestmotiv in Dichtung und +Sage” (The Incest Motive in Fiction and Legends). + +[71] The same accentuation of the animal motive is found in the saga +of Schalû, the Hindoo wolf child; compare Jülg, Mongolische Märchen +(Mongolian fairy tales; Innsbruck, 1868). + +[72] The Grimm Brothers, in their German Sagas (part II, p. 206, etc.), +quote six further versions of the saga of the Knight with the Swan. +Certain fairy tales of the Grimm Brothers, such as “The Six Swans” (No. +49), “The Twelve Brothers” (No. 9), and the “Seven Ravens” (No. 25), +with their parallels and variations, mentioned in the 3d volume of the +“Kinder-und Hausmärchen,” also belong to the same mythological cycle. +Further material from this cycle may be found in Leo’s “Beowulf,” and +in Görre’s “Introduction to Lohengrin” (Heidelberg, 1813). + +[73] The ancient Longobard tale of the exposure of King Lamissio, +related by Paulus Diaconus (L, 15), gives a similar incident. A public +woman had thrown her seven newborn infants into a fish pond. King +Agelmund passed by, and looked curiously at the children, turning them +around with his spear. But when one of the children took hold of the +spear, the king considered this as of good augury; he ordered this boy +to be taken out of the pond, and to be given to a wet nurse. As he had +taken him from the pond, which in his language is called “lama,” he +named the boy Lamissio. He grew up into a stalwart champion, and after +Agelmund’s death, became king of the Longobards. + +[74] Scaf is the high German “Schaffing” (barrel), which leads Leo to +assume, in connection with Scild’s being called Scefing, that he had no +father Sceaf or Schaf at all, but was himself the boy cast ashore by +the waves, who was named the “son of the barrel” (Schaffing). The name +Beowulf itself, explained by Grimm as Bienen-wolf (bee-wolf), seems to +mean originally (according to Wolzogen) Bärwelf, namely Jungbär (bear +cub or whelp), which is suggestive of the saga of the origin of the +Guelphs (Ursprung der Welfen, Grimm, II, 233), where the boys are to be +thrown into the water as “whelps.” + +[75] The possibility of further specification of separate items of this +schedule will be seen from the compilation as given by H. Lessmann, at +the conclusion of his work on “The Kyros Saga in Europe.” + +[76] See also Wundt, who psychologically interprets the hero as a +projection of human desires and aspirations (loc. cit., p. 48). + +[77] Compare Freud, “Hysterical Fancies, and their Relation to +Bisexuality,” with references to the literature on this subject. This +contribution is contained in the second series of the “Collection of +Short Articles on the Neurosis Doctrine,” Vienna and Leipsic, 1909. + +[78] For the idealizing of the parents by the children, compare +Maeder’s comments (Jahrb. f. Psychoanalyse, p. 152, and Centralblatt f. +Psychoanalyse, I, p. 51) on Varendonk’s essay, “Les idéals d’enfant,” +Tome VII, 1908. + +[79] Dream Interpretation (Traumdeutung), II ed., p. 200. See Brill’s +Translation, Macmillan & Co., 1913. + +[80] Compare the “birth dreams” in Freud’s “Traumdeutung” (see Brill’s +translation, Macmillan & Co., p. 207 et seq.), also the examples quoted +by the author in the “Lohengrin saga” (p. 27 et seq.). + +[81] In fairy tales, which are adapted to infantile ideation, and +especially to the infantile sexual theories (compare Freud in the +December number of Sexuelle Probleme), the birth of man is frequently +represented as a lifting of the child from a well or a lake (Thimme, +_l. c._, p. 157). The story of “Dame Holle’s Pond” (Grimm, Deutsche +Sagen, I, 7) relates that the newborn children come from her well, +whence she brings them forth. The same interpretation is apparently +expressed in certain national rites; for example, when a Celt had +reason to doubt his paternity, he placed the newborn child on a large +shield and put it adrift in the nearest river. If the waves carried it +ashore, it was considered as legitimate, but if the child was drowned, +this was proof of the contrary and the mother was also put to death +(see Franz Helbing, “History of Feminine Infidelity”). Additional +ethnological material from folklore has been compiled by the author in +his “Lohengrin saga” (p. 20 et seq.). + +[82] The “box” in certain myths is represented by the _cave_, which +also distinctly symbolizes the womb; aside from statements in Abraham, +Ion, and others, especially in case of Zeus, who is born in a cave +of the Ida mountains, and nourished by the goat Amalthea, his mother +concealing him for fear of her husband, Kronos. According to Homer’s +Iliad (XVIII, 396, et seq.), Hephaistos is also cast into the water +by his mother, on account of his lameness, and remains hidden, for +nine years, in a cave surrounded by water. By exchanging the reversal, +the birth (the fall into the water) is here plainly represented +as the termination of the nine months of the intrauterine life. +More common than the cave birth is the exposure in a box, which is +likewise told in the Babylonian Marduk-Tammuz myth, as well as in +the Egyptian-Phoenician Osiris-Adonis myth (compare Winckler, “Die +Weltanschauung des alten Orients, Ex Oriente Lux” I, 1, p. 43, and +Jeremias, loc. cit., p. 41). Bacchus, according to Paus, III, 24, is +also removed from the persecution of the king, through exposure in a +chest on the Nile, and is saved at the age of three months by a king’s +daughter, which is remarkably suggestive of the Moses legend. A similar +story is told of Tennes, the son of Kyknos, who has been mentioned in +another connection (Siecke: Hermes, p. 48, annotation), and of many +others. + +The occurrence of the same symbolic representation among the aborigines +is illustrated by the following examples: Stucken relates the New +Zealand tale of the Polynesian Fire (and Seed) Robber, Mani-tiki-tiki, +who is exposed directly after his birth, his mother throwing him into +the sea, wrapped in an apron (chest, box). A similar story is reported +by Frobenius (_loc. cit._, p. 379) from Betsimisaraka, where the child +is exposed on the water, and is found and raised by a rich childless +woman, but finally resolves to discover his actual parents. According +to a report of Bab (_Zeitschrift für Ethnologie_, 1906, p. 281) the +wife of the Raja Besurjay was presented with a child floating on a +bubble of water-foam (from Singapore). + +[83] The before-mentioned work of Abraham, “Dreams and Myths,” pp. +22, 23, English translation, Monograph Series, No. 15, contains the +analysis of a very similar although more complicated birth dream, +corresponding to the actual conditions; the dreamer, a young pregnant +woman, who was awaiting her delivery, not without fear, dreamed of the +birth of her son, and the water appeared directly as the amniotic fluid. + +[84] This phantasy of an enormous water is extremely suggestive of the +large and widespread group of the Flood Myths, which actually seem to +be no more than the universal expression of the exposure myth. The +hero is here represented by humanity at large. The wrathful father is +the god; the destruction as well as the rescue of humanity likewise +follow one another in immediate succession. In this parallelization, +it is of interest to note that the ark, or pitched house, in which +Noah floats upon the water is designated in the Old Testament by the +same word (_tebah_) as the receptacle in which the infant Moses is +exposed (_Jeremias_, loc. cit., p. 250). For the motive of the great +flood, compare Jeremias, p. 226, and Lessmann, at the close of his +treatise on the Kyros saga in Europe, where the flood is described as a +possible digression of the exposure in the water. A transition instance +is illustrated by the flood saga told by Bader, in his Badensian folk +legends. When the Sunken Valley was inundated once upon a time by a +cloudburst, a little boy was seen floating upon the waters in a cradle, +who was miraculously saved by a cat (Gustav Friedrichs, loc. cit., p. +265). + +The author has endeavored to explain the psychological relations +between the exposure-myth, the flood legend, and the devouring myth, +in his article on the “Overlying Symbols in Dream Awakening, and +Their Recurrence in Mythical Ideation” (“Die Symbolschichtung in +Wecktraum und ihre Wiederkehr im mythischen Denken” _Jahrbuch für +Psychoanalyse_, V, 1912). + +[85] Compare the same reversal of the meanings in Winckler’s +interpretation of the etymology of the name of Moses (p. 13). + +[86] The same conditions remain in the formation of dreams and in +the transformation of hysterical phantasies into seizures (compare +“Traumdeutung,” p. 238, and the annotation in the same place), +also, Freud, “Allgemeines über den hysterischen Anfall” (“General +Remarks on Hysterical Seizures”) in _Sammlung kleiner Schriften zur +Neurosenlehre_, 2 Series, p. 146 et seq. + +[87] According to a pointed remark of Jung’s, this reversal in its +further mythical sublimation permits the approximation of the hero’s +life to the solar cycle (“Wandlungen und Symbole der Libido,” II Part, +_Jahrb. f. Psychoanalyse_, V, 1912, p. 253). + +[88] The second item of the schedule here enters into consideration: +the voluntary continence or prolonged separation of the parents, which +naturally induces the miraculous conception and virgin birth of the +mother. The abortion phantasies, which are especially distinct in the +Zoroaster legend, also belong under this heading. + +[89] The comparison of birth with a shipwreck, by the Roman poet +Lucretius, seems to be in perfect harmony with this symbolism: “Behold +the infant: Like a shipwrecked sailor, cast ashore by the fury of the +billows, the poor child lies naked on the ground, bereft of all means +for existence, after Nature has dragged him in pain from the mother’s +womb. With plaintive wailing he filleth the place of his birth, and +he is right, for many evils await him in life” (Lucretius, “De Nature +Rerum,” V, 222-227). Similarly, the first version of Schiller’s +“Robbers,” in speaking of Nature, says: “She endowed us with the spirit +of invention, when she exposed us naked and helpless on the shore of +the great Ocean, the World. Let him swim who may, and let the clumsy +perish!” + +[90] Compare the representation of this relation and its psychic +consequences, in Freud’s Significance of Dreams. + +[91] Some myths convey the impression as if the love relation with +the mother had been removed, as being too objectionable to the +consciousness of certain periods or peoples. Traces of this suppression +are still evident in a comparison of different myths or different +versions of the same myth. For example, in the version of Herodotus, +Kyros is a son of the daughter of Astyages, but according to the report +of Ktesias, he makes the daughter of Astyages, whom he conquers, his +wife, and kills her husband, who in the rendering of Herodotus is his +father. Compare Hüsing, “Contributions to the Kyros Legend,” XI. Also +a comparison of the saga of Darab, with the very similar legend of St. +Gregory, serves to show that in the Darab story the incest with the +mother is simply omitted, which otherwise precedes the recognition +of the son; here, on the contrary, the recognition prevents the +incest. This attenuation may be studied in the nascent state, as +it were, in the myth of Telephos, where the hero is married to his +mother, but recognizes her before the consummation of the incest. The +fairy-tale-like setting of the Tristan legend, which makes Isolde draw +the little Tristan from the water (_i.e._, give him birth), thereby +suggests the fundamental incest theme, which is likewise manifested in +the adultery with the wife of the uncle. + +The reader is referred to Rank’s paper, “Das Inzest Motiv in Dichtung +und Sage” (“The incest motive in fiction and legend”), in which the +incest theme, which is here merely mentioned, is discussed in detail, +picking up the many threads which lead to this theme, but which have +been dropped at the present time. + +[92] The mechanism of this defense is discussed in Freud’s “Hamlet +Analysis” (“Traumdeutung,” p. 183, annotation); also by Jones, _Am. Jl. +of Psychology_, 1911. + +[93] In regard to further meanings of the grandfather, compare +Freud, “Analysis of the Phobia of a 5-year-old Boy” (_Jahrbuch f. +Psychoanalyse_, I, 1909, p. 7378); also the contributions by Jones, +Abraham and Ferenzi (_Internat. Zeitschrift f. ärzt. Psychoanalyse_, +Vol. I, 1913, March number). + +[94] A similar identification of the father with God (heavenly +father, etc.) occurs, according to Freud, with the same regularity +in the fantasies of normal and pathological psychic activity as the +identification of the emperor with the father. It is also noteworthy in +this connection that almost all peoples derive their origin from their +god (Abraham, “Dream and Myth,” Monograph Series, No. 15). + +[95] An amusing example of unconscious humor in children recently ran +through the daily press: A politician had explained to his little +son that a tyrant is a man who forces others to do what he commands, +without heeding their wishes in the matter. “Well,” said the child, +“then you and mamma are also tyrants!” + +[96] See Max Müller, “Essais,” Vol. II (Leipzig, 1869), p. 20 et seq. +Concerning the various psychological contingencies of this setting, +compare p. 83 _et al._ of the author’s “Incest Book.” + +[97] Compare E. Meyer (_Bericht d. Kgl. preuss. Akad. d. Wiss._, XXXI, +1905, p. 640). The Moses legends and the Levites: “Presumably Moses +was originally the son of the tyrant’s daughter (who is now his foster +mother), and probably of divine origin.” The subsequent elaboration +into the present form is probably referable to national motives. + +[98] This idea which is derived from the knowledge of the neurotic +fantasy and symptom construction, was applied by Professor Freud to the +interpretation of the romantic and mythical work of poetic imagination, +in a lecture entitled: “Der Dichter und das Phantasieren” (Poets and +Imaginings) (Reprint, 2d series of Collected Short Articles), p. 1970. + +[99] For ethno-psychologic parallels and other infantile sexual +theories which throw some light upon the supplementary myth of the +hero’s procreation compare the author’s treatise in _Zentralblatt für +Psychoanalyse_, II, 1911, pp. 392-425. + +[100] The fairy tales, which have been left out of consideration in +the context, precisely on account of these complications, include +especially: “The Devil with the Three Golden Hairs” (Grimm, No. 29), +and the very similar “Saga of Emperor Henry III” (Grimm, Deutsche +Sagen, II, p. 177), “Water-Peter,” with numerous variations (Grimm, +III, p. 103), “Fundevogel,” No. 51, “The Three Birdies” (No. 96), +“The King of the Golden Mountain” (No. 92), with its parallels, as +well as some foreign fairy tales, which are quoted by Bauer, at the +end of his article. Compare also, in Hahn, “Greek and Albanese Fairy +Tales” (Leipsic, 1864), the review of the exposure stories and myths, +especially 20 and 69. + +[101] A connection is here supplied with the motive of the twins, in +which we seem to recognize the two boys born at the same time, one of +which dies for the sake of the other, be it directly after birth, or +later, and whose parents appear divided in our myths into two or more +parent couples. Concerning the probable significance of this shadowy +twin-brother as the after-birth, compare the author’s discussion in his +Incest Book (p. 457, etc.). + +[102] The early history of Sigurd, as it is related in the Völsunga +Saga (compare Rassmann, I, 99), closely resembles the Ktesian version +of the Kyros saga, giving us the tradition of another hero’s wonderful +career, together with its rational rearrangement. For particulars, see +Bauer, p. 554. Also the biblical history of Joseph (1 Moses, 37, et +seq.), with the exposure, the animal sacrifice, the dreams, the sketchy +brethren, and the fabulous career of this hero, seem to belong to this +type of myth. + +[103] In order to avoid misunderstandings, it appears necessary to +emphasize at this point the historical nucleus of certain hero-myths. +Kyros, as is shown by the inscriptions which have been discovered +(compare Duncker, p. 289, Bauer, p. 498), was descended from an +old hereditary royal house. It could not be the object of the myth +to elevate the descent of Kyros, nor must the above interpretation +be regarded as an attempt to establish a lowly descent of Kyros. +Similar conditions prevail in the case of Sargon, whose royal father +is also known (compare Jeremias, p. 410, annotation). Nevertheless, +an historian writes about Sargon as follows (Ungnad, “Die Anfänge +der Staatenbildung in Babylonien” (Beginnings of State Formation in +Babylonia), _Deutsche Rundschau_, July, 1905): “He was evidently +not of noble descent, or no such saga could have been woven about +his birth and his youth.” It would be a gross error to consider our +interpretation as an argument in this sense. Again, the apparent +contradiction which might be held up against our explanation, under +another mode of interpretation, becomes the proof of its correctness, +through the reflection that it is not the hero, but the average man +who makes the myth, and wishes to vindicate himself in the same. The +people imagine the hero in this manner, investing him with their own +infantile fantasies, irrespective of their actual compatibility or +incompatibility with historical facts. This also serves to explain the +transference of the typical motives, be it to several generations of +the same hero family, or be it to historical personalities in general +(concerning Cæsar, Augustus and others, compare Usener, Rhein. Mus. LV, +p. 271). + +[104] This identification of the families is carried through to the +minutest detail in certain myths, as for example in the Œdipus myth, +where one royal couple is offset by another, and where even the +herdsman who receives the infant for exposure has his exact counterpart +in the herdsman to whom he entrusts the rescue of the boy. + +[105] Compare Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, London, 1872 (In German +by Hartmann: Die Tiere in der indogermanischen Mythologie. Leipzig, +1874). Concerning the significance of animals in exposure myths, see +also the contributions by Bauer (p. 574 et seq.), Goldziher (p. 274) +and Liebrecht: Zur Volkskunde (Romulus und die Welfen) (Folk Lore, +Romulus and the Whelps), Heilbronn, 1879. + +[106] Compare Freud’s article on The Infantile Recurrence of Totemism +(Imago, Vol. II, 1913). Concerning the totemistic foundation of the +Roman she-wolf, compare Jones’ Nightmare (Alptraum), p. 59 et seq. The +woodpecker of the Romulus saga was discussed by Jung (_loc. cit._, p. +382 et seq.). + +[107] The stork is known also in mythology as the bringer of children. +Siecke (Liebesgesch. d. Himmels, p. 26) points out the swan as the +player of this part in certain regions and countries. The rescue and +further protection of the hero by a bird is not uncommon; compare +Gilgamos, Zal and Kyknos, who is exposed by his mother near the sea and +is nourished by a swan, while his son Tennes floats in a chest upon +the water. The interpretation of the leading motive of the Lohengrin +saga also enters into present consideration. Its most important motives +belong to this mythical cycle: Lohengrin floats in a skiff upon the +water, and is brought ashore by a swan. No one may ask whence he has +come: the sexual mystery of the origin of man must not be revealed +but it is replaced by the suggestion of the stork fable: the children +are fished from the water by the swan and are taken to the parents +in a box. Corresponding to the prohibition of all enquiries in the +Lohengrin saga, we find in other myths (for example, the Œdipus myth), +a _command to investigate_, or a riddle which must be _solved_. For +the psychological significance of the stork fable, compare Freud, +Infantile Sexual Theories. Concerning the Hero Myth, compare the +author’s extensive contribution to the elaboration of the motives and +the interpretation of the Lohengrin saga (Heft 13 of this collection, +Vienna and Leipzig, 1911). + +[108] Compare Freud: Analysis of the Phobia of a five year old Boy. +_Jahrbuch f. psychoanalyt. u. psychopath. Forschungen_, Vol. I, 1909. + +[109] Usener (Stoff des griechischen Epos, S. 53—Subject Matter of +Greek Epics, p. 53) says that the controversy between the earlier and +the later Greek sagas concerning the mother of a divinity is usually +reconciled by the formula that the mother of the general Greek saga is +recognized as such while the mother of the local tradition is lowered +to the rank of a nurse. There may therefore be unhesitatingly regarded +as the mother, not merely the nurse of the god Ares. + +[110] Abraham, _loc. cit._, p. 40; Riklin, _loc. cit._, p. 74. + +[111] Brief mention is made of a case concerning a Mrs. v. Hervay, +because of a few subtle psychological comments upon the same, by A. +Berger (Feuilleton der Neue Freie Presse, Nov. 6, 1904, No. 14,441) +which in part touch upon our interpretation of the hero myth. Berger +writes as follows: “I am convinced that she seriously believes herself +to be the illegitimate daughter of an aristocratic Russian lady. The +desire to belong through birth to more distinguished and brilliant +circles than her own surroundings probably dates back to her early +years; and her wish to be a princess gave rise to the delusion that she +was not the daughter of her parents, but the child of a noblewoman who +had concealed her illegitimate offspring from the world by letting her +grow up as the daughter of a sleight-of-hand man. Having once become +entangled in these fancies, it was natural for her to interpret any +harsh word that offended her, or any accidental ambiguous remark that +she happened to hear, but especially her reluctance to be the daughter +of this couple, as a confirmation of her romantic delusion. She +therefore made it the task of her life to regain the social position of +which she felt herself to have been defrauded. Her biography manifests +the strenuous insistence upon this idea, with a tragic outcome.” + +The female type of the family romance, as it confronts us in this case +from the a-social side, has also been transmitted as a hero myth in +isolated instances. The story goes of the later Queen Semiramis (in +Diodos, II, 4) that her mother, the goddess Derketo, being ashamed of +her, exposed the child in a barren and rocky land, where she was fed +by doves and found by shepherds, who gave the infant to the overseer +of the royal flocks, the childless Simmas, who raised her as his own +daughter. He named her Semiramis, which means Dove in the Syrian +language. Her further career, up to her autocratic rulership, thanks to +her masculine energy, is a matter of history. + +Other exposure myths are told of Atalante, Kybele, and Aërope (v. +Roscher). + +[112] Freud: Three Contributions to the Sexual Theory, Nervous +and Mental Disease Monograph, No. 7. Also: Psychopathologie des +Altagslebens, II ed., Berlin, 1909. Also: Hysterische Phantasien und +ihre Beziehung zur Bisexualität. + +[113] This is especially evident in the myths of the Greek gods, where +the son (Kronos, Zeus) must first remove the father, before he can +enter upon his rulership. The form of the removal, namely through +castration, obviously the strongest expression of the revolt against +the father, is at the same time the proof of its sexual provenance. +Concerning the revenge character of this castration, as well as the +infantile significance of the entire complex, compare Freud, Infantile +Sexual Theories and Analysis of the Phobia of a five year old Boy +(Jahrbuch f. Psychoanalyse). + +[114] Compare the contrast between Tell and Parricida, in Schiller’s +Wilhelm Tell, which is discussed in detail in the author’s Incest Book. + +[115] Compare in this connection the unsuccessful homicidal attempt of +Tatjana Leontiew, and its subtle psychological illumination in Wittels: +Die sexuelle Not (Vienna and Leipzig, 1909). +CHIEF'S FATE *** + + + + + THE + Phantom Rider; + OR, + THE GIANT CHIEF’S FATE. + + + A Tale of the Old Dahcotah Country. + + + BY MARO O. ROLFE, + Author of Pocket Novel No. 47, “The Man Hunter.” + + + NEW YORK. + BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, + 98 WILLIAM STREET. + + Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by + FRANK STARR & CO., + In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + I Vinnie’s Peril 9 + II Clancy Vere and His Trouble 14 + III Vinnie’s Stratagem 19 + IV The Phantom Warrior 25 + V The Maybob Twins 30 + VI Out in the Storm 36 + VII Over the Precipice! 41 + VIII The giant’s Story 48 + IX Lost in the Forest 56 + X A Baffled Vengeance 61 + XI A Welcome Visitor 67 + XII The Forest Rose 75 + XIII The Face at the Window 78 + XIV Vinnie a Prisoner 81 + XV What the Scouts Found 87 + XVI The Phantom Rider! 91 + XVII A Reunion of Hearts 95 + XVIII Conclusion 100 + + + + + THE PHANTOM RIDER; + OR, + THE GIANT CHIEF’S FATE. + + + + + CHAPTER I. + VINNIE’S PERIL. + + +The scene of our story is laid in the great North-west. + +It was a bleak, windy day in November. The shrill blasts wailed through +the forest trees like the last despairing cry of a lost spirit, and gust +after gust beat and roared around the little log cabin standing so +silent and lonely, half buried in the midst of the Titanic oaks that +spread their long branches protectingly over its low roof, and whose +sturdy trunks environed it, seeming to keep silent and untiring guard +over its four rough walls. + +The scene within the cabin was in striking contrast with the wild aspect +without. + +It was a rude but homelike place, and despite the chinked walls and +rough furniture, there was such an air of plain comfort as one might +expect to see in the abode of the sturdy western pioneer. + +A young girl sat by a table engaged in embroidering a broad strip of +dressed deer-skin with fancifully colored beads and quills—a blue-eyed, +slender-looking little woman with shining masses of golden-brown hair +falling unconfined about her small, shapely head, and down over her +shoulders until it reached the waist of her dress, which fitted her +willowy form to perfection, and whose ample folds half concealed, half +disclosed a small, neatly-clad foot and well-turned ankle. + +Her sunny blue eyes held a soft, loving light, and a bright smile played +continually upon her dainty face and around her rosy little mouth, with +its ripe lips half parted from the rows of small white teeth. + +But the azure eyes could flash with courage and determination, and the +pretty mouth could be hard and stern with its strawberry lips tightly +drawn and its tiny, gleaming teeth hard-set. + +The settler’s daughter was very lovely, and she possessed a nerve and +courage far beyond her sex. + +A tall, powerfully-made man of fifty stood near the great wide-mouthed +fire-place, in which a ruddy blaze leapt and glowed fantastically, +shedding a pleasant radiance over the homely place that could not but be +grateful to one who, like Emmett Darke, was preparing to leave it and go +out into the wind and cold of the chill November day. But the settler, +long used to the perils of border life, thought little of this. + +His sharp gray eye and firm through pleasant mouth bespoke indomitable +courage and strength of will; and as he stood there in the red glow of +the dancing firelight, buckling on his deer-skin belt in which he thrust +the borderman’s trusty companion, a long, keen-edged hunting-knife, with +a brace of heavy pistols, he looked the personification of the ideal +hunter of the far western wilds. + +A huge blood-hound lay on the floor at his feet—a large, red-eyed +creature with white, gleaming teeth—a brute that might be a true and +faithful friend, but could not but be a terribly dangerous enemy. + +The object in the room most likely to attract the attention of a casual +observer was a small square box of polished wood, standing on the table. + +Besides the tall clock ticking in a corner, this casket was the only +visible thing that bore evidence of having been made by hands more +skilled than those of the settler, or with tools other than those common +implements ever ready at the pioneer’s grasp, the ax and the auger. + +What this curious little box contained, will appear hereafter. + +Soon the hunter’s preparations were completed, and slinging a long +rifle, which he had taken down from its place on three pegs in the wall, +across his shoulders, he turned to his daughter who had wound the soft +deer-skin belt, upon which she had wrought innumerable fancy devices, +gracefully about her waist and shoulders, and stood regarding him with a +merry light sparkling in her blue eyes. + +“How do I look, papa?” she asked. “Like some dusky forest princess?” + +And she finished by placing a jaunty turban in which were fastened +several bright-colored plumes, which drooped down until they touched her +beautiful golden hair, coquettishly on her head. + +“More like a regular angel, wings and all!” he exclaimed, admiringly: +for Emmett Darke loved his beautiful motherless child more than his +life. “That hair and those eyes of yours don’t look very Injiny. +Wouldn’t that red lover of yours go wild if he saw you now? I don’t +wonder he’s half-crazy and calls you ‘Sun-Hair!’ How about that +youngster, Clancy Vere, eh, Vinnie? Has he an eye to beauty?” + +The maiden blushed rosy red; but the laughing eyes became thoughtful in +a moment. + +“Do you know, papa, that I often think of him—the Indian? Oh, if he +should come some day when you are gone! He is wild and bloodthirsty and +his passions are ungovernable. He has taken a solemn vow to make me his +wife!” + +“He shall never fulfill that vow!” cried the old man, with a dangerous +light in his cold gray eyes. “I’ll have his life, first! If he comes +here again I’ll give him a free pass to the happy hunting-grounds!” + +Emmett Darke’s face was almost white with rage, and he brought the heavy +stock of his long rifle down on the floor with a sharp bang. + +“Just so sure as that red devil has the misfortune to be caught anywhere +near my cabin, I will shoot him down like the coward he is! My daughter +is never to become a squaw, eh, Vinnie?” + +“Never, father! Never will I become the Indian’s wife! I would sooner +shed my own heart’s blood!” + +She spoke so calmly and yet determinedly that her father half-shuddered. +He knew that she meant every word, and he breathed an inward prayer that +God would watch over his lonely child and guard her from all peril +during his absence. + +The hunter stood silent and motionless for a few moments, thinking +intently. Arousing himself at length, he said, turning to the +blood-hound, who was on his feet in an instant, running around him and +licking his hands: + +“Come, Death! We must go.” + +In a few minutes they had passed out, and were walking rapidly and +silently through the forest. + +As Darke went away, a face appeared among the thick bushes close by the +cabin—a red face, hideously daubed with black and yellow paint, with +long, coarse black hair, hanging down the sunken jaws, and fierce black +eyes flashing triumph and exultation as the hunter disappeared from +view. Darke did not see this face, and the bushes closed over it in a +moment, concealing it as suddenly as it had appeared. + +After her father was gone, Vinnie went and stood before the fireplace, +looking down into the red mass of leaping flames. + +She was deeply buried in thought, and she heard no sound save the +hissing of the fire and the wailing of the wind around the corners of +the cabin, and through the bare branches of the great oaks outside. + +She little thought what a lovely picture she made as she stood thus, +silent and motionless—one might almost imagine breathless—with a dreamy, +far-off look in her soft eyes, and the glancing blaze lighting up her +fair face till she looked, in fantastic guise, like some beautified +Fairy queen, some incomparable silvan goddess. + +Rarely, radiantly lovely she appeared, strangely out of place in that +homely room. + +She was unconscious of this—unconscious, also, of another presence in +the cabin until the back-log fell suddenly with a dull thud, throwing +out a shower of red sparks and arousing her on the instant from the fit +of abstraction into which she had fallen. + +With a quick start, she turned her head and saw a tall form close behind +her—so near that it might easily have touched her. + +It was the form of an Indian, powerful and massive. The face was the +same that had peered through the shrubbery at Emmett Darke a few minutes +before. + +There was a strange light glowing in the fierce eyes fixed so steadily +on the lovely face before him—a look of wild passion as dangerous as it +was intense. + +The savage did not speak nor even stir; but the hard, cruel lines on his +forehead and about his mouth relaxed a little as he tried to twist his +ugly visage into the semblance of a smile—a semblance that was even more +loathsome than its habitual scowl—that was nearer the leer of an +exultant fiend than the smile of a human being. + +Vinnie’s face was deathly pale, and her heart seemed for a moment to lay +still in her bosom; but she tried to meet the gaze of those devilish +eyes calmly. She stood quite still, looking into the cruel face, but she +dared not trust her voice. + +The Indian spoke at length, in a tone harsh and rasping, like the snarl +of some wild animal: + +“Ku-nan-gu-no-nah has come for his squaw. Sun-Hair is very beautiful. +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah is a mighty warrior. He has always loved the white +maiden since he met her in the forest many moons ago. The great chief’s +heart has been burning for Sun-Hair. He has prepared his wigwam. It is +hung around with the scalps of his slain foes. Sun-Hair will be a queen. +The Indian women will bow down their heads in shame before the beautiful +Sun-Hair! Is she ready? Will she go with the great chief? His warriors +are waiting to see their queen!” + +For a moment Vinnie did not speak, then the words came clear and sharp +from her white lips: + +“No! I will never go!” + +The chief’s face was fairly demoniac in an instant—the sickish leer was +gone, and the savage teeth shone through the drawn lips in two white, +gleaming rows. He advanced with a quick motion, and laid his hand +roughly on her arm. + +“Come!” said the harsh voice, “Sun-Hair must go!” + + + + + CHAPTER II. + CLANCY VERE AND HIS TROUBLE. + + +“Here I am!” + +It was a young man who spoke, standing on the bank of a small stream +that had its course through the forest at a point about two miles +distant, as a bird flies, from Emmett Darke’s cabin. + +He was tall and well-formed, with hazel eyes and dark-brown hair. His +face was clear-cut and handsome, open and frank in its expression, while +it indicated a goodly stock of firmness and courage. + +This is Clancy Vere, the young hunter, an allusion to whom had brought +the rich blood to Vinnie’s face that very afternoon. + +He was clad in a complete suit of dressed deer-skin, elaborately +ornamented about the shoulders with bright-colored beads and quills, his +hunting-shirt being gathered about his waist with a wide belt from which +protruded the stock of a heavy revolver and the silver-mounted hilt of a +long bowie-knife, while a powder-horn and bullet-pouch were slung by a +leathern cord under his left arm. + +As he spoke, he dropped the butt of his rifle, a trim, +beautifully-mounted weapon, until it rested on the turf at his feet; +then he stood leaning on it for a long time, looking intently down into +the depths of the eddying stream before him. + +He was thinking—of a girl with blue eyes and golden brown hair—of Emmett +Darke’s beautiful daughter, Vinnie. + +Clancy Vere loved Vinnie devotedly, and not hopelessly, she had led him +to think; though, as yet, he had never made any formal declaration of +his passion. + +Still, as a look is oftentimes fraught with more meaning than the most +high-sounding speech, and the pioneer’s daughter had not, upon certain +occasions which he could recall, been chary of these looks, Vere was +very far from being despondent. + +He lived at a small settlement a half-dozen miles away, and had set out +that morning to visit the cabin of the hunter. His errand there may be +easily surmised. + +He had proceeded thus far on his way without adventure worthy of note, +and intended to cross the stream in a canoe that he knew Darke kept +concealed in the undergrowth at a place a hundred yards below the spot +where he now stood. + +So intent was he upon his musings, that he heard no sound save the +rippling of the water and the roar of the wind through the trees. + +He did not see the bushes part close behind him and a dusky form emerge +from its concealment, to be followed by another, then another, until six +Indians had entered the little grassy space in which he was standing, +and began stealthily to take different positions around him until his +chances of escape were cut off on all sides. + +He was brought to realize his situation in a moment. + +A chorus of shrill, exultant yells rung out on every hand. + +He turned on the instant, and his quick eye measured the strength of his +savage foes. They were too near at hand for him to bring his rifle to +bear; but gripping it firmly around the barrel, he brought the ponderous +stock down on his nearest assailant, crushing in his skull like an +egg-shell. + +There was a muffled thud as the deadly weight fell a second time, and +another savage sunk over on the ground without a groan. + +An Indian was creeping up stealthily behind him. As Vere raised his +clubbed rifle a third time, throwing it high above his head, in order +that the blow might be more effective, the savage, who had been +crouching down on the ground a moment close beside him, sprung high in +the air, and clutching the gun-barrel near the lock, wrenched it from +the young hunter’s hands just as it began to descend. + +This quick, hard pull upon the weapon, which he gripped with all his +strength, caused him to stagger a trifle, and before he could regain his +footing and draw his bowie-knife, the three remaining Indians sprung +upon him and bore him to the ground. + +In a moment his elbows were pinioned behind his back, and his weapons +were transferred from his belt to those of his captors. + +They pulled him roughly to his feet, and an Indian took his place on +either side, leading him along by the arms. The brave who had disarmed +him walked behind, while the remaining savage, who was evidently a +warrior of some importance, to judge from the number of eagle’s feathers +which ornamented his head and the many trophies of the war-path and the +chase which were hung about his neck and secured to his belt, led the +way up the stream, pausing ever and anon to give some guttural command +in his native dialect to his followers, who clutched their captive’s +arms firmly, as if they feared that, bound and almost helpless as he +was, he would attempt to escape. + +They had seen evidence of his prowess, and wisely concluded that he was +a safer prisoner well guarded than when allowed to walk alone. + +For an hour they kept on, over fallen trees and heaps of rock, through +tangled masses of undergrowth, now bearing a little to the right, then +to the left; but always keeping within hearing of the stream, whose +monotonous murmurings seemed to grow louder and hoarser as they +proceeded, until they changed to a wild, sullen roar, like the impetuous +rushing and dashing of a cataract. + +At length, after a long silence, the leader of the party turned toward +Vere and said, impressively: + +“Does the pale-face hear the song of the waterfall? It is chanting his +death-song! The black waters laugh because they will swallow up the +pale-face!” + +Soon the sun appeared through an opening in the leaden gray clouds that +had drifted lazily through the sky until they were gathered together in +a dark, lowering mass overhead, and its bright rays trembled for a +moment upon the surface of the water. + +“See!” continued the Indian, pointing to the falls just visible through +the trees. “See the waters smile! They laugh because the red men will +give them a pale-face victim! Let the white man hear them sing! ‘Ha! +ha!’ they say, ‘the pale-face must die!’ It is his death chant! The +great Manitou is speaking through the laughing waters. He is happy with +his red children when a pale-face dies. The white hunter is brave. He is +not afraid to fight. But his heart will grow small within his bosom when +he must go down into the black waters—the river of death! Will he be +brave when he meets the unknown dangers of the dark valley? He will find +it hard to die now. He is young and the world looks bright to his eyes. +Perhaps a white woman will weep when he is dead. The Indian women have +mourned for their husbands and brothers when they have gone out to fight +the Long-knives and never returned. The laughing waters are crying aloud +for their victim. The white man must die!” + +“We all must die,” said Vere, calmly, not caring to show the concern he +really felt. “Men have died before, why should I fear death?” + +An expression of surprise flitted over the Indian’s painted face. + +Few men could meet death so calmly. + +The young hunter had resolved not to die without a desperate struggle; +but he preferred that his captors should think him resigned to his +fate—the horrible fate which seemed inevitable. + +A few rods above the falls a tree grew far out over the water, rushing +madly to the cataract below. + +The bank at this point was rough and jagged, its steep and rocky sides +jutting out full twenty feet above the black, roaring mass underneath. + +The party halted here. + +“The pale-face hunter’s feet must be tied,” said the Indian who had +spoken before. “He must not fight with the laughing waters.” + +Producing a stout leathern thong, about twelve feet in length, one of +the savages advanced to coil it around the captive’s ankles. + +As he stooped, Vere drew his foot back suddenly and planted it with +tremendous force squarely in his face, flattening his long nose and +knocking out several of his sharp white teeth. + +The Indian rolled over on the ground with a wild screech. + +The pain was terrible, and he lay for a moment, pressing his disfigured +face and giving utterance to a series of hoarse, agonized groans. + +Then he sprung up suddenly with a wild yell of rage and vengeance. + +He was upon Vere in an instant, his long fingers entwined in his hair +and his scalping-knife circling with lightning rapidity around his head. + +The young hunter’s arms were securely pinioned. + +He was utterly powerless in the red fiend’s hands. + +Death—sudden and terrible—seemed certain; but he did not flinch. + +His fearless eye was fixed on the Indian’s face, and his own did not +change when he felt the keen knife-point pricking the skin upon the +crown of his head. + +He was not afraid to die. + +He thought of the terrible, because unknown life beyond the grave—and of +Vinnie! + +Would she weep when he was gone? + +He trusted so, and stood calmly awaiting the great change. + + + + + CHAPTER III. + VINNIE’S STRATAGEM. + + +Vinnie’s face was very pale, but she did not cry out. A wild fear, an +awful terror, was tugging at her heart, but she would not give way to +it. She knew she would need all her native courage and coolness in the +ordeal which she foresaw she must endure. + +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah’s hand retained its rough grip on her arm, and his +harsh voice repeated: + +“Come. Sun-Hair must go!” + +Resistance would, she knew, be of no avail. It would only serve to +arouse the Indian’s passions to a still higher pitch of intensity—to +make him, if possible, still more demoniac, and still more determined +than ever to fulfill his vow, and carry out his intention to abduct and +bear her away to his wigwam. + +She must have recourse to stratagem. + +So, to gain time, she said as calmly as possible, but with a wild +throbbing at her heart which she tried in vain to still: + +“So the great chief loves the pale-face maiden? He would make her a +queen? He would spend his whole life to make her happy? Is it not so?” + +“Yes,” he said, eagerly. “Ku-nan-gu-no-nah loves Sun-Hair as the bird +loves its mate. He will always make her happy. She shall never know what +it is to weep. Her life shall always be pleasant. It shall be like a day +when the green grass is new on the ground, and the dancing waters, freed +from their cold bonds of ice, are laughing in the bright sunlight.” + +“And my life shall be like one long day in the bright spring-time?” she +said, as bravely as she could, smiling through all her fear. + +“Yes,” again said the chief, with a searching look in her white face. + +He had expected tears and opposition, and he received instead, smiles, +and apparent acquiescence, and he was surprised and partially thrown off +his guard. + +“May be the white maiden will go with her Indian lover,” said Vinnie. +“Give her time to think. It is very hard for her to leave her home and +her kind old father. Does the chief think he can make Sun-Hair happier +than she has been here? Can he make her forget her father and her home?” + +“Did not Ku-nan-gu-no-nah tell the beautiful Sun-Hair that she should be +a queen? She shall wear robes as dazzling as the light of the sun. She +need not work like the Indian women. She need do nothing but sit and +sing like a bird all day long. The red-women will bow their heads in +shame before her bright face, and the warriors will sing songs about her +beauty. They will think of their beautiful queen when they go on the +war-path, and they will always return with the scalps of their dead +enemies hanging in their belts. What more can Sun-Hair wish?” + +“I think I will go,” said the girl, slowly. “Only give me time to +think.” + +“Ugh! It is well!” grunted Ku-nan-gu-no-nah, with another of his sickish +smiles. Then frowning darkly, and with a significant tap on the handle +of his tomahawk: + +“But Sun-Hair no fool the chief! If she does he will kill her! She can’t +get away. Take care!” + +The Indian let her free now; and he sat down on a low stool near the +door, as if half fearing some treachery on Vinnie’s part, but he was +pretty well assured, after all, that she would go with him without much +resistance. Vinnie stood for some time, striving to think of some plan +by which she might escape the Indian, who watched her every motion from +under his heavy, overhanging brows, as closely as a cat watches a mouse. + +There was such a look of half-suspicious triumph on his dark face and in +his cruel eyes as is sometimes seen in the eyes of the panther, as it +sits quietly by, watching its prey, and suffering it to live and exult +in a few moments more of life that the moment of its annihilation, when +it comes suddenly and unlooked for, may be the harder to bear. + +But the poor girl rejected plan after plan as impracticable. At one time +she thought of making some excuse to enter an adjoining apartment and +secure a pistol which she knew her father kept there; but she feared +that the savage would discover her intention and tomahawk her at once. +Then she contemplated making a rush for the door at the cabin and +escaping into the forest; but her reason told her that the chief would +overtake her before she was fairly outside the door. + +At last, when she had nearly given up in despair, a thought suggested +itself to her brain—how, she never knew, it was so wild and strange—that +made her heart leap with a newborn hope—a hope that she might yet outwit +her captor and gain time until something—she know not what—should +intervene to save her from the fate he had marked out for her. + +She sat down by the table and opened the small box of polished wood, of +which mention was made in our first chapter, the Indian watching her the +while from his place near the door. + +This casket, on being opened, prove to be a small galvanic battery; and +Vinnie was but a moment preparing it for action. + +When all was in readiness, she took a pair of electric slippers from a +drawer in the table and placed them beside the battery. + +Then, knowing the superstition of the Indian race, she arose, and waving +her hands several times very slowly around her head, seemed to be +invoking a charm. Her eyes were fixed apparently on vacancy, and she +stood motionless for several minutes; then smiling sweetly, she turned +to Ku-nan-gu-no-nah, who had advanced to the center of the room, and +stood regarding her mystic performance with a sort of awed wonder, she +said in a low, soft voice, that sounded to him like the murmuring of a +distant brooklet: + +“Does the chief know that the Great Manitou has given the white maiden a +mysterious power, greater than is possessed by any of the Indian +medicine-men? Would Ku-nan-gu-no-nah like to see evidence of the white +maiden’s power?” + +The Indian stood quite still while she was speaking, with a look of +mingled doubt and awe on his face. At last he said in his harsh voice: + +“Ugh! Let Ku-nan-gu-no-nah see what Sun-Hair can do. She is not a great +medicine-woman. There is but one who has a mighty power from the Great +Spirit, and that is Yon-da-do, the great conjuror of my tribe. Sun-Hair +can’t get away. The chief will kill her if she tries. Let +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah see!” + +“Let the chief look and be convinced!” + +Vinnie attached the slippers to the conductors leading from the battery, +and set them side by side on the cabin floor. + +Then, taking up her position behind the table, she commenced to operate +the machine slowly at first, then faster, until the slippers began to +skip about, dancing a sort of shuffle, which caused the Indian’s face to +take on a look of still greater wonder. + +“See,” she said, turning the little crank faster, causing the magic +slippers to jump higher and oftener than before. “Do you longer doubt my +power? You, Ku-nan-gu-no-nah, strong brave though you are, can not hold +those dancing moccasins when I command them to move!” + +The chief’s face lighted up in an instant with a look of scorn and +contempt. No one had ever doubted his strength before. Surely he could +hold those skipping bits of leather. + +“Look!” he said. “Let Sun-Hair see the chief hold them so fast they can +not tremble.” + +He stooped down and raised them from the floor, holding one in each +hand. + +He clutched them firmly, and then went on: + +“See the chief hold them. A pappoose could do it. See—” + +His words were cut short suddenly, the slippers dropped from his hands, +and with a wild shriek of terror, he ran to the further side of the +room. + +He stood motionless several minutes, his dusky face the picture of blank +amazement, looking at the palms of his hands as if he would see what had +acted upon them with such powerful effect. He could not conceal his +chagrin as Vinnie said, tauntingly; + +“Ku-nan-gu-no-nah is a great brave. He is very strong. He can not hold a +pair of moccasins. They jump out of his hands, and he runs away like a +whipped dog! The big chief is very strong. What a warrior he must be!” + +“It is a lie!” yelled the Indian, almost beside himself with rage and +mortification. “I _can_ hold the dancing moccasins!” + +“Try it,” said the beautiful magician, sententiously. Ku-nan-gu-no-nah +advanced timidly, and took the slippers up daintily between his thumbs +and fore-fingers. + +“Get a firm hold,” said Vinnie. “You will need all of your boasted +strength. Ku-nan-gu-no-nah, a great chief and a brave warrior, has said +that a pappoose could hold the dancing moccasins. Let us see if he can +do what a pappoose could do. He says that Sun-Hair has no mysterious +power, more terrible than that of the Indian medicine-man, Yon-da-do. He +will see. Is he ready?” + +The savage gripped the magic slippers with all his strength, seeming +determined that this time he would give the fair conjuror no opportunity +to taunt him with lack of success. + +“Ugh!” he grunted, “Ku-nan-gu-no-nah is ready.” + +“You have them fast now, have you?” + +Vinnie could not repress a smile as he answered, clutching the electric +slippers tighter than before: + +“Yes; they not stir now.” + +She muttered a few words in a low tone, passing her hands backward and +forward before her face, and commanded the slippers to dance. + +At the same instant she set the battery in action, and the chief’s +hands, acted upon by the electricity, which she had made more powerful +than before, seemed to clutch the slippers like a vise. + +A horrible expression of mingled rage and pain crossed his distorted +face, and he gave utterance to a shrill scream of fear and agony that +might have been heard, so loud and resonant was it, fully a mile away. + +At last Vinnie ceased to turn the machine, and Ku-nan-gu-no-nah reeled +back and sunk down in a corner of the cabin almost exhausted. + +His eyes rolled wildly in their sockets, his mouth twitched nervously, +his long, coarse black hair stood half-erect, and he trembled with an +awful, superstitious fear in every fiber of his being. + +“What does the chief think now of the white maiden’s power?” asked +Vinnie. “What does he think of the little box and the dancing moccasins? +Where now is his vaunted strength? Can the great brave do what a +pappoose can do? Does he want to try again?” + +“No! No!” panted Ku-nan-gu-no-nah, with chattering teeth. “Sun-Hair is a +great conjuror. She has a power from the Great Spirit! She has a +_devil-box_, and moccasins such as are worn where the Long-knives go +when they die—where there is fire always! Hell, they call it. The white +maiden is a greater conjuror than Yon-da-do. She has a _devil-box_ and +_hell-moccasins_!” + +At this moment there were sounds of footfalls outside the door. The +noise came nearer, and there was a sharp, scratching sound on the door +like that produced by some keen-pointed instrument. + +Vinnie felt a terrible fear forcing its way to her heart. + +“My God!” she thought. “What if it should be some of Ku-nan-gu-no-nah’s +warriors? Would they show me any mercy after the trick I have played on +their chief?” + +The scratching noise was repeated, louder than before, and she could see +the heavy door tremble. With a white face, she stood awaiting—she knew +not what! + +The Indian still cowered down in the corner, apparently heedless of what +was passing around him. + + + + + CHAPTER IV. + THE PHANTOM WARRIOR. + + +But it was not fated that Clancy Vere should die by the scalping-knife. + +The Indian who had acted as the leader of the party leaped forward with +a sharp cry, and with a quick blow of his powerful hand, sent the knife +flying from the maddened brave’s grasp into the water tossing and +roaring twenty feet below. + +“What would Bear-Killer do?” he said, giving the baffled savage a sudden +push that sent him staggering back against the tree. “Has he forgotten +the laws of our nation? Does he forget that the great chiefs have said +that when a number of warriors take a captive all shall have a share in +putting him to death?” + +Bear-Killer was cowed; but he stood with lowering brows, glowering upon +the young hunter with a look of fierce hatred that made him appear, with +his dark face bruised and bleeding, absolutely diabolical. + +“Wy-an-da is right,” he said, at length. “Bear-Killer forgot. The +pale-face must die hard! Bear-Killer must be avenged!” + +“We will give the white hunter to the laughing waters,” said Wy-an-da. +“He must die!” + +“He must die!” + +The four Indians repeated these three ominous words in a hoarse chorus, +and began to circle slowly around the captive, brandishing their +tomahawks and knives furiously and screaming the wild scalp-halloo of +their tribe. + +Several minutes passed thus, Vere standing in the circle of screeching +braves calm and unmoved; then all became suddenly silent, standing still +and dropping their hands by their sides as if moved by a common impulse. + +“Is the pale-face ready to die?” asked Wy-an-da. + +“I have said that I do not fear death!” replied the young hunter, +calmly. “I am ready!” + +The last faint ray of hope was extinguished now. He was bound and +helpless—they could do with him as they would; and as calmly as possible +he resigned himself to his fate—the horrible fate that seemed +inevitable! + +“Wy-an-da will tell the pale-face hunter how he must die,” said the +chief. “It is not a pleasant death. He will be afraid. His heart will +grow small within his bosom and his face will be white as the snow in +winter. He will not like to die so. Will he be brave at the last +moment?” + +“I tell you I am ready to die!” shouted Vere. + +He knew that the savage was trying to torture him, and he would not let +him see what pain it really gave him—the anticipation of this sudden and +terrible departure from the life that had just begun to seem so happy to +him. + +“Why do you wait?” he added, stolidly. “I tell you I am ready!” + +“It is well,” said Wy-an-da. “The white hunter is a brave man. He shall +die thus: he will be hung by a lasso, head downward, from the branch of +that tree there that reaches out over the laughing waters. Then the +Indian that can throw his tomahawk the truest will cut the lasso, and +the white man will fall down and the laughing waters will sweep him over +the rocks. Then his body will be dashed to pieces on the sharp stones +below! Is it pleasant to think of? Will the pale-face be brave?” + +This speech was greeted by a chorus of satisfied grunts from the +savages. + +A shudder ran through Vere’s frame and his spirits sunk as he heard the +chief pronounce his fearful doom; but it was only for a moment. Then he +appeared calm and apparently unmoved. + +A more diabolical torture could not well be conceived. + +It was terrible—this standing face to face with death; but the young +hunter showed no signs of fear. + +Five minutes later he was swinging, head downward, over that black flood +hastening on with a wild roar to the precipice below. + +The chill autumn wind, wailing in fitful gusts through the forest trees, +his body gave an oscillating motion, and it seemed, as he swayed at that +dizzy height, as if every vibration would precipitate him into the water +below. + +After the lasso was securely fastened to the protruding branch, the +Indians drew back about twenty paces from their swinging victim and +prepared for their trial of skill in hurling the tomahawk. + +Each was anxious to have the first throw. + +At length it was decided that Wy-an-da should have the precedence. + +He took his place with a confident air, like one who is assured of +success. + +Carefully noting the distance, he drew his tomahawk back, and, taking +deliberate aim, gave it a quick jerk; and it went whirling out of his +hand. + +They watched its flight eagerly. + +It missed the lasso by six inches. + +The swaying hunter was saved thus far. + +He had been watching Wy-an-da as he only could look whose life hung on +the issue. + +He closed his eyes as he saw the weapon whizzing through the air, and +awaited the end. + +A tall Indian of massive frame stepped forward. + +“O-wan-ton try,” he said. + +He measured the space accurately with his keen eye; but his tomahawk +flew wide of its mark, burying itself to the eye in the limb to which +the lasso was secured. + +The victim of the laughing waters was saved again. + +Next came Wolf-Nail. + +The young hunter watched him with a white face and a heart wild with +despair. + +He stepped forward slowly, and hurled his tomahawk without much care. + +The swinging cord was a difficult target. + +Vere felt the lasso jerk, and thought the end had come. + +But he was saved again. + +The handle of the tomahawk struck the lasso, and the weapon glanced off +and fell with a muffled splash into the water. + +Bear-Killer was the last to try. + +He was yet half-wild with rage; and with the blood still streaming from +his disfigured face, he made ready to hurl his tomahawk, hoping to sate +his vengeance and send the young hunter to eternity. + +Vere was looking at him, and his heart seemed for a moment to stop its +pulsations. + +This time death seemed certain. + +He saw that the red demon did not intend to throw at the cord. + +He was taking deliberate aim at his head! + +The young hunter saw him draw back his weapon, and closed his eyes. + +There was a moment of terrible agony to the man vibrating, as it were, +between earth and eternity—and then all became dark! + +He seemed to be shooting down—down—and he knew no more. + +He had fainted. + +Those few terrible moments of suspense—ages they seemed to him—had been +more than he could bear. The constantly tightening noose around his +ankles was excruciatingly painful, and the position in which he hung +caused the blood to flow to his head. None but a man young and strong +like Vere could have retained his consciousness so long as he had done. + +Bear-Killer was exultant. A moment more, and his fiend-like longing for +vengeance would be satisfied. + +He noted the distance carefully with his practiced eye, and with a grim +smile of triumph on his blood-streaked face, raised his tomahawk and +prepared to make the fatal throw. + +Suddenly a wild, unearthly cry, like a prolonged wail, rung out on the +wind, sounding strangely ghastly above its moanings. + +Bear-Killer’s tomahawk slipped from his grasp, and a sickly pallor +overspread his face, and those of his companions blanched to an ashen +hue. + +The four Indians gave utterance to wild cries of fear and consternation. + +“_The Spirit Warrior! The Spirit Warrior!_” + +A white steed was flying across a small opening in the forest directly +toward them, and mounted upon its bare back, guiding it with neither +bridle nor reins, rode a ghastly human skeleton of gigantic proportions. + +With cries of terror, the stricken little band of savages turned to fly. + +On came the terrible Phantom Rider with the speed of the wind! + +As it drew near, it sprung up suddenly, and standing upright on the back +of its flying steed, threw something round and black high in the air; +then, with another unearthly scream, rode on and disappeared in the +forest. + +The thing went up with a hissing noise, a broad, brilliant streak of +flame marking its course, and then fell with a terrific explosion in the +very midst of the Indians. + +Then there came a chorus of agonized shrieks, and three of the savages +were laid dead on the ground. + +Bear-Killer escaped, and fled with a loud, terrified howl into the +forest. + +The dead Indians were horribly mangled, and Wy-an-da’s head was blown a +rod from his body. + +Then all was silent save the roaring cataract and soughing wind. + +Not a being was in sight, save the unconscious one who swung by a small +cord between this life and the one beyond the grave! + + + + + CHAPTER V. + THE MAYBOB TWINS. + + +Emmett Darke went into the forest in search of game; and he was +successful, for in an hour’s time he had shot and dressed a large buck. + +He only took the choicest portions of the deer, which he rolled +carefully up in the skin, leaving the remainder to the wolves, panthers, +and other beasts of prey that infested the forest. He bound the pelt +around the meat he had selected by means of deer-skin thongs through a +firmly tied loop, in which he thrust his gun-barrel; and throwing his +burden across his shoulder, set out for home. + +He was very anxious to reach the cabin; for he could not keep his mind +from dwelling on his conversation with Vinnie that afternoon, and he did +not like to leave her alone longer than was necessary. + +The blood-hound, Death, who had rendered his master valuable service in +securing the deer, trotted along after him, as if pleased with the idea +of returning to the cabin so soon. + +The hunter had proceeded but a short distance, however, when he met with +an accident that nearly cost him his life. + +As the afternoon advanced, the chill November wind blew harder and +colder, till its moanings changed to a fierce roar, and it was evident, +even to eyes less accustomed to weather signs than Darke’s, that a +fearful storm was approaching—one of those cold, gusty rains peculiar to +the North-west. + +As he was passing a dead oak, whose barkless, decayed trunk and bare, +broken branches bore marks of the storms and winds of a hundred years, +he was startled by a loud crash overhead. + +Looking up, he saw that a fearful gust of wind that just then swept +through the wood, blowing the dried leaves and twigs hither and thither +and everywhere in wild confusion, had broken off a massive limb, which +was falling with lightning velocity directly toward him. Dropping his +burden, he sprung aside, but though the movement saved his life, he did +not escape the full force of the blow. + +The ponderous mass came whirling down, one end of it striking him on the +back of the head. + +He reeled and staggered two or three steps, and then sunk down +insensible among the fallen leaves. + +After surveying his fallen master a minute or two, the blood-hound +advanced and lay down by his side, as if to keep guard over him. For +several minutes he remained in this position, then probably not noting +any signs of vitality in the unconscious man, he arose, and, after +whining several times in a low key, the sagacious creature took the +sleeve of his hunting-shirt between his teeth and pulled it gently. This +action was repeated several times; and at last, receiving no reply from +his master, the faithful dog set out as fast as his feet would carry him +for the cabin. + +Had he forsaken his master, or gone after assistance? + +How long Darke remained unconscious, he knew not. + +When consciousness returned, he found himself in a sort of cavern fitted +up as a hunter’s lodge, apparently, for great piles of skins were to be +seen in different parts of the place, and a couple of rifles leaned +against the rocky wall at one side, while a small keg, that evidently +contained powder, stood near by, half concealed by a deer-skin +hunting-shirt, which was thrown carelessly over it, with a bullet-pouch +and powder-horn secured to the belt. + +He noticed also that the cave was divided into apartments, for a curtain +made of the skins of various wild animals was suspended from a cord +overhead. + +A dull, hard pain in his head caused him to think of himself, and he now +saw, for the first time, that it was bandaged, and he was reclining on a +bed made of the pelts of the bear and the panther at one side of the +place. + +If any further evidence was required to satisfy the hunter that the +place was inhabited, it was forthcoming in the shape of a savory odor of +broiling venison that was wafted from the inner apartment. + +“Where was he? Who had brought him to this place?” + +These and many other questions he asked himself, but after five minutes +had been consumed in vain conjecture, he was as far from the solution of +the mystery as at the moment when he first awoke to consciousness. He +remembered the circumstance of the falling limb in the forest, and after +that, all was blank. He did not know when he came, or who had brought +him to this place. He was familiar with the country for miles around, he +thought, and yet he did not know that there was such a cavern in the +vicinity of his cabin. + +Of one thing, however, he was assured. + +The people who occupied the place must be friendly, else why had they +brought him here and cared for him so tenderly? + +Soon he heard a voice in the other part of the cave—a coarse, heavy +voice, evidently that of a man. It said: + +“Give us the whis’, ’Lon. I guess he’s comin’ round all correct. A good +pull at this’ll fetch his idees back, I reckon.” + +A corner of the curtain was raised, and a man appeared, carrying a small +bottle of liquor—so Darke inferred from the words he had just heard. + +“Well, stranger, how do you feel?” said he, approaching the hunter. “I +reckon you got a right smart of a swat along side yer poll with that ar’ +twig out yender. I shouldn’t wonder if it’d ’a’ splintered when it +struck _terry-firmy_ if you hadn’t ’a’ happened along jest in the nick +o’ time to break its fall. I was a witness of the lamentationable +catastofy, and see the stick when it broke off; but I obsarved that +’twas bound to fall, and knowin’ I couldn’t stop its wild career, I let +it fall; and then started to go to you, but I had to stop and watch that +ar’ pup o’ your’n. He’s a nation cute plant, he is, and I reckoned he +was a-goin’ to snake you home; but after awhile he give up and started +off for help. Then I went out and picked you up and brought you here and +laid you out. Here, take a little pull at the whis’. It’ll kinder +regulate yer pulse, set yer heart in stidy operation and ile up yer +thinkin’ merchine. Don’t say a word. I ain’t ready for you to talk yet, +and, besides, I don’t b’lieve as how you’re a nat’ral talker anyhow. Now +I’m a nat’ral-born talker. When I was an infant and didn’t weigh but +fourteen pounds, my uncle Peter informed my ma that he thought I’d +become a preacher or an auctioneer with the proper advantages—and my +uncle Peter was a physionologist and a powerful judge of live-stock!” + +Darke took the flask, drank some of its contents, and handed it back to +the man, whom he had been regarding attentively from head to foot all +the while he had been speaking. + +He was very tall—nearer seven feet than six—and his frame was massive in +proportion. He was, to judge from his face, which was partially obscured +by a thin growth of sandy beard, thirty-five years of age, though one +might easily have called him five years older or five years younger. He +had pale watery-blue eyes; a capacious mouth, from which projected the +points of a few large, scraggy teeth; very high and sharp cheek-bones; +enormous ears; long, sunken jaws, with hollow cheeks, and a high, +sloping forehead, blowing about which, and streaming down his back, were +a few long, thin locks of red hair, escaping from beneath the rim of a +battered and dirty old silk hat that had once been white, though +evidently a good while since. + +This ancient tile was secured to the giant’s great head by means of a +light strap of deer-skin, which was lost to view under his chin among +his sparse, bristling whiskers. + +He was dressed in a fur garment, part coat, part pantaloons, that +enveloped his entire person from his chin to his feet, which were +enormously large, and incased in a pair of cowhide boots that looked, so +extensive were they, and at the same time so old, as if they might have +seen service, in the removal of the baggage of the patriarchal Noah and +his sons and daughters from the family mansion to the ark, when they +were compelled to pull up stakes and emigrate at the time of the +universal deluge. + +“Where am I? Who are you?” + +This Darke asked after the “natural talker” had stopped to take breath. + +“Why, stranger, or Mr. Darke, I might say—for I’ve known you by sight +this four year—you’re right here, and safe, I reckon. I’ve lived here +six years, and I’ve never seen any r’al ginewine ghosts yet. I’m Leander +Maybob, formerly of Maybob Center, down in old Massachusetts. If I was +real up in etiquette, I s’pose I’d ’a’ introduced myself afore; but I +ain’t polite. Now my uncle Peter was a master polite man. I remember +once, when he went down to Bosting to sell his wool—wool was ’way down +that season, he lost on that wool awful—and got kinder turned ’round +like. Well, he kept wanderin’ all over for a right smart of a while, but +he couldn’t nohow see his way clear back to the ‘Full Bottle Inn’—he was +a-puttin’ up there. My uncle Peter was a master polite man, and didn’t +consider it proper to speak to folks as hadn’t been introducted to him, +and so he kept right on wanderin’ about without inquirin’ the way till +late in the afternoon, when he begun to experience the gnawin’ pangs of +an empty stummick; and he made up his mind as ’twould be better to be +guilty of a breach of politeness than to starve. But he wasn’t quite +certain, and so he took out his etiquette book—he always carried one, my +uncle Peter did, Deacon Checkerfield’s, I believe—and looked to see if +there was any rules touchin’ this very peculiar case o’ his’n. Well, he +set down on a bar’l in a shed, for ’twas a-rainin’ hard by this time, +and studied his book till it got so dark he couldn’t see to read any +longer, and then he concluded to break etiquette or bu’st. Etiquette was +a master fine thing, he argu’d, the very foundation o’ society; but +’twasn’t hardly the thing for an empty stummick. So he got up and went +into a big house right across the way. Here he see a feller as looked +kinder nat’ral. ‘Pardin,’ sez he, ‘your countenance looks f’miliar.’ He +made a master bow as he spoke. ‘Will you be so kind as to tell me the +way to go to the Full Bottle Inn?’ ‘’Tain’t no way in p’tickler’, sez +the feller. ‘Beg pardon,’ sez my uncle Peter. He was a master polite +man. ‘But I want to know how fur ’tis to the Full Bottle Inn.’ ‘’Tain’t +no distance at all,’ sez the feller, ‘It’s right here.’ My uncle give in +and begged the feller’s pardon—he was a master polite man, my uncle +Peter was. He’d been settin’ right in front of the inn for hours +studyin’ his etiquette book, cause he didn’t know nobody to ask. He +didn’t tell of it for five years afterward.” + +At this moment the curtain which divided the cavern was pushed back at +one side, and another person advanced toward Darke and his Titanic +companion. + +He came and stood by Leander Maybob, and the hunter looked from one to +the other in astonishment. + +He was scarcely four feet in hight, the top of his head barely reaching +the giant’s waist. + +His apparel resembled that of his more portly companion, with the +exception of the covering for the head and feet. + +The dwarf’s round little pate was surmounted by a grotesquely +broad-brimmed wool hat, and he appeared, as his small keen eyes flashed +quick, nervous glances about, not unlike the traditional “toad under a +cabbage-leaf,” while his lower extremities were adorned by a pair of +nicely-fitting deer-skin moccasins. + +“He’s my little brother,” the giant said, by way of introduction. “We’re +the Maybob twins. We ain’t much alike you see. He’s a little mite of a +feller, and I’m big enough to be his daddy; he’s dumb—can’t speak a +word—and I’m a nat’ral talker. Now uncle Peter said as how he thought +’twasn’t hardly fair, makin’ me so big and so complete in every way, and +him so little and scarce; but says daddy, says he—and he was a univarsal +smart man daddy was—says he it’s all in the family, and they’ll both +together make a couple of middlin’ good-sized men—they’ll about average, +and it’s all in the family. My little brother’s name’s Alonphilus. But +if we’re different in sich respects, we’re alike as fur as the one great +principle of our lives goes. Ain’t we, ’Lon?” + +There was a scintillant glow in the dwarf’s little black eyes as he +nodded assent. + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + OUT IN THE STORM. + + +Trembling herself with a fear all the more terrible because of its +vagueness and uncertainty, and with her beautiful face pale as death, +Vinnie stood and watched the trembling of the heavy cabin door, as the +scratching noise was repeated for a third time. + +The sound was louder, more imperative than before. + +The chief seemed suddenly to arouse from the state of frightened +inactivity into which he had fallen, and rising on his feet, walked, or +rather staggered, toward the shaking door. + +He seemed to have lost all his strength, for he reeled across the floor +like a drunken man. + +For two or three minutes the sound was not repeated, and Vinnie and the +savage stood waiting with bated breath. + +They had not long to wait. + +Again came that harsh, grating sound, as though some one was digging the +point of a knife, or some other hard, sharp instrument into the door. + +Almost simultaneously with this noise, came a long, low whine, evidently +that of a brute. + +Vinnie started. + +The look of wild fear left her face, and she advanced toward the door, +while the low wail was repeated in a louder key and more prolonged than +before. + +She gave utterance to a glad exclamation. + +“It is _Death_!” + +It was evident in a moment that Ku-nan-gu-no-nah, also, had discovered +the cause of the strange sounds. + +He seemed to gain new strength. + +“It is the dog!” he said harshly, laying hold of the girl’s hand, just +as she was about to open the door to admit Death. + +Vinnie nodded. + +“He is large and strong,” continued the chief, “and his teeth are like +the points of knives!” + +She knew her power over his untutored, superstitious mind, and she was +no longer afraid. + +She nodded again and said: + +“Yes, he is very strong, and his teeth are like needles. If he sets them +into an Indian’s flesh he will die. Shall I let him in to you? His name +is Death!” + +The savage gripped her hand tighter. + +“No,” he said, with evident alarm. “Sun-Hair must not let the dog in.” + +Giving her a quick, sudden pull, he drew her across the room and through +the other apartment to a rear door. + +Her face changed color and she tried to release herself from his hold, +but without avail. + +Here he unhanded her, and went back and closed the door between the two +rooms. Barring it securely he returned, and laying his heavy hand on her +shoulder, he bent over till his dark face almost touched hers, and +fairly hissed through his set teeth: + +“Sun-Hair has a mighty power from the great Manitou. She has escaped +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah this time, with her devil-box; but let her beware! If +the dog could get at the chief he would kill him, but Ku-nan-gu-no-nah +is safe. Before Sun-Hair can open both doors he will be away in the +forest. Let the pale-face medicine-woman beware!” + +Vinnie did not try to detain him. She could not. All the time he had +been speaking, his hard, bony fingers were closed on her shoulder like +an iron vise. + +He let go his hold suddenly, and an instant later was running across the +little open space at the rear of the cabin. + +Vinnie saw him disappear among the trees, and then turned and opened the +door that led into the other apartment. + +In a moment she had undone the fastenings of the other one, and the +blood-hound sprung into the cabin. + +He stopped before Vinnie, and looking up into her face, gave utterance +to a long, low whine. + +She patted his head and caressed him, but he would not be satisfied. + +Still whining piteously he turned, and with his red eyes fixed on her +face walked toward the door. + +She did not heed this mute appeal. + +He turned again and going up to her, took hold of her dress with his +teeth and pulled it quietly. + +“Why, Death, old fellow!” she said, caressing the sagacious brute again. +“What is the matter? Where is your master?” + +When she mentioned her father the dog pulled harder at her dress, almost +pulling her along toward the door. + +A wild fear seemed suddenly to force its way to her heart. There was +only one way in which she could account for the strange demeanor of the +dog. + +Surely something must have happened to her father! + +She was sure of this when she remembered a story that he had told her +once, about the blood-hound’s saving her life when she was a child of +five or six. + +The chill wind was blowing harder than when the hunter set out from the +cabin, and the black, angry clouds, hanging low in the sky, threatened +momentarily to open and shower down the cold, half-frozen November rain +over the earth. + +Suddenly, while Vinnie looked out, there came a fierce gust of wind +tearing through the great oaks and rattling their heavy leafless +branches against the walls of the cabin. + +Twigs and leaves were flying in wild confusion through the air, and it +was growing darker every moment. + +“A wild and fearful storm is approaching,” said the girl, shudderingly; +“but I must not hesitate. My father is in danger—may be he is—” + +She paused a breath, as if fearful to say the word; and then went on: +“Maybe he is dead!” + +The dog was tugging at her dress again. + +“Yes,” she said, in reply to his dumb, eager look. “Yes, I am going. +Come!” + +And shutting the door after her, she followed her brute guide out into +the storm, which had now begun to fall, and away through the forest till +they arrived at the place where the hunter had met with the accident +from the falling limb a short time before. + +Here the dog stopped, and after sniffing about for a moment, readily +found the trail which the giant hunter had made as he carried Darke away +to the cavern, where we left him at the close of our last chapter. + +Then he turned, and pulling again at Vinnie’s dress, trotted slowly away +on the track he had just discovered. + +The storm had been steadily increasing, and it had been growing darker +all the time, till the forest was indescribably somber and gloomy. + +The brave girl did not shrink; but drawing a blanket she had thrown +around her on leaving the cabin closer about her slender form, to shield +her in a measure from the sleet that dashed against her person, cutting +almost like a knife, she pushed on after the blood-hound, increasing her +speed to keep up with him. + +By and by Death stopped suddenly at the foot of a steep, rocky +acclivity. + +He seemed, all at once, to have lost the trail. + +Vinnie drew her blanket closer about her face and shoulders, and +crouching close up against the trunk of a large tree, watched him +eagerly. + +He ran back and forth several times along the base of the acclivity, +searching for the lost trail; then paused at last, with a quick, glad +yelp, before a large rock that, almost hidden by the thick overhanging +shrubbery along the hillside, seemed to be firmly imbedded in the earth. +Then for several minutes he made no sign. + +Had he lost the trail again? + +He whined, and began to scratch away at the earth about the bottom of +the bowlder. + +Vinnie, at a loss to account for his strange behavior, drew the blanket +up over her head, and creeping closer up under the friendly shelter of +the great tree-trunk, looked on in wonder. + +It did not occur to her that the flat stone might conceal the entrance +to the cavern beyond—for she was indeed at the opening that led into the +place where Leander Maybob, the giant hunter, had carried her father but +a little while before. + +Soon the blood-hound stopped digging, and sat down, with another long, +low whine, keeping his red eyes fixed immovably on the dark surface of +the rock before him. + +“What can it mean?” Vinnie asked herself. “He does not search for the +trail any longer. Why does he stop here? What is there about that rock? +I wonder if it is immovable. Perhaps it covers the trail some way. I am +going to attempt to move it. It looks very ponderous. It must be very +heavy.” + +She examined the bowlder closely, but could see nothing to indicate that +it had ever been stirred from the place where it seemed so firmly +imbedded into the earth. + +She laid hold of a corner that appeared to project more than any other +portion of the rock, and pulled with all her strength. + +The stone remained immovable. Of what avail were her weak little hands? + +“I can not stir it,” she said. “It is as firmly fixed as masonry. I am +not strong enough.” + +When the dog saw that she was trying to remove the bowlder, he +recommenced scratching at the dirt at its base, giving utterance ever +and anon to quick, glad yelps. + +She tried once more; but her second efforts were as unavailing as her +first. + +“It is no use,” she said, half to herself and half to the blood-hound. +“I can not stir it. But what does it mean? In what manner does it cover +the trail? It does, somehow; or Death would surely pick it up and follow +on. What a fearful storm! I never saw one like it before. How the sleet +cuts my face and hands!” + +And she shrunk back into her old shelter. + +The dog kept his place before the bowlder, from which he never removed +his eyes till his quick ear caught a strange sound, which even Vinnie +heard plainly above the roar of the storm. + +Following the direction of the brute’s gaze, the girl saw a sudden and +unexpected sight. + +Some one was approaching on a white horse. + +She cowered down out of sight behind the tree-trunk and watched. The +storm half blinded her; but she could see that it was a man, and that +something, wrapped in a thick, black cloth, hung limp and helpless +across the horse before him. It was like a human being. Was it alive or +dead? + + + + + CHAPTER VII. + OVER THE PRECIPICE! + + +The minutes—ten—thirty—sixty, dragged slowly by, and Clancy Vere knew +naught of them. All this time he had hung by a cord between this life +and the next; but he comprehended it not. He was still insensible. + +The wind increased in force until it swayed the great tree from which he +was suspended, and swung him backward and forward, pendulum-like, over +the turbid, roaring flood below. + +Still he knew it not. + +By and by a lithe, dark form, with great fiery eyes and ravenous jaws +drew its dark length out of the cover of a thicket near by, and creeping +stealthily along the ground, ascended the tree, and crouched menacingly +on a branch directly above him. + +It was a panther. + +For ten minutes the terrible brute eyed him with its red, fiery eyes, +and then, settling further back on its haunches, prepared to pounce upon +him. + +Still he knew not his peril! + +Closer down on the branch of the tree crouched the panther, its great +red eyes seeming fairly to blaze, while its long tail waved to and fro, +lashing first one of its sleek, shining sides and then the other. + +It was all ready to spring—in an instant it would dart from its perch on +the limb and shoot like an arrow down upon its swaying prey; every +muscle of its lithe body was contracted. One breath—and then? + +There was a dull, cutting sound, as a tense-drawn bow-string was jerked +straight, and a long, slender arrow came whizzing out of a copse near at +hand, and, pierced to the heart, the panther rolled off of the limb and +fell quivering to the ground at the very moment when its victim seemed +so secure and its triumph so complete. Its powerful limbs straightened +out, and the ravenous brute was dead. + +In a moment a form emerged stealthily from the thicket and crept across +the opening to the foot of the tree. + +It was Bear-Killer! + +His ugly face still bled from the effects of the kick he had received +from the young hunter a couple of hours before. His purpose in returning +so soon to the scene of his late discomfiture and the death of his +companions, is easily surmised when the reader remembers that he was as +vindictive and vengeful as a fiend. + +He gave the panther a kick with the toe of his moccasin, and saw at once +that it was quite dead. + +“The panther would cheat the red-man out of his revenge,” he said, +savagely. “It must not be so. Nothing can save him now. He must die! The +revenge of Bear-Killer is near at hand. The white hunter’s time has +come.” + +As the Indian ceased speaking, he drew his tomahawk, and stepped back a +few paces where his aim at the head of the swinging and senseless young +hunter would be true and certain. + +He noted the distance accurately with his practiced eye, and poised his +weapon. + +“How quick he will die!” he muttered. “How easy Bear-Killer will slay +him!” + +“Bear-Killer will not slay him!” said a deep voice, close at his side; +and a heavy hand was laid on his arm, so suddenly and with such force +that the tomahawk fell from his grasp and half buried itself among the +leaves at his feet. + +Bear-Killer turned with a sharp grunt of rage and surprise. His +mutilated face expressed nothing, but his small, baleful eyes +scintillated like those of a cowed and baffled wolf. + +The hand on his arm tightened its hold, and the deep, stern voice +repeated authoritatively: + +“Bear-Killer will not slay him!” + +The speaker was an Indian, tall and massive in build, and manifestly the +superior of Bear-Killer in strength. + +His dress and equipments indicated him to be a chief. Bear Killer seemed +to recognize his superiority, either of rank or strength, or both. + +It was Ku-nan-gu-no-nah, who had but just now made his escape from the +cabin of Emmett Darke, and the terrible power which he believed Vinnie +possessed; and he was making his way back through the forest toward the +Indian village, when he discovered Bear-Killer in the act of +consummating his dreadful vengeance on the unconscious white man. + +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah recognized this white man at a glance. + +He knew it was Clancy Vere. + +And he had particular reasons for not wishing Bear-Killer to become his +slayer. + +Perhaps his chief reason was that he wanted to put the young hunter to +death himself. + +He was aware that Clancy Vere was his successful rival in the affections +of Vinnie Darke, or Sun-Hair, as he was wont to call her. + +Jealous and vindictive as he was, this was sufficient to make him hunt +his pale-faced rival to the ends of the earth, if he could not compass +his death without. + +Many times when he had seen Clancy go to the hunter’s cabin, had he +vowed in his fierce, jealous rage to kill him, but something had +heretofore always intervened to baffle him; but now he was exultant. The +time for which he had so long waited had come. The young hunter was +bound and insensible in his power. He asked nothing more. His triumph +seemed almost complete. His discomfitures and rebuffs at Vinnie’s hands +that afternoon had more than ever determined him to wreak vengeance on +her lover, since he stood in too wholesome awe of the lovely magician to +think for a moment of again attempting to obtain forcible possession of +her person—at least not at present. + +With a sudden movement, Bear-Killer wrenched himself free from the +chief’s grasp, and faced him half angrily, at the same time picking up +the tomahawk out of the leaves at his feet. + +“Why does the chief interfere?” he asked. + +“Because,” said Ku-nan-gu-no-nah, “he would slay the pale-face hunter +himself. He has cause for revenge!” + +“And has not Bear-Killer cause for revenge?” the Indian almost yelled. +“Look at his face! Yonder white man did this. The pain is like a +thousand tortures. What says the chief? Has he greater cause for revenge +than Bear-Killer?” + +“The chief has greater cause for revenge than Bear-Killer,” said +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah. + +“He has not!” said the Indian, decisively. “Bear-Killer will not be +cheated out his vengeance! He saved the pale-face from the panther that +he might kill him himself!” + +“And the chief has saved him from the vengeance of Bear-Killer that _he_ +might have _his_ revenge!” said Ku-nan-gu-no-nah, with a grim, devilish +smile. “Let the warrior wait, and he shall see the vengeance of a +chief.” + +He advanced toward the tree; and, as he neared it, his gaze fell on the +dead and horribly mangled bodies of the savages who had fallen before +the terrible charge of the Phantom Rider. + +The undergrowth had concealed them from his view until now. + +He started back with a loud cry of surprise and wonder. + +“Did he do it?” he asked, pointing toward the swaying white man. + +“No,” said Bear-Killer, in a voice that was half a gasp. “No; it was—” + +“Who then?” interrogated the chief, in an awed whisper. + +“The Spirit Warrior.” + +“_The Spirit Warrior!_” + +The chief reiterated the words in a dazed sort of way, like one under +some subtle spell, while for an instant a shudder seemed to convulse his +massive frame, causing it to shake like an aspen. + +“Yes,” said Bear-Killer, “it was the Spirit Warrior—the spirit of the +outcast chief, Meno. When will Meno’s vengeance be complete?“ + +“When Ku-nan-gu-no-nah and all his braves are no more! When the sons of +the red-men who tortured their own chief to death are all numbered with +the dead! Then, and not before, will the vengeance of the outcast and +murdered sachem, Meno, be complete. Every day brings it nearer the end!” + +The two Indians started as though a keen-edged knife had pierced their +vitals. Then they stood transfixed with fear, staring into each other’s +eyes as if to inquire the source of the answer that had come to +Bear-Killer’s question almost before it had left his lips. + +The tones of the voice that had spoken the words were hollow, and the +weird and terrible menace seemed to be borne to them on the winds from +afar off, in a wild, ghastly chant that thrilled every fiber of their +superstitious beings with a vague horror that they could not shake off. + +The dismal wailing of the wind through the forest trees, the sullen roar +of the storm which had set in a little while before, and the monotonous +dashing of the cataract below, all combined to inspire them with a sort +of awed dread, that the spirit voice, crying out to them above the crash +of the wind and storm, augmented into a wild, ungovernable fear. + +For several moments, the two Indians stood silent and motionless, +neither daring to speak or stir. + +For a few seconds the wind was hushed and the dashing storm seemed to +have spent its fury. + +Then in an instant it seemed as if the storm demon had sent forth all +his forces of wind and sleet. Trees were blown over, limbs were flying +hither and thither, and the wind increased to a perfect tornado, wailing +and shrieking like a regiment of fiends. The Indians saw that the white +man was swinging to and fro at a fearful rate. It seemed as though the +lasso must break at every oscillation. He vibrated backward through a +space of fully twenty feet. They could not keep their footing, and were +obliged to throw themselves prostrate on the ground. + +High above the fearful roar, and crashing of uprooted trees and fallen +limbs, loud and clear above the shrieking of the wind, was borne to them +again the voice of Meno, the Spirit Warrior: + +“Let Ku-nan-gu-no-nah beware! Meno’s vengeance will overtake him. He +will die a more horrible death than even his devilish mind can +comprehend! Let him beware!” + +The two Indians remained motionless upon the earth, trembling at every +joint. Although giant trees were being uprooted on every hand and +massive limbs were falling all around them, they were unharmed. + +Clancy Vere’s peril was imminent. + +The tree, from a branch of which he was suspended, groaned and cracked +under the force of the storm, threatening momentarily to break loose +from its place in the bank and go crashing over the precipice. + +Even if the stout roots remained firm in their hold on the earth, the +cord by which he hung was liable to be jerked asunder at any oscillation +of his body; and he would shoot headlong down into the seething flood +underneath and be swept to destruction over the waterfall below. + +A quarter of an hour passed, during which the two savages did not arise +from their recumbent position and the spirit voice did not again speak. + +The tree remained firm and the lasso seemed to deride all attempts on +the part of the tempest to break it. It would crack, but it would not +part. + +Thus far, Clancy Vere had been saved; but he was still unconscious, and +had not realized the terrible danger that had menaced him. + +Soon the storm began to abate somewhat. + +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah and Bear-Killer got upon their feet by-and-by, when the +fury of the storm was in a measure spent. + +Their sharp sense of bearing had been keenly alert to catch any further +words from the Spirit Warrior. But they did not hear the terrible, +menacing voice again. + +“It has gone,” said the chief. + +“Yes,” assented Bear-Killer, in a tone of relief. “We shall hear it no +more to-day. It went away on the storm.” + +“The vengeance of Meno is terrible!” said the chief, with a shudder. +“But we are safe now. Now for my revenge!” + +“Stop,” said Bear-Killer. “We will draw lots. I, too have come here for +vengeance on the white hunter.” + +The chief grunted a guttural and very unwilling compliance to this +proposition. + +“We must hurry,” he said, “or he will be dead. He is almost dead now.” + +Bear-Killer made a very small mark on the trunk of the tree. + +“The one that throws his tomahawk the nearest to the mark wins,” said +he. + +They took their places almost on the verge of the high bluff on which +they were standing. + +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah threw first. + +His tomahawk buried itself in the tree-trunk, within half an inch of the +mark. + +There was a baleful glow in Bear-Killer’s wolfish eyes as he poised his +weapon, a treacherous glitter that the chief did not fail to notice. +Just as the handle of the tomahawk was slipping out of his grasp, the +chief dealt him a powerful blow on the side of the head. He staggered a +moment and his body swayed to and fro as he tried to regain his balance +on the very edge of the bank. The next instant his wild death-yell came +up from below! + + + + + CHAPTER VIII. + THE GIANT’S STORY. + + +Darke noted the angry flash in the dwarf’s little black eyes, as he +nodded an eager assent to his brother’s strange question, and wondered +not a little what the “one great purpose” of this queerly assorted +pair’s lives was; but he forbore to question the giant, not doubting +that, if it was not some secret that they did not wish to disclose, he +would explain himself in good time. And this belief was not far from +correct, as the giant hunter’s next words attested. He sat down on a +stool near at hand; and as Alonphilus came and stood at his side, he +said: + +“Yes; wer’e livin’ for some purpose. We have given our lives up to +revenge! Wer’e a-gittin’ revenge every day, hain’t we, ’Lon?” + +The dwarf’s round little pate was bent forward again until Darke just +caught the glitter of the dusky eye under the broad rim of his slouch +hat; and this he interpreted to be a token of assent to the giant’s +question. As his face was raised to view again, he thought he saw the +dwarf’s mute lips move, as if in an attempt to speak, and he imagined +that volumes of vindictive, vengeful words were struggling for +utterance. But the dumb tongue was incapable of expressing even a tithe +of the dark passion that was written on every lineament of the pigmy’s +face. + +“And we’ve anuff to be revenged for, God knows!” Leander Maybob went on. +“We can’t never wipe out of our memories our old father and mother that +the red devils murdered in cool blood; we can’t never forgit the awful +sight our eyes rested onto, when we came home from a hunt one morning; +we can’t never wipe this out of our minds. But, the just God helpin’ us, +we’ll wipe every one of their murderers off o’ the earth before we die! +The devil that led them shall die a more horrible death than even his +own hellish mind has planned for his poor helpless victims! We’ve done a +deal t’ward fulfillin’ our vow in the past six years; eh, ’Lon? We’ve +made many a savage bite the dust in that time!” + +The dwarf’s hand darted into the bosom of his hairy vestment; it came +out again in an instant, and he held up to Darke’s view a deer-skin +string about four feet in length, which was knotted almost from one end +to the other. + +He touched each knot in succession with the forefinger of his right +hand, accompanying every motion with a nod of the head. + +“There’s just a hundred an’ forty-eight knots,” said the big hunter; +“and every one on ’em is a red-skin’s eppytoph!” + +That slender strip of deer-skin, simple and harmless as it appeared, +told a ghastly story of conflict and of death and of half-sated +vengeance! + +“We’ll git our hands on him yet,” the big hunter went on. “We’ve had +chances to kill him of’en enough; but jest a common death ain’t enough +fer him. He desarves more; an’ I want to give him his jest desarts. He +must die an awful death! Our vengeance’ll overhaul him yet, ’Lon. Then +you may tie a double knot! We’ll give him two varses to his eppytoph; +eh, ’Lon?” + +The dwarf nodded, touched the hilt of his hunting-knife significantly, +and made motions as if to tie a knot in the string which he still held +in his hand. + +“Of whom do you speak?” queried Darke, as he supported himself on his +elbow. + +“The red fiend that led the attack on our cabin! The devil that shot my +mother and carried my old father’s white scalp away in his belt! Hain’t +we got reason plenty fer vengeance? Do ye wonder that we hunt, and kill +Indians as you would kill serpints? Do ye think it’s strange that we +don’t want to let that red imp die a common way?” + +The big hunter had arisen while he spoke, drawing his Titanic form up to +its full hight. The expression on his face was terrible to look upon. As +he finished, he brought his ponderous clenched fist down, striking it in +the horny palm of his other hand. + +Drake half shuddered. + +“No—_no_!” he cried. “No death—no torture on earth is horrible enough to +be meet punishment for the atrocities of such a fiend incarnate! Is he +an Indian chief?” + +The giant nodded. His ungovernable rage seemed to have entirely spent +itself, and he did not speak; but stood with folded arms and downcast +eyes, his massive frame as motionless as though carved out of the solid +rock around them. + +Alonphilus seemed to partake keenly of this feeling of undying, +inveterate hatred of the Indians. His face wore a hard, implacable look, +and he kept drawing the record of their vengeance slowly through his +fingers from one hand to the other, as if he longed to tie the short end +of it that was yet unmarked by the little death register into one great +hard knot, that could never be entangled, in commemoration of the +passage from this life to the next of the murderer of his parents and +the triumphant consummation of their terrible work of vengeance. + +The spell that was on the big hunter was only momentary, and it was but +a minute or two before he was himself again; and he signified his +willingness to resume the conversation by saying, as he reseated himself +on the stool at the side of the couch of skins on which Darke reclined: + +“Well, I heerd Elder Fugwoller say onc’t—and he was college l’arnt—‘It’s +a long tow-path, or cow-path, or suthin’, as hasn’t got no turns into +’em;’ and I believe it’s true as gospil.” + +The dwarf turned and walked across the cavern, and, pushing aside the +dividing curtain, disappeared within the inner apartment, replacing the +death record in his bosom as he did so. + +“The day of retribution is sure to come at last. It is not often that +the guilty escape punishment,” said Darke. “It is sure to overtake them +sooner or later. God’s justice is certain!” + +“I’m a-thinkin’,” returned Leander Maybob, “as how Ku-nan-gu-no-nah’s +tow path or cow-path’ll take a mighty unexpected turn some day!” + +“Ku-nan-gu-no-nah!” + +The big hunter seemed surprised at Darke’s sudden exclamation. + +“Yes,” he said, “that’s the devil’s name. Do you know him? Have _you_ +got an account ag’in’ him?” + +“Yes,” cried Darke, sitting bolt upright on the couch, while a hard, +stern look settled on his face. “Yes; I believe I have. And I am going +to present it for settlement the very first time I see him!” + +“What do you mean?” the other asked, evincing no small degree of +interest in the words and actions of Darke. “Has he ever—” + +“I’ll tell you,” interrupted Darke. “Then you’ll understand how it is. +We—I mean Vinnie, my motherless daughter, and myself—live alone in our +little cabin. There is no one to keep us company and no one that I can +leave with her when, as I am often compelled to do, I go in search of +game out into the woods. Sometimes I am absent a whole day together; but +I never stay away over night. Some time last summer, while Vinnie was +wandering through the edge of wood that skirts our little clearing, +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah saw her and conceived the idea of making her his wife. +Always choosing times when I was away, he has several times come to my +cabin; trying to persuade Vinnie to go with him to his wigwam and become +his squaw. He has never offered her violence, but the last time, failing +to induce her to do as he wished, he threatened to abduct her and bear +her away to the Indian village. I have left her a pistol to be used as a +protector, and she has not been brought up on the frontier without +learning how to handle it. I am staying away to-day, I fear, longer than +I ought to. I hope I shall be able to go home soon. How long is it since +you brought me here? I begin to feel stronger, as if I could walk easily +enough now. Have I been here long, did you say?” + +“I lugged ye in here som’eres about the middle of the a’ternoon,” +replied the other, “and it’s purty near night now. ’Lon’s comin’ back +with the glims now. You’ve b’en here som’ere’s about three or four +hours. D’ye b’lieve yer fit to travel now?” + +“Yes,” said Darke. “I think all my strength has come back. I do not feel +weak or faint; but my head aches terribly—that’s all. I must go.” + +The dwarf entered at this juncture, bearing four or five pitch-pine +torches, which he lighted and stuck into niches in the rocky walls of +the cavern. + +“I s’pose ye calkilate to shoot him?” said Leander Maybob, eagerly. “I +s’pose ye’ll kill him. ’Twould only jest be in the natur’ of things fer +ye to do so; but I wish ye wouldn’t. I wish ye wouldn’t harm a hair of +his head. Ye see he can’t die only onc’t; and if you kill him he won’t +suffer only one death. If we wipe him out, he’ll hev to die a hundred +deaths in one! If ye jest load a gun in the common way and fire it off, +that’s all there is of it; but if ye puts in a good many loads and rams +’em down good till ye’ve got it chuck full cl’ar to the muzzle, and then +manage some way to git out of danger and gives the trigger a leetle +jerk, why then ye’ll bu’st the ’tarnal thing. Ye see when we tech +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah off, we calkilates to bu’st him. I wish ye’d jest let +us pay it all off together—your score and our own. What d’ye say?” + +“You know a man always feels better for taking his own revenge,” said +Darke. “It’s more satisfactory.” + +“Yes, I know ’tis,” replied the big hunter. “I know ’tis, and I wouldn’t +nohow let any man take our job outen our hands; but when I tell ye our +story, I b’lieve ye’ll agree as we’re the ones that ought to have the +prime chance at Ku-nan-gu-no-nah. If I’ll tell it to ye, ye’ll jest give +the subjick a few minutes thort, won’t ye?” + +“I should like very much to hear your story,” said Darke; “and I’ll +consider what you have proposed.” + +It is unnecessary that we should follow Leander Maybob through the +somewhat tedious length of recital, during which he made many pauses and +numerous repetitions; but we will give the reader the substance of his +sad story. + +The giant hunter had, with his dwarf brother and his parents, +considerably advanced in life, come from the East seven years before, +and erected a pioneer’s cabin at a place down the river twenty or +twenty-five miles from their cavern lodge. They commenced making a +little clearing, and for several months all went well; although the +Indians made almost daily visits to their forest home, they never +molested any thing or offered any violence. The days went by and they +began to fancy themselves secure from any harm from the savages. But +they put too much faith in their treacherous natures. When Darke heard +how a band of the dusky fiends, led by Ku-nan-gu-no-nah, attacked the +old settler’s cabin one dark, stormy night in the absence of his +sons—when he heard how the stout-hearted, gray-haired old man and his +feeble wife had been driven out, after defending their cabin and their +lives gallantly for nearly two hours, by the flames which were devouring +their little log home, whose rough walls had warded off the Indians’ +bullets, which had rallied harmlessly from their sides; how they had +been butchered as they came out from the roaring, crackling mass—when +the giant avenger told him with a moisture suffusing his eyes of the +return next morning of himself and Alonphilus and the heart-sickening +sight they beheld; when he heard all this, he could not wonder that +these strange brothers had taken a solemn and fearful vow to avenge +their parents’ death. He knew that their claim on the life of the chief +was greater than his; so he said, as he arose from the couch—for he was +much stronger now: + +“I will promise you this. Unless I find it absolutely necessary to +protect myself or mine, I will try to forego my revenge on +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah and leave him to your disposal. Is this satisfactory? I +believe you have a better right to kill him than I.” + +“Thank ye!” said the big hunter, grasping Darke’s hand and squeezing it +almost painfully in his bony fingers. “Thank ye, Mr. Darke. It seems as +how I can’t thank ye enough!” + +“Never mind the thanks,” said Darke. “I am your debtor. You took me in +when—” + +“There! that’ll do,” interrupted Leander. “Come.” + +As he ceased speaking, he turned and led the way into the inner +apartment of the cavern. + +Darke felt quite well now, with the exception of an acute pain in his +head, and he followed his strange entertainer with no difficulty +whatever. + +The place where he now found himself resembled the outer cavern a good +deal, only it was much smaller and contained a sort of rude fireplace, +on the hearth of which a bright fire was blazing merrily, sending +showers of sparks up a narrow fissure that served as an outlet for the +smoke; in short, it was a natural chimney, and could not have answered +its purpose better had it been built up of stone and mortar in the usual +way. Another small apartment was curtained off from this in the same +manner that the two larger apartments of the cavern were separated from +each other, only the curtain of pelts was closely drawn, as if special +pains had been taken to shut out the interior from the view of any one +in the other part of the cave. + +The big hunter motioned Darke to a seat on the stool near the fire, and +then, followed by the dwarf, passed into this smaller room, if such it +might be called, carefully closing the curtain behind him. Soon Darke +heard him say something in a subdued tone that he could not understand. +A moment later he caught a few words that caused him to wonder greatly. +Evidently there was a mystery connected with the little apartment. He +heard the rough voice of the big hunter say: + +“Does he show any signs of life yet? Can’t be he’s dead!” + +The next moment they returned, but the giant offered no explanation of +the mystery, whatever it was, and Darke thought best to act as though he +had not overheard the strange words quoted above. A large oaken chest +stood nearly in the center of the place; and on its lid Alonphilus had +arranged a savory supper of broiled venison. + +The brothers each drew a stool up by the side of this strange table, and +Leander invited Darke cordially to do the same. + +After he had partaken of the food so hospitably proffered by his +new-found friends, he announced his intention to depart at once for +home. The big hunter told him that it was already growing dark outside, +and he knew that he must have been away from Vinnie at least five hours, +now; and he feared that she would grow uneasy if he did not return soon. + +He thanked the twin avengers for their kindness and was about to go, +when he saw Alonphilus raise one end of the chest as if to carry it to +some other part of the cavern. He stood close at hand, and he laid hold +of the other handle to assist the dwarf in its removal. + +They had gone but a few paces, however, when Alonphilus tripped and +fell, dropping his part of the burden to the ground; and the sudden jar +caused the other handle to slip from Darke’s grasp. The chest +overturned, the cover flying back as it did so, and its contents rolled +out at the woodman’s feet with a weird, ghastly rattle as it struck the +rocky floor. Darke, strong, brave man though he was, started back with a +quick, sharp cry of alarm. + +White and terrible at his feet, lay _a grinning, horrible skeleton of +gigantic proportions_! + +“Our secret! Our secret!” cried the big hunter, hoarsely. “You hev +diskivered our secret!” + + + + + CHAPTER IX. + LOST IN THE FOREST. + + +Still crouching down by the great tree-trunk at the entrance of the +cavern lodge of the Maybob twins, in whose care her father, of whom the +reader recollects she came out in search, was at that very moment, +though she knew it not, and had no knowledge of the cave itself, Vinnie +watched, as best she might, through the blinding storm, the approach of +the rider of the white horse and his mysterious burden. Death, desisting +for a moment from his persistent pawing of the earth at the base of the +rock that had defied the girl’s weak attempts at removal a few minutes +before, came, and standing close beside her, poked his sharp nose out +through the bushes that grew thick around the foot of the tree, and +watched with his keen eyes the horseman, who was coming nearer every +moment. + +She could not see the man’s face very distinctly, for he wore a wide, +slouch hat that, when he bent far forward on his horse, to prevent the +sleet from beating into his eyes and mouth, almost entirely concealed it +from view. + +But the mysterious burden that he carried before him was plainly +visible, and seemed, perhaps because of its very mystery, to have a sort +of weird fascination for her. + +She could not see the object, itself; it was so closely rolled in and so +carefully protected from the driving storm by the heavy black wrap that +entirely enveloped it from head to foot—for she had firmly determined +that it was a human form. Only one question remained unsolved in her +mind now. + +“Was it alive or dead?” + +While she yet pondered on this mystery, and with her eyes on the +horseman, every thing—the white horse—its rider—the man or woman, or +corpse, that he had carried before him—whatever it was that was hidden +from sight so effectually within the folds of that _pall_—she could not +believe it was any thing else—while yet she saw him coming toward the +place of her concealment, all vanished from her sight as suddenly and as +surely as though the earth had opened and swallowed them up. + +She uttered a little cry of consternation. Then she rubbed her eyes and +looked again. + +But there was nothing there, where the man and the horse and that other +_thing_ had been, only the falling storm, still raging with all its +fury. + +What could it mean? + +She asked herself this question shudderingly, while, in her fear, she +clung around the neck of her great brute companion, glad in the terror +that possessed her of the company which he, dumb animal though he was, +could be to her. + +The blood-hound had never, for an instant, removed his gaze from the +place where the mysterious horseman, with his black burden, had so +unaccountably disappeared a few moments before; and while Vinnie’s arms +were yet around his neck he tore himself from her embrace and darted out +of sight among the shrubbery that grew dense and heavy about the spot. + +Vinnie called to him repeatedly, but he did not come back. She waited, +then called again and again with a like result. The dog did not come; +nor could she hear him beating about the undergrowth. + +Had he deserted her? + +She would not believe it; and she cried again, her voice almost losing +itself in the roar of the storm: + +“Death! Death! Death, come back! Here, Death—good old fellow! Come +back!” + +Again she waited and listened. + +The wind and storm were all the sounds she heard. + +Then it seemed to come to her all at once that she was alone. Even her +brute protector had deserted her. + +All alone in the tempest that was raging through the forest like a +thousand furies! + +“He has gone!” she quavered, hugging the tree-trunk closer, as a gust of +wind wilder than any before swept through the forest, uprooting a large +sycamore not far away, and blowing the covering off from her head; +letting the sleet dash in its sharp, cutting way into her face. “He is +gone,” she repeated with slow iteration, “and I am all alone!” + +She thought of returning to the cabin; but she dared not face the storm. +It was almost certain death to attempt to make her way home with the +storm at its hight and while trees were falling almost constantly, and +branches flying hither and thither all the time, crashing through the +tree-tops and whirling in mid-air as though they had been but feathers +instead of massive pieces of wood. + +She dared not venture out of her shelter. So she shrunk back as far as +possible and waited. Perhaps the storm would abate somewhat after a +while. She hoped it would; and this was her one bit of comfort. + +In an hour’s time the tempest seemed to have spent its fury. The wild +roar of the wind had dwindled to a low, mournful moaning, and the sleet +had ceased to fall; but the rain fell in a slow, monotonous drizzle that +seemed likely to continue through the night. + +The afternoon was now very far advanced, but it lacked more than an hour +of nightfall. + +Vinnie arose to her feet now, and walked slowly back, as nearly as she +could find her way, over the trail she had come. She followed it without +much difficulty for a short distance, but by and by when she lost sight +of the indistinct pathway that led away from the cavern, she was obliged +to be guided solely by her judgment of what direction she ought to take +to reach her father’s cabin. + +For nearly an hour she kept on, picking her way through the thick +undergrowth, and climbing over fallen trees and heaps of the _debris_ of +the storm which was scattered through the length and breadth of the +forest. It was beginning to grow dark, and the cold November rain kept +falling slowly and steadily. The sky was overcast with black clouds. +Vinnie felt that she made but slow progress, hasten as she might. The +night, when it came, would be very dark, and she dreaded lest it might +overtake her before she reached home. + +With wildly beating heart she pressed on; and soon the landmarks began +to grow familiar to her. She was weary and almost heartsick; but she +began to feel more hopeful. Things along her way looked more and more as +though she had seen them before every minute. Was she nearing the cabin? +She thought so. + +She had kept a sharp look-out for the clearing that her father had made +around their forest-home, but she could see nothing to remind her of it. + +She kept on bravely, though, never doubting one minute that she would +catch a glimpse of the cabin through the trees the next. + +The trees on either hand appeared familiar. She was feeling really +hopeful now. + +“I’ll be there in a few moments, I’m sure,” she said to herself as +cheerily as she could. “That old crooked sycamore there looks like an +old acquaintance! The clearing must be just ahead!” + +She pressed onward quite hopefully now; and, five minutes later, she +found herself—just where she had started from an hour before. There was +the rock that she had tried in vain to move, and the great tree behind +whose sturdy trunk she had found a partial shelter from the storm! + +She staggered back, clutching at a bush for support. + +“My God!” she moaned, “I am lost!” + +She sunk down on the wet earth almost despairfully. + +Then her old brave spirit reasserted itself. + +“What a poor miserable little coward I am!” she exclaimed, almost angry +with herself. “What can I do that is more likely to get me out of my +trouble than to try again?” + +It was growing dark very fast now and the cold rain was falling as +slowly and monotonously as ever; but she would not allow herself to +think of either the coming night or the drizzling rain—and she set out +for home a second time quite bravely. + +It was no desirable task that she had before her, and she did not look +upon her weary walk as a mere pleasure trip, by any means. Still that +bold, hopeful spirit that had borne her up through her adventures with +the chief that afternoon was with her now; and she was far from being +despondent. + +“If I try, and keep trying,” she mused, as she hurried on, “I may reach +home in safety by-and-by; and if I am really lost and must stay in the +forest, I suppose there is very little choice in sleeping-places. So, +upon the whole, I think I had better keep traveling about as long as I +can. I will try and not get faint-hearted again, anyway.” + +In twenty minutes it was dark as Erebus! + +Still the girl pressed bravely forward through the night. She could no +longer see with any certainty. Keeping any specific course was out of +the question; and it was with great difficulty that she kept her feet, +at times, among the fallen trees and tangled undergrowth. But she tried +to keep a bold heart. + +Glancing ahead, through the blackness, to a dense thicket just in +advance, she saw something that made her pause in terror. It was a pair +of eyes! + +Vinnie stood quite still, too much frightened to stir or cry out. That +pair of fixed, fiery eyes had a sort of weird fascination for her. + +All at once, while she yet looked at them, she felt the blood leaving +her heart, and an awful terror took possession of her whole being. + +The eyes were slowly and unmistakably advancing toward her! + +She tottered back a step or two with a low cry. Just then there was a +loud report near at hand. An unearthly screech, half-human, rung out on +the night-air. The eyes seemed to shoot up a few feet and then they +disappeared. + +A man came dashing through the undergrowth, and in a moment he stood +beside her. + +“Vinnie!” + +“Oh, father!” + +“Don’t be afraid, little one,” Darke said, reassuringly. “It was a +panther; but it is dead now. It is a fearful night. Let us hurry home. +When we get there, you must tell me how you came here.” + +He took her hand in his and they hastened on through the night. + + + + + CHAPTER X. + A BAFFLED VENGEANCE. + + +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah had not intended to push Bear-Killer over the bluff. He +knew that treachery was one of his strongest characteristics, and +fearful lest in some manner he should lose his revenge, or rather his +chance for revenge, on his white rival, he watched him narrowly as he +made ready to hurl his tomahawk in the trial of skill he had proposed to +determine which of the two should put the unconscious young hunter to +death; and he detected almost instantly the intention of Bear-Killer to +act in accordance with this his most prominent trait of character. + +He saw that the treacherous brave was poising his tomahawk to throw, not +at the mark on the tree-trunk, but at the head of their victim! + +All the quick, wild passion of his fierce nature was aroused in an +instant. + +He was not one to brook treachery. + +With a cry of rage, he struck Bear-Killer a sudden powerful blow with +his fist. + +The doomed savage lost his balance and toppled over the precipice. + +While yet his wild death yell rung out on the storm, Ku-nan-gu-no-nah +threw himself flat on the ground, and craning his neck out over the +bank, looked down into the foaming water below. + +At first he saw nothing but the jagged rocks and the tossing flood. +Then, a little down-stream, the dusky face of his victim was visible for +an instant amid the eddying waters, then it sunk from sight forever. + +“He will be carried over the waterfall,” said the chief. “He will lodge +on the rocks below. I will send the pale-face after him, and he can take +his revenge down there. He will not dispute my right to the first +chance. I will take my revenge now. He can have his afterward—all he can +get!” + +There was no place in the red fiend’s heart, for remorse for any evil +deed. He had looked upon the whole affair as a fortunate accident that +had rid him of one who stood in his way—nothing more! + +He arose from the ground and turned his gaze upon his hated and +senseless rival. + +It would be impossible to depict the fierce rage and triumph that +flashed from the chief’s eyes, as he regarded his victim. + +Clancy was still swaying slowly backward and forward over the whirling, +roaring waters far below, that seemed to be filled with hoarse, +clamorous voices, crying aloud for his life. + +The motion of his body was more gentle now that the wind had died down. +The lasso no longer jerked and cracked, threatening to break and let him +down into the jaws of death, gaping wide below. + +He hung pulseless and heavy, like a man that was dead—there was neither +a tremor nor a pulsation to tell if he lived or not. + +A hand placed on his heart would have felt the faintest kind of a +flutter; that was all! + +He was alive, but for how long? + +It was impossible for Ku-nan-gu-no-nah to touch him from the bank. + +He was uncertain whether he was yet alive. + +But if he clove his head with his tomahawk, he would be sure that he was +dead. + +Was he going to wreak vengeance for a fancied wrong, on his vital, +breathing rival, or on his soulless body? + +He did not know. He knew that the soul would leave the body before his +vengeance was accomplished! If the form swaying before him was alive now +he would leave it dead. + +Was he going to tomahawk a man or a corpse? + +He did not know, and he did not care! + +With an expression of fiendish exultation on his dark, evil face, he +took a position not more than twenty feet distant from Vere, and drew +his tomahawk. + +Long practice had made him an adept in the use of his favorite weapon, +and he poised it instantly, without any apparent care. He was sure of +his aim at such close range, and in a second the tomahawk went whirling +out of his hand. + +But it missed its human mark by six inches, and fell with a dull splash +into the water. + +The wind and the swinging motion of the young hunter had baffled him! + +He uttered a deep curse, and drew a small pistol from his belt. + +To cock it and bring the sights to a level with his eye was but the work +of a moment. He pulled the trigger. There was a click as the hammer came +down—that was all. + +It was not loaded! + +Clancy Vere remained unharmed. + +The hand of Providence was in it! + +With a low cry of baffled rage, he set about loading the pistol. He had +accomplished it in a minute. Would any thing baffle him now? + +He cocked it, put on a cap, and took careful aim at Clancy’s head. + +There was a flash and a sharp report. + +He ran to the edge of the bank and examined his intended victim’s face +critically; and there was nothing to indicate that the shot had been +effective. Surely it had not touched his face, and there was nothing +that looked like a bullet-hole in any part of the young hunter’s +deer-skin clothing. + +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah was almost frantic with impotent rage. + +In his ungovernable passion, before, at being twice baffled, he had +neglected to put a ball in the pistol! + +This explained why he had, as he thought, although he had taken accurate +aim, missed his mark. + +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah was a great warrior in his tribe. When he went on the +war-path he always returned laden with scalps and other ghastly trophies +of rapine and murder. Besides this he was looked upon as the best shot +among all the braves who acknowledged his authority as chief and leader. + +Now he seemed to have lost his skill, and his rage and chagrin were +unbounded. + +With a snarl like that of a caged tiger, he threw the pistol over the +bluff. + +“Maybe it will go down to Bear-Killer,” he said. “It’s good enough for +him! He won’t do much fine shooting now, I guess! Maybe he will have his +revenge on the pale-face with it. I’m going to cut the lasso and send +him down, too, now. I think Sun-Hair, the squaw magician, has saved him +to-day with her devil-box, some way. I’ll cut the lasso, and see if she +can keep him from falling into the water! A tomahawk won’t kill him, and +a pistol is just as powerless to do him harm!” As he ceased speaking, he +drew his hunting-knife and ran his finger along its edge. + +The result of the examination was apparently satisfactory—the blade was +sharp. + +“I don’t believe she can hold him up in the air after the lasso is cut,” +he muttered. + +Replacing the hunting-knife in his belt, he advanced to the root of the +tree, and began climbing up its trunk. + +In two or three minutes he had gained the limb to which the end of the +lasso was secured. + +Crawling slowly along it—for it was not large, and the waters pitching +and tossing underneath made his head swim just a trifle—he worked his +way out to the place where the lasso was tied. How the water roared and +rung in his ears! + +He swung himself astride of the limb, clutching it with his left hand to +make his position more secure, while with his right he disengaged his +knife and dropped its keen edge on the lasso where it was passed several +times around the projecting branch. + +Just then a sudden gust of wind swept past, causing the tree to sway a +little. + +Quick as thought he placed the end of the horn handle of his knife +between his teeth and with both hands clung to the branch on which he +sat. It swung from side to side two or three times, and the chief reeled +for a moment as if he had lost his balance, he gripped the branch with +the energy of desperation, his sharp nails sinking into the rough bark, +and his swarthy face turned to an ashen hue. + +In a minute or two the branch became motionless and he was once more +securely seated, with one hand clinging to the limb and one foot twisted +in the lasso in such a manner that he could disengage it at the instant +of cutting the knot. + +His situation was a perilous one, but his mind was so intent on the +hellish work he was braving so much to accomplish that he heeded it not. + +The least motion of the tree—a sudden gust of wind—a false movement on +his part—the merest trifle would bring upon him the death he had planned +for the man swinging below, who, until the lasso should be severed, was +more secure than he. Again he clutched the keen-edged hunting-knife, and +was about to draw it across the coils of the lariat. + +A strange sound arrested his attention. + +It was the voice of a man. + +Steadying himself in his seat, he turned his head. + +He beheld a sight so startling that he almost loosened his grip on the +limb. The knife slipped from his grasp and he held on with both hands. + +A white man stood on the bank not ten yards distant, with a rifle +leveled at his head. + +He was a very tall and very massive man, of very grotesque appearance; +and when the reader is told that it was Leander Maybob, the giant +hunter, and no one else, a personal description is unnecessary. The +muzzle of his rifle pointed steadily at the Indian’s head, and he said +in a rough tone of command that the chief was afraid to disobey, and, at +the same time fearful to obey: + +“Come down!” + +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah realized that the time occupied in the passage of a +bullet from the big hunter’s unerring rifle to his brain would be very +short. + +He attempted to hitch backward along the limb and came near losing his +hold and shooting down into the roaring water below. + +He looked at the giant in a half despairful way, which he only noticed +by saying: + +“Come down, or I’ll shoot!” + +Again he essayed to move himself backward along the limb. It was a +perilous undertaking, but death stared him grimly in the face, let him +look whichever way he would. + +Once more. This time he swayed so far to one side that it was with the +greatest difficulty that he regained his equipoise on top of the branch. + +Now he turned his gaze for an instant again to the man on the bank who +held his rifle in his hands—the man whose father and mother he had +murdered, though he knew it not. + +If he had known the terrible oath of vengeance that the giant hunter had +registered against him, he would have chosen to strangle in the stream +underneath rather than to fall into his hands. + +He paused a moment, shuddering as he half lost his hold on the limb. + +Again that stern command rung in his ears: + +“Come down!” + +His efforts at moving along the branch toward the body of the tree were +attended with better success, now that the limb began to grow larger and +his seat more secure. Still his progress was very slow. He could have +moved forward easily enough, but he dared not turn around. + +When he paused to take breath a moment, he heard the big hunter say in +his implacable voice: + +“Come! D’ye want ter be shot?” + +He exerted himself to the utmost, and five minutes later slid down the +trunk of the tree and stood doggedly before his captor. + +“Ku-nan-gu-no-nah is a great chief, ain’t he?” the giant said, +tauntingly. “He climbs trees and can’t get down ag’in without help. +Ain’t ye glad I happened along ter help ye down? He is a mighty warrior! +He goes with twenty or thirty of his greasy braves in the night to kill +and scalp a white-haired old man and a decrepit old woman! Some time I’m +goin’ ter wipe ye out, ye cowardly red divil! but not now. I’m goin’ ter +let yer live a little longer, and then when I git ready to kill ye, +you’ll suffer as many awful deaths as all of your victims put together! +Yer can go, now. I’m done with yer for the present. Come, don’t stand +there! Go!” + +He drew his rifle to his face and kept it aimed at the Indian’s head +till he had gone out of sight. + + + + + CHAPTER XI. + A WELCOME VISITOR. + + +Hand in hand Vinnie and her father hurried on through the storm and +darkness. The way was intricate and difficult to travel; but a good +half-hour’s walk brought them to the edge of the clearing, and the weary +girl greeted the sight of the cabin, which looked like a large square +patch of blackness, through the gloom, with feelings of grateful +satisfaction. + +It was the work of but a few moments for Darke, while Vinnie lighted a +candle, to rekindle the fire that had burned out during their absence. +The girl set the light on the table, and almost exhausted with the +vicissitudes of the past few hours, threw herself upon a seat. The fire +was now crackling merrily on the hearth, sending showers of sparks up +the wide chimney, and Darke, divesting himself of his hunting-shirt and +belt, stood before its genial blaze to dry the water that adhered to his +deer-skin apparel. When he took off his wide-rimmed hat and, after +shaking off the rain, tossed it into a corner, Vinnie noticed for the +first time that his head was bandaged about with a white cloth. The hat +had concealed it before, and he had not spoken of it, or asked her any +questions as they came home; his mind being filled with the mystery of +the oaken chest and its horrible contents and the strange words of the +giant hunter in regard to his discovery of their “secret.” He had made +no reply to these words. He could make none except to regret the +accident that had brought to his notice any thing that the twin avengers +did not wish him to see; and thanking them again for the kindness they +had extended to him, he came away. + +Vinnie arose and coming over to where he was standing put her hand on +his arm, saying, anxiously: + +“You are hurt, papa! I knew something had happened to you, or Death +would never have acted so strangely. Tell me about it, won’t you? Does +it pain you much? What can I do for you?” + +“Nothing, little one. It is well enough now. The pain is very slight, +and it is well cared for already. I don’t think of any thing that would +make it any better. But where is the dog? I don’t see him here. I know +he came here after I was hurt. Did he go out with you into the forest?” + +“Yes,” she replied with a smile. “Or I went with him, rather. I would +not have gone if it had not been for him.” + +“Tell me about it, child,” said the woodman, eagerly. Then noticing for +the first time, the electric machine on the table which Vinnie had left +open just as she had used it that afternoon, and the magic slippers +still attached to the battery and lying on the floor near by, he went +on. “Have you been taking a private shock or enjoying an electric jig +all by yourself?” + +“No,” she replied, coolly enough, as though it was the most trivial of +incidents she was speaking of, instead of a struggle for more than life +with a bloodthirsty savage. “I have not been electrizing myself; but +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah called here this afternoon while you were gone and I +guess I shocked him considerably. He seemed to be not a little affected +by the experiments of which he was the subject. I think he entertains +quite an exalted idea of my attainments as an electrician.” + +“What do you mean, girl?” he asked, excitedly, placing a hand on either +shoulder and looking down into her face in a curious, half-startled way. +“I don’t understand you. Has that bloody-hearted devil been here to-day? +Explain yourself! Tell me what you mean!” + +Seating herself before the fire, while her father listened eagerly, +interrupting her often with exclamations of surprise and anger, she told +him the story of the afternoon’s adventures from the time of his +departure from the cabin to the moment when he came to her deliverance +in the forest as she recoiled in terror before the approach of that pair +of lurid eyes, not omitting the mysterious disappearance of the white +horse and its rider, and the limp, helpless burden that, rolled in the +pall-like cloth, he carried before him across his saddle, and her +subsequent unaccountable desertion by the blood-hound. + +Darke was convinced from her description of the place, that she had +witnessed this strange scene somewhere in the vicinity of the twin +avengers’ cavern lodge; and he recalled to mind the words that he had +overheard the big hunter speak in the small, closely-curtained apartment +of the cave. + +He seemed to hear them again, so vividly were they impressed on his +mind: + +“Does he show any signs of life yet? Can’t be he’s dead!” + +Was there any connection between these unexplained words and the mystery +of the white horse and its rider? Were they in any way identified? + +Darke thought so. + +He stood leaning against the rude mantelpiece over the fireplace for +several minutes, his mind busy with conjectures. But no satisfactory +explanation came to the relief of his mystified mind; and the mystery of +the oaken chest, the secret of the Maybob twins, the strange words of +the giant hunter, and the disappearing horse and man, persisted in +remaining as deep a mystery as ever. + +Vinnie, who was naturally anxious to learn the particulars of her +father’s accident and subsequent protracted absence and fortunate though +unlooked-for appearance in the forest at the very moment when he could +be instrumental in saving her life, had been regarding him attentively +for a while, waiting for him to speak and not wishing to break in on his +musings. + +“Strange!” he said, at last, looking up suddenly. “What can have become +of the dog? I never knew him to behave so before! It must be that—” + +He was interrupted by a slight noise at the door. He listened intently; +and a moment later the blood-hound’s well-known appeal for admittance +greeted his ear. + +“It is Death!” said Vinnie, hastening to open the door. “He’s come +back!” + +The next moment he sprung into the room, shaking the water in a little +shower from his dripping coat, and leaping gladly against his master, +who returned his tokens of regard with a pat on the head. + +“You deserve a good whipping, you ungallant fellow,” Vinnie said, half +in earnest and half playfully, “for running off and leaving me to get +lost in the woods!” The dog paid little heed to her rebuke, and she +continued, addressing her father: “Maybe if Death could only talk, he +would have a story to tell, too. Perhaps he has discovered the mystery +of the disappearing horseman! But you have not told your story yet. I am +very anxious to hear about your accident, and every thing else that has +happened to you since you went away. You’ll tell me all about it now, +won’t you?” + +And she unclosed his lips with a kiss; and he began at the beginning, +and related his adventures to her, leaving out only that portion which +bore directly on the mysterious secret of which the big hunter had +spoken. He had blundered into a partial knowledge of the private affairs +of his newly-found friends and entertainers, and his rigid ideas of +honor forbade him to make so questionable a return for their +disinterested hospitality as the disclosure of their privacy even to +Vinnie, whom he would not have hesitated to intrust with the keeping of +a life-and-death secret, had it been his own. + +“It has been an eventful afternoon to us both,” said Vinnie, after she +had heard him through, “and as far as I am concerned, I do not know that +I am very much the worse for my share of its trials. If you are not +severely injured, I think we may thank our stars for having escaped as +well as we have.” + +“I think so too,” replied her father. “But, my child, you look upon the +perils through which you have passed too lightly. It is no trivial +matter. I shudder when I think of what might have been the ending of +either of your adventures. I believe, of the two, the ravenous, +half-famished panther and that fiend incarnate, Ku-nan-gu-no-nah, the +latter was much more to be dreaded. To the ferocity and +blood-thirstiness of the beast of prey, is added the treachery and +vindictiveness of a devil, and the reasoning powers of the human mind; +and, in his hellishness and subtlety, the chief falls but little short +of Lucifer himself! Do you realize what you have escaped, Vinnie? What +should I have done, little one, if I had lost you to-day? And, Vinnie, +there is another who, I am sure, would find life very void and destitute +of joy did he not dream that some day you might consent to share it with +him. I allude to Clancy Vere. He is a true man in every sense of the +word, and I know of no one to whose loving care I would rather resign +you than his.” + +He had no need to ask her if Clancy Vere’s suit would be successful. He +could read it in her blushes. + +It was growing late now, and as they were somewhat rested, Vinnie set +about the preparation of the evening meal, singing in a low voice, and +building rosy air-castles as she worked, while her father busied himself +with cleaning and reloading his trusty rifle, of which he felt justly +proud; for a truer or more unerring weapon was not to be found for many +a long mile, travel which way soever one might. + +After they had partaken of the supper which Vinnie’s deft hands had +spread neatly upon the table in an incredibly short space of time, Darke +fastened the cabin doors and windows securely for the night. As he +barred the rear door he noticed that it was even darker than when they +came home, and the chill rain was falling yet in a slow, persistent +drizzle. The wind had died down. + +The next morning the storm had ceased, but the sky was overcast, and +every thing as far as the eye could reach bore witness to the fury of +the tempest of the night before. + +Nothing unusual transpired at the cabin during the day; and its inmates +seemed very little worse for having endured the vicissitudes of the +previous afternoon. Vinnie had got up in the morning completely +refreshed by her night’s sleep, and the pain was entirely gone from her +father’s head, leaving nothing to remind him of the injury it had +sustained but a slight bruise on his temple that would go away in a day +or two. + +Toward the middle of the afternoon, as they were seated cosily by their +fire of hickory wood, recounting little incidents of their adventures +that had escaped them the night before, they were startled by a loud rap +on the cabin door. Darke hastened to open it, and was no less surprised +than gratified to meet Clancy Vere. + +“Welcome, boy!” he exclaimed, giving the youth a handshake and a +greeting smile in which there was no conventionality, and which was as +heartily returned by Clancy, whose eye wandered over the old man’s +shoulder in quest of Vinnie. + +The vivid blush that mantled cheek and brow, as her eyes met his, in no +way deteriorated from the prettiness of her face, Clancy thought; and +when she stepped forward half-shyly and put her trembling little hand in +his for a moment, I think he may be pardoned for allowing his heart to +look out of his eyes and wishing, as he choked back words that struggled +for utterance now harder than they had ever done before, that just a +little while his old friend Darke was in China, or Jericho, or anywhere +but there, witnessing and, in his quiet way, enjoying the young people’s +happy confusion. I am sure any of my readers who may ever have been +placed in a similar situation will exonerate him from all blame. + +The young hunter looked pale and worn, and Darke noticed that when he +came forward to take the seat Vinnie had placed for him before the fire +he walked with considerable difficulty. + +In reply to the woodman’s inquiries in regard to his jaded appearance +and the manifest trouble he experienced in walking, Clancy told the +story of his capture by the Indians the day before very substantially as +it has already been told the reader in the preceding pages of our story. + +It is not necessary that we should weary the reader with a +recapitulation of what has already been stated; but taking up Clancy’s +narrative at the point where consciousness returned, we will follow it +to its close. + +“When my senses came back,” said he, “I found myself reclining on a +couch of skins and blankets in what appeared to be a very small +apartment of a cave. I was watched over by a dwarf, who was not much +more than four feet high and as dumb as a door nail. This diminutive +watcher strengthened me by a liberal use of spirits, and as soon as I +was able to speak, summoned his giant brother, who, unlike himself, was +gifted with a ready tongue and introduced himself to me as Leander +Maybob, of Maybob Center down in old Massachusetts. He said he was a +‘natural talker,’ and proceeded to substantiate the statement by a very +wordy account of the sayings and doings of his uncle Peter and an old +Massachusetts minister named Tugwoller, interspersed with snatches of an +old love affair between Elder Tugwoller’s niece, Sally Niver, and +himself. It seems that the young couple, who were, of a verity, true +lovers, were separated for life in consequence of a ludicrous blunder on +the part of my giant host. + +“After awhile I gathered from his voluble flow of words that he had +rescued me from my perilous situation and brought me to his cavern +lodge. When I had sufficiently recovered from the effects of my swing, I +partook of some strengthening food that my new-found friends prepared +for me. That was early this morning. As the day advanced, I found myself +rapidly gaining strength; and an hour or more ago I felt myself strong +enough to come on here, and, thanking my strange entertainers for their +kindness, I took my departure. As I passed out through the cavern I saw +that it was also divided into two larger apartments, one of which was +used as a sort of home by the two strangely contrasted twin brothers, +and the other was fitted up as a kind of store-room for trophies of the +chase, for it was well supplied with arms and ammunition, while the +skins and pelts of various animals were deposited in piles about the +place.” + +“How much the latter part of Clancy’s story is like yours!” exclaimed +Vinnie to Darke when he had finished. “He was rescued by the same +strange person and taken to the same place and nursed back to life in +the same manner!” + +“Yes,” assented Darke, “it is a singular coincidence.” Then turning +quickly toward the young hunter he said, “You must have lain insensible +in the smallest part of the place while I was there—I think you did. +They did not tell you that I had been there before you came away, did +they?” + +“No,” said Clancy, who had been wondering all along at the strange words +of the woodman, “they did not tell any thing of the kind. I never knew +it till now.” + +“Strange!” replied the other. “And although I am sure I was there for +quite a length of time while you lay unconscious in the little place +curtained off at the back end of the cavern, the giant did not tell me +of your presence. It can not be that there was any cause for this +concealment; and concealment does not seem to be a predominant trait of +the big hunter’s.” + +“I do not understand you,” said Vere wonderingly. “Do you mean to say +that we were both at the cave at the same time? Please explain +yourself.” + +And Darke told Clancy the story of his accident the day before, and how +Leander Maybob had carried him to the cavern lodge of his brother +Alonphilus and himself, cared for him till he was able to come home, +carefully guarding against any allusion to the oaken chest and its +ghastly contents, but telling him of the strange episode of the little +apartment, and repeating the mysterious words of the giant hunter, whose +meaning he had until now vainly tried to discover. They held no hidden +portent now. He knew instinctively that the words he had so vainly +wondered at, “Does he show any signs of life yet? Can’t be he is dead!” +referred to Clancy Vere. + +One mystery was solved! + +For several minutes both men remained silent. Darke was ruminating over +the discovery he had just made and Clancy was thinking what a lovely +picture Vinnie made as she leaned carelessly against the mantle, looking +intently into the dancing blaze of the fire, whose red glow lit up her +fair face till it seemed fairly radiant in its fresh young beauty. + +Was she building air-castles again? + +Clancy was! + +Raising her long lashes suddenly, she met his ardent, passionate, yet +respectful gaze. + +Both pair of eyes sought the floor simultaneously; and it would have +been no easy task for one to have determined which face flushed the +deepest—the maiden’s or her lover’s; for Clancy Vere knew he did love +Vinnie Darke with all his heart. + +Darke had not noticed this little by-play, and he asked, suddenly, as +the pretty air-castles both had been rearing up vanished as air castles +are wont to do when they are rudely jarred: + +“How long do you think you were at the cavern before your consciousness +returned?” + +“I am not quite certain—two or three hours I guess.” + +“And it was Leander Maybob that rescued you?” + +“Yes; but he did not himself carry me to the cave. It was more than a +mile away that he found me; and although he is very strong, he could not +lug me on his back all that distance. When consciousness returned he +told me about it. Alonphilus the dwarf conveyed me to the cave.” + +“How?” asked Darke. + +“Oh, Leander told me all about that, too. I was brought on a horse—” + +“What color was the horse?” interrupted Vinnie. + +“On a white horse!” pursued the woodman. + +“Yes.” + +“You were rolled up from head to foot in a heavy black cloth, were you +not?” Darke went on, eagerly. + +“I do not know,” said Clancy, surprised at so many questions. “But he +carried me before him across the saddle.” + +Father and daughter uttered simultaneous cries of surprise. + +Another mystery was solved! + + + + + CHAPTER XII. + THE FOREST ROSE. + + +Ku-nan-gu-no-nah walked swiftly away with the deadly rifle of Leander +Maybob, the giant hunter, still leveled at his head, fairly demoniac +with wild and impotent rage. The workings of his dark face were +fearfully suggestive of the denizens of the bottomless pit. + +Had he been armed he would not have left the vicinity without first +attempting the life of the man who had him in his power and who held his +very life at his disposal; but he was powerless, having no weapons +except a short, sharp-pointed knife which he always carried in addition +to his hunting-knife, and this would be useless, except in a +hand-to-hand conflict, which even in his wild passion he had not the +hardihood to dare. + +In an hour’s time he came to the boundary of the wilderness and the +broad prairie stretched its level surface before him as far as he could +see. Not a tree or a bush was there visible in all this vast plain; only +the tall grasses, beat down and tangled by the fearful tempest that had +raged through the afternoon. + +Turning from the nearly direct course he had been pursuing, the chief +made his way, with long, rapid strides, to the place where, in the midst +of a dense growth of bushes in the center of which there was a little +plat of smooth, grassy ground, destitute of undergrowth, he had tethered +his horse early in the afternoon. In less time than it takes to tell it, +he was mounted and galloping away over the plain. + +In a little while he struck an indistinct, scarcely worn road, or rather +broad track—one of the emigrant routes of the North-west. He followed +the track for an hour or more and then making a gradual _detour_ to the +left, kept on at a swift rolling gallop which he never slackened till he +reached the Indian encampment, situated at the foot of a steep, rocky +hill that loomed up through the storm and darkness, in dull relief +against the leaden sky. Throwing himself hastily from his horse, he +stalked rapidly along and entered a wigwam at the further end of the +encampment. An aged Indian sat on a roll of skins at one side of the +place, in an attitude of deep grief or despondency. He simply glanced up +as the chief entered, then dropping his face again into his hands, +sitting silent and apparently in great agony of mind. + +“How is the Forest Rose to-night?” the chief asked, glancing toward a +couch of skins and blankets on the opposite side of the lodge, on which +he could see the form of a female reclining by the dim fire-light that +illuminated the wigwam. She lay silent and motionless as though life had +fled. + +“The Forest Rose is very ill,” replied the old Indian, mournfully, “and +she will die! Yon-da-do, the great medicine man, has said so. He has +made use of all his ceremonies and mystic arts, but he can not save her. +The lovely Forest Rose must die!” + +As he ceased speaking he arose, and lighting a small pitch-pine torch in +the fire, went over to the side of the couch. Throwing aside the +covering from her face, he allowed the light to fall upon it for a +moment. It was a beautiful face, darkly lovely—the face of an Indian +maiden in the first flush of womanhood. She was rather light for one of +her dusky race, with heavy masses of raven-black hair falling in lovely +confusion about her statuesque face, in whose contour the hard +angularity of the Indian type was not discernible, and down upon her +perfectly-shaped neck, and softly-rounded shoulders. Her long, heavy +lashes lay upon her cheeks, which were very pale, hiding her dark +lustrous eyes, which, when lighted up with health, added not a little to +her almost bewildering beauty. But now the lovely Forest Rose lay like +one dead. + +“Let my father look up and be happy!” said the chief. “Ku-nan-gu-no-nah +has seen a medicine-woman to-day, that can surely bring back life to the +Forest Rose. The medicine-woman that I saw was a mighty conjuror. The +Great Spirit has given her greater power than that of Yon-da-do!” + +“Who is this mighty magician?” + +“She is a pale-face maiden, as beautiful as the Forest Rose,” replied +the chief. + +“Would she come?” asked the old Indian, while a hopeful light flashed +out of his aged eyes, undimmed by the flight of time. “Would a white +medicine-woman come to give life back to an Indian girl!” + +“She would not come willingly,” said the crafty chief, “but she must be +brought! If she is not, the Forest Rose will die!” + +“Then she must be brought!” said the old Indian, decisively. “I will +call a council of braves in the morning, and a party shall be sent to +bring the white magician. The Forest Rose must be saved!” + +The aged Indian was the real chief of the tribe—that is, although he was +too old to go on the war-path, leaving the active fighting to the +younger and more warlike Ku-nan-gu-no-nah, he was the real moving +spirit, always planning and ordering all important movements of the +band. The languishing Forest Rose was his daughter. + +“It is well,” said Ku-nan-gu-no-nah, as he went away. + +“The great medicine-woman will save the Forest Rose, and again she will +sing like the birds in the trees to gladden the heart of her father, the +great chief.” + +Wild Buffalo, the aged sachem, called a council of braves early in the +morning, and at midday, the subtle Ku-nan-gu-no-nah, at the head of a +dozen picked warriors, was riding over the prairie in quest of +“Sun-Hair,” the beautiful magician. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII. + THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. + + +“So the mystery of the disappearing horseman is explained very +satisfactorily at last, Vinnie,” said Darke, after their surprise had +subsided somewhat. + +“Yes,” she replied, “all but the mystery of his disappearance.” + +“True,” said her father; “we are still in the dark concerning that. How +could it have been accomplished?” + +“I know not. It vanished before my very eyes!” + +“It was doubtless owing to some peculiar turn of the path he was +following, or something of that sort,” reasoned the woodman. “A very +sudden turn among the dense growth of shrubbery that is so thick about +the place might have concealed the white horse and his rider from view +almost instantly.” + +“I think very likely it was owing to that or a similar cause,” returned +Vinnie. “I suppose we shall have to accept that explanation till a +better one presents itself. It is strange that I should have allowed +myself to be alarmed at so trivial a matter. I do not think I am +superstitious. But that limp, helpless-looking black thing did appear +ghastly through the storm!” + +It will be remembered that Clancy had not heard of Vinnie’s adventures +and perils of the day before; and he did not understand the conversation +that the others had kept up for the past few minutes. Noting the +questioning look on his face, the woodman said: + +“There is still another story of peril and escape that you are yet to +hear. I believe I will take a short bout in the forest in search of a +turkey; and if I am successful we’ll have a supper fit for the +President. Vinnie can tell you the story while I am gone. Be sure you +don’t leave out any of the important points, and don’t forget to mention +your lover’s visit yesterday. A truthful account of the _shocking_ +manner in which you treated him ought to be a caution to sparks! If I +was a young fellow, now—” + +“There now! stop!” said Vinnie, with a vivid blush. “I think you’re +really too bad! And besides, you are not fit to go out to-day, after +your hurt, and—” + +“That will do,” interrupted Darke, banteringly, examining the lock of +his rifle the while. “I am well enough for any thing now, and I mean to +take just this one more hunt while I’ve an opportunity. I dare not leave +you here any more alone, you know, and I’m going while I’ve got Clancy +here to keep guard over you! So good-by, and don’t think of my coming +back for two hours at the very soonest!” + +She went up to him for her customary kiss. + +“There,” said he, as he bent and pressed his lips to hers. “Good-by, +little one. And, Clancy, I want you to see that no one repeats this +operation during my absence. She’s all I’ve got, and I leave her in your +care. Don’t forget the story, Vinnie!” And a moment later he passed out, +closely followed by the blood-hound. Vinnie seized hold of one of the +great brute’s long ears, and bending low over him, to hide her flushed +face from Clancy’s view, said, playfully: + +“There, Death, don’t run away from him as you did from me yesterday!” + +Then, while the young hunter thought she was putting herself to a great +deal of useless trouble, considering that the room was very warm +already, she went and busied herself at the hearth, for what seemed to +him a very long time, stirring the fire and putting on more wood. + +“What story does your father mean?” he asked, when she had at last +finished. “I thought from what you said that you saw the dwarf when he +was carrying me to the cave. It can not be that you were out in that +terrible storm?” + +“But I was,” said Vinnie, with a smile, “and I half think I was the +victim of almost as serious a series of accidents as yourself. Papa told +me to tell you the story, and I suppose I must obey. Are you sure it +will be of interest to you?” + +“Yes,” he replied, eagerly. “I know it will be of interest to me. Tell +it, please.” + +And, half shyly at first, Vinnie complied with his request. He +interrupted her many times during her recital, with exclamations of +surprise and wonder; and when she had finished, and sat demurely before +him, with her little hands folded in her lap, and her lovely face sober +and thoughtful, he said: + +“Heaven be praised for your deliverance! What if you had not escaped?” + +“Why, then, I suppose—” she began, surprised at his excited manner. But +he cut short what she would have said, by saying, vehemently: + +“If you had not, I would not now account my life worth as much as a +burnt charge of powder!” + +Vinnie glanced up at him quickly, but her long lashes drooped as she met +his ardent look. + +He arose to his feet, and standing up before her, went on in rapid, +eager tones: + +“I love you, Vinnie Darke, as I can never love another woman in the +whole world! I ask for your love in return. Can you—will you give it to +me, Vinnie darling?” + +She sat silent a moment—a moment that seemed interminable to the anxious +young hunter—with flushed face and downcast eyes. The next, she was +clasped in his strong arms, and he pressed a tender kiss on her brow, as +he said, in a low voice: + +“Do you love me, Vinnie?” + +The lovely, golden-brown head bent down until it was pillowed on his +bosom, the red, full lips were pressed half timidly to his, the deep, +loving blue eyes looked trustfully up into his own, and Clancy knew that +she was his till death! + +“My own darling Vinnie!” said he, proudly. + +“Yes,” she whispered, “yours always!” + +I am afraid if the woodman could have seen the little episode that was +taking place in the cabin then, he would have thought Clancy just the +least bit forgetful of the injunction he had put upon him when he went +away—of course he would not willfully ignore it! + +There was a slight, almost imperceptible sound outside the cabin, that +escaped the young hunter’s usually quick ear, and a dark face was +pressed for an instant against one of the lower panes of the little +window at the side of the door. It was withdrawn almost as soon as it +appeared. + +“And you will be my wife, Vinnie—mine to love and cherish always?” +Clancy went on. + +“Yes.” + +“And your father? What will he say?” + +“I do not think he will oppose us very strongly,” she said, remembering +his words to her that afternoon. + +“We will ask him and see, when he comes back.” + +Again that dark face peered into the room a moment and then vanished as +it had done before. + +But so engrossed were they with each other—their minds so filled with +their new-found happiness—that they had no time to think of any thing +else. + +“How hard I shall try to be worthy of your priceless love, and to make +your life happy!” said the young hunter, as she released herself from +his embrace. As she stood up, her eyes were turned toward the window. + +The face was flattened against the glass again! + +“Merciful Heaven!” she cried, “there is Ku-nan-gu-no-nah! Oh, Clancy, +save me!” + + + + + CHAPTER XIV. + VINNIE A PRISONER. + + +Darke had been gone but a little while from the cabin, before he was +startled by the report of fire-arms, and the shrill war-whoop of the +band of Indians who, under the leadership of the wily Ku-nan-gu-no-nah, +had been sent out to capture Vinnie and bring her to the relief of the +suffering Forest Rose, who, although they knew it not, was dead, having +dropped quietly and peacefully away soon after they left the encampment. + +These sounds came from the direction of the cabin, and by a kind of +intuitive perception, he knew in an instant what was taking place there. + +He had just discharged his rifle at a fine turkey that the blood-hound +had come upon in a dense thicket; and reloading it as he ran, he dashed +with his utmost speed through the tangled undergrowth and over fallen +trees and heaps of half-decayed brushwood back toward the scene of the +conflict, which still continued, as the sharp, oft-repeated reports of +guns and the appalling screeches of the Indians attested. + +The terrible suspense and agony of mind that he suffered in the few +minutes that passed before he reached the edge of the clearing, it would +be impossible to depict. He knew that the young hunter was as brave as a +lion, and would not give up while life lasted; but he judged from the +steady and rapid fire kept up by the savages that the odds against him +were fearful. + +“My God!” he gasped, as he bounded forward, holding his long rifle ready +for use at an instant’s warning, “the bloody fiends will butcher them +both! If I could only be there to help them!” + +Suddenly, as he ceased speaking, the firing, which for two or three +minutes past had been almost incessant, stopped. There was a moment of +awful silence to the listening woodman, then there came a loud crash. + +Darke knew what this was. + +“Heavens!” he cried, “the devils have forced the door! Nothing can save +them now! Their doom is sealed! Oh, Vinnie! Vinnie!” + +His agony was terrible. + +He had reached the boundary of the clearing. It was rapidly growing dark +now, and he had little fear of discovery. He paused a moment to +reconnoiter. Only two Indians were visible outside the cabin. He raised +his rifle to his face; his aim was quick and sure; and an instant later +one of the savages threw up his arms, and with an ear-splitting screech +of agony, fell on his face, dead. + +Almost simultaneously with the report of the woodman’s trusty weapon, +another rung out inside the cabin. + +“It is Vinnie’s revolver!” muttered Darke as he stepped quickly out of +sight behind a clump of bushes and proceeded to reload. “Thank God she +yet lives!” + +Peering out, he discovered that the remaining Indian had set fire to the +cabin and was skulking around the other side, probably to get out of +range of his unerring rifle. + +It was nearly dark now, but the settler fired again, and a bullet went +crashing through the savage’s brain, just as he had almost gained the +coveted shelter. + +Vinnie’s revolver cracked again inside the cabin as Darke rammed home +another load; and he uttered another fervent “Thank God!” as he thought +that she had been saved thus far. At his request, she had placed it upon +her person that morning, and he had reason to think that it was being +fired by her own hands. He could not distinguish the sound of Clancy’s +weapon from the Indians’; but he knew him well enough to be certain that +he would not yield except with his life. + +The fire was creeping up the side of the cabin, gaining ground rapidly +in the dry timber of which it was constructed. In a few moments the +whole building would be in a light blaze. An attempt to extinguish the +flames would, Darke saw, be fruitless. + +There was no one to oppose his advance across the clearing since he had +slain the two savages left on the outside to fire the cabin and guard +against a surprise by any one from without, and closely followed by +Death, he dashed over the intervening space to the open door of the +cabin. + +Looking within he saw, by the light of the fire blazing on the hearth, +that Clancy Vere was engaged in a desperate, hand-to-hand struggle with +three Indians. His back was against the wall, and with an almost +superhuman effort he forced them back and kept them at bay with his +clubbed rifle. Their guns were not loaded; but the young hunter detected +one of the trio in the act of charging his rifle, while the two others +vainly tried to get at him with their knives, and, quickly whipping out +his six-shooter, one chamber of which held a leaden bullet that soon +proved a quietus to this most dangerous of his assailants, he discharged +it and had only two enemies to contend with. + +The next moment the young hunter’s clubbed weapon fell with deadly force +upon the head of one of the Indians, crushing it like an egg-shell, +while at the same instant the other fell, pierced through the brain by a +ball from Darke’s unerring rifle. + +Clancy had fought like a tiger, and though he had not been dangerously +wounded, he had not escaped unscathed. A bullet fired through the +window, before the Indians had forced an entrance through the +battered-down door of the cabin, had grazed his temple, making an ugly +though not dangerous furrow, and carrying away a portion of his ear. The +blood was trickling down his face, and dropping upon the floor at his +feet. + +Darke sprung into the room at a single bound. + +“Vinnie!” he cried. “Where is Vinnie?” + +“Gone!” gasped Clancy. + +“Gone! My God! what do you mean?” + +“The Indians made her a prisoner!” + +“Vinnie! My Vinnie a prisoner in the hands of those devils! And you let +them take her?” + +“Stop!” exclaimed the young man, while an expression of keen pain swept +across his face. “I could not help it! I would gladly have laid down my +life to save hers! For a time we fought them side by side. There are +five dead Indians here on the floor. She killed two of them. Only two of +the chambers of her revolver were loaded; and after they were emptied I +fought them alone, shielding her form with mine. Then I was set upon +from all sides at once, and she was snatched away from me. I did all I +could. She was _my_ Vinnie, too, Mr. Darke, and I will wrest her from +the power of that red demon or die in the attempt! You do me injustice!” + +“Pardon me, boy,” said the woodman, extending his hand, which was +readily taken by Clancy. “I was mad! I did not mean what I said—please +forget it if you can. If we can not get her back, I believe I shall go +crazy!” + +“Oh, we _can_ get her back—we _must_!” cried the young hunter. “We must +get help and follow them and take her out of their hands or die!” + +“How many are there in the party?” asked Darke. + +“I am not certain. At the beginning I think there were about a dozen or +fifteen—I do not know exactly. Five are dead.” + +“There are seven dead!” replied Darke. “I shot two outside!” + +“Then there must be a half-dozen, more or less, that have escaped, +taking Vinnie with them.” + +“They have been gone twenty minutes,” said the woodman; “and we must act +at once!” + +“We can not follow them to-night,” said Clancy. + +“Not to-night! Why?” and Darke evinced disappointment. + +“Because they are mounted. They left their horses at the edge of the +forest. It is scarcely three miles away. Before we could overtake them +they would be miles out on the prairie, riding at their horses’ best +speed. We can do nothing alone, and horses are indispensable—we must +have them.” + +“Where can we get them?” Darke asked, admitting to himself the truth of +Clancy’s reasoning. + +“At the settlement. We can have every thing ready to-night and start +before daybreak.” + +“Who do you think we had better get to go with us?” asked Darke. “We +must have good men.” + +“I think we can do no better than to have Pete Wimple for one,” said +Clancy. “A truer and braver man can not be found in the North-west.” + +“True,” said the woodman. “And the big hunter for another!” + +“If we could only get him!” exclaimed Clancy. + +“I’m sure he will go. He hates the Indians with an undying hatred, and +is glad of any opportunity to wreak his terrible vengeance on them for +the cold-blooded butchery of his aged parents.” + +“Yes,” said the young hunter, “he told me his story. What a fiend +incarnate the chief is!” + +“You mean Ku-nan-gu-no-nah. Was he with the party?” + +“He led them,” said Clancy. “I think he instigated the attack to get +possession of Vinnie.” + +The youth shuddered as he thought what might be her fate in such hands. +How he longed for the morning. + +Darke remembered the promise he had made to Leander Maybob the day +before, and wondered if he could restrain himself from shooting the red +demon at sight. + +“Do you think we will need any one else?” he asked. + +“I think not. There will be four of us; and Pete Wimple and the giant +hunter will be a host in themselves.” + +“We must make all our preparations to-night,” said Darke, “so as to be +far on our way at daylight.” + +“Yes. We must— What’s that? It sounds like fire!” + +A strange sound had arrested his attention. + +“It _is_ fire!” replied Darke. “I saw one of the devils fire the cabin. +It must be all in a light blaze before this time!” + +“Then it was fired before you came in?” + +“Yes. It was set at the rear, and that is the reason you have not seen +or heard it till now. The flames were climbing the roof as I crossed the +clearing. But we must not stay here. One of us must go to the settlement +and the other to the cavern to-night. Do you think you can walk well +enough to undertake to get to the settlement? Your ankles must be—” + +“Yes,” and the look on his face confirmed what he said, “I could do any +thing—brave any thing for her! There is nothing that I would not attempt +to save her from pain—nothing that I would not dare, to make her happy! +Vinnie is more to me than my life, Mr. Darke! To-day, before those red +devils came to tear her away from me, she promised to become my wife.” + +“I believe you, boy!” exclaimed Darke. “I could not intrust her to the +protecting love of a better man. If we can only save her she shall be +yours!” + +“Thank you,” said the young man, earnestly. “We _must_ save her from +that demon’s power! The thought that she is in his hands is maddening! +But we must act. I will go to the settlement and obtain horses and +enlist Pete Wimple in our cause, while you proceed to the cave to secure +the services of the big hunter. I’m sure he will not refuse us his aid.” + +“Right,” assented Darke. “Where shall be our place of rendezvous?” + +“Near the big pine tree at the edge of the forest. We must be mounted +and on our way before daylight.” + +The fire had caught in the great oak trees that had been left close up +by the walls of the woodman’s home as a partial protection against wind +and storm, and the flames, shooting heavenward, cast a lurid glow over +the dark forest for quite a distance in every direction. + +The two men hastened away, the burning cabin lighting their way through +the wood, Death, the blood-hound keeping close to Darke and manifesting +his sense of the calamity that had overtaken them by giving utterance +ever and anon to low, sorrowful whines. + + + + + CHAPTER XV. + WHAT THE SCOUTS FOUND. + + +When the sun rose the next morning—for the day broke clear and cloudless +with a keen, frosty atmosphere—its rays fell on a heap of smoldering +ruins, encircled by a dozen charred trees burnt and blackened to their +very tops. This was all that remained of Emmett Darke’s cabin home. + +The four men, Darke, Clancy Vere, Leander Maybob, the giant hunter, and +Pete Wimple, a tried and trusty scout and Indian-fighter, were at the +appointed place of rendezvous at a very early hour, and, well mounted on +four fleet, strong horses that Clancy and the scout had obtained at the +settlement, they were at daybreak dashing over the smooth, level prairie +in pursuit of Ku-nan-gu-no-nah and his party. + +For hours they kept on at a rapid, even gallop, which they neither +quickened nor slackened. Clancy and the scout, riding side by side and +keeping a sharp look-out ahead for any signs of the enemy, while Darke +and the giant hunter were ever on the alert to guard against the +approach of any hostile party from the rear. + +None of the four had spoken more than a few words since they left the +big pine, hours before, even Leander Maybob, usually so loquacious, +maintaining a thoughtful and unbroken silence. + +The day continued as it had dawned, clear and sun-shiny, the pure, +bracing air inspiring the little band to more than common vigilance and +alertness, while it added fresh vigor to their steeds, and they kept on +at the same quick, regular rate of speed until mid-day without meeting +with adventure of any kind. + +Then Pete Wimple drew his horse up suddenly, and in obedience to his +low-spoken command, the three others reined in their horses. + +“What is it, Pete?” asked Clancy. + +“I don’t know for sartin,” and the scout, shading his eyes with his +hand, looked long and earnestly across the wide, grassy plain before +them. Following the direction of his gaze, the others saw dimly in the +distance a thin blue cloud of smoke rising from the surface of the +prairie. + +“It’s a fire!” said Darke. + +“That it are!” confirmed the big hunter. + +“Can it be a camp-fire?” asked Clancy. + +“Very likely,” said the scout. “I think as how it’s some-’eres ’long the +line of the emigrant trail. We’ll strike it purty quick—it’s jist ahead +thar—and we’ve got to foller it for severil hours. We’ve got to pass +that fire, and afore we get too cluss, I want to know what it means!” + +“It mought be whites, an’ ag’in it mought be reds!” said Leander Maybob, +riding to the front and examining the thin, vapory cloud for a moment or +two. “It mought be emigrants takin’ thar grub and it moughtn’t, ye see. +Prob’ly ’tis and prob’ly ’tain’t, as my uncle Peter said when Elder +Tugwoller axed him if his youngest-born son war a boy or a gal!” + +The others could not restrain a laugh at this; and when their merriment +had subsided Darke asked: + +“What do you think is best to be done, Wimple? You and Leander are +learned in every department of prairie life and warfare, while Clancy +and I are the merest novices. We shall trust ourselves and our +enterprise in your hands.” + +“I think, as it’s about grub time, you and me had better ride ahead and +diskiver, if we can, whether there’s white men or Injuns or suthin’ else +around that are smudge, or whether its jest a muskeeter smoke, while +Low-lander, as you calls him, and the boy busies ’emselves about gittin’ +suthin’ for our appetites ag’in’ our return.” + +“I agree with ye thar!” said the giant, “as Elder Tugwoller remarked to +my daddy when he expressed his opinion as how donations was a good +institution; but my name ain’t Low-lander.” + +“What’s in a name?” laughed Darke as he and the scout rode away. + +“Thar’s a good deal in names, I notice,” said the big hunter, half +musingly, as he swung his long left leg over his horse’s head and +slipped to the ground. “I reckon thar’s a sight o’ valler in names. If +’twasn’t for folks bein’ named so’s to tell ’em apart, they’d git all +mixed and twisted up so a feller couldn’t tell w’ich from t’uther or +t’uther from w’ich! Now I don’t go very strong for seein’ things git all +mixed and twisted up so’s ye can’t discrimernate w’ich from w’ich. If it +hadn’t been fer jest sich a durn’d mixin’ and twistin’ of two different +things together in my head, I’d likely now be a married man, livin’ as +happy as a hornet in yer breecherloons, down to old Maybob Center in +Massachusetts, the Bay State and capital of Bosting, the hub of the +univarsal _terry firmy_. It’s an awful world we’re livin’ in,” he went +on, as he tied his horse, as Clancy had already done, by means of +lariats they had brought with them. “It’s an awful world! I never know’d +a man to go cl’ar through it ’ithout gittin’ the wind knocked outen him +somehow! It’s this mixin’ an’ twistin’ as does it all! It’s that as +caused all my misery and pains and heart-longin’s, and sighin’s and so +forth and so on. I know folks in gin’ral wouldn’t go for to take me for +a lovyer—you, now, youngster, look more like a lovyer than I do; sorter +like a despondin’ lovyer, more’n any thing. But don’t ye git +down-hearted now. We’re a-goin’ to git yer sweetheart back to-day! I’ll +tell you how I found out about it,” he explained, noting Clancy’s look +of surprise, “I heerd ye talkin’ about her afore ye come to, fairly, +yisterday. I didn’t mean ter hear yer, and didn’t go fer to pry into any +of yer secrets; but I couldn’t help hearin’ ye say ev’ry few minits, +‘Vinnie!’ ‘Vinnie!’ I heerd Darke say his gal’s name was that to-day; +and so I put this and that together and know’d you was her lovyer. I’ll +tell you ’bout my gal an’ my love affair, and then we’ll be even. All +our trouble come of this mixin’ an’ twistin’, as I told you afore. Elder +Tugwoller’s niece, Sally Niver, as purty a gal as ever wore caliker—she +used to live along o’ the Elder and his wife—and me got acquainted with +each other to singin’ school, and afore we know’d it we was both on us +purty nigh as deep into love as Lord Lovel and the Lady Nancy. The Elder +didn’t ’prove of the match, and Sally an’ me uster spark on the sly. The +Elder found it out and licked Sally and forbid her ever to speak to me +ag’in. She cum right straight and told me, and said as how the Elder and +Miss Tugwoller would be away Saturday night over to the widder Mork’s +and wanted me to come down an’ see her while they was gone. I rigged up +and went down; and jest as I got inside the yard I see Sally cummin, +down the path to meet me, and the tears was a-streamin’ down her face. +‘They ain’t gone, deary!’ sez she, ‘and if they see you we’ll be in an +awful pickle!’ I couldn’t go away without inquirin’ what was the matter. +‘Oh!’ sez she, ‘I’ve had to take—uncle’s bin a-givin’ me—’ ‘Another +lickin’ I’ll be bound!’ sez I. ‘Sally, yer mine, afore Heaven, and I’m +a-goin’ to trounce that old cuss within an inch of his life for abusin’ +ye so, if he is the preacher!’ ‘Oh dear!’ sez she. ‘You don’t understand +he—oh, what’ll you do? Thar he comes now!’ And sure enough, I looked up +and thar come the Elder down the path a-makin’ motions and a-swingin’ a +big hosswhip. I thought he was a-goin’ to lick Sally ag’in, and she +screamed and I jumped afore her. Jest then the hosswhip cracked round my +legs. ‘Young man,’ sez the Elder, ‘you’ve got things kinder mixed and +twisted up, like, in your mind. Your mind’s considerably mixed and +twisted. You don’t understand as how I don’t want ye here at all, and +you’ve got mixed and twisted up about the lickin’, like. I hain’t bin +a-givin’ my niece a cowhidin’; I jest give her a dose of peppersass for +a cold, and that’s what brings the water outen her eyes. I’m goin’ to +give the cowhidin’ to you!’ And he axed the blessin’ and commenced. The +gad played kinder lively for a minit, then I jerked it outen his hand +and throw’d it over into the garden, and sez I, ‘Elder, if you think I’m +goin’ to stand sich you must be kinder mixed and twisted up, like, in +your idees!’ Then I knocked him down and kissed Sally good-by and walked +away. I hain’t never seen her since. The Elder sent her away to school +and I come West—and that’s the end on’t all. I s’pose she’s married long +ago!” he finished, sadly. “She was jest the sort of gal as ketches men! +It was all owin’ to my mixed and twisted state of mind concernin’ the +lickin’ and the peppersass!” + +By the time they had prepared the noon-day meal, Clancy saw Darke and +Wimple coming back; and in less than ten minutes they threw themselves +from their horses a few rods away, and after tethering them, came up +with rapid strides. + +“What did you find?” asked Clancy eagerly; “any signs of Vinnie or her +captors?” + +“We found some of the devil’s own handiwork!” answered the scout, a +dark, fierce look on his usually pleasant face that the young hunter +never saw there before. + +“The smoke we saw arises from two burning emigrant wagons that the +Indians have plundered and then set fire to!” said Darke. “One man, +evidently the guide, lay dead and scalped, his body, with those of three +savages who had been shot in the affray, half burned up in the fire! The +remainder of the party, which I should judge was not very large, have +either escaped or been made prisoners.” + +“It is Ku-nan-gu-no-nah’s work!” said Clancy. + +“I’ve made up my mind to settle with him purty soon!” said Leander +Maybob, sternly. “His time’s most up!” + + + + + CHAPTER XVI. + THE PHANTOM RIDER! + + +Five minutes later the little party was on the move again. + +About the middle of the afternoon they halted for a moment’s +consultation. Darke was not surprised when the scout informed him that +the Indian encampment was not more than a half-dozen miles distant. He +had long been anxious to reach the village. The suspense was growing to +be almost unendurable to him. + +At first, Leander Maybob took little part in the conversation and bent +his gaze anxiously every few minutes upon the horizon in the direction +whence they had come. + +“Would you advise a bold charge through the Indian encampment?” asked +Clancy. “Do you think we would be likely to accomplish our object in +that way?” + +The scout thought not. The savages might be on the look-out for some +such movement as that, as they would probably expect that an attempt +would be made to rescue Vinnie, in which case they would run great risk +of falling into some trap set for them by the Indians, if they +approached the encampment boldly and in the full glare of the sunlight. +Their party was too small to hazard being taken at so great a +disadvantage. They dared not show themselves openly in the camp of their +enemies. The odds would be too great against them. + +“No!” said Wimple, emphatically. “We mustn’t try such a plan as that. It +would be worse than useless! What we do must be done by stratagem. +There’s a steep bluff, only ’tain’t a bluff, neither—thar ain’t no river +under it—jist back of the Injin camp. This hill’s all grown over with +low scrub-oak and other stuff so thick ye can’t see a rod any way. If we +could only git up there and hide till arter dark, and then two or three +of us jist step quietly down and release the prisoners, leaving some one +to have the horses ready to mount at an instant’s warnin’, I think we +could git the gal cl’ar without much blood-lettin’, and maybe the other +prisoners, whoever they are. It’s the best plan I can think of now.” + +Darke agreed with the scout that nothing could be done by daylight, but +he was getting very impatient. + +“I think,” said the big hunter, “as how ye’re partly right in yer +calkerlations and mayhap partly wrong. I don’t believe as how us four +rushing into the imps’ nest would do much good. We’d be very likely to +git our little lump of lead, every one on us, and that’d be the end on’t +all; but instid o’ climbin’ the hill, if ye’ll jist take the advice of +one who has fit Injins some, and stop in the border of the wood, down +level with the edge of the prairie, and wait and see what happens, I +b’lieve we can do suthin’ as ’ll amount to suthin’. I’ve knowed some of +the best kind of jobs to be did in gittin’ away prisoners from the reds, +jist by watchin’ and takin’ advantage of accidents and the like. If +you’ll all do jist as I say and not git flustered or go to gittin’ away +up there on top of the hill, I’ll promise that every prisoner in the +Indian camp shall be safe before sundown—yes, in less than two hours. +You don’t know what amazin’ helps accidents is sometimes, in sich cases +as this one!” + +“Can you do it?” asked Darke, eagerly. + +“Yes.” + +“What do you mean by accidents?” inquired Pete Wimple. “What d’ye +expect’s goin’ to happen to-day?” + +“Thar’s no tellin’ exactly,” replied the big hunter. “A feller can’t +most always tell what is goin’ to take place. But I’m safe in +guaranteein’ thirty or forty of them reds one of the tallest accidents +in a little while—’bout as soon as we can git to their camp—they ever +had any ijee of!” + +“Do you expect to kill as many as that?” asked Clancy, in some +wonderment. + +“I calkerlate as how, if yer a mind to foller my lead, we can e’en +a’most clean out the nest and git yer gal and the rest of the prisoners +away safe, besides! What do ye say? Shall I go ahead?” + +“Yes,” cried all three with one voice. “You shall lead us!” + +“I believe you can do what you say!” added Darke. “But remember that a +mistake on our part might prove fatal to Vinnie and the others!” + +“There shan’t be no balks or mistakes!” said the giant, in a tone of +assurance, taking his place at the head of the party. “We’ve got to +leave this emigrant road here and take to the left a little. An hour’s +sharp ridin’ ’ll bring us to the Injun camp. Let’s be movin’ on.” + +And tightening their reins, the quartette dashed away. + +There was a plain trail, left by Ku-nan-gu-no-nah’s band, leading +directly to the encampment of the savages. The little party followed +this for a while at a swift gallop, and then in obedience to a low, +tersely-spoken command from their leader, left it suddenly, and bearing +still further to the left, dashed for a few minutes through the edge of +a broad belt of timber lying along the base of a range of low hills, +halting at last in a chapparal not more than a hundred yards distant +from the Indian village. + +“Here we are,” said Leander Maybob, throwing himself off his horse. +“Jist git off yer nags and stretch yerselves a little, while I take a +look outside. Make the most outen your restin’-spell, for I can tell yer +that ye won’t have long to lay idle. I’m expectin’ an accident soon!” + +And with these strange words which the three men were assured held more +meaning than they expressed, the giant strode away and disappeared from +view among the shrubbery. In less than five minutes he came back, and +his face showed that the result of his reconnoissance was satisfactory. + +“There’ll be an accident soon,” said he. + +“How soon?” queried the scout. + +“Inside of a quarter of an hour.” + +“Will it assist us in any manner?” inquired Darke. + +“Yes; it’ll be the makin’ of our job.” + +“How?” asked Clancy. + +“It’s onsartin,” replied the big hunter. “Accidents is onsartin things; +but this one ’ll be sartin to help us if we’re ready to help ourselves. +I’ve noticed as how the same accident don’t happen twice, any more’n a +boy takes his fust chaw of terbacker twice. ’Tain’t anyways likely this +’ere accident we’ve been waitin’ for ’ll happen more’n onc’t. So we must +be ready to take advantage of it jest at the right minit! Now then, how +many shots have we got altogether?” + +“I’ve got a six-shooter and a rifle, both loaded,” said the scout. + +“Seven,” said Leander, counting. + +“And I’ve got six,” said Clancy. + +“Thirteen,” counted the big hunter. + +“And I’ve got two revolvers and a rifle,” said the scout. + +“Twenty-six,” said the giant, “and I’ve got seven more—thirty-three in +all. If there ain’t any of ’em wasted, we can shoot jist thirty-three +Injuns without stopping to load! Now git on yer horses and stick yer +pistols in yer belts and hold yer rifles ready for instant use. I want +to take one more look-out, and I’ll be with ye in a minit.” + +The big hunter’s prompt manner and cool, baffling way of talking had +inspired the three men with the utmost confidence in himself and his +power to bring their enterprise to a successful termination, and they +obeyed his orders implicitly. In a moment they were mounted, their +unerring rifles ready for use at a moment’s warning. + +“Are we going to dash into the encampment?” asked Clancy, examining the +lock of his revolver. + +“It looks like it,” answered the scout, sententiously. + +“What can the accident be?” questioned Darke. + +“That’s a riddle!” said Wimple. + +“And a hard one to guess!” added the young hunter. + +Just then the giant came running through the chapparal, and hastily +seizing his ride, which he had left standing against a tree, threw +himself upon the back of his horse and rode to the head of the little +band of wondering, anxious men. + +“Wait a minit!” he half whispered. + +There was a moment of dead silence, the four men almost holding their +breath in their suspense. + +Then a shriek rung out on the air—a shriek that was half a wail, half a +curse—so weird and so unearthly that for a moment the blood seemed to +stand still in the veins of the three startled men. + +“My God! What is that?” cried Darke. + +“It’s the accident we’ve bin waitin’ for,” said the big hunter, calmly. +“It’s purty near time for us to take advantage of it. Git ready.” + +At that moment there came from the direction of the Indian encampment an +almost deafening report, followed instantly by cries of agony and fear. + +“Now’s our time!” cried the big hunter. “Shoot down every red-skin you +see! But don’t harm a hair of Ku-nan-gu-no-nah’s head if you can help +it! Take him alive!!” + +As they cleared the chapparal, they saw a sight for which even the +terrible cry of a moment before had not prepared them. + +It was a gigantic human skeleton, standing upright on the back of a +milk-white horse that moved with more than the speed of the wind. In the +bony, grisly arms of the Phantom Rider was _Vinnie Darke_! + + + + + CHAPTER XVII. + A REUNION OF HEARTS. + + +“It is Vinnie!” cried Darke, wildly. “Oh God, save my child!” + +“Heavens!” exclaimed the young hunter, in the same breath. “What is +that? Oh! my darling! She is lost! lost!” and he reeled in his saddle. + +“Easy!” said the giant. “She is safe, and you shall both speak with her +in a few minutes. It is Meno, the Spirit Warrior! He never harms the +whites—he is their friend; and he’ll carry the gal to a place of safety. +Git yer rifles ready. When ye see Injuns, fire sure, and don’t miss a +shot. After yer rifles are emptied, git out yer pistols and shoot down